Page 24 of For Eva

Eric hadn’t been exactly thrilled with my decision either. In a move which nearly led to our first post-reunion blowup, Danny had chosen not to mention it to him until the night of a gig in Long Beach, two days after I got back into town and right before I showed up at the club.

“Jesus, Danny, you didn’t tell him?” I’d hissed, pulling him away from the crowd that had gathered backstage. “I was gone for a week packing my shit in Chicago. You could’ve mentioned itsometimein there.”

“We were just busy, it didn’t come up,” Danny said, running his hands along my arms. “And he doesn’t hateyou.He hateseveryone. He’s had a shit life, so he’s pissed at the world.”

He explained something about a mother who blamed him for ruining her life and a stepfather who kicked him out of the house, but I was too rattled to take much of it in. Thankfully, besides shooting the occasional dagger or offhand remark my way, Eric had backed off a bit over the past couple of months. The precarious cease-fire commenced when I told him I liked his KISS T-shirt. He snickered, asking me what my favorite song was.

“You realize that’s impossible.”

Eric rolled his lips inward, like he’d caught me in some sort of lame attempt to bond with him. “Mm-hmm.”

“Fine. It’s probably ‘Got to Choose,’” I said. “The original offHotter than Hell.Even though theAlive!version is killer, too, of course.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it quickly before mumbling a perplexed “right on.”

The bell on the bar door clanged. Sure it was Ronnie, I remained focused on the beer, opening another cooler. “Hey, will you help me get some of the beer from the back? I think the guy dropped a pallet off yesterday.”

“Eva…right?” asked a voice which was clearly not Ronnie’s.

“Huh?” I looked up and wiped my hands along the front of my jeans, blowing my bangs out of my eyes.

The petite blond walked closer. She was wearing tight leather pants and a Ramones T-shirt, and her Kewpie doll face looked vaguely familiar. “I’m Mandy. From last night. You helped get that guy who wouldn’t leave me alone thrown out, and I wanted to thank you.” She lifted the white paper bag she was carrying and placed it on the counter. “I remembered you saying something about how you had to open today, and all you wanted was a bottle of Tylenol and a pastrami Reuben from Canter’s. I figured you probably had the Tylenol covered but wasn’t sure about the Reuben.”

“Oh, right. Glad I could help. But you didn’t have to do this,” I said as I peeked in the bag.

She smiled. “Oh, it’s no problem.”

“Do you want a drink or something?” I asked, motioning to the bottle and taps behind me.

Mandy bit her bottom lip and looked at her watch. “Yeah, sure, why not. I’ve got a work meeting in a bit, but I have time.” She hopped onto one of the stools in front of me and told me a vodka tonic would be fine.

I poured a generous amount of alcohol into two glasses so she wouldn’t have to drink alone, topping them off with a spray of tonic and a lime. “So where do you work?”

She raised the glass to her lips. “Perfect Circle Records. I’m in A&R. Well, trying to be in A&R. That’s the group that signs bands. I’m still technically a secretary, but my boss finally realized I have a decent ear and can do more than make coffee and answer phones.”

My breath caught in my throat at the lettersAandR. I took a long swallow of my drink, then chuckled nervously. “My boyfriend’s in a band, so I hear the term A&R at least five times a day.”

It felt incredibly opportunistic, but I had to slip it in. I’d learned the wheels never stopped turning when your boyfriend was in a band that was trying to get signed. And those wheels had just picked up some serious speed.

“Oh, yeah? What band?”

“Counting Backward,” I said, my chest squeezing as I waited for a reaction.

Mandy’s eyes turned to saucers as the last sip of vodka she'd taken pulsed its way down her throat. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

I shook my head, unsure if she meantyou’re fucking kidding me, they’re amazingoryou’re fucking kidding me, they shouldn’t even be allowed to own instruments.

She pulled a small notepad and pen out of her purse. “When’s their next show?”

“Uh, Friday night, actually.”

“Eva. Ilovethem,” she stressed, her dollface turning serious as she placed her hand on the bar. “The first time I saw them I knew they were gonna be huge. The singer is Eric, right? Is he your boyfriend?”

“No, my boyfriend plays guitar.”

“Anyway, that Eric dude is larger than fuckinglife. And their whole sound, it’s got this rawness to it, but it also totally hooks you. I’ve been telling my boss this formonths, and all I keep hearing is that Eric seems difficult, and glam metal is what everyone wants. He won’t even go see them, and none of the reps will back me up because they’re idiots.” She paused and rolled her eyes. “I know a couple of other labels have been jerking them around, which is insane, because whoever finally does grow some balls and sign them is gonna make a lot of fucking money.”

So. Sweet Mandy is also tough Mandy. Smart Mandy.

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