Page 20 of Forgotten

I knew she wouldn’t be there, but I was going to look anyway. I’d probably never stop looking.

As the set went on, I let myself get lost in the performance. I gave everything I had, and when it was time to close it up, I slowly felt my consciousness returning from the place it had gone while I performed. It wasn’t exactly like an out-of-body experience. It was more like I let the music, the character I created in order to perform it, put the majority of me in a locked room in my mind. I could see everything, I could hear everything, but the performer version of me was in control. I was just a witness.

But as the last few notes tumbled out, I found myself coming back again and making a decision immediately. I couldn’t be here and not know. I had to go to the hotel and see if she was there. I had to find out if she was available, and if I still had a chance to shoot my shot. Or if I should just give it up and focus on being the party animal I’d become known as. The one who could easily take multiple girls in this front row back to my hotel room, party for a while, and end up drunk and naked in a pile of flesh and hair.

As soon as the set wrapped, I ran off stage, heading for the band exit and out to the parking lot. I kind of felt like Elvis, escaping his adoring public, of which I was sure there would be some, and they would be disappointed I didn’t stick around for photos and autographs. But I just had to know. I had to know for sure she wasn’t there.

I hopped in the car and took off, heading down the busy Dallas street until I got to the Bethel Hotel, parking haphazardly in the guest parking. I was still covered in sweat and a little bit of spilled beer when I walked through the automatic double doors and the AC blasted me, just like it had in Tulsa that first time. I felt a chill roll over my body and tried to walk it off as I went inside to the gawking glares of what turned out to be a slightly more upscale clientele than in Tulsa.

The check-in area was full of people, so I stalked around it, looking for Charlotte. If she was here, she would likely be out there helping people. But I didn’t see her. Instead, I saw a security guard and an employee with a name badge eyeing me suspiciously. Deciding not to wait for them to make a move, I walked directly up to them.

“Hi, my name is Jesse James Galloway,” I said. “I just performed down the road at the Double Cross Ranch Amphitheater.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” the employee said, and the security guard relaxed a little. “What can I do for you? Do you have a reservation? I’m afraid we are all booked up tonight.”

“No, it’s not that. I don’t need a room. I’m here to see if April is in. April Garafalo?”

“Ms. Garafalo is not in, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid you just missed her. I believe she and Mr. Bethel are flying to Paris tonight, if I heard him correctly.”

“Ahh,” I said, trying not to let on that my heart felt like it was being crushed into dust. “I see. Mr. Bethel, that’s the owner, right?”

“Not that Mr. Bethel,” he said. “Graham Bethel, our COO. I know it’s technically not allowed, but I think everyone knows they are a couple. But shh. I didn’t say anything.”

“Right, yeah, of course,” I said. “No problem.”

“Should I leave a message for when she returns?”

“Nope,” I said. “No message. Thank you.”

Turning on my heel, I headed out of the hotel and back to my car. I drove back to the venue and got out, heading back to the stage where the band was still breaking down. I’d been gone all of twenty minutes.

“Where the hell did you go?” Kevin asked when he saw me. “They wanted an encore. We have people lining up to get pictures!”

“Sorry,” I said. “I had something I had to do. I’m back now.”

Kevin seemed to notice my lack of enthusiasm and put down his guitar case to close the space between us.

“You all right, bro?”

“No,” I admitted. “But I will be. You want to stay up tonight and get really fucking drunk and write music?”

“Like the old days?”

“Like the old days,” I said.

“You know I don’t drink anymore.”

“You can drink soda. Get real fucked up on soda.”

He grinned. “I’ll get real fucked up on soda with you, Jesse. But first can we make some people happy? The ones out there?”

“Yo, check out the blonde!” Kirk said. I followed his gaze to see a tall, blond woman with a chest that looked like she inflated it herself with an air pump and a shirt that was hanging on to her nipples with the sheer willpower of damp cloth and prayer.

“Blondes aren’t Jesse’s thing,” Kevin said, laughing.

“Who knows?” I said. “Maybe I should expand my horizons. It’s not like I’m holding out for anything. Anymore.”

Kevin’s eyebrow flickered, but I brushed by him, putting a big, fake smile on my face and walking through the curtain to the roar of the mostly still congregated audience.

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