Page 8 of OctoBEARfest

"Because it's good for me, too?"

That was hard to argue with. Bill chuckled and fiddled with another bite of ice cream before finally meeting Gwen's eyes and nodding. "All right. Yeah, I'll take your help. Thank you, Gwen Booker, Accidental Talent."

CHAPTER 6

"Well, you're welcome, Bill Torben…" Gwen ran out of things to say, because 'dude I'd like to climb like a tree' didn't really fit into the same scansion as 'Accidental Talent' did. Eventually, feeling silly for having tried to echo him, she just said, "You're welcome," again, and smiled.

It was true, as far as it went. She wanted to help him get the weekend sorted out because it was good for her and her band. But more than that, she knew what it was like to feel like you were the only one keeping everything afloat, while everyone around you went along like everything was great. It was lonely and exhausting and in her experience, endedincrediblybadly. Even if she couldonlyhelp for a weekend—and for some reason that thought gave her a funny little pang in the heart—she could atleasthelp for the weekend. Maybe it would be enough. "How long have you been in charge?"

"About five years now, I guess." Bill said it like a man who could give it to her in days, hours, and minutes, but was trying to restrain himself. "My second brother, Steve, he used to help a lot, but he moved away a few years ago and it's basically been me ever since." He glanced at the almost-finished sundae betweenthem, looked embarrassed, and pushed it a few inches back toward her. "I've eaten all your ice cream."

Gwen laughed and shook her head. "I ate all I could. Go ahead and finish it."

"I can't. It's yours." He hesitated. "But I could eat all but the last bite."

Gwen accidentally said, "Aww," right out loud, and for the third time since she'd met him, Bill Torben blushed. She loved that he blushed easily. It made her want to suggest increasingly blush-inducing things, to see if he would spontaneously combust, or better yet, take her up on some of those things. Instead she promised, "I'll eat the last bite," and watched him sheepishly eat everything but. Then she dug into the bowl with her spoon, impressed he'd managed to leave her some hot fudge in the bottom, and savored the last bite with a happy sigh. "Okay, that was worth it. Thanks for sharing it with me."

"Anything else you want to share?"

Gwen looked up with a delighted grin, and Bill's ears went scarlet. "I mean, I just kind of unburdened myself on you. Do you have anything you need to talk about?"

"You mean like, am I afraid I'm wasting my best years on trying to crack the airwaves as a rock star in a world where the radio only carries pop and hip hop? Do I wonder how I'm going to pay next month's bills without another gig scheduled? Whether I should throw it all in for the van life, because at least that way I don't have to worry about rent? Nah," Gwen said with a shake of her head. "No, I'm good, thanks."

"I could never do it," Bill said almost before she'd finished trying to downplay her own stresses. "It's hard enough running the pub, and it's got a forty year history of success behind it. Trying to make it in a creative field where you don't have any control over whether people find your work, or like it, or buy it instead of pirating it? Howdoyou do it?"

The questions and the insight actually took Gwen's breath away, leaving her gazing at the big man with her lips parted and a rush of astonishment wiping out all the words in her mind. When she was finally able to speak, she landed on the last part of what he'd said, because, "Nobody except artists ever thinks about digital piracy and how it affects them. How do you even know that's a problem?"

Bill looked sheepish. "You remember those old warnings they used to show before movies? 'You wouldn't steal a car?' The first time I saw them I didn't even know what digital piracy was, so I looked it up and found out it's all kind of a big mess, especially for smaller artists. Not that it's cool to pirate a big movie or something, but I get the idea that musicians, like you, or writers, or people who draw or whatever, that maybe your numbers are affected enough by that kind of stuff to really be the line between making it or not."

"You're really right." Gwen gave him a crooked grin. "Like,reallyright. I know a lot of artsy types, and it's a real problem, like the difference between albums being made or not, or sequels getting published, or comics getting finished. All kinds of things. And I don't know how I do it," she admitted. "Sometimes just by not thinking about any of it, because if I think about the odds I'll lose my mind."

"'Never tell me the odds,' eh?"

"Hah! Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"So does that mean you're living the van life?"

"Aaaaah!" Gwen threw her head back, rolling her eyes at the ceiling, then smiled ruefully at Bill. "No, not quite yet, although sometimes I honestly think it'd be easier. Just stay on the road all the time, go from gig to gig. Except there aren't always enough gigs, so I gotta keep the day job."

His eyebrows rose and he looked her as up-and-down as he could, given that she was sitting across a table from him and soat least half of her body was hidden from his view. "You have a day job?"

Gwen, deadpan, said, "I work at an ice cream shop," and Bill's eyes flew open. She laughed. "No, it's worse than that. I'm a receptionist."

"For a music company?" Bill's voice rose, and Gwen couldn't help another snicker.

"You'd think, wouldn't you? No, you've got to look at this." She took her driver's license out, pushing it across the table. "I think of that as 'Gwen, Playing Human.'"

"You're definitely already human," he said absently, but picked up the card to examine the little picture of her with her dark hair tied neatly back, her makeup neutral and not at all eye-catching, and wearing a pink blouse with a Peter Pan collar. "Holy sh—I mean, uh, you look like a different person."

"'Day Job Gwen,'" she agreed, taking the license back. "About the only thing that's recognizable are my freaky pale eyes. I look like they took a vacation in Antarctica."

"They're perfect rock star eyes," Bill said a little vehemently. "Able to cut right through your soul. Perfect."

"Oh." A stupid little grin pulled at her mouth. "Oh. Thanks. That's. Gosh. Thanks. Maybe the nicest thing anybody's ever said about them. I always thought they looked freezer-burned. Like I should be able to shoot ice beams out of them." She turned her head and squinted dramatically, pretending she was spraying ice from her eyes and goingpew crackle pew pewfor the sound effects.

"That would beso cool," Bill said, and when she looked at him, spread his hands and smiled. "Who doesn't like superheroes?" Or other people with unusual gifts, like turning into grizzly bears. He wondered how Gwen was going to react to that.

"Well, I'm afraid my only real superpower is playing a mean riff on the guitar, and hitting the high notes every time. Seriously, though, thanks." Gwen pushed the empty ice cream bowl to the middle of the table and finished her coffee. "So should we go check out these venues?"

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