Page 6 of Reverb

Were u in the basement? I can’t find the detergant

Never mind I found it

Where are u?

Come for dinner tonite and meet Anthony, k?

Why don’t u answer ur phone?

There’s a dent on my back bumper??? Was that there before

How do I fix that?

Where are u??

Oh yeah, I definitely wanted a cigarette. I put my hand on the pack next to me, as if that alone had the ability to make me feel better. Then I texted Mom a reply, because if I didn’t, she’d never stop.

Stone

I’ll come by tomorrow. Talk later.

She didn’t need an answer to each individual text, because by now, she’d forgotten all about them. I’d drop by her house, check over her electric bill, look at her back bumper, and leave. I would not come to dinner and meet her newest boyfriend, whose name was apparently Anthony. If I waited a few weeks, Anthony would be gone, anyway. Mom wasn’t known for her long-term relationships. Her four marriages, and every relationship between and since, had been short.

Her first marriage was to my father, and that had lasted all of ten months before he bailed and moved away after I was born. Child support was a nonexistent joke, and I had no idea where that asshole was now. I’d never bothered to keep track of him.

The final text on my phone was from the Road Kings’ new agent, Angie Miller-Gold. Angie was in her early forties, tall and blond, a former Sports Illustrated swimsuit model who had retired from modeling to become an agent for other models. She’d also gotten married, had a kid, and been widowed a year ago. Now she’d taken over her late father’s agenting roster, which included only one client: the Road Kings.

Stone, she wrote, her text as formal and businesslike as her speech. She used text because she already understood that I never answered my phone.

Angie

There is a problem with the Soundcheck magazine deal. It seems that you are that problem. In order for the deal to go through, you will have to agree to at least three interviews with Sienna Maplethorpe.

And there she was—back in my brain again. The woman I was trying to avoid.

But Angie had sent a second text, one that made me stare at it in shock for a long minute, trying to absorb what she was saying.

Angie

We should meet to discuss your reservations about the deal. I’d like to get to know you better. How about dinner on Saturday?

Was that—? No.

Was she—?

Was she asking me out?

Maybe I was wrong and she was only talking about business.

But you don’t spend half your life playing guitar in a band without having some idea when a woman is coming on to you. Frankly, it happens a fuck of a lot, and you get experience with it fast.

I’d like to get to know you better, she’d said.

My new agent was asking me out.

“Fuck,” I said to the empty car, the first word I’d uttered out loud in hours. And I reached for my lighter.

THREE

---