under his arm. He set them down and came over to Eddi, who scrambled to her feet. The phouka stepped to one side.
"My name's Willy Silver," the new arrival said. "I don't know how my friend got this address but—are you looking for a lead guitarist? Have I come at a bad time?"
"No! Not at all. You want to audition?" Eddi recognized it as a silly question, and hurried on. "Go ahead and set up. The drummer and the bass player should be back any minute." That reminded her of Dan, and she looked for him in his little fortress of equipment. He was staring at Willy Silver as if the latter were a famous sculpture that had just appeared, and Dan hadn't decided whether to admire it or worry that someone would accuse him of stealing it.
Carla came rattling up the stairs with four cups of coffee. She stopped at the sight of Willy Silver unpacking a guitar made of some dark red wood, and looked as stupefied as Eddi. The phouka took the tray of cups away from her gently, and Eddi made the introductions.
By the time Willy was set up and in tune, Hedge was back and hunched over his bass. He seemed as oblivious to Willy as he was to everything, and barely nodded when he was introduced. Eddi found that comforting.
Willy took off his jacket to reveal a high-collared, creamy white shirt that Eddi suspected was silk. He rolled the sleeves up to mid-forearm and hung his guitar on again. Then he looked at Eddi, an open, dazzling gaze from his green eyes. "Where shall we start?"
Eddi resisted the temptation to tell him, and said, "Do you know, 'Thrill of the Grill'? Kim Carnes?"
"Well enough."
Eddi left her guitar in the stand and went to the mike. Carla gave Willy a pair of four-beats, and he led off with a fast rhythmic fuzzedout riff. Carla spiked it with her high-hat cymbal on the two and four counts, and it sounded so fine that Eddi almost forgot to sing. He cut way back during the verse to leave room for her vocals and Dan's vaguely demented repeating melody between the lines of lyrics. Between them they gave the first verse a feeling of breath-holding anticipation. Then Carla kicked in with the drum fill that signaled the chorus, Hedge and his bass came into the mix, and the waiting was over. Willy's voice added new weight to Carla's and Dan's harmonies. The bridge, when they got to it, was nice and tight, and Willy's lead break was manic, crisp, and tasty. Eddi could feel them all catching fire off each other, responding to each other's experiments. Carla ended the whole thing with a Keith Moon-like percussive frenzy.
"Ah," said Carla, when the last chord had faded. "Better than sex."
Eddi found herself blushing.
"Speak for yourself," Dan said. "But yeah, that was all right."
"All right? Come on, Rochelle, loosen up." Carla sighed. "We were terrific. We charmed the bolts out of the rafters." She turned to Eddi, and pointed at Willy Silver. "Where did you find this guy?"
"Just lucky, I guess." Eddi looked at Willy and looked away, feeling unaccountably shy. "Still interested?"
"Maybe—but you haven't heard it all yet." He opened the smaller case at his feet and lifted out an electrified violin.
There was a question in his face, a challenge. He wasn't asking if she wanted him to play the violin; he was daring her to think of something for him to play it on.
"Oh, let's do some nice cobwebby David Bowie," Eddi said, and picked up her guitar. "Can you play 'Suffragette City' on that?"
A fierce, lopsided grin washed across his face, and he propped the violin under his chin.
It was superb. Willy and Dan worked out the balance between fiddle and synthesizer by what seemed telepathy, and Eddi kept her own guitar playing at something just beyond percussion. They were demented, they were loud, they were ridiculously theatrical. Carla threw her sticks in the air and caught them on the fly. Dan hunched over the keys like Frankenstein over his monster. Hedge wrinkled his nose and showed his teeth occasionally, which for Hedge was the
"My name's Willy Silver," the new arrival said. "I don't know how my friend got this address but—are you looking for a lead guitarist? Have I come at a bad time?"
"No! Not at all. You want to audition?" Eddi recognized it as a silly question, and hurried on. "Go ahead and set up. The drummer and the bass player should be back any minute." That reminded her of Dan, and she looked for him in his little fortress of equipment. He was staring at Willy Silver as if the latter were a famous sculpture that had just appeared, and Dan hadn't decided whether to admire it or worry that someone would accuse him of stealing it.
Carla came rattling up the stairs with four cups of coffee. She stopped at the sight of Willy Silver unpacking a guitar made of some dark red wood, and looked as stupefied as Eddi. The phouka took the tray of cups away from her gently, and Eddi made the introductions.
By the time Willy was set up and in tune, Hedge was back and hunched over his bass. He seemed as oblivious to Willy as he was to everything, and barely nodded when he was introduced. Eddi found that comforting.
Willy took off his jacket to reveal a high-collared, creamy white shirt that Eddi suspected was silk. He rolled the sleeves up to mid-forearm and hung his guitar on again. Then he looked at Eddi, an open, dazzling gaze from his green eyes. "Where shall we start?"
Eddi resisted the temptation to tell him, and said, "Do you know, 'Thrill of the Grill'? Kim Carnes?"
"Well enough."
Eddi left her guitar in the stand and went to the mike. Carla gave Willy a pair of four-beats, and he led off with a fast rhythmic fuzzedout riff. Carla spiked it with her high-hat cymbal on the two and four counts, and it sounded so fine that Eddi almost forgot to sing. He cut way back during the verse to leave room for her vocals and Dan's vaguely demented repeating melody between the lines of lyrics. Between them they gave the first verse a feeling of breath-holding anticipation. Then Carla kicked in with the drum fill that signaled the chorus, Hedge and his bass came into the mix, and the waiting was over. Willy's voice added new weight to Carla's and Dan's harmonies. The bridge, when they got to it, was nice and tight, and Willy's lead break was manic, crisp, and tasty. Eddi could feel them all catching fire off each other, responding to each other's experiments. Carla ended the whole thing with a Keith Moon-like percussive frenzy.
"Ah," said Carla, when the last chord had faded. "Better than sex."
Eddi found herself blushing.
"Speak for yourself," Dan said. "But yeah, that was all right."
"All right? Come on, Rochelle, loosen up." Carla sighed. "We were terrific. We charmed the bolts out of the rafters." She turned to Eddi, and pointed at Willy Silver. "Where did you find this guy?"
"Just lucky, I guess." Eddi looked at Willy and looked away, feeling unaccountably shy. "Still interested?"
"Maybe—but you haven't heard it all yet." He opened the smaller case at his feet and lifted out an electrified violin.
There was a question in his face, a challenge. He wasn't asking if she wanted him to play the violin; he was daring her to think of something for him to play it on.
"Oh, let's do some nice cobwebby David Bowie," Eddi said, and picked up her guitar. "Can you play 'Suffragette City' on that?"
A fierce, lopsided grin washed across his face, and he propped the violin under his chin.
It was superb. Willy and Dan worked out the balance between fiddle and synthesizer by what seemed telepathy, and Eddi kept her own guitar playing at something just beyond percussion. They were demented, they were loud, they were ridiculously theatrical. Carla threw her sticks in the air and caught them on the fly. Dan hunched over the keys like Frankenstein over his monster. Hedge wrinkled his nose and showed his teeth occasionally, which for Hedge was the
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