rim of hysteria. Eddi did Joan Jett cheerleader leaps. And Willy . . . he jumped, he swaggered, he danced, he mugged shamelessly. He was beautiful.
When it was over, Eddi flung her head back and laughed for sheer excess adrenaline. Then she saw the phouka.
He was standing very straight against the right-hand wall. His chin was a little tucked, in a way that made him look wary. His black tilted eyes were wide, and they met hers before his gaze slid downward, before he could shutter away his look of dread and longing behind his eyelids.
Her mood faltered as the phouka walked out of sight behind a hanging sheet. Then Dan started up a sustained, electric gospel chord on the synthesizer, and intoned, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called Life. . . ."
Willy laughed, set down the violin and grabbed for his guitar. He shot Eddi a sideways glance and a teasing grin as he slid the strap overhis shoulder. Eddi's insides gave a curious, not unpleasant lurch. Then they both turned to watch Dan ham his way through the introduction to "Let's Go Crazy."
Carla started the drumbeat, and they poised for the leap into the song. Dan got to, "In this life, you're on your own!" and with a pointing finger, handed the lyrics off to Eddi as Willy and Hedge began the slashing low-end rhythms of the guitar intro.
Willy had turned to watch her, playing everything to her. It egged her on. She matched his guitar riffs, then let him split off into a burst of single notes, then matched him again. She began to mimic his movements and he noticed and responded, until they'd established an improvised choreography. Sometimes they were shoulder to shoulder, the necks of their guitars parallel as railroad tracks, and she thought she could hear him breathing. She sang into whichever mike was nearest, and on the choruses they sang into one mike, their faces close to keep within the pickup range. They mugged at each other, baring their teeth like a pair of snarling cats. His green eyes glowed like deep water.
They led the band through the song as if it were a circular staircase they ran up. At its peak Eddi let him go, let him tear into a solo that seemed to rend the air apart. His whole body went into it, arching backward like a parenthesis, and she could see the moment at which he became unconscious to anything but sound. The last chord was both the resolution they had rushed eagerly toward, and the bittersweet end of it.
Carla whistled and cheered, and Danny sprang out of his fortress and ran over to thump her on the back. Hedge looked judicious, and nodded.
Willy wiped tendrils of damp hair off his forehead and licked his lips, catching a bead of sweat that sparkled near the corner of his mouth. Eddi's shirt was sticking to her back.
Willy grinned suddenly at her. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Wanna join a band?" she said.
Willy nodded. "Good idea."
None of them could resist trying a few more. They did the Beatles, "I'm Happy Just to Dance With You" as the Ramones might have covered it. As they came out of it, Willy said, "Oh, hell," and cranked up the characteristic lead line for "Johnny B. Goode." When they were done, they did it over as snaky blues. At last Eddi declared them officially off duty, and Carla suggested going out for coffee.
"Not Embers, not Perkins, and Chester's is too far away," Eddi said.
"Nope, nope, let's go where everybody goes to gossip about everyone else's band. The Ediner. Calhoun Square."
"They got room to sit six people?" Dan asked.
Eddi remembered the phouka, and looked around. He was not in sight. She propped her guitar in its stand and went the way she had seen him go earlier, around the wall of sheets.
He was looking out the grimy windows at the passing lights of traffic on Washington Avenue, one forearm against the glass to pillow his head. He looked up when he heard her, and smiled.
"Sounds wonderful," he said.
She licked her lips. "Are you okay?"
"Always, my primrose. What, have
When it was over, Eddi flung her head back and laughed for sheer excess adrenaline. Then she saw the phouka.
He was standing very straight against the right-hand wall. His chin was a little tucked, in a way that made him look wary. His black tilted eyes were wide, and they met hers before his gaze slid downward, before he could shutter away his look of dread and longing behind his eyelids.
Her mood faltered as the phouka walked out of sight behind a hanging sheet. Then Dan started up a sustained, electric gospel chord on the synthesizer, and intoned, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called Life. . . ."
Willy laughed, set down the violin and grabbed for his guitar. He shot Eddi a sideways glance and a teasing grin as he slid the strap overhis shoulder. Eddi's insides gave a curious, not unpleasant lurch. Then they both turned to watch Dan ham his way through the introduction to "Let's Go Crazy."
Carla started the drumbeat, and they poised for the leap into the song. Dan got to, "In this life, you're on your own!" and with a pointing finger, handed the lyrics off to Eddi as Willy and Hedge began the slashing low-end rhythms of the guitar intro.
Willy had turned to watch her, playing everything to her. It egged her on. She matched his guitar riffs, then let him split off into a burst of single notes, then matched him again. She began to mimic his movements and he noticed and responded, until they'd established an improvised choreography. Sometimes they were shoulder to shoulder, the necks of their guitars parallel as railroad tracks, and she thought she could hear him breathing. She sang into whichever mike was nearest, and on the choruses they sang into one mike, their faces close to keep within the pickup range. They mugged at each other, baring their teeth like a pair of snarling cats. His green eyes glowed like deep water.
They led the band through the song as if it were a circular staircase they ran up. At its peak Eddi let him go, let him tear into a solo that seemed to rend the air apart. His whole body went into it, arching backward like a parenthesis, and she could see the moment at which he became unconscious to anything but sound. The last chord was both the resolution they had rushed eagerly toward, and the bittersweet end of it.
Carla whistled and cheered, and Danny sprang out of his fortress and ran over to thump her on the back. Hedge looked judicious, and nodded.
Willy wiped tendrils of damp hair off his forehead and licked his lips, catching a bead of sweat that sparkled near the corner of his mouth. Eddi's shirt was sticking to her back.
Willy grinned suddenly at her. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Wanna join a band?" she said.
Willy nodded. "Good idea."
None of them could resist trying a few more. They did the Beatles, "I'm Happy Just to Dance With You" as the Ramones might have covered it. As they came out of it, Willy said, "Oh, hell," and cranked up the characteristic lead line for "Johnny B. Goode." When they were done, they did it over as snaky blues. At last Eddi declared them officially off duty, and Carla suggested going out for coffee.
"Not Embers, not Perkins, and Chester's is too far away," Eddi said.
"Nope, nope, let's go where everybody goes to gossip about everyone else's band. The Ediner. Calhoun Square."
"They got room to sit six people?" Dan asked.
Eddi remembered the phouka, and looked around. He was not in sight. She propped her guitar in its stand and went the way she had seen him go earlier, around the wall of sheets.
He was looking out the grimy windows at the passing lights of traffic on Washington Avenue, one forearm against the glass to pillow his head. He looked up when he heard her, and smiled.
"Sounds wonderful," he said.
She licked her lips. "Are you okay?"
"Always, my primrose. What, have
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