“No, you’ll be keeping me company. Though I should warn you, I’m not on until late and checkout is at eleven. We won’t get much sleep.”

  Oh, well. If I was going to be up all night, who better to be with than Ash, right?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AFTER SOUND CHECK, I drove us back to the hotel. Hatch was still at our table, surrounded by a half pot of coffee, two tall glasses of something tropical, a mug of dark beer, a bread basket, and a plate of bacon strips.

  “Ah, you’re just in time,” he said and slid a handwritten sheet across the table.

  I cleared some space and read. The first paragraph looked familiar. “What’s this?”

  “I’ve always found editing other people’s work relaxing. Tell me what you think.”

  I kept reading. Hatch had taken the rough draft I’d been working on, along with some ideas I’d jotted down in the margin, and somehow melded them together. It was all my words, give or take a few additions, arranged with a lot more punch. “This is good.”

  “I thought so, too. Happy hour’s almost over. These are on special.” He tapped the tropical drink with his pencil.

  “What is it?” I asked. The colors looked suspiciously artificial.

  “If I had to guess: powdered fruit punch with two ounces of paint thinner. They get better after the third round.”

  “Hmm, I’ll stick with water, thanks. I’m going to watch Ash play tonight.” I couldn’t keep myself from smiling and felt my cheeks go a few shades of pink. Hatch eyed me without expression for several moments until his eyebrows lifted slowly.

  “Well, you’d better finish up this draft before you get high on all those good vibes. Oh, and I talked to my guy. He’ll get back to me.”

  “Thanks,” I said. Considering how it had turned out with Brett Paige, it didn’t sound that promising, but any phone call Hatch made on my behalf was a welcome one. I read through my article again. “I’m thinking of adding a part about Ash’s gig here. What do you think?”

  “I think you should follow your instincts.”

  “Hey, are you going to come out tonight?”

  His eyebrows went up again.

  “What?”

  He slid a copy of The Times across the table. “Flip to page four.”

  I found what he was talking about: a review of the “Trailblazers of Journalism” talk he’d walked out of. Beside it was an old and famous photo of him standing on the hood of a cab in Times Square, holding a cocktail and a cigarette. The writer even mentioned his grab-and-dash with the crate of booze at the show in the hangar. But as reviews went, it was a pretty good one that painted Hatch’s antics as more of the stuff of legend than a criminal offence. “The guy’s obviously a fan,” I said.

  “Good thing there’s still a few of them left with a pulse,” Hatch said, a grin sweeping his face. “So, to answer your question about the show tonight, I will be attending.” He folded the paper portentously and slid it beneath his cigarettes. The silence that followed hinted he had a plan.

  “Bread stick?” he said, offering the basket to me.

  There was a long line of people outside the venue. I was behind the wheel. Ash was in the passenger seat, focusing on deep-breathing her nerves away. Hatch was in the back, sitting sideways in the bucket seat, penciling notes into the small ringed pad he kept in his shirt pocket behind his smokes. He looked quite sharp in a clean white v-neck and a pair of black jeans. His circa 1970s plaid shirt and aviators were probably the same ones he’d worn on the cover of Lizard Crossing, his most famous book. He looked like he’d beamed down from a groovier time. Which is probably why everyone recognized him within seconds. As we all walked closer to the line-up, people started shouting his name. He veered straight into the thick of it.

  “I’ll meet you in there,” he yelled back at us.

  “Come on,” Ash said. “He’ll be all right.”

  We went in through the back doors. Ash showed her pass to the doorman and when they eyed me, Ash told them, “She’s my dancer.”

  “More of a technical assistant,” I felt compelled to say as I walked past them. Ash was smiling. Her nerves seemed to have settled. She grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crush of bodies toward the stairs. We had a lot of time to kill before her set and had a plan to wait it out on the balcony above the dance floor. But then an organizer raced up to us with a frantic look on his face. “Can you go on now? Sol has been playing since the beginning of the night.”

  Ash’s eyes widened. “What happened to Sonical?”

  “He missed his connection and won’t be here for another two hours. If you can’t do it-”

  “I can do it. I can definitely do it,” Ash insisted.

  He led us under the stage where a lift was waiting. We stood on the platform at the bottom while they told the guy on stage what was happening so he could begin his transition.

  Ash was shaking. “Shit! My helmet’s in the van! Can you go get it?”

  I took hold of her hands. “I will, but … do you really need it?”

  She looked completely terrified. “I don’t know. I’ve never performed in front of this many people.”

  “It’s okay. You’re prepared. Everything is set up. We checked it all. You’re going to be great,” I said.

  She took a few deep breaths. “I guess I can see better without it, right? How’s my hair?”

  “Your hair is great.” She literally always looked great.

  “Thank you for being here.” She gave me a quick hug. “Shit, I forgot about the mic!” But just then, the platform lifted. “Never mind,” she said and took another deep breath. “Here we go.”

  She took her spot in front of her mixing board. There was a literal sea of people on the dance floor. I felt awkward just standing there with nothing to do until I remembered the audience wasn’t looking at me. They were watching the new DJ who had just walked onstage.

  Ash stuck in her ear monitors and flicked a few switches on her board. Lights flickered up and down. She bobbed her head along to the beat while tapping a button on her mixer. She and the other DJ exchanged a few hand signals, and then Ash faded in.

  It was subtle at first and I really wasn’t sure who was doing what until the other guy stepped back and Ash kicked in fully. That was when I understood what she’d meant by dirt and crunch and all those other technical words she’d used. Her sound was huge. The other DJ grooved along for a few minutes while the crowd gave him a warm round of applause. He patted both of us on the back before stepping onto the platform and disappearing below. Ash looked over at me, her ember eyes glowing. She was back in her comfort zone and the crowd already seemed to love every minute of it.

  As for me, standing under a spotlight in front of that many people, I was miles out of my comfort zone, but whenever I threw my hands in the air, the crowd in front of the stage did too. Things felt a little easier after I figured that out because it gave me something to do.

  Ash was glowing the whole time she steered us through her set, pushing and pulling parts, moving them around, and bouncing them off each other. The heat under the lights was intense. Ash’s waves coiled into rings down the back of her neck. My sunflower t-shirt and jeans soon felt like they were pasted to me, but the music made everything feel silky smooth. After a while, I completely forgot I was up there.

  Then the crowd parted, and a large inflatable yellow duck started bobbing its way through the sea of dancers. The pool floaty circled Hatch’s waist and it hung from his shoulders by a rope criss-crossed like a set of suspenders. Hatch danced toward the stage, the ridiculous smiling duck face leading him through the crowd. Everyone cheered him on. Ash smiled down at him and raised her fist in the air. Hatch raised his in response. Clutched in his hand were a microphone and his little notebook.

  Ash held the beat but pushed her melodic lines back in the mix as Hatch’s low southern drawl cut straight down the center of the room. The whole dancefloor turned to him, standing in the middle of the floor with his duck. Bolstered by all that good energy and Hatch’s commitment to every line, Ash improvised, adding echoes to words and phrases until the air felt like it was dancing. The drop landed on his last word, and everyone on the dance floor went wild.

  The headliner arrived three hours late to a very satisfied crowd. By then, it was after two o’clock in the morning. The applause lasted long after Ash left the stage. The organizer congratulated Ash and told her someone was waiting in the green room. We figured it was Hatch, but when we got there, a guy in a shiny black leather jacket and a snazzy pair of silver boots introduced himself.

  “Great set. Glad I made it,” he said.

  “Yeah, me too,” Ash laughed. She walked over to the table of bottled water and grabbed a couple, tossing one to me before offering him one. “What brings you here?”

  “I came to see Sonical.”

  “You and everyone else,” Ash laughed. “He’s out there now.”

  “He is. But frankly… after your set, I’d rather talk to you. You’re playing the tents at Showdown, right?”

  “I am. Thursday afternoon,” Ash said proudly.

  “How would you like to play the main stage?”

  We found Hatch in the parking lot, sitting on top of the van with his new inflatable duck, a fresh cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He called to everyone gathered below to give Ash a round of applause. People took pictures.

  When we finished packing up her gear, I drove us back to the hotel. The sky was just turning from inky black to indigo. Ash sat in the van with her seat back, gazing happily out the window. Now and then, she would catch me looking over at her and would smile back at me.

  Hatch was drumming his fingers against his chin, looking as though he might be pondering some great internal question. Then I realized his eyes were closed behind his sunglasses. I caught my reflection in my side mirror, rosy-cheeked and smiling. I hadn’t stopped smiling all night. The day looked like it was going to be all sun and blue skies - perfect for our drive to Gaz’s. I parked the van in the shade so Hatch could get a few hours of sleep before checkout time.

  Ash and I took the elevator up to our fifth-floor room and I realized how exhausted I was. Ash ambled slowly, zig-zagging a little as she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. She gave me a dreamy look through her dark waves before sliding the key into the lock, waiting a moment before pushing the door open. “You want to shower first?”

  “Err, no, you go ahead. I’ll go after.”

  Given the size of the apartment I shared with Nadia, you’d think I’d be used to moving in close quarters with another human. But Ash and I kept colliding as we gathered the things we needed for our turns in the shower. Something had shifted between us. After spending such a long day cooped up with each other, it was strange to suddenly feel so shy and nervous. All I could think about was that in just a few short minutes, I’d be falling asleep, or trying to, just a few feet away from her.

  The bathroom door opened, and Ash appeared through the steam. Her hair was wet. She wore a long, loose-fitting t-shirt and bare legs - a fact I couldn’t seem to ignore. She was still awake when I was done with my shower. By then, the sun was already cutting through the curtains. My body felt deeply confused for so many reasons.

  Ash was on her bed with her bare thigh angled out of her sheet and her arm tucked under her pillow. The lamp between the beds cast a warm halo of light on her wet hair. I slid between my sheets and laid a towel across my pillow. I smiled over at her. She smiled back. Her eyes drifted slowly across the space between us and focused on me. “Thank you for being there tonight,” she whispered.

  As the comfort of my mattress seemed to swallow me whole, my body relaxed. “You were amazing,” I whispered and heard my voice drift slowly away.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A HANDFUL OF hours later, we were up again with only a few minutes to spare until checkout. We dressed quickly with our backs turned, shyly avoiding each other’s eyes. We found Hatch at his usual table in the restaurant, surrounded by newspapers and sheets torn from his yellow notepad.

  “Whatcha workin’ on?” Ash asked.

  He flipped a piece of paper across the table at us and tapped it with the tip of his pencil. On it were a few scribbled lines and a cartoon pig. I could make no sense of it.

  “Gaz is giving us the barn tonight,” he said.

  “Great,” Ash said, smiling over at me. “Hope the pig doesn’t mind.”

  “He’s having a party. Just a few friends,” Hatch added. “He asked if you wanted to play.”

  We were on a secondary road somewhere between Danville and Russell Springs. On the dusty road ahead, a lone hitchhiker stood with a backpack, his image wavering in the heat waves coming off the asphalt.

  “He’s a long way from anywhere,” Ash said.

  Hatch’s newspaper rustled behind us. He was lounging in the back on his yellow duck. “Hitchhiker?”

  “Yep,” Ash said. “Bet he’s been out here a while.”

  “Well, pick him up,” Hatch said.

  Ash frowned. “We are not picking up a hitchhiker.”

  Hatch got up on his knees and aimed his aviators out the window. “Go on, what’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  Ash looked back at him. “He has an axe strapped to the side of his backpack.”

  “A mountain man needs tools,” Hatch said.

  Ash swept her hand across the flat horizon. “Observe the utter lack of mountains.”

  This was all hilarious until the shocker when Ash steered the van onto the shoulder. Through the side mirror, we all watched the hitchhiker walk toward us.

  “Tell me that’s not a Confederate patch,” Ash said.

  “Could get awkward,” Hatch said.

  “Maybe we should say sorry and keep driving,” I suggested.

  “Look, he’s slowing his pace,” Hatch said. “Unmarked van with California plates? Probably queers and liberals. Second thoughts grip his lower bowel. He’s asking himself what kind of madwoman stops on the side of a dirty, forgotten road to pick up a man with an axe?”

  “Hey, this was your idea!” Ash said.

  “Didn’t think you’d do it. You’re crazier than I thought.”

  “Should we just go?” I offered again.

  “Too late,” Hatch said. “We’re committed. Pay your nickel, take your chance. Law of the road.”

  “Actually, the law of the road says no hitchhiking,” I said.

  “Are we staying or going?” Ash asked.

  “We’re staying, and I’m gonna deal with this like a man.” Hatch slid open the side door and leaned out. His Hawaiian shirt hung open, and the perky yellow head of his inflatable duck bobbed lewdly at the hitchhiker. Hatch squawked the mike of the CB radio, and drawled with all the passion of a fire and brimstone preacher, “I’m a-lookin’ for a four-letter word that-a rhymes with luck. Can you help me, stranger?”

  From the look of horror on the hitchhiker’s face, the answer was a big hell no. He back-peddled into a cloud of dust.

  “Hey! Where are you goin’? It’s duck! The answer’s duck!” Hatch yelled after him.

  Ash laughed. “Classic Hatch. Always the weirdest guy in the room.”

  Hatch squinted down the dusty road. “Better get off this trail. He might have friends in those knolls; friends who can rhyme four and five-letter words. And what then? What then?”

  “Copy that,” Ash said, glancing in her rearview. “You know… I feel kinda sorry for the guy. Should we ask if he needs help? Leave him some food.”

  I agreed. It didn’t feel right to drive away and leave him there. “We have half a bag of chips, a few cookies, and... whatever this is.” One of Hatch’s gas station counter purchases was warming oozily inside a plastic bag.

  Ash put the van in park. “Ask him if he’s okay over the mic.”

  “So he can lie and worm his way in?” Hatch said. He laid back in his duck and lifted his paper. “Never take your eyes off… the axe.”

  Ash reached for her DJ helmet and put it on.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  Helmet on, she opened the sliding door and swung herself out. Over the mic, she called out to the hitchhiker. “We mean you no harm!” But there was a weird phaser-like effect on the radio system that made her sound like an alien.

  “And I’m the weirdest one in the room?” Hatch muttered.

  “Oh, for fuck sake,” Ash mumbled through the effect again, sounding like a pissed-off alien as she fumbled to switch off the phaser effect. “We didn’t mean to scare you. Do you need help?”

  The hitchhiker frowned and then sort of waggled his head non-specifically.

  “Was that a yes or no?” I wondered out loud. Then the guy did something confusing with his hands.

  “No idea what any of that means,” Ash mumbled. She took the driver’s seat again and kicked the van into hard reverse. Through my side view, I could see the guy jump backward so fast he tripped into the brush.

  “Jeez, now you’re trying to run him down,” Hatch said.

  Ash stopped the van abruptly and jumped out, ripping off her helmet. “Dude, are you okay?”

  He relaxed a little when he saw her actual face, but he kept his distance. “Err, my motorcycle is...” His English was broken. He pointed into the bush.

  “Oh, no! Did you have an accident?”

  “Wheel, uh, pshhhh,” he said, making an explosive movement with his hands. “I push ...” he waved his hand at a point beyond the knoll. “No, uh, people stop for me. But you ...” he laughed nervously and took another step back.

  “You scared him, all right,” Hatch said. And then he rattled off a few sentences in what sounded like three different languages. The stranger brightened and began speaking a mile a minute. Ash and I stood there watching.

  “All right, kid. We’ll get you sorted,” Hatch said.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20