Lasting Damage Page 2

  She gave Harper a wicked grin. “Does the bear shit in the woods?”

  “I guess the one about the Pope being Polish doesn't really work anymore.” She picked up her drink and swallowed the last of it down.

  “That was quite a few popes ago.” She teased. “So, was I right about the bourbon with no ice?”

  “You were.” Harper agreed. “It's good.”

  “Just good?” She narrowed her eyes and gave Harper a sideways glance that produced a nice shiver up her spine. “Are you sure there isn’t a more descriptive word you could use?”

  “What if I try and think of one while you set me up a double?” She folded her hands in front of her and grinned. “Only this time can I get the big girl cup?”

  “What?” She picked up the shot glass and replaced it with an appropriatly-sized one. “No sippy straw?”

  “I promise not to spill anything on the floor.” Harper announced as she watched the bartender pour her a fresh drink. “So, there's a direct correlation between band suckage and groupie quality?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Harper looked in the corner where four blond women sat sipping their drinks and talking to each other. “But they're decent looking.”

  “It's not about looks. It's about quality and quantity.”

  “Why don’t you explain this fascinating equation to me?” Harper picked up her drink, took a sip and set the glass back on the bar. She wasn’t desperate to keep the bartender talking but she certainly did enjoy the sound of her voice.

  “I already told you, it's a mix of quantity and quality. You want a wide range of groupies following you. Big girls and skinny girls. Tall ones and short ones. Pretty and not so pretty. All kinds of girls for all kinds of guys. It's really good if a band rolls in and there's even a few guys in the mix. You know, for the drummer? Just in case girls aren't his thing.” She gave her eyebrows a suggestive little wiggle. “A really good band has all those bases covered before they hit town.”

  “It’s hard to argue with that kind of logic.” Harper replied.

  “It also helps if the band can fill up a place better than this.” She looked around the room before sliding a full bowl of kettle fried chips in front of Harper. “This doesn't even cover the bill to keep the toilets running.”

  “Maybe they just haven’t found their audience yet?”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with audience.” She stated with assuredness. “These boneheads didn't do a sound check and the bass player plugged his bass into a guitar amp. There is no way in hell this band is going to be anything but complete donkey-shit.”

  “You sound pretty confident with your assessment.” Harper picked up a chip and put it back down in the bowl. It seemed sacrilegious to eat chips with top shelf booze.

  “I know my way around a mixing board,” she said. “My brother's an audio engineer. He runs a small recording studio in the city so I've picked up a few things.”

  Up until that moment Harper never experienced the sensation of having her stomach leap into her lungs. She always assumed it was how people explained the rush of adrenalin they felt before they did the one thing they really weren’t supposed to do. Harper picked up her glass and took a healthy drink without making eye contact. She needed a moment to think. A moment to decide how she should proceed now that she suspected she’d been chatting up her audio engineer’s sister.

  She knew it wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened, but Riley Hollis was a good friend as well as the best audio guy around and if she was ever going to fix her wreck of an album she needed to stay on his good side.

  “Are you going to tell the bass player about his amp?”

  “If they're too cheap to show up here with their own sound guy and too stupid to do a sound check, they're on their own.” She nodded toward the stage and winced as the band started tuning up. “Remember, I'm just the bartender.”

  “Is that how you see yourself?” Harper asked before taking another drink. “As being ‘just the bartender’?”

  “It’s not the worst example of self-perception a human ever had,” she replied. “It’s good to see yourself for who you are and an important part of that is expressed through what we do for a living.”

  “So, you’re a bartender and a philosopher?” Harper set the glass down and smiled.

  “Only if you want me to be,” she laughed. “I’ve been known to wear all kinds of hats.

  Harper contemplated making a quick exit before she got herself into trouble. “I suppose it would be very forward of me to ask if you have a name?” Harper asked before taking the last drink in the glass.

  The bartender bit her lip as she leaned closer to whisper, “It might be.”

  “So, you’re not going to tell me what it is?” Harper took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of expensive perfume on clean skin. It was better than anything she’d ever smelled before.

  “I never said that?” She shook her head before moving back a little.

  “I tell you what,” Harper paused. “You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine.”

  “Mutual name telling? I like that concept.” She picked up Harper’s empty glass and placed it on the counter behind her. “Let’s do this.”

  “First name only or do you want first, middle and last?” Harper asked.

  “I'm thinking that a first name only basis will suit us just fine.”

  “My name's Harper.”

  “Nice.” She nodded thoughtfully. “It's good to meet you Harper. My name is Jane.”

  “Jane?” Harper’s mouth went dry as the situation locked into place for her. Riley sent her into the club to check out the band and maybe meet his sister, Jane. Harper hadn’t been told much, only that she worked behind the bar and she might be able to supply them with a workable list of musician’s looking to pick up a little session work. Riley said that his sister had a good ear for undiscovered talent, and that if she wasn’t such a giant pain in the ass, would make one hell of a manager or talent scout for a record company.

  The one thing Riley hadn’t bothered to tell her was whether or not his sister was into girls.

  “It’s a very nice name.” She managed to say once her brain stopped swirling around.

  “Sort of a letdown after you dazzled me with ‘Harper’ but hey, it's the best I've got.”

  “Not at all,” Harper assured her. “So, Jane? What's next on the drinking menu?”

  “Pappy Von Winkles Family Reserve.” Jane’s green eyes flashed with excitement as she headed up the stepladder one more time. “Sixty-five dollars an ounce, ninety-five point six proof, and aged to the tender ate of twenty-three. It's all yours if you're up for it?”

  “Up for it?” She replied as she grabbed a napkin from the pile in front of her and decided it was time to hand out her phone number. “Oh, I am definitely up for anything you're serving.”

  2.

  Harper kept looking between the mixing board and her laptop for a place to cut into the track she and Riley had left off on. The whole process was starting to feel rushed and tense. She feared it was going to show up in the final mix if they didn’t find a solution soon. Tracks were stacking up and if she spent all her time coddling one the rest would be affected.

  “I can’t tell if I’m late or you’re early.” Riley set a cup of coffee down next to her before taking a seat.

  “Neither,” she sighed. She was used to working on her own so she kept hours that would drive most people insane but Riley seemed determined to keep up with her. “I’ve been here since eleven.”

  “Jesus, kid,” he laughed. “This isn’t going to work if you stop sleeping.”

  “Is it too late to scrap this one?” Harper asked the question she’d been turning over in her head for the past few days and hoped he had more of an answer than she did.

  “I’m the wrong person to answer that question,” he chuckled. “You’re the creative genius.”

  “That’s a compliment I don’t deserve.” Harper hit the spa
ce bar on the computer and listened to another five seconds of the track. She’d been going over it for hours, each time hating it a little more. She knew she was supposed to be listening with an objective ear, but her brain was tired and it wanted to replace the track with something bright, shiny and new.

  “You need to get away from this for a while.” Riley advised.

  “I did,” she said.

  “Good.”

  “As a matter of fact I took your advice and went in search of your sister.” Harper spoke fast, she needed to get the words out before she lost her nerve.

  “Jane?” Riley cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

  “Is there another one?”

  “There’s only one Jane.” He turned up the distortion on the board for a second before turning it back down again. “I have two sisters but I’d advise against meeting Alice.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, she’s difficult to describe, but saying Alice is a handful is a serious understatement.” He responded “She puts Marianne Faithful to shame.”

  “Ouch,” Harper drew a breath and winced dramatically.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love my baby sister,” he paused. “It’s just that she’d not easy to take in large doses. Jane’s roommate, Lily, is the only person who can keep up with her.”

  “Keep up?” Harper asked as she changed the timing on the track and slowed it down.

  “You’d probably see them in action to get a better understanding of what I’m talking about,” said Riley. “So? What did you think of Jane?”

  “Would you get mad if I told you I wasn’t sure yet?”

  “Not really.” Riley picked up his coffee and gave it a swirl before setting it back down again. He seemed reluctant to commit to drinking it. “She’s one of those people that people either really love or really hate. There’s no middle ground with her.”

  “She’s difficult to read.”

  “Another common complaint.” He assured her. “It comes from being raised by completely insane parents.”

  Harper pressed her palms to her eyes and gave them both a good rub. She didn’t have to ask Riley for an explanation, she’d already met Iris McConnely, one of the uncrowned queens of grunge and Anders Hollis, the mastermind behind orchestral, electronic house music who made his fortune scoring soundtracks for big budget action films. She naturally assumed growing up in the middle of that particular parental sandwich couldn’t be easy.

  “I think I might like her,” she admitted.

  “I figured you would.” Riley ran a hand through his messy blond hair and yawned.

  “Why is that?” Harper asked.

  Riley eyed her carefully. “Why do I get the impression you want me to give you a very specific answer?”

  “Because my life feels complicated and difficult enough.” She admitted with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

  “And?” Riley asked.

  “I’m not a fan of falling for girls that like guys.”

  “Neither is Jane.” He grinned. “I’m not sure but I think it has something to do with her being a lesbian.”

  “You are such a pain in the ass.”

  “I know,” he laughed. “Now, speaking of difficult?”

  “Oh god,” she whined. “What?”

  “I think we should drop this track for a while,” he said. “It’s missing something and neither one of us is clearheaded enough to figure it out.”

  “It needs a different voice.” She felt her shoulders drop from the tension she’d been holding onto. “I’m just not sure about the details.”

  Riley flipped open his laptop and pressed the power button. “I’m running Kara Olsen in Boston Saturday night. You want me to ask her if she’s interested in picking up the work? We can pull in a few session players or get your band to come in for a day or two?”

  “Could you pick someone a little easier to work with?” Harper frowned. “Kara and I don’t exactly have a good working relationship.”

  “I always assumed that problem wasn’t the working relationship,” he said as the computer came to life. “And sometimes a difficult collaboration produces the best sound.”

  “Mark called yesterday.” Harper closed her eyes and pressed her head to the back of the chair and tried to ignore the panic settling in her chest at the mention of her agent. “He’s already setting up North American dates for the tour.”

  “In this business being busy is a good thing.” He reminded her. “Not everyone gets lucky enough to have that kind of problem.”

  “The album’s not even mixed yet and I’ve got shit piling up.” Harper groaned. “I was just hoping for more time off.”

  Riley set his coffee cup down on the table and scooted closer to the mixing board. “You can rest when you’re dead.”

  Harper ran her hands through her hair, giving her scalp a good scratch before straitening up in her seat. “Fine,” she sighed. “Talk to Kara and see if she’s interested. Maybe we can set something up.”

  *****

  “So, are you going to call her?” Chloe asked as she stabbed at a chunk of General Tao’s Chicken with her chopstick and waved it around before popping it into her mouth.

  “She didn’t give me her number.” Jane lied to her friend as she piled four fat, greasy deep fried chicken fingers onto her plate. “Can’t use what I don’t have.”

  “That never stopped you before.” Lily narrowed her dark eyes and stared at her from across the coffee table. “You’ve always liked a challenge.”

  Jane was tempted to tell her she was too old to chase after wanted strange girls, but Lily knew her better than anyone else. She knew all the bad things Jane had done in her life and understood the terrible things she’d wanted to do. More than anyone else Lily Hastings fit as perfectly into the role of confessor as she did that of accomplice, and from the very first day of high school, Lily had Jane’s back and Jane returned the favor without question.

  It was Lily who told her to go to the library when she refused to admit Robin was dumping her for Sarah, and it was Lily who put three week old lobster shells in both of the offending girls lockers, and it was Lily who sat with her while she ate pint after pint of Chubby Hubby ice cream. Lily had also been the one who held her hair when she tried to sew the pieces of her heart back together with Jagerbombs and Vicodan and ended up barfing all over the leather seats of her mother’s new BMW.

  They’d always been there for one another. No secrets and only the palest of lies, but at three in the morning all Jane wanted to do was sit around the coffee table and stuff as much Chinese food into her face as her stomach could handle. After that they’d break into Lily’s medicine chest and see what types of pharmaceutical goodies that lay ahead in the dangerous hours of the morning.

  “Why don’t we talk about you for a while?” Jane suggested as an alternative topic for discussion.

  “Why on earth would we do that?” Chloe asked. “Lily’s never likes to talk about herself.”

  “Of course she does.” Jane pulled her set of chopsticks out of the little paper sleeve and snapped them apart. “Everyone likes being the center of attention.”

  “Don’t try bullshitting a bullshitter, Jane.” Lily warned.

  “And which one of you is the bullshitter?” she asked and started dumping white rice around her chicken pile.

  “Normally I’d tell you to take your pick, but tonight you get to be the liar, Jane.” Chloe announced and grabbed the carton of spare ribs. “I saw her write something on a napkin and give it to you. One can only conclude it was her phone number.”

  “I thought we’d agreed to talk about Lily for a while,” she said, once again trying to dodge the subject.

  “I don’t have anything worth talking about.” Lily replied. “And you’re a lying piece of crap.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You said you didn’t have her number.” Chloe interjected.

  “That wasn’t a lie.” Jane made the pronouncement with so much enthusiasm
it made her guilt all the more obvious. “It was creative truth-telling.”

  Lily shook her head and sighed. “Oh, would you look at that, Jane's trying to justify acting like an asshole.”

  “How am I acting like an asshole?”Jane picked up the container with sweet and sour sauce and poured it over her plate. She kept her eyes down. No good could come from making eye contact with those two barracudas,

  “How aren't you acting like an asshole.” Lily stated with such certainty it was difficult to argue. “The girl is interested in you and you're blowing her off so don't have to deal with anyone but us.”

  “Time to change the record, Lil.” Jane shot back.

  “Fine.” Lily turned her eyes away from Jane and zeroed in on Chloe, who was making herself busy with the sticky, sweet pork. “What’s her name and what does she look like?”

  “Don’t start.” Jane warned with a dangerous look in Chloe’s direction. “She’s just trying to bait you.”

  Chloe looked from Jane to Lily and back to Jane before shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t mind being baited.”

  “So, what does she look like?” Lily asked again.”

  “Well,” Chloe began, “If Jane actually admitted to having a type this girl would fit it perfectly.”

  “Very soft butch and with healthy dash of hipster?” Lily nodded before spearing another piece of chicken. “I bet she wears glasses. God, she’s a chapstick.”

  “I’m not sure about the glasses, but you got the rest right.” Chloe stated as she reached for the little plastic pot of duck sauce. “I don’t know any specific details because I never got really close but she fit the general stats. Tall, thin with a great set of shoulders, a little on the flat-chested side. Dark brown hair, choppy cut with side swept bangs. Jeans and a button-down shirt.”

  “What about her face?” Lily asked to Jane’s dismay.

  “Can the two of you please stop?”