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MY OFFICE DOOR SWUNG open and I looked up expectantly. Even though I tried to look angry, I couldn't help but smile. Then I realized it was Chuck.
"Nice going the other night. I've made one big payment on the debt. After this weekend, the pressure will off."
I twisted my pen in my fingers. "That's great."
Then Chuck paused. I knew there had to be something more than him just popping by to say something nice. Pretty much every time I saw Chuck lately, my stomach churned. And he wasn't making eye contact. Not a good sign. His beady eyes were firmly looking at the manky floorboards of my office – and I bet he wasn't thinking that I deserved a nice carpet in here.
"Even so, I've had an offer on the place."
I dropped my pen.
"What? You're kidding? Why are we even bothering with anything then?"
"Hey, settle. They've just made an offer. I've not said anything yet but it's a good deal. And they want to keep the place running like it is, to carry on my legacy."
I was so pleased I wasn't drinking anything when he said that because I'd have likely choked to death. His legacy? What legacy did he have besides being a douche? If the new owner carried on the douche legacy, then I'd be out of the place so fast.
I was totally convinced that, no matter what he said, if he had half a chance to sell the place, he'd jump on the cash. And I didn't trust this offer one little bit. It wasn't like this was a labor of love for Chuck. It was a labor of making money and picking up chicks.
"They say that but then they get their claws into the place and next thing you know we'll be selling craft beers and the staff will have to wear dinky little uniforms and they'll rip up the manky carpet. Things change."
"Yeah, Violet, things change."
"I don't want them to."
"It might be for the best."
"It might not be."
When he left, I tried to push those thoughts to the back of my head. Maybe I could make sure Chuck had a nasty accident and he had to give me power of attorney or something. Then the club would be mine. A really nasty accident that maybe left him in a coma. That'd be sweet. He wouldn't be able to talk. He wouldn't be able to barge into my office with his talk about selling the place.
Of course, since I had no practical knowledge of arranging accidents or that kind of thing, it was all just a crazy dream. I'd probably get caught and have to spend time in jail which would be even worse than working for Chuck.
After I finished all the paperwork, I headed up the stairs to the band room. All the extra lighting and props that Alex had put in had already been cleared away. The room looked exactly as it had before he’d played here.
Razer wouldn’t do any of that. He wouldn’t stand over people, making demands. He'd just let people get on with their jobs, trusting that they'd do well. While that was more comfortable, after seeing Alex's performance, I could see why Alex would be so exacting. You couldn't create something so spectacular without putting in the work. Maybe what Razer needed was a manager who'd do the work for him. It'd never happen if it was up to him. He'd play in this club for the next however many years instead of reaching his full potential. It was a waste really.
Doing things for the love of it was a noble way, that's for sure, but a bit of ambition never hurt either.
I ran my finger over the soundboard. Hamish hadn't been happy about being replaced but Alex had smoothed it over with him somehow. Neither of them said anything about it but I think hard cash had changed hands. If you were getting paid to not come to work, I guess your pride can deal with it. Hamish would never tell anyone, of course, and neither would Alex.
"Violet?"
I spun around and Alex stood in the middle of the room as though I'd conjured him up with my thoughts.
He walked over to me, the strike of his boots on the wooden floor clicking loudly and echoing around the empty room.
"You don't look happy." He lifted my chin and smiled at me. "You should be riding high on this wave of success."
His touch warmed my body but I shook him off. That was the gesture of a boyfriend and I didn’t want him thinking he could do that.
"I guess. It's just I'm worried. Chuck is talking about selling again."
"Would that be so bad?" he asked. "He's got no idea about the potential of this place. A new owner might be the best thing for it."
Strangely, Alex didn't assume that the buyer would want to tear the place down and redevelop it.
I shrugged. "It'd be weird. Even though Chuck's a jerk, he lets me do what I want. I've built this place into something worthwhile. I don't want things to change."
Alex leaned on the side of the sound desk and gave me a strange look.
"You might enjoy it."
I didn't want to get into this with him. "I should get back to work," I said and walked toward the door.
"Hey," he called after me. "How are ticket sales going for Saturday night?"
"Can't tell you," I called over my shoulder. "It's top secret."
Actually, the ticket sales worried me. Despite Razer being so popular, the ticket sales lagged way behind what they'd been for Alex. That could be because of a number of things. Alex's fans were more likely to buy tickets ahead of time than Razer's crowd. Alex did seem to have a very organized fan club, while Razer's fans were more the leave it to the last-minute type. That might still mean a huge crowd for him on the night. Or it might not.
After the excitement of Alex’s performance, the regular band line-up that night was an anti-climax. There was nothing spectacular, nothing at stake. Just guys on stage thumping out some tunes. They were solid but that was all.
I sat at the bar, twirling my empty glass in my hand.
“Another drink?” asked Babs.
“Just a Coke,” I said. “Otherwise I’ll fall asleep.”
Chuck had mentioned that he might drop back in at some point in the night so I couldn't even go off for a nap.
I propped my head up on my hand and tried to watch the band but my thoughts kept going back to what Chuck had said. Should I be talking to people? Putting out feelers? I sure as hell didn’t want to start building things up somewhere else but that’s what I’d need to do.
The band had finished their set before I realized. I couldn’t even tell you want kind of music they’d played. It left no impression on me. I had to focus, they’d want some kind of feedback at the end of the night.
I might be able to fill the emptiness inside me with cupcakes or a burger but I didn’t think it was that kind of emptiness. Still, as soon as I could get out of the club, I’d go for a burger run.
Across the room, I glimpsed someone who looked like Razer. I turned around to pretend I hadn’t seen him because that was the easiest thing to do but I twitched to turn back around.
Something bubbled up inside me. I could go over to him.
He’d only been in a couple of times since that day in my office and when he had, we barely talked. Only polite business talk. I hadn’t thrown shoes at anyone in forever. I hadn’t yelled at anyone either. No wonder I felt so weird.
I mean, it wasn't like he had to come in every single night. Maybe he was out seeing other bands, trying to drum up more interest in his gig. Maybe he was having a quiet night at home watching a movie. Maybe he was with another girl.
That struck me in the belly.
This competition seemed like a whole lot of bother just to get a date with me. I wouldn’t bother making that much effort to date me. Carlie, for example, she'd be a much better catch than me. She stomped around in her platform ankle boots that emphasized her long, muscular legs, but Razer and Alex didn't seem to give her a second look.
Even Gina. Although her shyness was hard for me to deal with sometimes, guys loved that kind of thing. It gave them more space to talk about themselves. She sat at the bar with Jackson most nights, the two of them barely talking at times but with a friendly atmosphere between them. He never got angry with her like he did with other people. They said they were just friends but I wondered if there was more going on than that. He was a lot older than her and obviously had more life experience. He had more life experience than anyone. World-weary and angry, that was Jackson. But she seemed to calm him.
When I turned back, it wasn’t Razer at all. Just a trick of the lighting making someone with a similar haircut look like him.
The emptiness flooded back.