Stirring Up Trouble(2)

He stepped back, intending to return the microphone to its stand, when he smelled her, the subtle hint of lavender in the air. Throwing her guitar strap over her shoulder, Lola strummed the strings and ran up the steps to the stage, her long skirt flowing around her ankles.



She grabbed the microphone out of his hand. “Nice speech, Braden, and I second that emotion.”



“Lola. What are you doing?”



She turned off the volume on the microphone, and with her chin pointed up to him in defiance, said, “What I always do. What I want.” She reached up and lightly slapped his cheek a couple of times before switching on the microphone and turning back to the crowd.





He kept his face a blank page as he stepped off the stage and leaned on the bar to watch. He thought they’d decided she wouldn’t sing tonight.



“My sister and I didn’t have the easiest childhood.” With a hand to her forehead to shield the glare of the spotlight, Lola scanned the room. “No offense, Mom.”



“No offense taken, Honey,” Reina responded.



Lola tipped her head to look directly at Portia. “There were times we didn’t know where our next meal would come from, but through it all, we had each other. And music. We always had our music. It didn’t matter if we had a radio. I would sing and Portia would dance to it. Life was never dull in the Dubrovsky house, or rather whatever shelter we happened to be living in at the time. My sister and I didn’t always agree on the songs we liked or even the genres. But through it all, one song always pulled us out of the gutter balls, even at our lowest point.”



Braden stifled a grin. Lola habitually got her clichés wrong. It used to get on his nerves, until one day . . .



It didn’t.



“So, Portia, this is for you.” She nodded at the greasy band members who’d followed her onto the stage. “One. Two. One, two, three, four . . . Why can’t I get just one kiss?” Jumping around with bare feet, she sang in her throaty voice.



For a moment, the song didn’t register. But, Lola never played music the way it was written, preferring to add her own spin to it. Instead of punk rock, the tune she played sounded almost like a Calypso song. But the words were clear. She was singing the Violent Femmes “Add It Up,” a song completely inappropriate for this upscale event and crowd. He glanced to Portia and Ryan, expecting them to be angry. What he didn’t expect was Portia to start dancing, or Ryan to gaze lovingly at her as he watched her spin. In fact, no one seemed to object to Lola’s choice of song. The guests bopped up and down and some of them sang along.





Luckily, the song was short. Everyone clapped wildly for Lola as she returned the microphone to its stand, curtsied, and jumped off the stage to hug her sister. Ryan gave her a kiss on the cheek before smiling and twisting to look directly at him.



The traitor.



Braden crossed the room to join the happy trio. Ryan and he gave each other a guy hug, loosely throwing an arm around the top of the other’s back and pounding it loudly.



Portia smiled warmly and embraced him. “I don’t believe you won’t ever fall in love or get married. Not for one moment. Your time is coming, Braden Angelopoulos. Just you wait.”



“Yes, Braden. You should listen to my sister. After all, she’s a Muse. She knows what she’s talking about.” Lola chuckled and nudged him in the ribs. According to Reina, she and her daughters were Muses, women who inspired creativity in the right men.



“I’ll keep that in mind.”



Braden spotted the short, gray-haired George Pappas walking toward him with a smile. He’d tried to get in touch with George several times this past week about extending his lease, but Alexander’s attorney hadn’t returned his calls. Acropolis operated on an expensive and highly coveted piece of real estate, and Braden had lucked out getting a lease through Ryan’s Uncle, Alexander Stavros, who owned the land and building. But now that he’d died, Braden was worried he’d lose the lease which had expired a few days ago.



George hugged the engaged couple, first Ryan and then Portia. “I’m so honored to be invited to your wedding.”



“Of course we’d invite you,” Portia said. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have fallen in love.”



The pair had met six months ago when George had informed them that Alexander Stavros, Ryan’s biological uncle and Portia’s uncle through marriage, had left them a mansion and a month’s worth of stipulations.





“Yes, well, it was my pleasure as the executor of Alexander’s estate, may he rest in peace,” said George. “I know he’s looking down at you now with a smile on his face.” He used the sleeve of his Armani suit to wipe a bead of sweat rolling down his pudgy reddened cheek.