I’d always thought that I could sit back and allow things to happen in my life. For nature to take its course. But now, more so than ever, I’d come to realize that the world doesn’t work that way. I needed to take the steps forward, and even some backward, to get myself somewhere. To get what I wanted.
And right now all I wanted was some direction in my fucking life.
I wanted to feel alive.
For my nerve endings to buzz as deafeningly as they had the other night with Rachel when I made her feel good against my fingers. The same fingers I used to hammer away on the strings of my bass to create music. To mix sounds together.
As vibrant and dazzling as that feeling I got in my chest when I produced something good—for myself or somebody else.
Stuart returned looking flustered and worn. “So where do you need me today, Stu?”
So far, he’d plugged me in wherever I was needed throughout the shift. The other night I was a bar back and that kept me very busy, since the casino was packed. It also allowed me a good visual of the stage and the band.
I wasn’t sure how to tell my father that his acts sucked. Because there really wasn’t a way to put it delicately. If he wanted to make the place classier, he needed more professional musicians and he needed to be willing to fork over money to get them. The sound engineer was decent, so it wasn’t necessarily a reflection on that guy.
I knew that I needed to tread lightly with my father. I didn’t want him to think that all I cared about was music, since my dad obviously wasn’t interested in that being the path for me anymore. First, I needed to prove that I was a hard worker. At the very least, that was expected of me. It was a pretty safe assumption that he wouldn’t even entertain a conversation with me about the musical acts if he didn’t see that I was putting forth effort to make some kind of living.
Second, I needed to show up on time and lay off the weed.
“I need you at the elevators,” Stuart said. “Check the room keys of everyone who passes to be sure they belong in this hotel.”
Ugh, mindless and boring. “Will do.”
Two hours later, the only saving grace was that I got a direct view of the band setting up for their show. My fingers itched to play, and even though I’d met a few times with my former band mates—who were happy to welcome me back into the fold—I was pretty sure I needed to stay away from them. Why hadn’t I noticed what a bunch of losers they were before?
Sam had made a beeline for me about an hour earlier to talk about his grandson Micah. He said Micah was being moved to another facility and that he would let me know the visiting hours once the boy was settled. I promised him I’d visit Micah in the next couple of weeks, but I still didn’t understand his motives for seeking me out.
For all I knew, my mother had put him up to it or something.
She had always commented on how nurturing I had been to Rachel in the hospital. In reality, I think she knew how my feelings had changed. But she was cool enough not to mention it, outside of teasing me about living with two women for the summer. When she asked about Rachel, she’d get this softness in her eyes that I continued to ignore.
Regardless, I felt for the kid and would visit Micah if it made Sam happy. It might even make me feel better. Maybe I’d bring along my acoustic bass and play him some tunes.
Two women dressed in skimpy clothing now edged closer to the elevators, and I could already tell they would attempt to get by without showing their room keys.
“I need to see your keys,” I said in an authoritative voice.
“Oh c’mon,” the one in the red heels said, trying her best to use a seductive voice. “We . . . accidentally left them in our room.”
It bugged me when girls used their sexuality to get their way. But I supposed it worked on enough men to keep the practice in business.
I remained unflappable. “Which floor?”
She seemed surer of her answer to that question. “Fifth.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I muttered, reaching for my two-way radio. “Let me call the front desk and have them look up your names.”
“No, wait,” the brassy blond said, her eyes shifting guiltily. “We . . . we don’t actually have rooms here.”
“Yeah, thought so,” I said. “Nice try. Why do you ladies need to get up there?”
They side-eyed each other, and then the brunette said, “Our boyfriends are waiting for us.”
I’d heard this one before. These girls were probably supposed to meet some businessmen, away from home for the week, in their rooms. “Why aren’t they down here with you?”
Blondie shrugged. You’d think the dudes would be slicker and actually bring them up with their own cards. But they were too afraid to be seen with women who were not their wives.