Софи Келли - Hooked On A Feline

The lights dimmed a little and Ritchie walked out from somewhere backstage. “Thank you,” he said, waving at everyone as he slid behind his keyboard. He started to play a melody that I knew, but in the moment couldn’t place.

Mike came out of the wings from the left side of the stage. He picked up his bass and put the strap over his head. “We love you!” he shouted to the crowd as he started to play.

Harry came out next, carrying his Martin twelve-string. He raised one hand in recognition of the applause, which seemed like it was never going to end, before picking up the melody from Ritchie. Paul was right behind Harry, blowing a kiss to everyone before sitting down at his drum kit.

Johnny was singing before he was onstage—“I’ll Stand by You,” written by the Pretenders’ Chrissie Hynde.

I swayed in time to the music and sang along softly with Johnny, wrapped in the warmth of Marcus’s arms.

This time when the guys left the stage, everyone seemed to understand that they wouldn’t be back again. Still, people seemed reluctant to leave as if, somehow, the spell the band had cast over the evening would be broken.

“Tired?” Marcus asked.

I shook my head. “No. I have all this energy I don’t know what to do with. I know I couldn’t sleep.”

Roma cocked her head to one side, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I know Eric was planning on staying open late,” she said. “How about dessert? Or really, really early breakfast?” She turned and looked over her shoulder at Maggie.

Maggie’s green eyes narrowed. “Do you think there might be more of that fruit cobbler we had the other day at lunch?”

Roma smiled. “There’s only one way to find out for sure.”

Brady Chapman was standing next to Maggie. I saw her reach for his hand and raise a questioning eyebrow. The two of them were . . . I didn’t really know what they were. Maggie insisted they weren’t a couple but they spent all their free time together and neither of them was seeing anyone else. Mary Lowe liked to say they were “keeping company.”

“It works for me,” Brady said now.

Roma looked toward me again. I glanced up at Marcus, who nodded. “Let’s go,” I said.

Marcus grabbed our chairs. I looked around for Mary to say good night, but she’d already disappeared. We headed across the parking lot, all veering off in different directions because we’d all parked in different places. Roma and Eddie had gotten to the marina early to save a place for the rest of us and they’d managed to snag a spot close to the building. I’d parked my truck on a nearby side street. Based on the direction Brady and Maggie—who were already ahead of everyone else—were headed, they’d done the same thing.

When we got to Eric’s Place, the café wasn’t as busy as I’d expected. Nic, who generally worked nights, showed us to my favorite table in the front window. He was three or four inches taller than my five-six with a solid frame, deep brown eyes and light brown skin. “You just came from the Last Bash concert, didn’t you?” he asked. Like Maggie, Nic was an artist. He created assemblages with metal and paper—things most of us recycled or threw away—and he was also a very talented photographer.

“It was incredible,” Brady said.

“And it’s true the whole band was there?”

Roma nodded. “You wouldn’t believe how talented Harry Taylor is on guitar or Mike Bishop on bass.”

Nic stared at her. “Dr. B. plays bass with the Outlaws? No way. You’re kidding.”

“Uh-uh,” I said, taking one of the chairs closest to the window. “He’s really good, too.”

“He did my root canal last winter. Why didn’t I know he’d played with Johnny Rock?”

Roma smiled. “Probably because the last time Johnny and the Outlaws played together you were a baby.”

Nic grinned back at her. “Good point, but it doesn’t mean I’m not a little jealous that I didn’t get to see them tonight.”

“So you’ll get to see them next time,” Maggie said, looking down at the dessert menu Nic had handed her when she sat down.

“Next time?” I turned to look at her. So did everyone else.

“Do you know something the rest of us don’t?” Brady asked.

Maggie looked up at us. “What? No. No. It’s just that everyone who was there tonight could see how much fun the guys were having. I can’t believe they’re just going to do that once and then walk away.”

I thought about how often I’d noticed Harry smiling tonight and how Paul and Mike couldn’t stop grinning. “You might be right,” I said.

Nic was still smiling. “I hope you are.” He gestured at the menu Maggie still held in one hand. “So what can I get for you?”

“Is there any more of that cobbler you had on Wednesday?” she asked.

“The strawberry rhubarb?”

Maggie nodded.

Nic’s dark eyes sparkled. “Eric just took some out of the oven about twenty minutes ago. It’s still warm.”

“That would be perfect,” Maggie said.

He looked around the table. “For everyone?”

We all nodded our agreement, looking a little like a collection of bobblehead dolls. “Please,” I said.

Nic traced a circle in the air with one finger, working his way around the table. “Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee and tea?” He ended the circuit at Maggie.

“I think I’ll have tea, too,” Roma said.

“I’ll be right back,” Nic said, heading for the kitchen.

Across the table from me, Roma was swaying from side to side, the motion so small, it was almost unnoticeable.

“Okay, so what song are you still hearing in your head?” I asked.

Her cheeks turned pink. “ ‘Hold On,’ ” she said. “Hold On” was one of several songs the band had performed that had been written by Johnny and Mike. Johnny and the Outlaws had mostly been a cover band I knew, but they had performed some of their own songs as well. “I was remembering the first time I heard Johnny sing it. It was the very first time I saw them in concert. That was a long time ago.”

Roma was older than the rest of us, although it wasn’t something I ever thought about. I knew she’d seen Johnny and the Outlaws in concert more than once before the band had broken up.

A smile pulled at her mouth and there was a faraway look in her eyes. “I was sixteen. They were playing at the high school in Red Wing—opening for some other group, and for the life of me, I can’t remember who it was. What I do remember vividly is that Johnny had hair to his shoulders, Mike had a mullet and they were way better than the band they were opening for.”

I tried to picture Mike Bishop with a mullet but couldn’t get there. Then again, before tonight I would have never been able to picture him playing bass in a band, either.

“If they were that good, why did they break up?” Brady asked. Brady was a lawyer. He had a very practical, logical streak.

Roma frowned. “I don’t know. I just always assumed that real life got in the way. I don’t imagine any of their parents thought being in a band would be a good career choice.”

“I saw them in concert right before they broke up,” Maggie said. “I was maybe six.”

“What were you doing at a concert when you were six?” Roma asked.

She shrugged. “My dad was a big music fan. I don’t mean it was at a club or anything close to that. The show was in the daytime. I know we were outside somewhere and Dad bought me a caramel apple. I have no idea what songs they did but I do remember that caramel apple. It was good.”

Marcus leaned back in his chair. “I saw Johnny on his own in a little club in Minneapolis. I was eighteen. I had a fake ID. It was just Johnny and another guy playing guitar.”