Nothing else mattered.
But first, she had a man to see about a car.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Doors didn’t open for another hour, but the line of waiting concertgoers snaked down the block and disappeared around the corner. It was a younger crowd, affluent while trying hard not to look it. Con didn’t recognize the name on the marquee but loved the prospect of losing herself in the anonymous cocoon of a live show. It didn’t matter the kind of music; what she wouldn’t give to dance and sing shoulder to shoulder with people who knew nothing of her life.
Not here, of course. Anywhere but here.
Over the years, Glass House had taken on a mythic quality in her mind. Her last memory of that night was climbing into the van to drive to North Carolina, so, for her, this was where the accident had really happened. The place where her selfishness had set the band’s destiny in motion. It was ground hallowed by loss and guilt. Where her future had ended and her real life had begun.
Although she hadn’t been back since, Con would have sworn she could describe Glass House faithfully, right down to the studs. Standing across the street, however, she realized it was smaller than she recalled, less grand. Where were the windows? She couldn’t even find the parking spot where Zhi had left the van idling while he’d gone to hunt down Tommy. He’d parked under a large tree, but there wasn’t a single one on the entire block. Even the marquee was on the wrong side of the building, as if her memories were reflections in a mirror. The single most important moment of her life, and her memory was nothing but a shoddy quilt of different clubs she’d played. What else had she misremembered about Zhi’s last night?
Zhi. How was he? As soon as she got her feet under her, she should check in on him. Hopefully her original had visited him; she hated to think he’d been all alone these last eighteen months.
Rather than try her luck at the front, Con went down the alley that ran alongside the club and banged on the stage door. A massive Black bouncer cracked open the door to see what all the commotion was about and seemed genuinely surprised that Con was responsible. She explained who she was and why she wasn’t waiting in line with everyone else. He listened impassively, then let the metal door swing shut. After a few minutes, the door reopened and he waved her inside like he was doing her a favor. He said Jasper was busy upstairs and brought her out to the main floor, where he left her to sit at the bar. All around, the staff was hustling to get everything set before the house opened. It made her feel at home, always had, especially on tour when the band played a different venue every night. No two clubs were ever the same, but they all ran on the same high-wire energy. There was nothing like it in the world.
By the time Jasper Benjamin finally came down from his office, the crowd was beginning to stream inside, eager to stake out a spot near the front of the stage. Jasper eased up to the bar beside her, grinning an unctuous salesman’s smile. He was one of those white men in their forties who desperately wanted to believe he didn’t look forty. The problem lay in the fact that Jasper obviously knew that he did and couldn’t live with it. His defining feature had always been the manic desperation of a man feverishly overcompensating. For Jasper, that meant expensive clothes and a sunspot personality that could be seen from orbit. She’d once heard him say, If you don’t own a beautiful painting, at least get yourself an expensive frame.
Tonight that frame included a slick tangerine sports jacket over a retro Trouble Funk T-shirt, black designer jeans that sparkled in the light, and a pair of red-and-orange Italian leather shoes that probably cost more than her rent. He wore more jewelry than Con had owned in her entire life. It was a lot. The man ought to come with a seizure warning. To complete the effect, behind Jasper loomed a gargantuan white man who made the bouncer look like the kid other kids picked on. She knew his name was Anzor, everyone did. He went where Jasper went, and if even half the stories she’d heard about him were true, he was not a pleasant man, and she didn’t much care for the way he was eying her. Like she was the last lobster in the tank and he was picking out dinner.
“Welcome back. Been some days,” Jasper said, resting a hand lightly on the small of her back as if she were at risk of toppling off the stool. “Hearing some wild stories about you.”
“Oh yeah?” she replied, loud enough to be heard over the rising din.
“Didn’t anyone bring you a beverage?” he asked, snapping his fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “The lady will have a vodka T.”