“Are you … here for the concert?” she asked.
“That was the plan. Although, a night like this, it really makes me question. They already canceled the other show I wanted to catch out here.”
She was definitely still a bit stoned. There was a delay in her processing. Then sudden clarity: “Are you a music agent?”
“In my own little way.”
“Tell me your name again?”
“It’s Gig—Guglielmo, for the adventurous. Gig Benedetti.”
“You’re here to see the Bleu Notes.”
He seemed delighted with her. His eyes darted down to her body and back up to her face. “Either you’re a very good guesser, or you’re the person I’m hoping you might be.”
“Which person is that?”
“The one with the voice. I’m told it’s gotta be heard to be believed.”
There was another delay in her comprehension and then a clutching fear. The voice could only be Laura’s. Until this moment, Becky hadn’t given one thought to her encounter with Laura behind the church. It was like a drunk-driving accident she’d fled the scene of and forgotten.
“You must mean Laura,” she said.
“Laura, yeah, that sounds right. Obviously, if you’re Becky, you’re not Laura.”
“Definitely not Laura.”
“You had my hopes up for a minute. There’s ten freaking inches of snow out there. The only reason I’m waiting around is to hear that girl sing.”
Now there was no delay in Becky’s comprehension—she was immediately offended. Gig ought to have been waiting to hear Tanner, who was at least as talented as Laura and was the one with the ambition. Laura didn’t even care about getting an agent.
“It’s really more Tanner’s band,” she said.
“Tanner, right. Talked to him this afternoon. Nice guy. Friend of yours?”
“Very good friend, yes.”
Again his eyes went up and down her body, lingering at her breasts. It was a thing older men had been doing more and more often, especially at the Grove. It was gross.
“So, his girlfriend?” Gig said casually.
“Not exactly.”
“Oh, well then. How would you feel about grabbing a drink with me?”
“No, thank you.”
“I thought, they’re playing a church, how late can this thing go? I thought I’d be outta here by nine, nine thirty at the latest. But, no, we gotta hear from Peter Paul and Betty Lou. We gotta hear from Donny Osmond Santana and the Lilywhites. I’m not hitting on you, Becky. Or, like you say, not exactly. I just happened to notice a little tavern down the street. It could be an another freaking hour before we see your headliners.”
“I don’t drink,” she said, as if this were the issue.
“Pfff.”
“Also, I’m pretty much with Tanner, so.”
“Good, good. We’re up to pretty much. But that’s all the more reason you should get to know me. I’m praying to God these guys are—wait. Are you in the band?”
“No.”
“More’s the pity. My point is, if I can’t sign them, I suffered through Peter Paul and Betty Lou and drove eight miles in a blizzard for no reason. I’m already favorably predisposed, if you take my meaning, and if they end up signing I’ll be seeing you around. Why not start things off with a little drink?”
“I can’t. In fact, I should be—”
“Follow-up question: Why aren’t you in the band?”
“Me? I’m not musical.”
“Everybody’s musical. Have you tried the tambourine?”
She stared at him. There was a gold chain around his neck.
“The reason I ask,” he said, “is your presentation is extremely classy. I could really dig seeing you on a stage.”
She tried to unfog her brain and calculate whether being nice to Gig would further incline him to sign the Bleu Notes, or whether she should even want him to be Tanner’s agent, given his apparently icky character. Deeper in the fog was the upsetting news that he was there to hear Laura.
“Ugh, listen to me,” he said. “I totally sound like I’m hitting on you, although I bet you get that all the time. You’re a seriously good-looking girl. If I may say so, it’s good to see you dressing like you know it. I don’t think I ever saw a dowdier crowd than what’s downstairs. Clodhoppers and overalls and thermal underwear—is it a religious thing?”
“It’s just the style of the youth group.”