The radio is playing “Stone in Love,” by Journey. No way! This is the last song Vivi ever heard, one that Carson selected for her playlist because she had a long-ago memory of her mother turning it up on the radio and singing along. Carson sings now in an unhinged voice, wondering if somehow her mother is watching her. Maybe her mother had this song play on the radio to let Carson know that she’s around, in the air, up above.
Carson pulls out her phone and texts Zach: Meet?
There’s no response.
“Stone in Love” ends and “Everybody Wants You,” by Billy Squier, begins. Carson is listening to Classic Rewind on Sirius XM because she’s driving Vivi’s Jeep and these are Vivi’s radio stations （No Shoes Radio, the Bridge, typical old-person music）。 It’s no great magic that Carson heard “Stone in Love” because this station plays Journey and other music from beyond the grave all the time.
She’s losing her mind.
There’s still no word from Zach. It’s a quarter to eleven; he’s probably asleep. Maybe Pamela came home from her little “night out” and they slept together. It happens occasionally, he admits, and Carson hates how much this bugs her. The agony is the price that she, and every other woman out there, must pay for falling in love with a married man. She wants to go out. She needs company, other people, even if they’re nameless.
She grabs some napkins out of the center console and mops her face. She lets her hair out of the tight braids and runs her fingers through the kinks. Earlier today she bought a black paisley halter top at Erica Wilson; the shopping bag is in the back seat. She changes right there in the car. In the zippered pocket of her bag are her mother’s silver Ted Muehling earrings; she takes them out and slides them through her ears. She has long coveted these earrings and on several occasions asked Vivi if she could borrow them. （“No, you’ll lose them, I know you, Carson.”） Carson had considered stealing them but then decided her mother was right. Now they’re hers; everything is hers. She borrows Vivi’s clothes, shoes, and jewelry; she sleeps in Vivi’s bed. Why? Is she trying to become Vivi? Oh, who knows. Her mother had great taste, and the bed is comfortable. The earrings shine against Carson’s dark hair. She’s good to go.
The line at the front door of the Chicken Box is long but Carson, with her new cachet as head bartender at the Oystercatcher, doesn’t have to wait. She walks around to the back door, where the bouncer, Jerry, who is Nikki-from-work’s fiancé, lets Carson right in and gives her a cold Corona while he’s at it.
The bar is packed; bodies are crushed in so tight that Carson has to turn sideways and wedge herself between people in order to get to the row in front of the stage, where there is at least room to breathe. The band, Maxxtone, is popular; they play cover tunes. The lead singer, Aaron, sees Carson and gives her a thumbs-up. He and the band came into the Oystercatcher the night before for dinner. Carson tips back her beer and tries to get lost in the song—“What I’ve Got,” by Sublime.
When the song ends, she takes a look at the other people in the front row and sees Greg Gunn—Gunner, the legendary bartender, her predecessor—all the way in the corner. He’s too dressed up for the Box—nice white shirt, seersucker pants—and he’s with some smoke-show in what Carson thinks is vintage Stella McCartney.
Carson sidles her way toward them to say hi but then stops halfway because what if he doesn’t remember her? It’s too loud to explain who she is and she’ll end up making a fool of herself, which isn’t at all appealing when her night has been so bad already. She should go home. But what’s at home? Nothing. She needs another beer. She heads for the bar; it’s easier moving away from the stage than toward it, but when she tries to step around one guy, he moves in front of her, and when she tries to go the other way, he does too. Funny.
She bares her teeth at him.
“Carson,” he says.
It’s what’s-his-face from the Field and Oar.
“Marshall,” she says. “The Duck.”
He grins. He’s lovely to look at, the same way a baby or a puppy is, although here in the Box with his Cisco Brewers T-shirt and his hat on backward over his golden curls and a little scruff on his cheeks—he must have had the day off because the Field and Oar doesn’t tolerate facial hair—he’s more attractive than the last two times she’s seen him. Look at you, Marshall. She thinks about having a night of good, old-fashioned fun with Marshall the Duck. They can dance, make out, drive to the Strip for a slice, go down to the Public Way by the Galley to skinny-dip and then have sex on the beach.