Susan Andersen - Coming Undone

"We're going to be working hand in glove for a lot of shows for the next several weeks," she told them once she had their names semistraight in her mind. "So let's get started finding out how we sound together." The stage lights came on with a series of loud clanks and she shielded her eyes from the glare as she turned to look out into the theater. "Billy, you ready out there?"

"You betcha."

"Then let's give this a whirl." She looked over her shoulder at Eddie, who'd plugged in his electric guitar and was fitting its strap over his head, and at Hank, who had picked up his fiddle, and said, "We'll start with 'Let the Party Begin.'"

For the next hour and a half they ran through song after song, making adjustments and finalizing the order of the playlist. When they finished the final number P.J. danced around to face the backup band. "God, I love this business! You guys rocked! Beer's on me in my dressing room after the show." She glanced over at Nell, who nodded and wrote on her clipboard. Then, after waiting for the cheer that had greeted her announcement to die down, she said, "Let's bring 'em to their feet out there tonight."

Collecting Nell on her way offstage, she decided to forgo checking out the new bus in favor of heading straight to her dressing room for some downtime before she had to get ready for the show. When she caught another glimpse of Jared sitting by himself in the front row, however, her steps slowed.

He looked so:alone. When she stopped to think about it, in fact, healways seemed to be alone.

Well, duh. She picked up her pace again, striding offstage toward the corridor that led to her dressing room. What did she expect-for him to behave like the Grand Poo-bah of Party Central? He was here to do a job that he clearly took seriously.

Still:

Not once in any of the bars the two of them had hit this past week had she seen Jared chat up a woman or dance with one or even exchange small talk with a bartender. He'd simply sat off by himself. Even jammed shoulder-to-shoulder on a stool at the bar he'd projected an unapproachable manner that was every bit as effective as a neon No Trespassing sign.

Sounds like a personal problem to me, girlfriend.

Damn tootin'. She began walking so quickly that Nell had to ask her to slow down.

She complied, but her friend's request barely even registered. It just didn't sit right to exclude Jared from the after-show party when she'd invited everyone else. She didn't like the job he was hired to do, or him for taking it. But if anyone knew what it felt like to always be left out of events everyone else in the world seemed to be invited to, it was her.

Crap.

Stopping, she reached for Nell's arm to bring her to a halt, as well, and leaned to murmur in her ear. Then, feeling like the world's biggest chump, she stalked down the corridor to her dressing room.

"MR. HAMILTON?"

Jared looked at the woman making her way down the center aisle that he was walking up. "Yes," he acknowledged, stopping when they met at Row 14. He peered through the dim lighting at the unadorned brunette in front of him. "Nell, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir." She blinked up at him. "How did you know?"

"The acoustics in here are outstanding."

"Yes, isn't this a fabulous theater?" Then alarm widened her eyes as two and two belatedly added up to a sum that told her he'd overheard P.J.'s private conversation with her and the fiddle player. "Ohmigawd."

She looked so stricken that he reached out to give the hands she'd begun wringing a pat. They were ice cold beneath his fingers. "I don't make it a practice to gossip about my clients," he assured her gently. "And I never talk to the press. Consider me your priest. P.J.'s business is her own."

Fingers stilling, she gave him a dry look. "Yes, I'm surepriest is the first word that pops into women's minds when they look at you."

Surprised by her sass when he would have thought she wouldn't say boo if she'd been born a ghost, he missed the beginning of her next question.

"-call her P.J. when she's more widely known as Priscilla?"

"Huh? Oh. P.J. and I knew each other for about five minutes a long time ago."

"Didyou? Funny, she didn't mention that."

"As I said, it was a long time ago-lot of water under the bridge since those days."

"Interesting, though." Then she seemed to collect herself. "But that's neither here nor there. You're probably wondering why I stopped you."

He merely regarded her with polite attentiveness.

"Yes, well." She shifted her weight. "I wanted to invite you to the after-show party. It's in P.J.'s dressing room, which is down the hall that leads from backstage."

He stared at her in surprise. "I'm invited to the party? I would've thought I'd be the last person she'd want there."

"And you might be." Eyebrows performing a lightning up and down equivalent of a facial shrug, she looked him in the eye. "But P.J. spent her entire childhood being left out of things because she was rarely in one town long enough to get to know her schoolmates. So she sees to it that the same doesn't happen to others. She's the most inclusive person I know. And speaking of the party-" she glanced at her watch "-I have some refreshments to order. So we'll see you later, right?"

"I don't know. It doesn't sound like my kind of thing."

"Well, you'd know that better than me. But if you decide to attend, it's in the room with the tinfoil star on the door." Thrusting out her hand, she gave him a firm shake when he extended his own. "See you later, Mr. Hamilton."

"Jared," he corrected.

"You really should try to make it tonight, Jared. It's a great way to get to know the people you're going to be traveling with for the next month."

To his surprise he found himself wanting to grill her about some of those people-particularly the two band members who'd been so fast to manhandle P.J. this afternoon. He couldn't help but wonder if the hints of animosity he'd witnessed between them were due to a rivalry over her.

But he shrugged it aside as unimportant, wished Nell a good day and watched as she walked back up the aisle. Then he turned his attention back to the conversation he'd inadvertently eavesdropped on.

Contrary to what he'd let Nell believe, he hadn't overheard more than a snippet here and there of the conversation between her, P.J. and the fiddle player until they'd moved to the center of the stage, almost directly in front of him. Then the talk had suddenly turned crystal clear, even if it had been conducted in low tones that he doubted carried to the sound man's booth in the back of the theater.

Apparently he wasn't the only one who'd wondered why P.J. had made Jodeen Morgan her manager. He wasn't quite certain, however, how to reconcile her explanation with the girl he used to know. The old P.J. would never have allowed that manager clause to be included in her contract.

Or, shit, maybe she would have. He was the product of a seriously screwed up father/son relationship himself, so if anyone ought to know what it was to constantly hope for a parent's affection-even though the fact you'd never received it should've knocked the need right out of you-he was the one. And what the hell did he know about what it took to break into the music business anyway? The chances of getting a record deal at all had to be mighty slim, never mind having reached the heights P.J. was beginning to enjoy.

So who was he to second-guess her decisions? They'd led her to hiring an undeserving mother. Big deal. He'd once made a decision that had left him standing accused of murdering his father.

During which time P.J. had stood by him even though she, like everyone else, had believed he'd committed the crime.

He'd reserve judgment until he had some actual facts. And he'd go to her frigging after-show party, as well.

If only to find out what the story was with those two bickering band members of hers.

SHORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT P.J. and Nell barreled through the stage door into the brisk early-morning air.

"What a great night," P.J. declared, pulling her sweater on as they clattered down the steps into the alley. Still juiced from the rousing success of her tour's first concert and its rowdy after-party in her crammed-to-capacity dressing room, she bopped down the narrow passageway. "We sold out! For tonight and tomorrow nightboth, the production manager told me. I know this is the smallest venue we're playing this tour, but still. How cool is that?"

"Very cool." Nell smiled at her.

"And it's such a great theater. Man, the acoustics!" She made a face. "Although I gotta admit I'd rather not think about the sort of sounds it projected to the furthermost seats back in its dirty-movie days."

"Say what?"

"That's something else the manager passed along. Apparently the theater was a porn house throughout the seventies and eighties." She grinned at her friend. "Have I hit the big time, or what?"

Reaching the sidewalk, she spun to skip backward down the block in front of Nell, still talking ninety miles an hour right up until the moment her back smacked up against a cool metal surface.

Nell made a grand sweeping gesture. "Your tour bus, madam."

Spreading her arms wide, fingers pressed against the smooth metal at her back, she laughed. "You might have warned me."