Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Lucky
My father swears I was tapping a rhythmic
beat in my mother’s belly before I even took my first breath.
Honestly, I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life. It’s
always revolved around music. My father was a drummer in two
different bands for more than twenty years. My mother—well, singing
is still her first love.
Music.
It’s in the blood that pumps
through my veins, keeps me alive as much as my own heartbeat.
Not being able to get up on stage and do
what I love is a curse, but in a weird way, it was also a blessing
for a time. Staying behind the scenes has taught me so much about
music. There’s certainly something to be said about the old truism
Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.
“Thank you, Lucky. I swear, I’ve learned
more in the last week than I have in the last five years.”
“You’re sweet, Chelsea. But you’re the one
doing all the work. I’m only here to guide you to be the best you
can.”
“Same days next week?” she asks.
“I look forward to it. Try to rest your
voice over the weekend. You worked hard this week.”
I pack up after my last session of the day
and look around at the sound studio. When Dylan first mentioned his
record label was looking for a full-time voice coach, I was leery
for so many reasons. Since going back to school and getting my
degree, I’d trained only a select few people on a very part-time
basis. Lucky’s was my home, my comfort zone, but I hated the damn
place almost as much as I loved it. Not to mention that the thought
of having to demonstrate vocal techniques for more than one or two
people was enough to make my palms break out into a sweat. Yet I
knew it was time for a change. I’d been standing in place long
enough—so I took the job.
Step three, Dad.
You see that?
I’m making progress.
If the first week has been any indication
of things to come, I’m going to be very happy here.
With my last coaching of the week done,
where else would I go to celebrate, but Lucky’s?
The bar is crowded, even for a Friday night.
It feels odd to stand on the patron side of the bar when I walk
in.
Avery spots me immediately. “Hey, stranger!
What the heck are you doing on that side of the bar? Come help me
out. I’m drowning back here.”
I smile. Oddly, I’m glad she needs me. I
throw on an apron and start taking orders and mixing drinks. Avery
and I catch up as we work.
“What happened to the new girl you
hired?”
“Fired.”
“What? Already?”
“Her customer service skills were a little
too friendly.”
“She was giving away too many buybacks?”
“Caught her giving a blow job in the
bathroom while she was supposed to be waiting tables.”
“Maybe he ordered a Screaming Orgasm.” I
grin, remembering Beautiful Man.
Together we clear the bar orders in less
than half an hour, and I tell her about my first week at Pulse
Records.
“That reminds me,” she says. “The hot guy
who was lusting after you last week came back in.”
“He did?” My interest perks up. I’ve found
my thoughts wandering to Flynn on more than one occasion. There was
just something about him, aside from the obvious—that he was
ridiculously good-looking.
“Yep. Twice.”
“Did he come in to sing?”
Avery shakes her head and smiles. “Came in
looking for you.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Told him the first time that you weren’t
here. The second time, I told him to try back tonight. That maybe
you would stop in.”
My eyes bulge. “What? Why did you do that?
You know I’m meeting Dylan here.”
“So?” She shrugs. “You didn’t do anything
wrong. Might do Sleazy Ryder some good to see other men interested
in you.”
“You just like to screw with him.”
“That’s just a bonus.”
“Be nice.” I slide two wine glasses out of
the rack above my head. “Or I’ll tell Dylan that you had his poster
on your bedroom wall when we were teens, too.”
Avery stops. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh I would. I might even embellish the
truth a little and tell him you still have a big ole crush on him.
You’re really just jealous
I
was the one working the second
time he visited Lucky’s a year ago. And that’s why you give him an
attitude.”
My best friend flips me the bird with a
smile and returns to the business of waiting on customers.
Easy Ryder is on a short tour break. They’ve
been on the road for four months already, and still have almost
eight more months ahead of them now that they’ve extended their
tour. Dating a rockstar is counted in dog years—Dylan and I have
been together for nearly a year, but that only equates to a few
months in the real world.
Word spread quickly that Dylan and his
entourage were at Lucky’s tonight. Avery had to lock the door
fifteen minutes after their arrival, and now the line waiting to
get in extends around the corner.
“You’ve been behind the bar all night,”
Dylan says. “Come sit with me.”
“I can’t. Look at this place.” I take a
quick glimpse around. The last hour that I’ve been pouring drinks
hasn’t made a dent in the three rows of people waiting to be
served.
“You don’t work here anymore.”
“No. But Avery does. What am I supposed to
do, let her drown? Plus, I’m still half owner.”
Dylan sips his beer. “She should have hired
someone.”
“She did. It didn’t work out.”
“Excuse me. Mr. Ryder?” We’re interrupted by
yet another duo of girls saddling up to Dylan. Both blond, both
wearing bustiers, with skintight jeans and leather boots reaching
to the knee. “Can we take your picture?”
Dylan looks to me and then to the two
girls.
“Can I see some ID, ladies?” I lean closer
to the bar and extend my hand palm up.
“We showed it at the door.”
Jase is working the door tonight. His idea
of proper identification when a young, hot girl wants inside is to
measure their bra cup size. Anything better than a C is
automatically of age. My eyes drop to their well-endowed chests.
“Still going to need to see ID to stay inside.”
The eye contact between the two girls as
they stall, fishing for their fake IDs, confirms my suspicion.
Definitely underage. I’d guess nineteen at best. Hesitantly, they
pass me their licenses. The picture on one resembles the first
girl, but her age is certainly not thirty-two. The second girl
doesn’t come close to being the woman in the picture I’m looking
at.
“Sorry, ladies. You’re going to need to
leave.”
The two girls pout but are smart enough not
to argue. They’re lucky I’m even offering the licenses back to
them. With a scowl at me, they snatch the IDs from my hand and
return their attention to Dylan. “Can we
please
”—they coo in
unison—“take a quick picture before we go?”
Dylan looks to me and I lift my hand as if
to say,
by all means
. The two snuggle against him and extend
their arms for a barrage of pictures—all three smiling.
I tend to a few customers, then walk around
the bar to greet Dylan properly for the first time.
He curls his arms around my waist and pulls
me close to him, rubbing his nose to mine. “I like you
jealous.”
“I wasn’t jealous.”
Maybe just a
little.
“Mmm mmm.” He kisses me. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” I rest my head to his
shoulder and sag into him as he wraps his arms around my waist and
pulls me close. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed his
touch—until I feel it again.
“I thought now that you had a normal job I
would have more nights with you to myself. Why don’t we get out of
here?” His hand slips into the back of my jeans.
“I can’t. Avery needs me.”
“I need you.” His lips brush against my
neck. “Need to be inside you.”
I groan. “That will give me incentive to
work faster.”
Dylan shifts me so our bodies are lined up
and draws me even closer. “Feel what you do to me?” Evidence of his
arousal digs into my stomach. “The longer you keep us here, the
more difficult it will be for you to walk tomorrow.”
After a quick peck on the lips that Dylan
tries to turn into more, I hurry back behind the bar, before I
don’t. Sometimes I still can’t believe how things turned out. I’m
dating the man whose poster spent years on my bedroom wall, the
rockstar who helped put Lucky’s on the map. The sign behind the bar
catches my eye, and I’m suddenly feeling nostalgic about so many
things.
Lucky—Twelve years earlier, age thirteen
“
Keep your eyes shut, Luciana.”
Uh oh. He’s using Luciana. That usually
means I’m in trouble. I was named after my grandfather, Luciano
Valentine. My parents thought changing the o to an a would make it
a more acceptable feminine name. They’d planned to call me Luciana
Alessandra Valentine, until I was born. Apparently, my auburn hair
and fair skin didn’t match the name, so Lucky I became.
“
Where are we going?” Dad’s insisted I
keep my eyes closed eyes since we climbed the stairs from the
subway. That had to be a whole block ago.
“
We’re almost there. No peeking.” A door
creaks and he guides me inside. I open my lids just enough for a
quick peep, but wherever he’s taking me is darker inside than
outside, and the sun is already long gone.
Another couple of steps, the floor squeaks
beneath us, and then I hear a light switch flip on.
“
Okay. You can open up.”
I open my eyes and look around. The big room
is empty, but I know where I am. I should have guessed from the
smell. He’s snuck me into the back room at plenty of places like
this, since the day I could walk. “A bar? You brought me to a
bar?”
He smiles. “It’s not just any bar.” Dad’s
eyes meet mine. “It’s ours.”
“
What do you mean, it’s ours?”
“
I mean, no more road. I know you like it
here. So we’re going to stay.”
“
Really?” The teenage I-don’t-give-a-crap
attitude I wear most of the time slips off, the excitement of a
little kid gleaming through in its place. Of all the places we’ve
lived, I love New York the most. The trains, the sidewalks packed
with people, even the blare of the cabbies’ horns sounds like urban
music to my ears. And I have a best friend here. OhmyGod. I can’t
wait to tell Avery.
“
Yep. I’m going to turn it into a karaoke
bar.” Dad lifts me up onto the dusty bar and points to a corner.
The dimly lit room is mostly empty, with some lingering garbage
strewn over the floor, but I can see the vision through Dad’s
excited eyes. “We’re going to build a stage over there. And over
here”—he waves his hand toward the other side—“we’ll put little
round tables for people to watch the singers.”
“
Can I sing on stage?”
My dad chuckles. “Once we’re open, it will
be over twenty-one only, squirt.”
The enthusiasm I felt fades a bit. My life
has been filled with places I’m not really supposed to be. Bars,
clubs, festivals. I’m always stuck hiding backstage. I’ve heard
some of the best bands play, but seen only a few perform.
Dad lifts my chin. “You will be on that
stage when you’re ready. If it’s before you’re twenty-one, we’ll
shut the bar down and have a private party. Think your old man will
be good enough on drums to back you?”
“
Do you think Mom will come?”
His face wilts a bit. “I don’t know, Lucky.
She’s on the road a lot.”
“
Can I ask her?”
“
Of course.”
“
So what’s the name of this
place?”
“
I was thinking of naming it after my
favorite woman.”
“
Iris sounds nice. I’m sure Mom will love
it.”
“
Who said anything about Iris? This place
is ours. I’m going to call it Lucky’s.”
Unlike most bars in New York City, Lucky’s
has been blessed with a crowd since the first night we opened. We
get an eclectic mix of tourists who’ve read about the occasional
surprise musical guest that stops in, and the local crowd that
appreciates friendly service with live music. On nights like
tonight, when a celebrity is in the bar, word spreads quickly.
“Hey, Avery,” Dylan calls. His posse seems
to have grown from ten to thirty over the last hour; they’re taking
up one entire end of the bar. Dylan has his phone up to his ear and
he’s gesturing Avery over, even though her hands are elbow-deep in
the double sink.
“Sure. Don’t get up,” she mutters so I can
hear her as she passes.
“The guy you have working the door won’t let
someone in who’s coming to meet me.”
“That’s because we’re at capacity. Someone
needs to leave in order to let someone in.”
“It’s one person.”
“It’s a five-thousand-dollar fine, not to
mention a fire hazard.”
“Fine,” he grumbles. “So kick someone
out.”
“I’m not going to kick out people. Tell
someone from your entourage to leave.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dylan’s voice
rises, so I step in.
“What’s wrong?”
“Rockstar here wants me to kick a customer
out so he can bring another member of his tribe in.”
“You know what, don’t do me any favors.”
Dylan looks around and calls to a guy I’ve seen before. I think
he’s part of the road crew. “You.” He points. “Go wait
outside.”
The man points to himself.
Dylan huffs, annoyed that he has to explain.
“The place is at capacity. I’m meeting someone here and they won’t
let him in until someone leaves. Can you go outside so he can get
in?”
“Sure.” The guy looks put off, but finishes
his beer and heads to the door.
Avery disappears to serve customers. “Who
else are you meeting? It looks like you have your usual crew all
here.”
“The singer from the new band we signed to
open the tour.”