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Michael shrugged as he swung his guitar around his back before he dug out a setlist from his back pocket. “I just wanted to give you a head’s up on what we were looking at tonight. Looks like we get a full hundred minutes. It gives us a full set, room for some bs, and a few covers.”
West opened the list. “Cool. Any clue which covers?”
“I think Moll is looking at ‘Suicide Blonde’ if you’re up for it.”
He grinned. “My lips are a little tired, but I think I can manage the harmonica.”
Michael groaned. “Man, don’t talk to me about sex. I forgot what it’s like.”
He waggled his brows and they both headed for the stage. Michael turned into the right hand stairs and West headed for the left. “Finally,” he muttered as Jack rolled out his upright. He dragged his fingertips down the cover. “Hello baby.”
“Nice to see you too, buddy.”
West clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Thought you forgot me.”
“More like this thing is so far back on the truck I have to dig for gold to get it.”
“My baby needs protecting.”
“Asshole. You know nothing gets broken on my trucks.”
“Damn right.” West glanced around the space on the stage. “You can use my mic stand with the extra hooks instead of my cabinet tonight. Should keep Mal from killing you in your sleep.”
“Fucking high hats by the damn dozen,” Jack muttered.
Mal’s kit was impressive, even if it was ever expanding to fit his huge frame.
A sudden murmur and a few shrieks dragged everyone’s attention away from the stage set up. Molly swept through the front door, her hair and skirts floating around her as she took quick pictures with the crowd of fans waiting to fill the venue.
“She is aware that she’s not Beyoncé, right?” Jules asked.
Ryan sat down on the edge of the stage and dropped onto his back. “I don’t believe she got the memo.”
They were due for some meet and greet band pictures with twenty-five people who had won an advanced soundcheck, but the Molly show had begun again. The fan club loved her to pieces. And there was no doubt that she knew just how to play the frontwoman to their group. The problem was, she sometimes forgot the group part. She was part of a unit.
And they weren’t her fucking backup dancers.
“Come on, let’s get the arrangements down for ‘Suicide Blonde’.” Elle pulled her acoustic out of its case and started the famous opening.
Ryan held up his hand and West dragged him off the floor. It took three tries to get through the song without swearing. Twenty minutes later, Molly came up the stairs.
“That sounded like shit.” Molly pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Mal’s beat was off and Ryan, do you actually play the sax? It doesn’t have the right vi—”
Mal beat on his skins to drown out her voice. Elle played louder and Jules thumped out her bass line until Molly threw up her hands and flipped them off.
None of them were up for Queen Molly today.
Ryan walked over to her with his sax and West followed with his harmonica to do that one part over again. Michael played electric guitar and Elle kept her acoustic plugged in.
Finally, Molly fell into line. She started from the middle of the song and killed it of course. Singing was effortless for her. Getting an arrangement to work for the rest of the band was usually the hard part.
Instead of letting Molly railroad them with her perfectionist nature, they distracted her with soundcheck on the new songs. The fan club seemed to be cool with the mini show.
Cameras were out and West knew there’d be a half dozen videos up before the show even started. Instead of being pissed about it, they played harde
r. The song was louder, smoother, and more cohesive by the time they finished another two versions of it.
Lauren had slipped away from the corded off fan club members and sat in a purple velvet chair at the back of the room. She glanced up a few times, but for the most part she was alternately scribbling in a notebook and typing on her phone.
