Come Dancing by Leslie Wells Read Free Book Online Page A

a lazy bugger—and messed around with a few riffs. Then I put some things on tape at the studio, overdubs and such for the new album.”
    Rick caught a stoplight. “Vicky’s over on Mott,” I said.
    “Yeah, I remember. The night of ‘No, I don’t want you to walk me home,’” Jack said wryly.
    I gave a little shrug. Vicky was waiting outside, wearing a short denim skirt that made her legs look miles long. Her blonde hair was spiked up pertly, silver hoops in her ears. “Hello,” she said to Jack. “Sammy said to pick him up at his place.”
    “I hope he didn’t drink up all your liquor.”
    Vicky actually stammered. “N-no, he brought some over.”
    Sammy was smoking a joint on the sidewalk. He got in and pulled Vicky to him for a bong kiss. She blew smoke out her nose. “Way to greet a girl.”
    “Happy to oblige,” Sammy said. “Did you get your press release written? Can you imagine, she kicked me out this afternoon so she could work.”
    “It’s for a book by a shrink,” Vicky explained. “Pop psychology’s a hot topic these days; Julia deals with a lot of it too. This one’s about being in touch with your inner self.”
    “ I like touching your inner self,” Sammy said. “’Specially with my—“
    “You really do have a one-track mind,” Vicky said.
    “Julia, she’s insulting my fine, upstanding character.” Sammy took one last suck of the roach and stubbed it out in the ashtray.
    When we got to the building, they each took a guitar out of the trunk. “Tom, Stan, this is Julia,” Jack said to the doormen as we waited for the elevator. “And her friend Vicky.” The men looked us over and nodded politely.
    Jack opened his door without a key, as he’d done the other night.
    “You don’t lock your door?” Vicky asked him.
    “I can’t keep track of keys. Tom and Stan know who to let up.”
    The loft was much cleaner this time; nodding sunflowers on the glass table and no overflowing ashtrays. They went to put the guitars in their stands, and I heard cracking ice from a tray in the kitchen. Vicky put her arm around my neck. “I have a feeling tonight’s the night.”
    “Shh,” I whispered.
    Sammy came back carrying a bucket of beers, and Jack cradled a bottle of whiskey. Jack pointed to the shelves. “You pick something.”
    I pulled out a Pinetop Smith in a worn cover and Jack put it on the turntable. Sammy drew a bulging joint from his pocket, lit it, took a big hit and passed it to Vicky, who puffed and handed it across the glass-topped table. Jack drew an extended inhale and held it out to me.
    “No, thanks.” I didn’t want to be out of it tonight—and pot really made me feel out of it.
    Jack handed it to Vicky and blew a long stream of smoke. “You’re a pure gal, huh?” He gave me an appraising glance.
    Vicky spluttered. “Depends on your definition of pure.”
    I made a face at her. “Speak for yourself, Victoria. I’m really boring when I smoke pot,” I said to Jack. “I just giggle for an hour and then fall asleep.”
    Sammy smiled. “Now, that doesn’t sound bad a’tall.”
    “Leave her alone,” Jack said. “More for the degenerates.”
    “She’s a lightweight,” Vicky said, passing the joint to Sammy. “But I mean that only in the finest sense.”
    “How long have you two known each other?” Jack asked.
    Vicky thought for a minute. “Almost a year, right? My first day of work, Julia grilled me on what books I liked. I was so grateful to have a friend, even if I hadn’t read half the intellectual stuff she had, like the Proust she’s so obsessed with. She introduced me around and told me which department heads to watch out for.”
    “Then you cut out for greener pastures, leaving me to the wolves.”
    “Yeah, the wolf named Harvey,” Vicky said, then caught herself. “I mean, and all the others,” she added lamely.
    “Julia’s boss,” Jack said.
    “He knows?” Vicky asked.
    I shook my head at her and decided this would be a good