Road To Nowhere by Christopher Pike Read Free Book Online

we’re running off for a romantic weekend – every weekend.”
    She stared at him. He was so adorable and cute. She reached out and ran her hand through his hair. It was impossible to stay mad at him.
    “Can we?” she asked.
    “What?”
    “Run away for a romantic weekend?”
    He was surprised, but he recovered swiftly. “If you do this for me, Teresa, I’ll do anything for you.”
    She considered, but not for long. “You have a deal, Mr. Bill.”
     
    The Summit was bigger than Bill had led Teresa to believe. On a good night two hundred people could crowd in. When she got out of the car with Bill to check the place over, she wanted to faint.
    “I can’t play here,” she said.
    “What difference does it matter how big it is?” he asked. “Your eyes will be closed.”
    He dragged her inside. There were no auditions going on then, just a chubby middle-aged custodian wiping tables up front. He had a cigar in his mouth and sweat dripping off his fat cheeks.
    “We're here, Mr. Gracione,” Bill called.
    “This isn’t the owner?” Teresa hissed in Bill’s ear.
    “One and the same,” Bill said.
    “Damn.”
    “What?”
    “Damn everything. I want to leave.”
    “It’s too late now,” Bill said cheerfully.
    “Are you the girl with the voice?” Mr. Gracione asked as he walked over. He had on a wine-coloured sports coat and a mine of gold chains around his hairy chest. He looked like a character who had been dug out of a scene from a Godfather movie. He stuck out his hand and Teresa felt as if she were being offered a bunch of sausages. Bill and he shook.
    “This is the big lady,” Bill said. “Teresa, meet Mr. Gracione.”
    “You look young,” he said to Teresa.
    “Thank you,” she said.
    The guy thought that was funny. They weren’t fooling him one bit. “I don’t care how old you are. I heard your tape. You really write that song?”
    “Which song did you hear?” she asked.
    “‘Until Then,’” Bill said.
    “I wrote it,” Teresa told Mr. Gracione, surprised at the pride in her voice. He gestured to the stage at the front of the club.
    “Play it for me now,” Mr. Gracione said. “Or something else, I don’t care. You have your guitar? Good. We won't bother with the mike for now. I’ll sit up front. Have you played in clubs before?”
    “A few,” Teresa said.
    “Which ones?” he asked. “You can make up names if you want, I’m not going to check.”
    Bill mentioned three places in Hollywood that they had agreed upon ahead of time. Mr. Gracione grunted and took a seat. Bill walked her to the stage and left her there. That was the thing about being a performer. Someone could support you totally, be a hundred per cent behind you, but when it came down to it you had to do the performing alone. She set her case on the stage and opened it. Her guitar felt strange in her hands – as if she’d never held it before. She was so nervous, and there were only two people in the audience. How would she feel if there was a crowd? This was insane, this wasn't what she was about. Bill was trying to change her overnight, all the time telling her he liked her just the way she was. She turned to Mr. Gracione, prepared to say she couldn’t go through with it. The man was smiling at her.
    “You got the shakes?” he asked. “Everybody who’s any good gets the shakes. If you didn’t get them I’d know you didn't care about your music. Teresa, I’m just a guy who owns a club. I’m not a judge for the Grammys. Just sing me a song or two.”
    His words gave her confidence. “I’ll sing you something I wrote last week. It’s called ‘Warm Summer’.” She stepped up on to the stage and took a seat behind the silent microphone. She sat in shadow; the lights were all off. She strummed a few chords, liking the sound. She had tuned the guitar on the way down to Newport Beach. Clearing her throat once, she began.
     
    The sweat of the night touches my skin.
    I lie on the sheets.
    Dreams waiting to