Thirst No. 3 by Christopher Pike Read Free Book Online

brilliant but unknown guitarists I’ve heard in tiny clubs in Mexico and South America.
    He begins to sing, and I draw in another breath. He’s notmerely good—he’s wonderful! He’s obviously well trained and has superb range. But more important is the feeling in his voice.

She’s not just a pretty face,

A pretty face, in a pretty place,

Something’s not quite real,

I pass this way every day,

But today I’ve learned to feel

In a book I’ve seen the best,

Lady Godiva and the rest,

But none compare to this new song,

Next to you I’ll soon belong

And if you say you’ll love me too,

To be as one and say we’re true,

I’ll have your pretty face to see,

It’s me with you and you with me

She’s not just a pretty face,

A pretty face, in a pretty place,

Something’s not quite real,

I pass this way every day,

But today I’ve learned to feel

She’s singing my song la di la di la di

She’s not just a pretty face,

A pretty face, in a pretty place,

Something’s not quite real,

I pass this way every day,

But today I’ve learned to feel
    “Pretty Face” is an unusual song to open with. Besides being unique, it has layers of meaning to it most beer-drinking fans wouldn’t care about. But maybe I underestimate the audience because they give him a big hand as he switches to the Beatles song “And I Love Her.” It’s only then I realize how much he reminds me of Paul McCartney. It may sound silly, after having lived so long, but I’ve never found a group I love as much as the Beatles.
    Matt plays five songs on his guitar before he even speaks to the crowd. By now he has them in the palm of his hand, and they applaud everything he says, even though he just talks about what a boring day he had. Once again he drips charisma—he can do no wrong.
    I’m in for another surprise when he switches to piano. He’s a superb guitarist, but I can tell from the moment he touches the keys he’s been playing since he was very young, and that he’s classically trained. The first song he plays on the piano has no lyrics, and it needs none. I came to cast a spell on Teri and her man, and now I discover myself falling beneath his magic.
    In the middle of the set, Teri leans over and asks if I likehim. I shake my head and smile, but she’s not offended, because she understands. To say yes would be too trite.
    The hour set goes by too quickly, and even though Matt performs an encore, like the rest of the audience I find myself wanting more. At least I get to talk to him after the show, since he heads straight for our table. Teri stands and gives him a passionate hug, and I have to restrain myself from doing likewise. When he does shake my hand, he stares deep into my eyes.
    “Teri’s told me a lot about you,” he says.
    “But we just met. Does that mean she’s been spying on me?”
    Teri blushes. “Matt, you promised not to embarrass me.”
    “I put that poorly,” he replies. “I just meant that Teri was impressed with you. She says you’re a writer?”
    “Among other things, yes. I brought three magazines I’ve sold stories to. I’d be flattered if you’d read them and tell me what you think. You’ve obviously got a way with words.”
    Matt shrugs. “They don’t let me play my best material in a place like this. Hey, would you like a drink? The bar’s open to me and my friends.”
    “Sure. Coke and Scotch. Tall and strong.”
    “Great. That’s my favorite drink,” Matt says, gesturing to the waitress. He puts in our order and automatically asks for a ginger ale for Teri. Matt wants to hear about the stories I’ve written and isn’t put off when I tactfully tell him that later would be a better time to talk about them. His persistence is no surprise; I know his doubts about me.
    “Very well,” I say, taking out a
Playboy
magazine from the previous year. “I sold a horror story to the Big Bunny last year. It’s kind of dark. It’s about a man who gets marooned on an island with a