Zipless by Diane Dooley Read Free Book Online

it?”
    “Allende. Jake Allende.” Amazing. His name still hurt. Even after all these years it was still hard to believe he was dead. Jake had been so alive. So fucking alive. But he’d been blotted out. By a fucking needle. “Come on, Bluto. What’s the song we’re gonna be doing. Key?”
    The door opened and Bluto glanced over. “Hey, Lou. Remember that band, Snakebite?”
    Lou went to a corner of the room and rummaged around in a big leather bag. “Aye, vaguely. One hit wonder, over-produced, they all ended up overdosing or choking on each other’s vomit or something.” She shoved her hand deeper into the bag and looked over at them. “That the one you mean?” She pulled out a sheaf of papers.
    Chris stared at her, willing her to shut the fuck up. He looked over at Bluto who seemed to be frozen with embarrassment.
    Bluto tried to intervene, to head her off at the pass. “You’re a wee bit harsh, are ye no?”
    She shrugged as she walked towards them. “Another junkie band with more showmanship than talent. That singer was a joke.”
    Chris held his breath as she shoved a piece of paper into his hand. She hadn’t said anything unforgiveable. There was actually a lot of truth in her brutally-stated opinion. He opened his mouth to inform her that there’d been only one junkie in the band.
    She looked up at him. “People who waste their lives like that? In thrall to heroin?” She grimaced. “They’re an insult to all the people who died of cancer. The ones who wanted to live.”
    Her lip was trembling and, as she turned away, he thought he’d seen tears in her eyes. He turned to look at Bluto. “Just drop it,” he said quietly. “Let’s get to work,” he added more loudly. “What song are we doing?”
    “The one you’ve got in your hand,” Lou said, still with her back to him.
    He glanced down at the paper. Song for Margaret. Words and Music: Marzaroli . The title was followed by sheet music. He shook his head. “I can’t read music.”
    Lou turned to him, rolling her raccoon eyes.
    “I can learn anything by ear. Do you have a recording I can listen to?”
    She nodded and returned to her enormous leather bag, soon pulling out an iPod attached to massive headphones. She tapped away at the iPod as she ambled back.
    She pushed a chair toward him with a foot. “Sit,” she barked, then put the headphones on his head. He watched her as she walked away. In his ears the song started, sweet and mellow. She was talking to Bluto, who was nodding and smiling. Bluto handed her something, then left the room, waving and grinning. She came back, pulling a chair with her. She sat on it in front of him, bending slightly, then clipped a capo onto the neck of his guitar. The song continued. He played a single chord, and she shook her head, putting her hand over his and sliding it a couple of frets up the neck. He played the chord again. This time she nodded and moved closer. He looked down. His leg was between hers, the guitar in his lap—and she was either staring at his crotch or trying to look at herself in the guitar’s reflective mirror.
    Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out a pick. In the song, a slow, sad phrase was playing over the rhythm guitar. He’d already heard it twice. The third time he played along with it. Lou smiled and nodded. With more confidence, Chris continued with the song, adding some length and vibrato to the final note. Would she mind him changing it a little? Adding something of himself? She wasn’t smiling any more. She was just staring. Maybe she didn’t like it. He played the phrase again, adding a small run in the middle. He had the repeating phrase down now, just had to hear the solo. He listened to the lyrics. Bluto had a good voice, gruff yet tender. The song was about somebody dying. Someone called Margaret. That was Lou’s middle name.
    The song was reaching its emotional climax in the final verse. He’d thought it was a song about losing a lover, but it