Four Kinds of Rain Read Online Free PDF

to hold a secret, or a promise.
    She placed the steel tip of her open umbrella on the floor, shook it a little, looked around, and smiled nervously.
    “Hi,” she said shyly, looking at Bob, then quickly away. “My name’s Jesse Reardon. I waitress down at Bertha’s and I heard you all need a singer for your band.”
    Bob looked at Dave, who did a little Groucho Marx move with his eyebrows.
    “I’m Bob Wells,” Bob said. “Do you have any experience?”
    “Sure,” Jesse said, smiling at him. “I sang with a band for a little bit in West Virginia. Back in Beckley. Called the Heartaches?”
    Bob loved her smoky voice, the way she seemed to be asking him if he’d ever heard of her old band. There was something just so damn lovable about her.
    “Rock ‘n’ roll?” Bob said. He feared she was a country singer, which just wouldn’t cut it with the hip artists at the Lodge.
    “Sure,” Jesse said. “Some blues, too. If you want I could, you know, sing something?”
    Bob nodded, smiled hopefully at Curtis, who nodded.
    “Where’s Ling and Eddie?”
    “Out in the kitchen,” Curtis said. “Stealing food.”
    “Well, go get ‘em,” Bob said. “We want to give Miss Reardon here a chance to sing.”
    Bob turned to Dave, who looked at him with a childish excitement on his face. Jesus, she is so damn good looking, Bob thought. If she can only sing …
    He helped her off with her soaking raincoat and folded it neatly over a chair. She wore a black sweater and blue jeans and a red ruby ring. Bob looked at her cheekbones, the curve of her lips, her small, perfect breasts. He felt his heart jump into his throat, and he silently told himself to cool down. From the kitchen the other band members filed out. Ling was eating an egg sandwich and drinking a beer. Eddie had a crab cake with saltines. Both of them checked her out, and Bob could feel the electricity in the room.
    “What would you like to sing?” Bob said.
    She looked around at the holiday lights that were still strung over the bar, smiled at him slyly, and said, “How about ‘Blue Christmas’?”
    “Yeah,” Bob said. “That’s a good one.”
    “You gonna sing it like Elvis?” Ling said.
    “Un-uh,” Jesse said, as she took the steps and grabbed the mike. “Charles Brown.”
    Bob looked at Ling and they both laughed. The lady knew Charles Brown….
    “All right,” Eddie Richardson said, nodding to her. “Let’s do it.”
    Bob waited for Curtis to hit the bass drum for the downbeat, then opened with a short, blistering blues hook. Next to him Jesse Reardon leaned into the microphone but hesitated as though she was too scared to sing. Then she looked at Bob, who nodded and smiled, as if he had total confidence in her. She shut her green eyes, opened her mouth, and began.
    The effect was immediate and stunning. Jesse Reardon’s voice was smoky, seemed to be crushed with heartache. Bob felt a jolt of electricity run up his back. He turned to look at Curtis, who had a smile big enough to light the entire club. Jesse sang on, doing the song a second time and Bob noticed Dave and Lou Anne rocking back and forth in perfect time at the front table, a huge smile on Dave’s face.
    At the song’s guitar break, Bob ripped out a blistering solo … causing Jesse to smile at him, then look away. She grinded her hips in a subtle but sexy way and sang the last line again.
    I’ll have a blue, blue, blue Christmas.
    The band worked up into a tight, screaming crescendo and Jesse gave a low, hot moan, “Oh yeeeah,” as the tune ended. The bartender, Jimmy Jackowski, a big Pole who usually didn’t much care for the band, looked up at the stage and said, “Fuckin’ A, now that’s music.”
    Jesse Reardon looked a little embarrassed.
    “I was a little off in the timing because I haven’t done this for a while. I could do another one, if you want?”
    “No need,” Bob said.
    Jesse’s face fell as she looked down at the floor.
    “Oh well,” she said.