Storms Read Online Free PDF Page B

you’ve already heard the glass break?
    The phone at home rang around 8 P.M. John was locked in his studio working on the latest bootleg release from his label.
    â€œI miss you”, Lindsey’s voice whispered. I shivered head to foot.
    â€œMe too”, I whispered. I didn’t want to break the spell of intimacy by speaking out loud. It was better that way. He felt so close. If I reached out, I could almost touch …
    â€œWhat are you doing tomorrow night?” I could hear Stevie’s voice in the background and realized that Lindsey was trying to keep from being overheard. “The band’s having a private dinner to celebrate the finish of the album. It’s at a French restaurant on Melrose. Please come. Be with me, huh?”
    â€œI’ll—” I struggled to work out an excuse for John as Lindsey waited silently. “I’ll tell him I’m with a client!”
    â€œI hope to be much more than that, little girl. I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?”
    â€œOK”, I murmured, and put the phone down just before John emerged from the studio.
    Oh, I was scared. I really was. Terrified. Playing around had never been my style, and I didn’t know whether I could carry this off, but the next night I knew I had no option. Lindsey had claimed me. I was his girl. And it was my choice to accept the claim.
    I parked up on Melrose that next night, just behind Lindsey’s car, as arranged, and he raced out and held me until I thought I’d break into tiny pieces. Dressed head to toe in black velvet, wearing spike heels, and with a heart on fire, I drifted into the restaurant on his arm, into a private, exclusive dining room, lit with the flicker of candles reflected in gilt-framed mirrors. Two chairs at the long, linen-draped table stood conspicuously empty, obviously reserved for us. I sat down on Lindsey’s right and looked up and down the table. Christine was opposite, beaming. John and Mick took places of honor at each end, and among the guests were technicians and roadies I’d already seen in the studio.
    Lindsey began pointing everyone out to me. In the center of the table was a man whose presence was almost palpable. Blond and thickset, he held court while offering attention to all. His eyes were never still. I sensed that he was at the hub of this turning wheel.
    â€œJ.C.”, Lindsey whispered in my ear. “John Courage. Our road manager.” And then he said out loud, “This is Carol Ann. Say hello, John.”
    â€œWell”, John drawled in an impeccable English voice, “who is this little flower?” He raised his eyebrows and his glass to me. I blushed. He winked. I was going to get on with J.C. He was an instant friend. He would remain a friend at all times.
    â€œAnd”, Lindsey continued, his hand gripping mine under the table, his voice low, “there’s Judy Wong, the band secretary”—tiny, Asian, black hair to her waist, and strikingly beautiful, she spoke animatedly, faster than anyone I’d ever seen, to the strong-boned, handsome woman beside her, a woman with a serene smile—” talking to Julie Ruebens, John’s lady.”
John
, I thought,
should think himself lucky.
Julie oozed class and calm, warmth and wisdom. “And you know Richard.” Richard winked at me. “And next to him, that’s Ken, our other engineer …” Ken was a nerdy kind of guy. Nice enough, though. “… and Ray, who looks after my guitars.” Ray seemed to want the table to open up and swallow him. He looked uncomfortable, as shy as I was. “And the heartbreaker over there is Curry Grant. Crazy name, huh?”
    I could see what he meant. If I hadn’t been hand-held and spellbound by Lindsey’s breath on my neck, I may have succumbed. But he was a tad obvious despite his chestnut curls and his marron-glacé eyes. Not for me.
    â€œHe’s Christine’s—for