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all her
rationale for changing her diet for health, ethics, and
environmental reasons. And even though Johnny teased her, he
respected her decision and enjoyed their conversation. By the time
she was done talking, Johnny had polished off the pitcher of beer
but neither of them finished all the pizza. When the waitress asked
if they wanted a to-go box, they turned her down. Katie excused
herself to the women’s room. Fixing her hair in the mirror, she
decided she would tell Johnny about Grant as soon as she came back
out. He had to know. That wasn’t something you kept from a friend.
When she exited the restroom, she spied Johnny at the cash
register. She caught up to him and saw one of her co-workers
walking in the front door, ending her chance (and courage) to tell
Johnny about Grant. “Hi, Kate. Fancy seeing you here.”
    “Hey, Gail,” she said to the brunette in
front of her. “Gail, this is an old, old friend of mine, Johnny
Church. Johnny, this is Gail Taylor.”
    He smiled and extended his hand, grinning in
that charming way of his. “You might know me as J. C. Gibson.”
    Katie smiled. “Trust me. She doesn’t.”
    Gail frowned. “What’s that?”
    “His stage name. But you might know him
because he’s a hometown boy.”
    Gail started giggling. “Kate. You know
you’re at least five years older than I am. I don’t think so. I
don’t really know any other people as old as you.”
    Katie smiled weakly. “Heh. Well, see you at
work tomorrow.”
    Gail’s date approached her from behind, and
the waitress finished at the register to lead them to a table.
Johnny opened the door for Katie. He lowered his voice and said,
“Another ma’am moment, huh?”
    “Yeah. They’re coming a little too often for
my taste.”
    Johnny sighed, playful. “Well, I guess
that’s what you get for calling me your ‘old, old’ friend. And for
not giving credit where credit is due.” He laughed as they walked
to his bike.
    “Come off it. It’s not you, and it’s not
your age. Gail listens to country music. Trust me when I tell you
she has never heard of you, and it’s not because you’re not
awesome.”
    Twilight had descended upon the town but the
night was still young. Katie put her jacket on and Johnny handed
her the helmet again. “What next, milady?”
    * * *
    “And heeeeeeeere’s Johnny who’ll be singing
some Stone Sour!” The deejay cranked up the music for “Say You’ll
Haunt Me” as Johnny jumped up to the mike. The two had arrived at
Suds an hour earlier. Johnny had ordered another pitcher and talked
Katie into drinking with him. She didn’t want beer, though, so she
sipped a rum and Coke. Johnny had been spending the better part of
the hour trying to talk Katie into doing karaoke but she refused.
That was his game, she told him. So he turned in his slip (and
didn’t pick any of his own songs to “play fair,” he said) and
finally had his chance.
    Katie didn’t miss the fact that Johnny
wasn’t looking at the words on the big screen high up on the wall
behind her. Katie could tell he knew them all. And he was singing
them to her . She didn’t miss that either. He was having a
lot of fun, but it made her feel a little bit like she was under a
microscope. Johnny was the ultimate showman and entertained the
whole place, sang for the whole bar, but the song was for Katie.
She knew that much.
    When he was done, a guy near the bar yelled,
“Yo, J. C.! What the hell are you doin’ here in little old
Winchester?”
    Johnny’s face split into a cocky grin and he
waved his customary two-finger salute. He yelled into the
microphone, “These are my digs, man. I’m home for a while!”
    So now that the jig was up, the man walked
toward them, still shouting (too drunk, Katie surmised). “So is it
true, dude? Did Scathing V. break up?”
    Johnny half-frowned. “Yeah, it’s true. But
keep your eyes peeled for my next venture.”
    “Who should we look for?”
    “J. C. Gibson, man. That’s all you