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kissed her cheek. “Eternally grateful, by the way.”
    “Still not seeing your point, Bloot.” She scrubbed at her eyes. The big galoot had made her cry.
    “And all that desire to create, to teach, to lead…” He looked upward, searching for the words. “That desire to fucking be something. All that got poured into the band, when it should be you on that stage, singing your songs about menstrual cramps and the fucking price of tampons, and the state of the prison system, and the death of your ma, and…and…and—”
    “Okay. I get your point now. But—” She grabbed the vodka and drained the last of it. “The stage fright, Bloot. I cannae dae it. I cannae.”
    “Jesus Christ, woman. If I can get up on a stage and sing about going on the pill to make the bleeding slow down, in front of a crowd of drunken Scotsman, then you certainly can, madam.”
    “Months before I could show my face in the pub again,” Chiz repeated, with a traumatized expression.
    “All my brothers still slag me about it,” Alasdair added.
    Lou buried her face in her hands. “I thought you all liked being in the band.”
    “I do,” Alasdair said. “But I’d rather be in a ska band.”
    “Metal band for me,” said Chiz.
    Bluto bounced in his chair. “I want tae join an American band.” He forgot about Lou and rubbed his hands together, his eyes gleaming. “New York City is fuckin’ fantastic. And the women. Sweet Jesus, the women…”
    Lou turned to her old friend. “Et tu, Blute?”
    He grinned at her. “Let’s go for a wee drink, hen. You’ll feel so much better with a drop more voddy in your body. I’ve heard of a great wee bar just down the road.” He took her by the arm and escorted her out of the building, turning in the opposite direction from the hotel, as the other two followed.
    It was still sweltering. The heat rose from the pavement in a slow wave of damp air. Suddenly the last thing Lou wanted was another drink. “I think I’ll just go back to the hotel. See if I can calm Paolo down. It’s stupid. This is our big break. Even if he does really want to leave the band, it would be better to do it after the show. Go out with a bang.” Lou smirked. She had exactly the thing that would appeal to Paolo’s romantic nature. One last great show. After that he’d be enjoying himself too much to consider leaving. Plus, if they put on a great performance, the label would be sure to sign them. Finally, after all these years…money!
    Bluto still held her arm. Alasdair and Chiz were watching him. He pulled out his mobile and checked the time. “Should be long enough now,” he mumbled.
    Lou caught the furtive glances between the three of them. They were up to something. The penny dropped. “You bastards! You’re in on this.” She broke away and started to run back toward the hotel, the second time in as many days that she’d had to sprint down 23rd Street. Only this time the heat was even more unbearable and she was wearing heavy boots. She had to get to Paolo in time, despite the band’s delaying tactics. They knew she’d be able to talk him around. They knew it! The soles of her heavy boots pounded the hot pavement ever slower as she avoided the overheated citizens of New York City. Rivulets of sweat poured down her back.
    She had to stop one block from the hotel to lean against a lamp post, her head swimming. She could see the steps to the hotel, could see a yellow cab parked at the front door. She pushed herself into a stagger as Paolo and Banshee climbed into the cab, carrying their bags. “Paolo,” she called out weakly. But the cab pulled away from the curb and, by the time she reached the hotel, it was just one more splash of yellow among all the others.
    Lou stumbled through the hotel doors into the icy blast of the air conditioning, then took the lift to her floor. A note had been taped to her door. It was from Paolo. She read it then crumpled it up. They were headed for Mexico to get married, then