A Song for Julia

“Barrett, I manage a rock band. They’re playing at the Cave tonight, so I’m here. What do you want?”
    “Just wondering if you’d changed your mind.”
    I sighed, but I could be nice about it. “That’s sweet, Barrett, but no. I’m not really up for dating right now.”
    “You’re at The Cave? In Somerville?”
    “Barrett, I’m working.”
    “I just want to swing by.”
    What the hell? “I won’t have time to see you, I’m sorry.”
    “No worries,” he replied. “I want to check out this band.”
    I grimaced. He wanted to check out the band? Whatever.
    “I’ve gotta go, Barrett.”
    “Wait …”
    I closed the phone and put it back in my pocket. By the time I got back inside, the first song was over, and Crank was singing “Fuck the War”— better choice. They’d reworked the song as part of the preparation for the album. It was a lot better … loud, driving guitar, screaming lyrics. They’d turned it into a duet, and Serena’s clear, tragic voice made the song into something wholly new. I’d discussed releasing that one as a single with Boris, but he wanted to wait until recording the album was complete before making a decision. I could live with that. It was a lot easier to think about the band and business, than it was to think about what was or wasn’t happening between me and Crank.
    I spotted Craig Owens, the owner of the club, standing near the stage door on the left side of the bar. I worked my way down that wall. He was a big guy, six foot five, with a heavy beard, who had a past as a biker.
    “Hey, Craig,” I said.
    “They’re rocking it tonight, Julia. Fans are happy.”
    I grinned. “I wanted to talk to you about a couple dates late in the spring, before we go on tour.”
    “Hell, yeah! I’ve got a couple weekends open in May. That work for you?”
    I nodded. “I’ll email you.”
    “Sounds good. Band happy? Drinks and everything good?”
    “Yeah, we’re good to go,” I said.
    We were friendly now, but two weeks ago it had been a different story. I’d dropped in one evening to re-negotiate the band’s fee for playing here. They were getting paid a hundred dollars a night plus drinks, when the band was bringing in easily three or four hundred people every time they played here. Our talk had resulted in the fee getting bumped way up, plus adding merchandise sales. The band would probably walk away with three thousand dollars after expenses tonight. That was more like it. Once Craig realized it was inevitable, he gave in and went along.
    Another song. It was almost time for the break. This one was another duet, and Serena and Crank blasted away with the guitars, singing into the same microphone, the energy level high. A couple of drunks tried to climb on the stage, and George the bouncer moved in their direction and quickly and easily persuaded them it wasn’t a good idea.
    “Julia!”
    I turned to my right. It was Barrett Randall. Irritating, but I suppose I’d live through it. But right behind him … Harry Easton. The muscles in my shoulders and the back of my neck suddenly tensed.
    Barrett led the way. “Hello, Julia. I know you said you’re working tonight. But Harry was in town and really wanted to see you. He insisted.”
    My eyes went to Harry, and I said, “I thought I made it clear I don’t want to see you. Anywhere. Ever.”
    Barrett backed off, hands in the air. “I’ll leave you two to … talk it out.” He smirked. “I’m going to watch the band.” He pointed at Harry. “Find me when you’re finished.”
    Harry approached, slowly. He looked out of place here, in a black turtleneck and blazer, with perfectly shined shoes, gold cufflinks and overly coifed hair. How did I ever think I was in love with this guy? Of course, I was fourteen years old. He was charming, popular, good looking.
    “What do you want?”
    “I just wanted to talk with you, Julia. I’m in Boston only to see you.”
    “It was a wasted trip,” I replied and started to turn away.
    He reached out to touch my arm, and I backed away a little, and hated myself for giving even an inch. In the back of my mind, I heard a loud and off-key chord that either Serena or Crank had gotten completely wrong. I winced, even as I kept my eyes riveted on Harry.
    “Come on, Julia. That was all a long time ago. I don’t understand why you’re so upset, and I surely couldn’t believe the things you said. In front of my father. In front of the President . We were children back