Page 41 of This Side of Beautiful

April 15

After a good first run of the show in the large family room that was easily converted into practice space the following day, we rode to Frenchmen Street, a strip full of music and food. Frankie and Jeri, who’d also watched our rehearsal, joined us. Frenchmen Street, not as famous as Bourbon Street, had more of a musician’s vibe. Cameras recorded us walking and discussing music as we passed the historic French buildings that now housed bars, restaurants, and stores. We stopped at the Louisiana Music Factory, an eclectic record store, which drew us like a child drawn to a toy store.

We’d been moving as a group since we were in the house, and I hadn’t had a moment alone with Landon. The guys were spread throughout the store. Frankie and Jeri were at the souvenir shop next door.

I sidled up beside him and started flipping past albums without looking at the covers. Landon’s forehead puckered as he pored over the records and pulled out Jimi Hendrix’sElectric Ladylandalbum. “He was a legit icon. Doing things with a guitar no one had ever heard before. He was rock and roll. He was blues… R&B.”

Landon seemed so focused on the albums that I hadn’t realized he’d noticed me until he started speaking.

I nudged his side. “He was also popular.”

He looked at me. “Died at twenty-seven.”

“Your point?”

“He hated performing in front of large audiences, and at the time of his death, he was the highest-paid rock star during an era in which Jim Crow had barely ended. My point is maybe the pressure of being a star took its toll on him. To be great young is an honor, but it’s a hell of a lot of pressure.”

I exhaled sharply. “Landon, he choked on his own vomit after taking sleeping pills. It was accidental.”

He didn’t blink. “Where’s the line between coping and an accident?”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “Not everyone using something is trying to escape. Sometimes they’re just trying to get through the night.”

Landon’s fingers flexed around the album. His expression barely shifted, but something flickered in his eyes. Doubt, frustration, maybe something deeper.

“That’s what they all say, right up until it kills them.” His voice was even, but I didn’t miss the edge beneath it.

I folded my arms. “I can handle it. Can you? I’m not the only one who gets anxious.”

For a second, I thought he might argue. His lips parted, then closed again like he was reconsidering whatever was on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he just gave a slow nod, gripping the album like it was something steady, something certain. Then he turned and walked away.

I blew out a breath and pulled the baseball cap to hide my identity further down on my head. I moved next to him again as he perused the jazz albums and whispered, “Are you going to remind me every chance you get that you think I’m an addict?”

He fingered theKind of Bluealbum. “Miles Davis, once a heroin and cocaine user, who beat it. Or at least he appeared to beat it.” He glanced at me as he added the album to the growing stack in his hand. “I don’t think you’re an addict. Just an observation that musicians and drugs go hand in hand. The pressures to create and perform even when we don’t want to is insane. The Hollow Bones don’t operate like that, and while you’re with us, we won’t put that type of pressure on you either.”

Cedrick yelled, “Hey… the manager wants us to take a pic over on that wall. Bands perform here, too.”

Landon mumbled, “And so it begins.”

He followed me to where the rest of the group stood on a small stage with the Louisiana Music Factory logo behind us. I stood in the middle, and we took several pics, drawing interested gazes from customers and people walking past. A small group gathered outside while we finished taking photos and purchasing our items.

Landon grabbed my shoulders from behind when we prepared to leave the store and bent, speaking softly in my ear. “Think I’ll hang back here, then return to the house. Go have fun. We’ll talk later.”

I closed my eyes involuntarily at the headiness of his nearness, and the air cooled around me when he moved away.

Frankie, who’d wandered back into the store alone, pulled me by my hand into the street before I could protest that I wanted to stay with Landon or at least be in his presence longer. I was scared that he and I were already losing the connection we’d established in Houston and over the phone during the last month. “The fellas want to go to the reggae club down the street.” She smiled, and her eyes were lit.

I arched a brow. “Uh… oh, do you have your eye on any of them?”

“Cedrick.” His name rolled off her tongue like she’d been waiting to tell me she liked him. “Is he married or has a woman?”

“I don’t think so. All he wants is a good time,” I warned as Jeri joined us and we headed to the club.

Frankie snickered. “And the problem with that…?”

I shrugged. “Do you.”

Jeri slung her arm around my neck. “I love long hair on a man, and Brian is hilarious. Then I love Latino men, and Santiago is so pretty with that accent. But if Charles wants to holla, his tatts make up for his hair challenges.”

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