Page 13 of Torch Songs

“You’re… wait!” Suddenly she blushed. She was a pretty woman, in her late thirties maybe, with a lot of thick, styled brown hair and bronzer.Mercedes, silver, hangs on to it for sentimental value although could probably trade it in for a bundle.

He knew he’d seen that car in the parking lot of the Washoe the night before as he’d been leaving.

For a moment, his body washed hot and cold as he thought,Oh yeah. This is it. There goes my job.

Then he remembered those kisses in the front of Tad’s SUV: The gentle bump of Tad’s bold nose along his jawline, the burst of breath in Guthrie’s ear when Guthrie had massaged his chest.

Totally worth it. Would repeat. 10/10.

The thought let him relax. He’d done nothing wrong, and this woman wasn’t remembering him from a moment in a darkened car—she was remembering him from his few moments in the light.

“You sang thatsong,” she said excitedly. “That tragic Linda Ronstadt song. And then you did vocals for ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’ while that girl played the fiddle. Oh my God, your band isgreat. I mean,unusual. It’s not often that a fiddle and an electronic keyboard and a cello are backing up the drums and lead guitar, but… good stuff!”

Guthrie shrugged and gave her his best self-deprecating stage smile. “We do enjoy ourselves. The kids from the conservatory arethereto have fun, right? So yeah. We like to think we bring a good time.”

Her eyes softened a little as she took in his bright blue polyester polo. “Day job?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Health and dental. Can’t crap on that, right?”

She laughed. “Well, keep your health and dental, but my God, keep playing!”

From the counter Martin said, “Ms. Kuhns? Your car’s done. You can find it in the service bay.”

“Thank you!” she called over Guthrie’s shoulder. Then to Guthrie she said, “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, uhm—”

“Guthrie, ma’am. Like Arlo and Woody, right?”

“It’s in your blood,” she said with an impish little grin.

“It is indeed.” He gave a small bow then, like a troubadour of old, and she threw her head back and laughed, sounding younger, maybe. Like he’d made her feel good.

He liked doing that.

Cheerfully, he finished cleaning the coffee station and went to wash his hands. On the way, he caught Martin’s glare.

“What?” he asked.

“What was that all about?” Martin all but snarled. “What song?”

“What I do on my off hours is my business,” Guthrie said. “I play in a band. We do gigs. She was at one. Why?”

Martin’s expression grew complicated. “You….” His jaw went slack. “You, uh, ever know anyone famous?”

And oh my God, serendipity. Their overhead music was played softly—loud enough to listen to if someone was bored, not loud enough to impose on conversation. And there, just as Guthrie was about to answer, came one of Seth Arnold’s signature songs, released on an album shortly before Seth and Kelly were married. Apparently, it was a surprise to Kelly, who heard the cut on the radio one day during the wedding weekend and said, “Oh my God, papi, this you?”

Amara had told them then that Seth had produced so much good stuff for his YouTube channel that summer that he’d been asked to cut a CD.

Seth didn’t remember. “Me and Kelly were, uhm, sort of taking a break. He had family shit to sort, and I dunno. I guess. Thatsoundslike me.”

Guthrie had been impressed and appalled, both at the same time. On the one hand, the song was glorious. It had to be to cross over from classical to pop. On the other, all Guthrie had ever wanted was to bethat good. That successful. And Seth had been so intent on the love of his life he hadn’t even noticed.Guthrie had wondered if he’d ever be unselfish enough to be that much in love. He still wondered.

But there it was now, Seth Arnold, playing on the overhead speakers, right when Guthrie needed a good comeback.

He didn’t say a word. Just smiled evilly and let Martin figure it out for himself.

Martin’s eyes got really wide. “Seth Arnold? Like—likeSeth Arnold! Oh my God. Next you’ll be telling me you know Outbreak Monkey!”

Guthrie rolled his eyes. “No, dumbass, because they never played in the Bay Area when I was there.” Although Guthrie had heard those good ole boys speak in interviews, and he had a feeling he and Mackey Sanders would get along fine.

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