Page 11 of The Music Demon

“Doors. Stones. Of course, you can’t be from around here and not like Stevie.”

“Goes without saying.”

“I never mention my favorite music because other people wouldn’t know it.”

“Try me.”

Gray smirked like he already knew Lyric had failed his test. “Quicksilver Messenger Service.Happy Trails. ‘Who Do You Love’took an entire front side of the album.”

Lyric’s mouth spread into a knowing smile. “Recorded live at the Fillmore in New York in two performances.”

Gray’s eyes widened. “Fuck me. That’s like…neverhappened.”

“What?”

“That somebody else knows that music. I mean somebody besides me and my neighbor. She’s the one who turned me on to it.”

“So happens I agree with you. Quicksilver was a flare in the night.”

“I know!” There was newfound enthusiasm in the kid’s tone. “If you say ‘Who Do You Love’ to most people who think they’re, like, aficionados or whatever, they’ll start goin’ on about that George Thorogood single.” It was evident that Gray was making an effort to keep from screwing up his face to convey his disdain for the Thorogood version. Lyric wondered if the grandmother’s manners training had included refraining from dissing artists. “If they really were aficionados they’d mention Bo Diddley. Ya know? After all, he wrote the original.”

Lyric nodded. “Diddley was the man.”

A young woman in jeans, tank top, and long white apron delivered a heavy tray laden with an abbondanza dinner for one. Gray nodded to her politely. “Hey Karen.”

“Hey Gray. You sounded good. ‘Course you always do.”

“Thanks.” He turned toward the food in a move that had all the earmarks of a dismissal. Karen looked like she’d hoped for a little encouragement to linger, but to her credit, when she didn’t get any, she left.

The demon’s dinner guest shoved an onion ring in his mouth, groaned out loud, then dug into the steak with unabashed earnestness. As he was chewing, he looked over at Lyric. “Good,” was all he said.

“Have you ever been in a band? I mean as a regular member.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Financial concerns. Creative differences. Only twenty-four hours in a day. Stuff like that.”

“Financial concerns meaning not enough money to pursue music?”

“Right. Exactly.”

“What do you mean by creative differences?”

“Everybody who wants to playthiskind of music wants to cover, not create. It’s not that I don’t get that. I mean, who’s gonna buynewClassic Rock.” He chuckled. “There it is again. Oxymoron.”

Lyric nodded. “Yeah. I see that. You got some songs?”

The kid looked suddenly shy, but responded with a charming lopsided grin. “Yeah. I got songs. Nobody to play ‘em with though.”

“They good songs?”

Gray made a face. “I think so.”

“Well, that’s a start. If you don’t think so, who will?”

“Right.”

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