Page 130 of Wicked Pickle

He flips it open, revealing the very naked portrait of Symphony. “Whooee, I remember that gal. Shit, you got that one under you, didn’t you?”

I take the book and open a drawer to stuff it inside. “For a time.”

“You’re pretty good. I’d pay money for that.”

I bet he would. “Just a hobby.”

“I used to have a hobby, an obsession really.” He picks up the binder of plans. “Guitar.”

“Were you any good?”

“I could play sweet, sweet tunes all day long. Put together a group. Got some gigs. We cut a little record once. Didn’t go nowhere.”

“A record? Really?”

“Yeah, some shitty outfit out of Memphis. But the road was hard. The band couldn’t hold it together, and I was drunk all the time.” He kicks at the leg of the desk. “Gave it up. Got a real job. Joined Wild Hair. That’s a job right there.”

I haven’t sketched since Merrick and I took off with Greta. I sometimes get the urge, but I shove it down. “You regret quitting?”

“Only every day.” Two-Shit sniffs. “Nothin’ else dulls the pain.” He laughs. “But I sure make a go of it with beer and a woman.”

“You know, you could pick it up again,” I say.

“Nah. That part of my soul done gone dry. A gift like that is like a flower in a pot. If you don’t water it, give it some love, it turns to dirt.”

He moves toward the door, holding up the binder. “Thanks for these.” He tilts his head toward the desk. “Hope your balls don’t shrivel after giving up that one.” He chuckles to himself as he leaves.

I drop onto the chair. Who knew Two-Shit was a philosopher?

I haven’t written Symphony since we got back. I don’t know what to say. She’s got a big life ahead, and a two-bit bar owner is a liability, not an asset.

I pull out the sketchbook. My throat tightens as I look at each image of her. Are they any good? How would I know? Symphony liked them.

Maybe I could find out.

Luckily, I know where to find an art class.

CHAPTER 41

SYMPHONY

Summer school on campus consists of two short semesters. The first one ends with only a week’s break before the next. I work full time between them and then go back to my usual hours when classes restart.

Jenna is taking session two off, and Bailey is done with coursework, so only Marietta and I sit in the grass on the first day, waiting for class.

She lies on her back, looking up at the sky. There are no trees on the main lawn, so we’re in full sun, sweating our butts off. I’m not working today, so I wear shorts and a sleeveless shirt, both pale yellow to match my hair.

“Did you ever decide what you’re doing about the strip club?” I ask her.

“I didn’t go back. But I signed up for pole dancing.” She rolls on her side, her eyes bright. “Turns out I have a pretty strong core. I’m already able to fan kick.”

I have no idea what that is, but I nod vigorously. “That’s great!”

“It’s serious exercise. Maybe if I get good enough, it will make up for my lack of boobs.”

She hasn’t talked about going back to the bar, even though I know she was all about Merrick for a while. Maybe the urge has passed. Or maybe she knows she’s lost her partner in crime. I can’t imagine going out there and seeing Diesel after everything.

Most times when I think of him, I picture his wild hair swinging to one side, his flashing eyes, and the tattoos across his chest and arms.

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