Page 71 of The Devil's Tattoo
It was a Thursday morning, and the street was alive with traffic. Cafés were open, and people were sitting out on the street enjoying the sunshine with their fancy coffee and toasted focaccias. We passed a small greengrocer, and the smell of fresh fruit wafted out toward us as music from surrounding stores filtered out of their open doors and onto the street. I was so happy and content nothing could have come along then anddestroyedit.
“Stop,” I declaredsuddenly.
We’d passed by the front of a music shop. Guitars were hanging in one window and drums in the other, but what caught my eye was something else hanging just inside. I squished my nose against the window to get abetterlook.
“God, Zoe.” Will was laughing at me. “We can go inside, you know.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the window, which now bore my nose print, and led me intotheshop.
The store had just opened and was quiet inside. Rows on rows of guitars hung to one side, stuffed full of acoustics, electrics, basses, even banjos, and ukuleles, but I had eyes for none of them. I went straight up to the wall just inside the window where I’dseenit.
Itwas a blue starburst Fender with a metallic cobalt blue middle fading into black around the edges. It had a matte black scratch pad, and I knew it was a custom. I stroked my fingers along the neck, looking for the price tag. Custom Fenders equaled dollars.Bigones.
“Hey,” the sales guy said, wandering up to us, obviously smelling potential big bucks. “She’s a beauty. Wanna give heratry?”
“Go on,” Will said, nudging me forward. “I can see the lust in your eyes, and I’m jealousalready.”
I nodded. Looks meant nothing if it sounded like shit. The sales guy pulled out a small amp, took the guitar from the shelf, and plugged it in. I pulled the strap over my head and perched on a stool Willbroughtover.
I played a few chords, and the sound, even though it was only plugged into a small amp, was divine. Ignoring the look on the sales guy’s face, I went through the opening bars of ‘Walls,’ wondering how it would sound. It had a different tone without effects on it, but it sounded good. So good, I would have killed to add it to my collection of two. I had my matte black Epiphone Les Paul and an Epiphone electric acoustic. I was a bit of afangirl.
“Wow,” the guy said. “How long have you beenplaying?”
“About three years, I guess,” I replied absently, trying not to drool over theguitar.
“Only three years?” he exclaimed. “Did you teach yourself, or did you getlessons?”
“Myself.”
“She’s a genius,” Will said, and I could hear the pride in his voice. I looked up to see him smiling downatme.
The sales guy was still a little flabbergasted. I was sure he didn’t think I could play that well when we walked in. “It’s tagged at three eight, but I can cut it tothreefive.”
Three and a half thousand?I’d never paid more than one and a half thousand for a guitar. That would put a serious dent in my savings, and since I didn’t like to ask for help, that money was my sense of security in case I got into a tough spot. I didn’t really need a new guitar, not right now, but it wassonice…
“No,” I said reluctantly. “I can’trightnow.”
The guy’s face dropped a little, and I knew he was bummed at losing the sale. Will shrugged and squeezed myshoulder.
“Can I ask you about some leads, mate?” he asked to deflect another salespitch.
“Sure. What are youafter?”
Will wandered off with the sales guy, and I unplugged the leads and set the guitar back into its holder on the shelf. Three and a half thousand. The band had been doing really well, but I was still tight with my money. My parents had brought me up to be careful with it, making me save half my pocket money as a kid. When I was fifteen, I’d gone out and gotten my first job at a fast-food joint, and I’d saved half my wages just like I had my pocket money. So spending that much on something frivolous, even though it was now my job in a way, kind of made mefeelsick.
As Will talked with the sales guy, I wandered through the other guitars, but nothing caught my eye, not like that Fender did. Damn, my tightpockets.
“Ready?” Will asked, coming up behind me, a bag inhishand.
“Sure.”
“I’d prefer you look at me like that and not a guitar,” Will murmured into my ear as we left thestore.
“I already do,” Iretorted.
“I’m talkingexclusively.”
“Such a worry when you have to compete with an inanimateobject.”
He burst out laughing, tugging me toward him. “Zoe Granger, you’re beautiful, but I don’t think a guitar can get you off likeIcan.”
I squirmed, suddenly conscious we were standing on a busy street. “You’ll just have to remind melater.”
“Oh,” he said, his lips brushing against mine. “Iintendto.”
