Page 74 of Hard Rock Muse
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When we walked into Howell’s music store, I was surprised to see a fresh-faced teenaged boy behind the cash register, leaning on one elbow and flipping through a music magazine. I was amused to realize Cherry Lips was the main feature in that very same magazine.
“Hey kid,” I called out. “Where’s Frank?”
The teen looked up, startled, his elbow nearly sliding off the counter.
“He’s off today,” he replied.
Frank never used to take a day off. Even if I was holding down the counter, he would still be somewhere in the back room messing around. The old man must have been mellowing in his old age if he was letting some kid take care of the store without him.
The teen stared at me, his face scrunching up as if thinking hard. I wondered if he might be trying to place where he knew me from. His gaze drifted from me to Julian. His eyes went wide, and I knew he recognized Julian.
“Holy shit!” he blurted out. “You’re—!”
“Just here to look,” I cut in smoothly. “That cool?”
“Yeah, yeah, go right ahead,” he replied, his mouth still agape.
“I told you people recognized keyboardists,” I murmured to Julian.
“That’s not completely fair,” Julian replied. “My face is on the cover.”
“Hidden behind layers of hair,” I teased.
The music store wasn’t the biggest in the city, it wasn’t in the best location, and it didn’t have the most impressive selection, but it did have one thing going for it.
This was the place where I’d first met Julian.
I wandered to the far end of the store, where there were stacks of vinyl records for sale. I flipped through them, one by one. I had owned most of them at one point or another.
“Do you remember the day we met each other?” I asked.
Julian followed me, not making a sound. He always had been just like a giant cat, striding on light feet through the jungle, as if he were stalking his prey. But there was never anything menacing about it. He walked with this restrained power, like you knew he could leap on you at any minute, but wouldn’t. He was more likely to rub his chin against your hand and purr — but only if he decided he liked you.
“I remember,” Julian replied. “I was that quiet emo kid, like you said before. And you were that cool punk girl behind the counter with the bright pink hair.”
“You were so tall, even back then,” I said. “You towered over me.”
“Unless you were wearing your platform boots,” he countered.
“Why do you think I bought them?”
We shared a quick smile. I went back to thumbing through records, not looking at Julian.
“I had wanted to go up to you when you first walked in, but you were kind of intimidating,” I confessed. “All dressed in black, looking so serious and foreboding.”
“Me? What about you?” Julian countered. “With your combat boots, nose piercing, heavy eyeliner and that lift of your eyebrow that told people you didn’t have time for their shit…”
“Is that what my eyebrow said?” I asked. “And here I thought I was being a perfectly pleasant retail worker.”
“You scared me shitless,” he said. “I had wanted to ask you about the keyboards, but I was worried you’d think I was a dumbass.”
“After that moment when you first put those fingers to those keys, I would have known you weren’t a dumbass.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I started playing right there in the middle of the store.”
I faked a gasp. “Julian Woods, were you showing off for me?”
