Chapter Twenty-Seven
Joanna was in big trouble.
The more time she spent with Liam, the more time she wanted to spend with Liam. He had a way of wringing painful truths out of her and then loving her so sweetly afterward that she hardly felt any pain.
He was going to be hard to leave behind.
Not that she particularly had anywhere to go.
Her phone rang, and she dug in the couch cushions for it. How had it even gotten down there? Starr gave her a lazy growl as Joanna dislodged her pillow throne.
“Did you bury my phone?” she asked the dog.
Starr just put her head down on her paws.
“Don’t look all innocent on me,” she said as her hand made contact with the phone. “Aha. Hello?”
“Joanna?”
“Who is this?”
“It hasn’t been that long, bitch.”
Joanna rolled her eyes. Mandy. Bunny Slippers Mandy.
“Hey,” Joanna said tentatively. The last time she’d spoken to Mandy, her former bandmate had told her that she never wanted to speak to her again and she hoped her fingers froze off in a snowstorm. Their professional relationship, such as it was, had not ended smoothly.
“How’s it going?” Mandy asked, her tone suspiciously innocent.
“Fine.”
“You still in that shitty hometown of yours?”
Joanna wanted to defend Halikarnassus, say it wasn’t that bad. Then she realized what she was about to say. Of course it was bad. It was terrible. It was boring. It was . . .
Well, maybe it wasn’t terrible. There were a lot of terrible, small-minded people here, but there were a lot of people she really liked, too.
Not that she thought Mandy particularly cared.
“Yup.”
“Good. Listen. Calliope’s out.”
Great, Joanna thought. A sarcastic thought, though, because she had no idea what Mandy was talking about.
“She and Jeff,” Mandy explained, clearing up exactly nothing.
“What are you talking about?”
“For reals? Ugh, Joanna. Head out of ass, please. Calliope is—was—the guitarist who replaced you when you abandoned us onstage.”
So, Joanna was not entirely forgiven.
“The good news is, she sucked, so it’s no great loss. Except that now we are without a lead guitarist.”
“I thought you said Jeff wasn’t going to let me within ten feet of you guys.” Joanna, are you trying to screw this up?
“That’s the other good news. Jeff did a runner with Calliope. I talked to a lawyer, and since he broke the contract, it’s null and void. Basically, whatever Jeff said, we can forget.”
“So . . .”
“So come back on the tour, bitch! We need you. And you owe us.”
Joanna’s hands started sweating. She held the phone away from her ear for a minute because all she could hear was the beating of her heart.
“. . . not so bad. I mean, their music sucks, but whatever. We get that money, no more Jeff, we can do what we want. Meet us in Minneapolis, bring Rosetta.”
“And my fluffy tail?”
“Listen, the fluffy tail. I kind of like it. But Deb and Harlow won’t wear theirs, so I guess you don’t have to either. It can just be my thing.”
No tail, no Jeff, playing the music that she wanted to play.
Opening for a band she hated with people whose judgment she questioned.
“I gotta think about it,” she told Mandy.
“Are you kidding me.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement that Joanna was once again not acting in her own best interest.
“I can’t just drop everything, you know.” She had a lot going on in Halikarnassus. Her grandmother—who didn’t need her, a band—that was just for fun, a guy—who, well, he’d be fine without her.
And she’d be fine without him.
Right?
“Fine. You think about it. Your big important life in that shitty town that you hate is a lot to give up, I know.”
“You don’t know my life,” Joanna said, instantly defensive.
“No, but I know you, and I know you live to play. So quit pretending you don’t want this.”
She did want it. She was pretty sure she wanted it.
“I talked to the guys and they are totally on board.”
“The guys?”
“The Penny Lickers, obv. And their management. They want to make a big deal about it, like you’re so badass and punk rock you just up and leave whenever. Except that you can’t do that again, okay? You can’t just run off whenever you don’t agree with something.”
“Got it. I still need to think about it.”
“Don’t think too long, bitch. We found one Calliope, we can find another.”
“Bye, Mandy.”
“Call me tomorrow.”
Joanna hung up without committing. She flopped back on the couch and threw her arm over her eyes. Starr jumped off her perch on the back of the couch and onto Joanna’s abdomen.
“Oof.” But Joanna ran her hands along Starr’s fluffy back, finding comfort in the feeling.
This opportunity was what Joanna wanted, handed to her on a silver platter. The chance to get back with Bunny Slippers, to reclaim the band’s rightful place as an actual, hard-rocking punk band that did not answer to the whims of the corporate music machine.
But what about when the next Jeff came along? How could she trust that Mandy wouldn’t jump on the next record contract? Because that was what Mandy wanted, to be big. She said otherwise, but could people really change?
Joanna had changed, though. She wasn’t the same person she had been when she’d first come back to Halikarnassus, just like she wasn’t the same person she had been when she was in high school (and thank God for that). Now she was happy with Delicious Lies, screwing around with her friends, playing whatever the hell they wanted with no endgame other than making really great noise. And Chet had asked them to play. Their first real gig, with people who would pay a cover to see them. A five-dollar cover, but still. Five dollars to see three women play real, authentic, no-holds-barred rock.
Even Kristin was starting to panic a little less at the thought. And Joanna felt like she couldn’t let Kristin down by leaving before the gig. And if anything could prove to her that people could change, it was the fact that she was considering Kristin Klomberg’s feelings before making a decision.
And if she went out on the road again with Bunny Slippers, what about Liam? Joanna was not a total idiot. No relationship survived the separation of the road. And she had nothing to hold him to her, nothing to give him to make him stay. And he couldn’t come with her. Even if he didn’t have an actual, important job, she had a feeling he wouldn’t want to leave this stupid town.
She should talk about it with him. Maybe they could work it out. But then he’d choose Halikarnassus over her, and she didn’t think her ego could take the blow.
“What am I gonna do, Starr?”
Starr just snored on.
She needed to clear her head. She needed space to think. Granny’s couch was way too comfortable for her to do anything but fall asleep thinking that staying here for the rest of her life would be a great idea.
“Okay, Starr,” she said, sitting up. “We’re going for a w-a-l-k.”
Starr looked at Joanna, her ears perked up, and she tore down the hall, headed, Joanna assumed, under Granny’s bed.
Starr did not want to walk.
And apparently she knew how to spell.
Well, Joanna didn’t need company, anyway. In fact, she was probably better off without company. She picked up her coat where she’d tossed it on the floor (because old habits die hard) and wound a scarf around her neck. She shut the door behind her and stood on the front steps, thinking idly about which way to walk. It didn’t really matter. She wasn’t going anywhere. She’d just walk and see where she wound up.
She shouldn’t have been surprised that, twenty minutes later, she was on the steps of the library.
* * *
“Mayor’s here again.”
Liam looked up from his computer, where he’d been fighting with a spreadsheet. The budget spreadsheet, to be specific. And not just fighting. It was more like tearing his hair out.
Of course Hal was here now.
“I don’t suppose he’s just a regular patron again today,” he asked Dani, without much hope that that was true.
“Big! How’s it going?”
Hal appeared behind a surprised Dani, who scuttled out of the way and, he hoped, back to the circ desk. Although she was probably going to the break room to tell the others that the mayor was in Liam’s office.
He wouldn’t blame her if she did. Everyone was worried sick about their jobs. He had assured them that every possible measure would be taken to keep staffing at its current level, but if they cut the budget, he’d have to cut hours, and he couldn’t really justify having more people on staff than they really needed.
Not that he said that part. But he thought about it. A lot.
“Hi, Mayor,” Liam said, standing up to shake Hal’s hand. “What can I do for you?”
“Nice hair,” Hal said, and Liam quickly smoothed down his hair. One of the hazards of pulling out one’s hair while looking at a budget that might or might not be cut in half. “How is the world of the library treating you?”
“Oh, just fine. Swell. Lots of people out there, as you can see. Gearing up for spring break.” Babbling. Sentence fragments.
“I see. Anything major happening?”
“Nothing major. Just the usual. Toni and I are starting to talk about summer reading.”
“Summer! You really do plan ahead.”
And this man was the mayor.
“I came to drop off these books.” Hal put a paper bag on Liam’s desk and started to empty it.
Books.
Not great books.
Hardbacks with dinged-up corners. Paperbacks with the covers bent back. Lots of yellowing pages. Spines slashed with a black marker—ah, the remainders bin. C. J. Box, Lincoln Child, Danielle Steel. All stuff that was really popular, and all of it at least five years old, and all stuff Liam was sure was already in the collection.
“Thanks,” Liam said, as he did to everyone who donated crappy books that wouldn’t even get fifty cents in the used book sale.
“Guess how much I spent on this pile of books here,” Hal challenged.
Liam considered. Ten hardbacks, fourteen paperbacks . . . “Twenty bucks?” Probably less than that, but Liam rounded up so Hal could prove whatever point he was trying to prove.
“Close. Thirty-five.”
Wow. Mayor got ripped off.
“You know how much these books would cost new?”
Liam did some math. Twenty to twenty-five for a hardback, fifteen for the trade paperbacks . . .
“Three hundred eighty-nine dollars and seventy-six cents.”
“Great. Thanks. We really appreciate—”
“That’s less than ten percent.”
“Yup.” He wondered if Toni had any “Good Job” stickers in the children’s room. Hal looked like he could use one.
“So what I’m saying is, why do you have to spend so much money on books?”
If Liam didn’t value his brain function so much, he would have slammed his head on his desk. It was preferable to slamming his head against Hal’s face.
“True, but you don’t get that kind of discount on new books.”
“Sure, but Kristin told me she always has to wait for her turn with the new books, so why not just wait and buy them later?”
Because five years was a ridiculous amount of time to wait, and the reason Kristin had to wait was that there were other people in front of her in line who had to wait a little less.
Liam was not sure explaining all that would work.
“Yes, but we already get a forty percent discount from our distributor.”
“Forty percent is a lot less than ninety percent.”
“Yes . . . but shopping like this is time-consuming, and I’m sure the selection is limited. You probably picked out the best books in the bunch.” Flattery, to be sure, but also probably true.
“If you don’t want to take my suggestions, fine. I’m only trying to make it easier.”
“Make what easier?” A time-consuming, not-ver y-money-saving idea for adding books they didn’t need to the collection . . . that didn’t seem like it would help Liam out much.
Hal sighed, as if this was the hardest thing he’d had to say in a long time and he really pitied Liam for being the one who had to hear it. “I really didn’t want to do this, but, well, I figured I’d better tell you in person.”
“Tell me what?” Liam asked, a sense of dread creeping down his spine and cementing him to his chair.
“It’s just that the boys have worked so hard, and we want to reward them. And I think you’ll agree that more people come to football games than come to the library.”
“I wouldn’t agree with that, no.” In fact, it would be a pretty easy thing to disprove. Aside from the fact that the library was open year-round, Liam was pretty sure his average door counts would be higher than attendance at a regular season football game.
At least, it had been. Now that the team had gotten good-ish, Liam wouldn’t bet his budget on that.
“I just think in the spirit of doing what’s best for the community, we’re going to go ahead with the stadium construction project.”
Now it was a stadium? “You mean the lights?”
“The lights, for starters. I’m thinking about a state-of-the art venue that can be used year-round. The best technology, the best facilities, everything our boys deserve.”
“And girls.”
“Huh?”
“Surely a year-round sports facility would involve some of the girls’ sports.”
“Yeah, yeah, fine. The point is, money doesn’t grow on trees.”
“No . . .”
“But paper does. And you know what’s made out of paper?”
“Money?”
“Books!”
Liam wished he was holding a pencil so that he could break it in half. But then Hal would probably cut his supply budget because now he had two pencils.
“We also have CDs and DVDs and other—”
“I’m just here as a professional courtesy, that’s all. Tonight we’re having a special session where we’ll hear public opinions, then we’ll vote.”
“Voting on rearranging the budget that the council already passed?” Tonight? Could he rally enough people to come support the library by tonight?
Yes, of course he could. He just had to activate the gossip train of Halikarnassus.
He wished Hal would leave so he could start making phone calls.
“There is one thing . . .”
Oh, God. Liam didn’t think he could take one more thing.
“I might be persuaded to . . . postpone the vote.”
“Postpone it? What, like, give me another day?” Liam couldn’t help the sarcasm that crept into his voice. Because he couldn’t imagine what he could give Hal that could compel the man to give up his dream of a useless football stadium in Halikarnassus.
“It’s this band of your girlfriend’s.”
“What does Delicious Lies have to do with the town budget?” If he was going to ask them to play a special show, maybe he could beg Joanna to do it. If he begged really, really hard.
“My wife has been spending an awful lot of time with that band.”
“Sure. I mean, she’s in it, right?”
“Big, I’m gonna level with you. I love this town and I love my job, I really do. But I’ve got my eye on bigger fish. I’m talking Albany, I’m talking DC. And I don’t think performing in this lunatic band with a psycho bitch—no offense to you and your taste in women—is the right image for a future First Lady, you know?”
Liam took a moment to imagine a country where Hal was the president. It did not compute, so he focused on the matter at hand.
“So . . . you want me to talk to Kristin?” They were friends, sure, but he really didn’t think he’d be comfortable with that. Of course, if it meant securing library funding, he could certainly try.
“No, no. I’ve tried that. Talking doesn’t work. I need action.”
“Uh . . .”
“I need you to get your girlfriend to cancel the gig.”
The gig. The one the three of them had been looking forward to with such anxiety and excitement. The one that Joanna couldn’t stop talking about, and the one that was keeping her in Halikarnassus.
Basically, Hal wanted him to choose between the library and Joanna.
And by the smug look on his face, the bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
That made him want to punch Hal. Again.
Instead, he took a step back. This was the budget of the library. This was people’s salaries and the life of the center of the community. Maybe Joanna would do this as a favor.
God, he hated that he was even thinking that. If he gave Hal this inch, who knew what kind of mile he would be after next?
But he had to try.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he wouldn’t. Canceling one show was not going to make Hal give up his dream. But at least it might buy Liam some time until he could figure out something better to do. Maybe Hal would postpone the council’s vote. Maybe he’d give them another year’s reprieve.
“Good man,” said Hal. He stood up, shook Liam’s hand. “I know you’ll do the right thing. Oh, hi, Joanna. Didn’t see you there.”
Liam looked up at his doorway and, yup, there was his aforementioned girlfriend, the one who was a bad influence on the mayor’s wife.
And she looked pissed.