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  He knocked.

  A stocky, middle-aged man with a buzz cut answered. “Hello Tyler. You brought a guest.”

  “This is my girlfriend, Candy.” Tyler settled his arm around her shoulders as if she might crumble if he pressed too hard.

  Girlfriend? That was fast. Maybe he had more confidence than she’d thought. Candy held out her hand. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”

  The older man softened as he shook her hand. “And it’s nice to meet you too, Candy. I’m Mr. Dale, the boys’ manager.”

  Touchstone had a manager? Most of these garage bands were lucky if they had one member with his shit together enough to book gigs. But then Touchstone was doing better than most garage bands.

  “Come on inside. Jeff and Michael are downstairs. Brian and Jason are running late as usual. Candy, would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Tyler took her hand and led her to a basement door. Downstairs were two more long-limbed rejects from the flannel parade.

  “You brought a fucking girl?” the one with the bass shouted.

  “Jeffery!” Mr. Dale barked. “Watch your language.”

  “But it’s practice, not the school dance.”

  “I—I didn’t—” Tyler stammered.

  “It’s not a problem.” Mr. Dale put up his hands. “You boys should perform in front of any audience you can get. Michael, clear the recycling off the couch so Candy can sit down.”

  The kid behind the drums shuffled to the bowed flowered couch along the wall and started moving bundles of newspapers off it. The doorbell rang and Mr. Dale went to answer it.

  “I’m Bear,” he said when she leaned down to help. “Only my parents and Mr. Dale call me Michael.”

  “Candy.”

  “You’re really pretty.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You and Tyler serious?”

  Candy glanced at Tyler. He was fiddling with a microphone, but his attention was on her. “Yeah.” As serious as a first date got anyway. None of these schmoes could probably manage a girlfriend and a bourgeoning music career so it would give Tyler some points in their eyes.

  “Figures. Mr. Dale ask you if you wanted something to drink? He probably did, huh?”

  “He did, but thanks. Pretend I’m not here.” Candy sat down and tried to be invisible.

  Tyler was talking to Jeff. Michael went back to messing with his drums. Two more boys thundered down followed by the heavier tread of Mr. Dale. The dark-haired one stopped when he hit the bottom. “Who brought a date? Bear!”

  Bear held up his hands. “It wasn’t me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tyler glanced around the room. “I didn’t know it was a problem.”

  “It isn’t.” Mr. Dale clasped the dark haired boy’s shoulder. “Say hello to Candy, Jason.”

  “We can’t have somebody here watching us practice. He just started and he still sucks with us.” The boy gestured toward Tyler who was turning an awful shade of red that clashed with his hunter green shirt.

  “Then it’s a perfect time for him to get used to playing with the band and you all need to practice together in front of an audience. Say hello.” Mr. Dale angled Jason toward her.

  The blond, who dressed as if he was still mourning the death of hair metal, stepped around them and approached her with his hand out. “Hi, I’m Brian.”

  She stood to shake his hand. “Hi. I think you shop at my store. I work in young men’s.”

  “Uh, yeah.” Brian scuffed the floor with the toe of his sneaker. “With my mom.”

  Candy remembered him now, and he didn’t dress like this when he was with his mother. This must be his rock-star look, heaven help him.

  “I’m Jason.” Jason hadn’t made it as far as a flannel, but his jeans and T-shirt had seen better days. “It’s not going to be perfect, you know.”

  Hopefully they didn’t go onstage dressed like this because with the exception of Tyler they looked as if they shopped in the Goodwill dumpster. Jody had never said anything about what a visual mess they were. “What?”

  “We’re practicing. It’s not going to be perfect.” Jason clenched his fists.

  Brian elbowed him.

  “What? It’s not. He just started.” Jason angled his thumb at Tyler, who still clashed with his shirt.

  “I don’t expect it to be perfect. That’s why it’s called practice.” Candy smiled. Sounded pretty good. Mr. Dale was smiling too, so it must have been. Jason didn’t look any happier, but he did walk away.

  Mr. Dale sat down on the couch with her. “So what do you think?”

  “I haven’t heard them.”

  “You’ve never seen them play?” He frowned.

  “I work a lot and I have school.”

  He nodded. “And what are your grades like?”

  “A’s and B’s in AP and honors classes.”

  He nodded again. “Your parents must be proud.”

  Candy made a noncommittal noise because it seemed as if she should respond. Her father hadn’t seen a report card in five years. The school didn’t even have his signature on file. She’d forged his name so if they did compare it would be the same.

  “How long have you and Tyler been dating?”

  “This is our first date.”

  Mr. Dale was starting to look like a bobble head dog. “Tell me, what do you think makes a band successful?”

  “I don’t know. Good songs?” Candy clasped her hands in her lap and hoped Mr. Dale would go away. When older guys talked to her this much at the store they were usually hitting on her and all she had to do was let them know she was underage and they lost interest, but Mr. Dale already knew she was underage. She was dating the singer in the band he managed. Or was he a pervy old man?

  “That’s part of it, but do you really think it was songs alone that got the Beatles where they were?”

  “I don’t know.” The Beatles? How old was this guy?

  “I don’t think it is. I think a lot of it had to do with the way they looked. Four handsome, well-dressed boys. They had half the battle won before the first note.”

  “The Rolling Stones were uniformly ugly and they were just as big.”

  He grinned as if his star student had hit the nail on the head. “I think they had something else going for them that you’re too young to understand.”

  Okay, how old did he think she was? Twelve? “I’m sorry, but Mick Jagger has the sex appeal of a broken suitcase and I don’t want to get into the others.”

  Mr. Dale laughed loud enough that the boys stopped what they were doing. He clapped her on the shoulder. “You are a very clever girl. Now look at my boys and tell me what you see.”

  Candy studied the band. They had gone back to their discussion and for a minute, all she saw was Tyler. He stood out. The sloppy jeans, ragged T-shirts and flannels the others were all wearing accented how good Tyler looked. Brian looked as if he’d made an attempt with his hair, but he only succeeded in looking like an over-processed David Coverdale. Every one of them had skin problems that could have been solved with the routine application of soap and water and the occasional moisturizer.

  But Tyler. Oh, Tyler looked good. He wasn’t any taller than the others, but with his shoulders squared he appeared to have a couple of inches on all of them. He had a brightness about him that came from looking good and knowing it. Candy smiled. He looked like the kind of boyfriend who would have all the girls in her school swooning.

  “I know. He stands out like a peacock.” Mr. Dale nodded, smiling. “I almost didn’t recognize him when he showed up to audition. We’d seen him before, of course, but when he arrived the other night, he was a different boy. He looked like a lead singer. He said you did it.” Mr. Dale leaned back on the arm couch.

  “Thanks.”

  “You did an excellent job. What I need to know is, can you do it for the rest of them?”

  Candy’s mouth fel
l open. He wanted her to make them over? All of them? This was turning into a much bigger project than she’d planned on while watching Tyler wander around her section of the store the other day.

  “These boys could be big. I know they could. They have a very good sound and they have drive. In this era of MTV, we need a good image, too. Once we have those pieces in place, we’ll start pursuing a record contract and a top-notch producer. And while the boys are working on their record, we’ll be looking at video scripts for the first single. I can handle the business side of things, but I don’t know the visual side. You do. We need your help.”

  Record contract? Producer? Video scripts? There were scripts for music videos?

  “Well?”

  The band started playing and volume alone could have been the reason she didn’t answer. Mr. Dale would think that anyway. Make over a band, like a professional stylist. That would look good on college and scholarship applications. As much as Jeff and Jason had bitched about this just being practice, they sounded tight. Tyler could have been singing with them for months instead of a couple of days. Touchstone could be the first line on her professional resume. “This isn’t going to be free,” she said between songs. “Clothes cost money.”

  “I’ve been holding the money they earn from their gigs for reinvestment and I have a bit of my own to invest.”

  “My friend Jody can do their haircuts. If we don’t do it in the salon, she can do it for free. She’s just a student, but she’s good. She did Tyler’s hair and she always does mine. And her friend Gina will probably pitch in with the skin care.” Candy bit her lip. “I could probably cut costs on clothing if I went through the thrift stores and got creative.”

  “Now she’s thinking.” Mr. Dale smiled.

  Candy looked over the band again, guessing their sizes. All of them except Bear were far too scrawny. If she kept herself to a couple colors, it would help make them look like a group instead of a bunch of guys who happened to climb on stage at the same time. The trick would be not making them look like bridesmaids. This was going to require hours of hunting through thrift stores and more hours on the bus getting from one to the other. Between work, school, and tailoring there weren’t going to be enough hours in the day for a while. “When is this all going to be due?”

  “We have a little time. I don’t want to be looking for a record contract until next year. The boys are too young yet and I don’t want to put them under that kind of pressure until they’re at least out of high school. Putting them on the road to tour before they’re old enough to drink would be cruel.”

  Gosh, yes, because heaven knows as famous rock stars nobody would serve them if they were underage. How could Mr. Dale be so smart and so dumb at the same time? “One more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They need to work out. All of them. Heroin thin is out.”

  Mr. Dale held out his hand and it took her a minute to realize he wanted her to shake it. He was treating her as an adult. “We have a deal. I think I’m going to enjoy working with you.”

  “You know I’m only sixteen.”

  “I am aware, but you seem to be a young lady of extraordinary maturity.”

  * * * *

  Candy glanced across the dressing room at the sound of Jody and Jason bickering. Well, Jody was bickering. Jason was looking at her as if he couldn’t figure out why she was there. Jason’s sister Connie was consumed with reaming out Jeff for spilling a Coke on his pants. Nothing unusual, so Candy went back to the repair she had to finish before the next set. Tyler sat down next to her and kissed her cheek.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Be going better if Bear would stop splitting his pants.”

  “Why won’t he wear the stretchy ones?”

  “Because he wants his ass to be a pain in my ass.” Candy tied off the last stitch and snipped the thread with the tiny scissors she wore on a yellow ribbon around her neck. Mr. Dale had given them to her because he didn’t want her to have to carry around a pair of real scissors in a crowded club.

  Tyler cupped her cheek turning her gaze to him. “Don’t run off.”

  “I was going to give Bear his pants.”

  “Let him come get them himself.” Tyler leaned down and kissed her. As always, he was soft and sweet. Candy closed her eyes, shutting out the noise in the room. Her body warmed, aching to be alone with him. His fingers tangled through her hair, sending shivers down her back. She moaned, parting her lips.

  “You done with my pants?” Bear demanded, yanking her back to the present.

  Tyler leaned back, groaning.

  Bear stood in front of them wearing only his tighty-whities with his fists on his hips.

  Candy threw the pants at him before turning back to Tyler. Before they could connect, a bouncer was standing at the door bellowing that the band had five minutes to get their asses on stage or they weren’t going to get paid. Tyler gave her another peck on the cheek before he left.

  Candy busied herself cleaning up her things. Connie waved at her on the way out the door. After tucking away the rest of her stuff so she’d just have to grab her plastic sewing caddy when they left, Candy went out too.

  The boys were already on stage and no way she was getting anywhere near it. People had started staking out spots up front lately. Most of them female. That meant she was doing her job well. Where the girls were, the boys would follow. And according to Mr. Dale, that equaled popularity across the board. It also meant every gig she missed for work she sweated out thinking he’d find somebody else.

  She headed for the bar. One of the things Mr. Dale negotiated was unlimited drinks for the band and their crew. Since they were all underage, the bar didn’t mind. Pop was cheap and easy to serve, and nobody got too drunk to perform on Pepsi. On her way to the low wall leading down to the tables between the bar and the stage, she spotted a man leaning against the bar watching her. He lifted his drink to her so she changed direction.

  “Hello, Joe. What are you doing here?”

  “Checking out your boy.” He waved his drink toward the stage. “They’re pretty good.”

  “I told you they were.”

  “I have to see these things for myself.” He turned to face her. “Valley Mall is having a big celebration this summer. All summer long they’re having bands on the weekends to draw people in to shop.”

  The bartender set a plastic cup of Pepsi on the bar beside her. She smiled at him in thanks. “And?”

  “I have ten slots to fill. The kind of crowd your boys draw, I could see them taking up three or four.”

  “What does it pay?”

  He grinned. “That’s why I like you. You don’t go all squeally at the thought of a gig. You want to know what the pay is first. I planned to pay the bands a hundred.”

  “Touchstone’s going rate is two hundred.” Not entirely true. They got two hundred here, but most places paid a hundred. Mr. Dale had been coaching her on the art of negotiation.

  He nodded. “I may be able to see my way clear to pay one-fifty. The shows are in the afternoon, so it wouldn’t interfere with their evening shows and it would expose them to a wider audience.”

  “Moms and kids who aren’t old enough to get into the underage clubs?”

  Joe shrugged. “You have me there. What if we threw in all the free pop you could drink?”

  “They can drink a lot of pop.” Candy licked her lips. A wider audience that wouldn’t interfere with evening gigs would be good. The extra money would cover equipment and transportation, and replace the pants Bear kept splitting. “I’ll put you in touch with the band’s manager, Alexander Dale.”

  “How about a job?”

  Candy had been raising her cup to her lips, but she hesitated. “A job? For who?”

  “You.”

  Candy put her drink down before she dropped it. A job? How many shirts did he need altered? “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve go
t an internship open in my office. Pays more than your little shop-girl job in less hours, and you’d have nights and weekends free to follow your band around. Of course, I’d be your boss so you’d actually have to listen to me when I tell you to do something and the pace is more demanding. You won’t have time to sew on the job anymore.”

  Unreal. Joe had only known her a couple of months. He’d bought almost a complete wardrobe from her and had every piece tailored. He’d also sent a couple of people to her from his office. Thanks to him, there was no way anyone would beat her out for the sales bonus. But that was because she was a good sales person and a good seamstress. What made him think she’d fit in his marketing firm? “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you offering me this job? There’s got to be a college student dying to get it.”

  “There’s a few, but none of them have what you have.”

  “The ability to sew?”

  He studied her face for a long time. “One of them does sew, but none of them have your je n’est sais quoi.”

  “You mean none of them looks as good in a short skirt as I do.” She picked up her drink again. The job would be nice. She’d had to miss a lot of Tyler’s gigs because of work. It would look really good on her college applications. Too bad she was totally unqualified for it. Either Joe was jerking her chain or he wanted an underage horizontal assistant. No, he’d never shown himself to be the type. When they chatted at the store, he was talking to her about his firm and marketing stuff. He had claimed he wanted the viewpoint of a younger person. Market analysis, he called it.

  Joe leaned to look her over. “Not necessarily.”

  “You remember I’m still underage, right?”

  “I’ve lived with that reality for a while now and if you were working for me I couldn’t even flirt with you anymore, but I think having you on staff would make up for it.” He shifted his stance against the bar. “I’ve been watching you build this campaign and it’s inspired. For a total amateur, you have a gift for public relations.”

  Inspired? All she’d done was give the guys a cohesive image so their name was on the lips of every girl in a hundred-mile radius. She’d put together a couple of posters with the help of the art teacher at school and she’d rallied friends to make sure those posters went up in logical high traffic areas. Did that constitute a marketing campaign? “But all I did was change the way they looked and put up a few fliers.”