The applause was deafening. I bowed, along with the rest of band, acknowledging the accolades after our third encore. Joey Seever, lead guitarist for Hail The Dead Marys, tossed guitar picks into the audience.
I loved performing, and our band kicked some serious butt. We were all dedicated musicians, extremely talented, and great at what we did.
I worked alongside the other band members to clear the stage and carried my equipment out to the trunk of my car when we were done.
“See you at practice next Monday night, Grady,” Joey called as he walked by, his husband Jared hugged close to his side.
A little jealousy at their happiness sparked in my heart, but I tamped it down. It wasn’t their fault that I had no one in my life right now. It would happen when the time was right. I just needed to work on my patience.
“Yup. Night, guys.” I got into the car and turned on the engine. The weather was starting to warm up, finally. Spring was almost a month old, and I was thankful. Cold temperatures were notmy favorite thing.
I drove to my apartment and let myself in, dragging my keyboard and other items with me. Tired down to my bones, I left everything by the couch and slowly made my way to the bedroom, immediately crashing on the sheets.
Sure, I was sweaty and nasty, but I was too exhausted to care. When I awoke hours later, the sun was stabbing at me through the blinds, and I felt like road kill. After forcing myself out of bed, I made my way to the bathroom and removed my funky-smelling T-shirt and jeans. Once I got rid of the underwear, I stepped into the shower and turned the water on cold.
Fuck, that felt brutal. But it woke me up enough to find the soap and give myself a good scrub. I heard my cell phone ringing when I turned off the water, so I jumped out of the shower and searched the pockets of my jeans.
I looked at the screen. It was my mom. “Hey. Can I call you right back? I was in the shower.”
“Sure, hon.” She hung up.
Minutes later, dry and in a ratty T-shirt and shorts, I stood in the kitchen, watching the coffee brew while I called Mom back.
“What’s up, love? Everything okay?”
My mother resided in a very trendy, ultra-modern senior living apartment building. When Dad died, she didn’t want to stay in that big house anymore without him. There were just too many memories. So we found a place she liked, and now she was living the life.
“Do I need to have a reason to call you?”
“Nice try. Out with it.” I knew her well.
“We need a piano player for our talent show. The other guy died a few days ago, and, well, I loved Daniel, but his death doesn’t help us in a month’s time when we have to perform. You’ll do it, won’t you?”
As if I’d say no. She was my mother, after all, and I’d do anything for her.
“Happy to help. Give me dates, though, because I’ll need to work around my schedule with the band and the studios.”
“Oh, sweetie, I love you. You’re the best son a mother could ever have!”
“I’m your only son, but I love you, too.”
* * * *
At least the practice times weren’t on the nights that I had to be with the band. The show date worked out as well. Perhaps it was fate. When I entered the lobby of Mom’s building, a couple of older ladies came up to me.
“Can I have your autograph, Mr. Sambora?” one of them asked.
I rolled my eyes. “I appreciate the compliment, ma’am, but I’m not Richie Sambora.” It was a blessing and a curse to have such a striking resemblance to the man. Maybe I should dye my brown hair green, or wear blue contacts to disguise my brown eyes, or something.
“Are you sure? You look just like him,” the same lady insisted.
It was my cleft chin. I was positive of that.
“Muriel, leave my son alone.” Mom to the rescue!
“You didn’t tell us he was so good-looking!”
“I did, and you were wearing your old glasses the last time you met.” Mom leaned in and hugged me, then kissed my cheek before stepping back. “Thanks for doing this, dear. It means a lot to all of us.”
“It’s my pleasure. Why don’t you show me the piano, and then give me a rundown of the show.”
“Follow me.”
I sauntered behind her, the blue of her hair—she changed the color once a month—glistening in the overhead lighting. I’d been here before, of course, to visit her. Usually we spent time together in the park outside the building, or I took her out for a meal. This was the first time I’d actually explored the ground floor.
