“Talk to me,” is all he says.

“I’m on the list.”

“Name,” he snaps.

I bite my lower lip and curse Rene in my mind. “I’m not on that list. I’m on the other list.”

Burly man looks up from the clipboard as if he wants to punch someone. “There is no other list.”

“Parker,” I whisper. “My dad is Jackson Parker.”

Oh crap, I don’t think this is going to work. As I turn away, a hand harshly grabs my arm and the bouncer gives me a hard stare. He jerks me behind him and I call out for Jimmy Stallworth, as the crowd in front of the door pushes me through it.

The walls and floors vibrate from the music of an edgy alternative rock song, and I feel like I’m suffocating in the packed, dimly lit room, trapped against the far wall beside Jimmy Stallworth and breathing in heavy waves of secondhand smoke.

Jimmy gives me a curious stare. “OK, what just happened?”

I shake my head. “I got you in. That’s what you wanted. Now leave me alone.”

He’s combing my face intently. “You’re not some Congressman’s daughter or something like that?”

I ignore the question and try to push through the bodies. A fat person in leather barges into me and knocks me into the wall, and Jimmy Stallworth pushes the fat guy away to give me room to walk.

We stand against the wall not talking. The band breaks, runs off stage, and the bodies in front of us become less compressed.

“I’m going to find a table,” I say.

“Good luck with that,” counters Jimmy sarcastically, lighting another cigarette. “Do you want to dance?”

Did Jimmy Stallworth really just ask me if I wanted to dance? I roll my eyes. “There’s no band on stage.”

“Later. When the next band is up.”

“I thought you had to meet someone here?”

“Later.”

“What about Victor and Richard? You should probably figure out how to get your friends in.”

Jimmy crushes out his cigarette on the floor. “Fuck them. Rich college punks. They’re the ones who screwed up getting me on the list.”

I start to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Jimmy scolds me. “I expect you to come back.”

You do, do you? “I’m going to the ladies’ room. Don’t follow.”

Of course, there’s a line, but at least in the quiet and cool corridor I’m away from Jimmy Stallworth. I hate that I’m waiting alone. No respectable girl goes to the bathroom alone, and I hate that I can’t seem to shake Jimmy or form a better plan about how I should pass the rest of my evening.

I lean against the wall, staring at the line that seems never to move. I give up. I didn’t really have to pee, but the time was well spent because Jimmy Stallworth is no longer lounging against the wall where I left him. Free at last. Fuck the world of Jimmy Stallworth!

Over the noise of too many voices starts another deafening assault of music that turns the crowd totally haywire, into a churning, bouncing swarm that I can’t completely avoid even flattened against the wall. Trying to stay out of their way, I slowly inch to the door. A stocky punked-out Italian stops me.

“Miss Parker? Who the hell left you standing in the doorway?”

I am face to face with a man who has more than his share of tattoos and piercings and an authoritative air about him. He takes my arm and eases me away from the cold concrete.

“I’m Kevin, the manager. Anything you need, anything at all, you ask me. Jack and I go way back. How is Jack? I haven’t seen your Pop in over a year...”

I go from being completely ignored in the club, to getting a healthy share of stares as I am directed to a table roped off with a reserved sign. How Rene would love this! I sink into the chair held for me, frantically scanning the crowd, hoping that Jimmy Stallworth doesn’t see me here.

I look up, realizing Kevin has already asked me twice if I’d like something to drink. “I’m sorry. That band is good. I’ve never heard them before.” What was the vodka drink Rene ordered for us? “Bring me a Kamikaze.”

Kevin crouches down at my table. He smiles. “That’s Rip the Cord. That’s Vince Carroll on the drums.”

I sit back, stunned, and stare. “Vince? Vince Carroll?”

Vince; Sammy’s best friend his entire life. I haven’t seen Vince since Sammy’s funeral. The drummer from Sammy’s band. I fight to see through the crowd the musicians on stage. Shirtless, dripping with sweat, long wavy chestnut hair, yes that is Vince wielding the sticks.

Kevin’s eyes soften with emotion. “That’s Cory Jensen on bass. That’s JR on lead guitar.”

Oh god, it’s all of them, all the members of Sammy’s band except Sammy. New name, new lead singer, and still a band. I didn’t know that they were still a group. Everyone from my brother’s world just seemed to disappear after his death.

Jimmy Stallworth cuts across the floor, turns a chair backward against the table and sinks down.

“Good. You got a table,” he says, rummaging into his pocket for another cigarette to light.

I frown. “What are you? A curse? Why don’t you bother some other girl?”

He ignores me, orders a drink when the waitress arrives, and stares fixed at the stage. I sip my Kamikaze and watch Johnny Ramone arriving, telling me it’s way past midnight. Jimmy Stallworth rises from my table. The relief I feel hoping that he’s leaving is overpowering.

“You owe me a dance,” Jimmy says staring down at me.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

He has me by the hand, dragging me to the floor before I can stop him. On the dance floor he returns to fixed-stare mode, and I realize it’s the band he’s dogging with his eyes. He tries to get us near the stage, but navigating the crowd is like trying to swim in the ocean; two strokes and then a wave pushing you back.

Jimmy leans into me. “Do that pretty girl thing where you dance up next to the stage.”

Without warning, Jimmy creates a diversion, body slamming into people near us, so much so that security comes, leaving enough territory unclaimed that I rather easily sashay to the edge of the stage. Like the bad penny he is, Jimmy Stallworth somehow reappears, dancing in front of me.

He’s dogging the band again with his eyes and I can’t help but to wonder if Vince and the guys recognize me.

Jimmy stops dancing and grabs my hand. He pulls me back to the table. I stare at him. “What was that all about?” I ask.

“I needed to get someone’s attention.”

I make a face. “Since we’ve danced, can I assume our date is over?”

Jimmy laughs. “You can leave if you want to. I’ve still got business here.”

“But it’s my table.”

“Not if you leave.” And Jimmy turns away to order another drink.

“I could call security.”

Jimmy shrugs. “But you won’t. I’m carrying enough that they could bust us both for possession.”

Jeez, how could I have forgotten that he was a drug dealer? I rise from my chair without paying. “You can take care of the tab. I should get something out of this.”

I start to leave when a voice stops me. “Chrissie? Chrissie Parker?”

I’m surrounded by Vince and the band. And shit, Vince is telling Jimmy Stallworth more than any smart girl would want him to know about her. I grow agitated as the guys sink down at my table, flooding it with beer bottles, and nervously I listen as Vince talks about Sammy, telling Jimmy Stallworth things I usually prefer to keep private.

Vince smiles at me. “I never expected to see you here with Jimmy,” he says. “How do you two know each other?”

“I don’t know her,” Jimmy replies quickly. “She cleared a debt by getting me into the club tonight.”

It’s a moot point, but I’m really pissed that Jimmy didn’t specify that it wasn’t my debt, but if Vince thought anything of that, it doesn’t show on his face.

“About that thing…” Vince says to Jimmy.

Jimmy’s dark eyes harden coldly. “That thing.”

Vince rises. “It’s all good. Why don’t we step into my office? Clear everything up now. It’s cool.” Vince smiles at me. “Why don’t you hang out with the guys until I get back? I don’t want you wandering off tonight. What’s that you’re drinking? A Kamikaze?”