Part 20 (1/2)

”So what exactly do you do?” Memphis asked and sat down in the chair between Shannon and myself. As if on cue, Shannon got up with her empty wine gla.s.s.

”I gotta p.i.s.s,” she said by way of explanation. I wondered if the switch had been planned. Was it something I said?

”Investigate,” I said to Memphis.

”Investigate what?”

”Whatever someone pays me to do. As long as it isn't illegal or immoral.”

”A man with ethics,” she said.

”A few. Not all.”

She took a hit from a joint.

When she exhaled she said, ”G.o.d the lake is beautiful tonight.”

Something about a grown woman sounding like a stoner made me laugh.

”I wish I could see my lighthouse,” she said.

”You have a lighthouse?”

”I can see it from my farm on Ha.r.s.en's,” she said, referring to an upscale island a half-hour drive from Grosse Pointe. ”It's not a bad view, but not as inspiring as this.”

”Speaking of inspiration,” I said. ”Where do you get your ideas for songs? Isn't that what everyone asks?”

She nodded. ”How the heck should I know?” she asked. ”That's what I want to say.”

”What do you usually say?”

”Usually something about pulling things in from life. Or that G.o.d just beams them down to me. You know, I tailor the answer depending on the questioner.”

”Did you know Jesse Barre?”

She shook her head. ”I knew of her guitars, of course. Anyone in the industry knew about them. But no, I didn't know her personally. Why?”

”She makes music. You make music. I figured the two of you would have crossed paths at some point.”

”Good guess,” she said. ”But no. We never did.”

”Oh,” I said.

We sat in silence for a few moments. A few thoughts ran through my mind.

”How long have you known Shannon?” I said.

”We sort of grew up together,” she said. ”Went to high school together. Played music together. Fell in and out of touch over the years, but when we both got serious, then we hooked up.”

”Did you know Laurence Gra.s.so?”

”Um-hm.”

”Did you hear he's dead?”

She nodded.

”Do you care?”

”Not at all.”

”Why not?”

”He was a waste of a human being.”

”That seems to be the general consensus,” I said.

”He treated her like dirt. He was mean. He was cruel. He was stupid, but cunning. A weasel,” she said. ”I'm glad someone sent him on his way.”

She was pretty matter-of-fact. I didn't think it was an act.

”Will you turn it into a song?”

”Everything's a song. It's just a matter of writing it down.”

Sounded like a tailor made answer.

I was about to ask another question when I saw her face change. It sort of went slightly pale and the general din of the crowd went down a notch. I turned and looked over my shoulder.

Shannon's manager stood before me. Teddy Armbruster, his bald head glistening like a Faberge egg, his tree trunk body immoveable.

”Let's go,” he said.

I turned back to Memphis, but she was gone.

I looked back at Teddy and his dull blue fish eyes stared back at me.

”Yes you,” he said.

I picked up my beer.

It seemed like the party was over.