Free Making a Comeback by Julie Blair Page B

reigned. Free jazz was one thing. Noise masquerading as free jazz was another.
    “Nothing good in this batch, buddy.” She loved discovering a worthy group or artist and giving their career a boost with a great review on her blog. She reached down. Max was right where he should be, in his bed beside her recliner. She scratched along his side. He stretched out and made his happy-moan sound.
    “Why did it take me so long?” Peg had tried to convince her to get a guide dog for years. She rubbed his ears with the backs of her fingers. The softness went right to her heart. It wasn’t the independence that made a difference to her. Going out in the world mattered little. It was his presence. After getting over the shock of realizing how lonely she’d been, she’d given in to his innocent but insistent seduction of her with his playfulness, devilishness at times lest she think he was perfect, and above all, his loyalty. He wasn’t capable of hurting or betraying her, and for that she’d give him anything.
    She went to the cabinet that housed her CDs and searched through Brahms. Like cleansing her palate after mediocre wine, she needed to cleanse the noise of the last album. She pulled out his second symphony, then stopped. Leafing through the CDs a shelf above, she found the one she wanted. Up Beat’s last CD. Curiosity. Just curiosity.
    She settled back in her recliner and for the next fifty minutes focused on Liz’s music, as if she were searching around someone’s home to find out who they were.
    “Hmmph. I didn’t listen closely enough.” When she’d reviewed it she’d taken it whole, and her opinion that they had potential but were immature as a band was still true. But Liz…her playing sent pulses of pure joy through her. Emotionally powerful. Technically brilliant. Innovative and unique chords and progressions. But on too many of her solos it felt like Liz held back. Fit in. Easy to miss unless you really listened. Liz deserved every bit of praise she’d received, but Jac couldn’t shake the feeling she could be even better.
    Max stood and nosed her fingers. “I know.” His sense of time was as accurate as hers. The perfect partnership. He went to the front door and she went for shoes.
    She heard music coming from Peg’s studio as they walked to the patio. Not show tunes. Jac pinched off a stem of lavender by the studio door and held it to her nose. French lavender. Velvety, narrow, serrated leaves and her favorite scent of the different lavender varieties Peg planted. “How’s it going?”
    “Why do I agree to these shows?”
    “Because gallery owners wait long enough that you forget how much you hate them.”
    “I don’t hate them.”
    “How many seascapes does she want?”
    “Not funny. And I’ll have you know I’m painting the garden.”
    “Careful. You have a reputation to uphold, an audience to please…” Something landed on her chest, pointy like a paintbrush. “Don’t throw things at the blind woman.” She tried not to smile, but she loved giving Peg a hard time. Every artist had to grapple with the balance between creative self-exploration and providing their audience with what they expected. It wasn’t an easy line to walk.
    “Aren’t you late for your route?” Peg’s nickname for her daily walks because she walked the same route everyday. Past Carmel Roasting Company, where the owner selected and ground coffee for her once a week. Past Pilgrim’s Way bookstore for audiobooks the owner ordered for her. Past the Bistro for lunch. Past Diggidy Dog pet boutique so Max could get his treat from the clerks Jac trusted to supply her with the best supplies for him.
    “Right on schedule.” Everything orderly and familiar, just the way she liked it. “What time’s Liz arriving?”
    “Around one. You joining us for lunch?”
    “No.”
    “I’m making pizzas.”
    “Trying to bribe me?”
    “Yes.”
    “What wine are you serving?”
    “Whatever you pick. Can you swing by the