Free Apprehended by Jan Burke

about.” She eyed Frank and said, “You or this cop.”
    â€œHow did you know he’s a cop?” Buzz asked, but before she could answer, Frank took hold of her wrist and turned it out, so that the inside of her arm was facing Buzz.
    â€œOh,” he said, “junkies just seem to have a sixth sense about these things.”
    She pulled her arm away. “They’re old tracks and you know it. I haven’t used in years.”
    Frank shrugged. “If you say so. I really don’t want to check out the places I’d have to look if I wanted to be sure.”
    She narrowed her eyes at him, but stomped away without another word.
    â€œShit,” Gordon said. “You need anything else to convince you about what I said, Buzz?”
    â€œShe brought me into the band, man. It just doesn’t seem right.”
    â€œIf another guitar player came along, she’d do this to you in a minute,” Gordon said. “You know she would.”
    Buzz sighed. “We’ve got three more nights here. Let’s at least wait until we finish out this gig to make a decision.” Gordon seemed ready to say more, but then excused himself and walked backstage.
    The minute Gordon was out of earshot, Buzz turned to Frank. “Were they old tracks?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI feel stupid not noticing. Not that it matters. If they’re old, I mean.” His face turned red. “What I mean is, she can really sing.”
    I watched him for a moment, then said, “You like her.”
    â€œYeah,” Buzz said, and forced a laugh. “It’s obviously not mutual.” He looked toward the stage, then rubbed his hand over his chest, as if easing an ache. “Well, I better get ready for the next set.” Frank watched him walk off, then looked over at me. He pushed his drink aside, moved his chair closer to mine.
    Q:  What do you call a guitarist without a girlfriend?
    A:  Homeless.
    Buzz seemed to recover his good humor by the time he was on stage. There was an air of anticipation in the audience now. It seemed that most of them had heard the band before, and were eagerly awaiting the beginning of this set.
    As the band members took their places, I sat wondering what Buzz saw in Joleen. My question was soon answered, though not in words.
    Buzz and Joleen stood at opposite ends of the stage, facing straight ahead, not so much as glancing at one another. She sang three notes, clear and sweet, and then Buzz began to sing with her, his voice blending perfectly with hers. It was a slow, melodic passage, sung a cappella. The audience was absolutely silent—even Frank sat forward and listened closely.
    They sang with their eyes closed, as if they would brook no interference from other senses. But they were meeting, somewhere out in the smoky haze above the room, above us all, touching one another with nothing more than sound.
    The song’s pace began to quicken and quicken, the voices dividing and yet echoing one another again and again until at last their voices came together, holding one note, letting it ring out over us, ending only as the instruments joined in.
    The crowd cheered, but the musicians were in a world of their own. Buzz turned to Gordon and Mack, all three of them smiling as they played increasingly difficult variations on a theme. I watched Joleen; she was standing back now, letting the instrumentalists take center stage, her eyes still closed. But as Buzz took a solo, I saw her smile to herself. It was the only time she smiled all evening.
    The song ended and the crowd came to its feet, shouting in acclaim.
    Q:  Did you hear about the time the bass player locked his keys in the car?
    A:  It took two hours to get the drummer out.
    Mack joined us during the second break between sets. With Buzz’s encouragement, he told us about the years he studied at Berkeley, where he met Joleen, and about some of the odd day jobs and strange gigs he had