Free Tempter by Nancy A. Collins Page A

has become a cult rock icon, like Chilton and Iggy. Most of these kids weren’t even in kindergarten when Crash and Burn was released! Jesus, look at ‘em! They make me feel like an antique!”
    “They don’t exactly make me feel like a spring chicken, either,” Charlie laughed. “I can’t believe I’m going to turn thirty this year!”
    “I know what you mean. I keep having these recurring nightmares I’m back in high school and have to take a test, but I haven’t studied all semester and I don’t know what room it’s in. But then I notice I don’t have any pants on. Stop giggling! It’s true! I wake up in a cold sweat!”
    “You’re terrible, you know that?” she laughed.
    It was good to see her smile. So far they’d managed to get through dinner at the Gumbo Shop without mentioning Tony. And, even better, at least as far as Jerry was concerned, neither had she brought up anyone new. He slipped his arm around her shoulder, and was pleasantly surprised she did not shrug free.
    A curly-headed young man with black widow spiders tattooed on his forearms was taking money at the door. Jerry refused to let Charlie open her purse. “My treat,” he said with a wink.
    The elevated stage stood at the back of the club and was high enough off the floor that those near the bar could get a good view of the band. Several people stood clustered near the bandstand while others lounged near the bar, their eyes fixed on the stage.
    “Good turn out. Lot better that I expected. You know, this reminds me of the old days, back when I used to help Crash set up their shows in the gym. Only a lot more, uh…”
    “Cool?” Charlie suggested.
    “Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “You want a beer?”
    “Sure. Just let me go to the ladies room before there’s a line, okay?”
    Charlie leaned against the sink as she freshened her make-up. Humidity had a way of screwing with her mascara. As she studied her handiwork, she speculated on whether or not she would finally go to bed with Jerry. He was such a sweet guy, not to mention intelligent, artistic, and well read. He also knew how to make her laugh. And she knew he was in love with her. He would be nice and stable and wouldn’t get into all that macho ego-trip bullshit. She had to be nuts to pass him up. Yet there simply wasn’t any sizzle between them.
    Charlie knew Jerry was the kind of boyfriend her parents would approve of: nice, respectable and safe. Just like the Atlanta suburb they lived in. Her parents loved her very much. They wanted her life to be as secure and untroubled as their own, where everything was predigested and sanitized for their protection. Charlie adored her folks, but she would rather die than end up like them.
    Still, she might sleep with him anyway, just to get it out of the way. She didn’t want to ruin their friendship, but she was afraid Jerry might give up on her altogether if she didn’t go to bed with him sooner o later. Sex with him might help, and then again, it could very well ruin things completely.
    Why couldn’t guys like Jerry just be friends? Why did they have to drag sex into it?
    “What’s the house like?” Rossiter asked anxiously.
    “Same as it was two minutes ago,” Paulie rumbled. The husky African American rested his forearms on the neck of his bass, his head tilted in Rossiter’s direction.
    Paulie always wore a pair of extra-dark sunglasses, even indoors and at night, because he pulled an open bottle of bleach off the kitchen table and onto his upturned face when he was two. Rossiter had no doubt that if the Paulie had kept his sight, he would have ended up playing pro football instead of electric bass.
    “Don’t sweat it, mon ami ,” Hoo-Yah grinned. “We got a good house.”
    Arsine sat in a dented metal folding chair, his drumsticks keeping time on the dressing room’s worn brick face. “Any hot women out there?”
    “Tons of ‘em!” The Cajun replied.
    “I hope you’re talkin’ figuratively, not