Free Zipless by Diane Dooley Page A

his nails. Soon it would be Lou’s turn. She’d done okay in her quick rehearsal but he’d told her she’d need to bring more volume and attitude. Her performance had been shy, understated. She’d need to pull out all the stops tonight for this, for what he hoped would be her big break. She had all her props if she felt she needed them and she’d surprised him when she’d kicked him out of her dressing room. She’d said she needed to polish up the lyrics to the song she’d finished writing that afternoon, from which he’d helped her remove all the cusswords.   Network television wasn’t the best venue for the song she’d named “Don’t Mess With Me,” but with a bit more polish, it could be a number one.
    Jimmy Foo caught his eye and winked. Chris had stopped by his dressing room and chatted with him briefly, told him that Lou was the real deal and would close out the show with something fantastic. He closed his eyes and muttered a brief prayer. Do it, Lou. Give it all you’ve got, and for God’s sake, don’t get your tits out tonight.
    Jimmy was back on air. “And closing out the show tonight, all the way from Glasgow, Scotland. Please welcome, Lou Marzaroli!”
    The audience clapped politely. They had all seemed pretty underwhelmed with the show so far, and were just biding their time until it was off the air. The applause had ended before Lou was even center stage.
    Uh oh. She was using all her props: the crazy blonde wig, the sunglasses, the four inch stiletto shoes, the crimson lipstick. But she didn’t seem nervous. She stood there glaring at the audience, then launched into “Don’t Mess” with even more speed and brio than the last performance she’d done in his suite, the one that had led the management to call up and offer to book them a soundproofed rehearsal space.
    The crowd was electrified. Chris could feel it just as sure as he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, as sure as he could feel his heart pound with excitement.
    Lou reached up and pulled off the wig, tossing it into the crowd. One of the hipsters leapt up to catch it. Next the shoes got kicked off, one narrowly missing a chubby tourist in the second row, the other ending up on Jimmy’s desk.
    The sunglasses came flying in his direction, along with a wicked grin. She’d never missed a beat, hadn’t forgotten a word, and the crowd was on its feet well before the song careened its way to the final gut-wrenching guitar solo, which Lou dropped to her knees to perform, with all the swagger and poise of ol’ Crash Burns himself. And she even kept her t-shirt on! He looked at it, suddenly realizing he recognized it. She must have pulled that old faded thing out of his drawer back at the Chelsea. He was on it. Wearing the infamous thong.
    The crowd whooped and clapped as Jimmy Foo made his way over to her and bent to whisper in her ear. She nodded and got to her feet. Jimmy saw the show off the air with the audience still clapping. The house lights came on, but nobody made a move to leave.
    “Lou has agreed to perform one more song, ladies and gentleman, even though we’re off the air. This one’s for you.” He leaned in and gave Lou a pat on the back and he returned to his desk, giving Chris an enthusiastic thumbs up as he did so.
    Lou looked nervous now. She could see the audience and didn’t have any of the props to protect herself with. She looked down at her guitar as if deciding, then moved her capo down a fret. She stepped up to the microphone. “I finished two new songs today. The first one, ‘Don’t Mess With Me,’ I played already. I finished this next one in my dressing room earlier. It’s called ‘Zipless.’”
    The crowd waited for her to launch into something fast, furious and angry—but she didn’t. She started strumming her favorite chord—B7th, Chris now knew. As she started to sing, her voice strong but bittersweet, Chris felt a curl of happiness in his belly. He’d hinted