Chapter 13

Richie took a deep breath and dropped his gaze from Annie's.  He couldn't bear to see her misplaced admiration.  He was nobody to be impressed by.

"Naw, Man.  Thanks, but I... uh..."  Richie frowned slightly as he struggled to graciously decline Sammy's invitation.  "I mean, it's your gig.  I don't wanna horn in on it."

Sammy shook his head, disagreeing with Richie's refusal.  "Naw, Man!  It's cool.  This ain't a gig, anyway."  He grinned.  "It ain't like we're gettin' paid for this or nothin.'  This is just practice, a jam session, Man.  It's just what we do on Saturday night 'round here."

That brought a little smile to Richie's lips.  He remembered what it was like back in Jersey, just wandering from club to club with his guitar on a Saturday night and sitting down to play with whoever would have him.  He had loved those impromptu jams.  Few things had made him happier.

So why was he afraid to do that here?  Richie's smile faded.  Because those days were gone, that life a thing of the past.  And he couldn't look back now.

Annie's hand squeezing in his made him turn his eyes back to her.  He winced as he saw the disappointment on her pretty face.

"Richie, are you sure?"  She was smiling but her voice was soft, almost pleading.

He nodded, blinking as he looked down at their hands on his lap and mumbled his response.  "Yeah.  Sorry, Annie.  Not tonight."

She sighed softly.  "Well... okay."

Richie looked back at Sammy, attempting to cover his melancholy with a half-hearted grin.  "It's cool watching you guys, though.  You're good, Man.  Some great tunes, too."

Sammy grinned back. "Thanks.  We have our fun."  He slapped his hands against this thighs and turned his smile to Annie before pushing back his chair.  "Well, I'm gonna get a cold one before we start in again."  He stood, then looked back at Richie.  "If you change your mind just say the word.  You can come on up with us anytime, Man."

Richie nodded gratefully.  "Thanks."

With a nod and a farewell to Annie Sammy turned and started to make his way toward the bar, grinning and slapping hands with friends as he passed by them.

"Richie... why?"

Annie's gentle question stabbed through Richie's heart.  He could hear the disappointment she was trying to mask.  He sighed.

"I just... I just don't feel like it."

"That's what you said last night."

Richie's lips pressed together in a firm line.  She wasn't wrong; that was the excuse he had used last night when Annie had asked him to play for her.  And it was true, mostly.  It just wasn't the whole truth.

"I know.  I'm just..."  Richie's voice trailed off as he searched for another explanation, one that wouldn't hurt Annie's feelings or betray the truth behind his reluctance.

"Just what?"

Richie let out an exasperated sigh at her prodding.  He tugged his hand from Annie's and raised it to rake through his hair.  "I just..."  He turned his face to hers.  "I'm just not that good.  Okay, Annie?  Get it?"  Richie's frustration came bursting out in his response.

Annie's eyes widened at Richie's retort.  She knew the source of Richie's sadness had something to do with music and his guitar, but she hadn't expected such an outburst.

"Oh."

Richie's heart sank as he saw hurt flicker in Annie's pretty blue eyes.  "Annie... I... I'm sorry."

She gave Richie a small smile then looked away, reaching for her beer bottle.  Richie saw a tear glittering in the corner of her eye as she took a sip.  Silently cursing himself, Richie reached for his own bottle and gulped down a drink.

Annie swallowed her beer then turned to face Richie again, a faux-cheery smile curving her mouth even as her eyes sparkled with moisture.  She fluttered a hand dismissively.  "It's fine, Richie.  It's none of my business.  I'm sorry I pushed."  She scooted her chair backward so she could stand.  "Now, I'm going to brave a trip to that Ladies' room."

Annie turned away from the table, then hesitated for a moment.  She looked back over her shoulder at Richie.  When she spoke her voice was calmer, more natural.   "Maybe you'll feel like dancin' with me when I get back?"

Richie smiled sheepishly back at her.  "Yeah, I'd like that," he answered honestly.

"Great.  Be back in a minute."  Annie turned away and headed across the dance floor toward the door to the back room.

Richie's eyes followed Annie until she disappeared through the doorway.  He felt awful about disappointing this woman who had been so sweet and kind to him.  But she had asked him to do the one thing he just couldn't bear right now.  And he couldn't even explain to her why.  She must think he was some kind of lying asshole who probably couldn't even play the guitar.

"You dumb fucking bastard," Richie mumbled to himself, slouching back in his chair and sighing deeply.  He took a long pull at his beer before staring moodily across the room.

As he cursed himself in his mind Richie's gaze wandered to the stage and settled on Sammy's Gibson.  He wondered if Sammy was like him, someone for whom music was an addiction, a drug.  Something his heart and mind and soul and even his body craved.

So far kicking that habit sucked.

Ever since he was a kid listening to Beatles records on his parents' hi-fi Richie had been in love with music.  Adam and Joan Sambora had encouraged his interest, signing him up for piano and accordion lessons and letting him choose the records they listened to during family dinner.  They had never belittled his musical taste, even when it turned darker and louder and harder than what they preferred.

A wistful smile crept to Richie's lips as he pictured his mother and father floating gracefully around their small living room to big-band music and classical waltzes, practicing for their ballroom dancing competitions.  When he was little it seemed like they danced all the time, their faces glowing with happiness and contentment. As he grew up they danced less and less, as times grew tough and his Dad had to work double shifts and extra jobs to provide for the family.

Richie's parents had set aside their dream for reality, to raise him and provide him with everything a growing boy needed and many of the things he wanted.  But through it all their music had endured, always present and comforting.  When his Ma had kissed him on the cheek and his father shook his hand before he set off for Memphis, Richie knew they were proud of him.  And now he knew they would welcome him back without judgment or shame when he returned to face his reality.

Feeling disappointed tears moisten his eyes, Richie blinked rapidly and angrily brushed a hand across his face.  Goddammit, he didn't want to think about this now.  He just wanted to escape his gloomy mood, if only for awhile.  Annie had brought him here to do just that, and he was determined not to disappoint her further.

Raising his beer bottle to his lips, Richie downed the remainder of the beverage in a long draught.  He wasn't kidding earlier when he told Annie he could stand to get drunk tonight.  Suddenly the idea seemed even more appealing.

Richie pushed his chair back in preparation to head for the bar for another round, but hesitated when he realized leaving their table unclaimed probably wasn't a good idea.  A line of newly-arrived patrons were clustered near the front door, peering around the club in an obvious search for seating.  Richie frowned as he realized he'd have to wait for Annie to return from the bathroom before fetching fresh drinks.

As if on cue Richie saw a flash of blonde in the far corner of the club.  His eyes followed Annie as she emerged from the back room and wandered toward the bar, stopping to chat with several men and women along the way.  It was apparent that Annie was well-known and well-liked in this joint; aside from the smiles and hugs she shared, the men crowded around the bar chivalrously stood aside and let her step up to place her order.

Richie's unconscious smile as he watched Annie turned to a quizzical smirk as she stepped away from the bar and headed for their table.  In one hand she held two longnecks laced between her fingers.  In the other she held a brown bottle capped with two plastic cups.

"Think it's time for a little somethin' different," she announced with a grin, setting the bottles on the table.  Richie snorted as he recognized the label on the brown one.  It read "Old Grand-Dad."

"Bourbon?"  Richie observed as Annie pulled the plastic cups apart, setting them upright on the table before uncapping the quarter-empty bottle.

Annabelle gave Richie a smirk.  "You said you were stickin' to stuff with labels."

Richie nodded, chuckling quietly.  "Yeah.  Seems like a good idea.  Still."  He watched her pour a healthy shot of whiskey into each of the cups, then accepted the one she held out to him.  "What are we drinking to?"

Annie tipped her head, regarding him thoughtfully.  "How about to better days?"  Her voice was gentle, relaying her apology for putting him on the spot with her earlier plea for him to play.

"Works for me."  Richie raised his cup and touched its plastic rim against Annie's.  "Better days."  He hesitated for a moment, watching Annie toss back the shot, her honeyed waves shimmering in the dim light with the brisk movement of her head.  Richie gulped down his own beverage, wincing as it burned down his throat and filled his belly with warmth.

As he reached for his beer to chase the shot Richie heard the random clink of piano keys and a couple bass drum beats.  He glanced toward the stage and saw Sammy and the other musicians preparing their instruments for another set.  Feeling Annie's gaze on him, Richie looked back to her and smiled.

"Guess I owe you a dance, huh?"

Annie shrugged but smiled back.  "If you wanna."

With a grin and a little nod Richie took one more gulp of his beer then stood.  He reached for Annie's hand as the first notes of the song started.  Silently he cursed; it was a uptempo Blues number and he wasn't a great fast-dancer.  Thanks to his parents' teaching and his natural rhythm he could slow dance better than most guys, but his gyrations to fast songs were those of a gangly White Guy.  But there was no turning back now.

Annie giggled softly at the look on Richie's face as he turned to lead her to the dance floor.  He hadn't been successful in hiding his grimace at the commencement of the song.  She'd have to take it easy on him.

In just two short steps they reached the edge of the dance floor, crowding into the group that had instantaneously clustered there with the first harmonious note.  With not much room to maneuver Richie and Annie faced each other and shared a smile, then began to move to the music, swiveling their hips in a slow twist.

In spite of his awkwardness Richie grinned as he watched Annabelle, his eyes drawn to her trim hips as they rhythmically rolled and gyrated.  He felt the warm whiskey flush in his belly extend lower to his groin when he noticed Annie's breasts were also bobbing tantalizingly as she danced.

Glancing back toward their table Richie realized his beer was within arm's length.  Pausing his awkward twist, Richie reached over and grabbed the bottle by the neck, pulling it to his lips for a long drink.  If he was gonna have to dance like this more times tonight he could use a little more liquid courage.

Annabelle giggled at Richie's relieved expression as he lowered the bottle from his mouth.  Playfully arching a brow at him she captured his hand in hers, sliding the bottle from his grip and raising it for a sip of her own.  Richie gave her a slightly-dazed smile as she handed the bottle back to him.  With a laugh Annie twisted a little closer to Richie, causing their hips to bump against each other.

"There ya go, Richie," she half-shouted in his ear to be heard over the music.  "Let your hair down and let's have some fun tonight."

Richie nodded and grinned.  That sounded like a damned good idea to him.

By the end of the song Richie had finished his beer.  As the band segued into the next number he stepped over to their table to pour another pair of shots, then with a toast he tossed back his second round of whiskey.  Its warm glow immediately relaxed him.  Suddenly he didn't care what he looked like on the dance floor, moving awkwardly almost-in-time with the fast-paced groove.

He just let he music take over, like he always had before.

Annie grinned as she watched Richie's eyes close and a smile curve his lips, his dark hair curling against his sweaty brow.  He kept moving, his body rocking as he felt the beat.  Her heart warmed as she recognized her own musical euphoria mirrored in Richie's movements.

He didn't want to play.  But at least they could dance.

By the end of the third song both the band and the dancers were ready for a break.  Richie smiled down at Annie as he slipped his arms around her waist.  Annie stepped in close, molding her body against Richie's and causing another surge in his groin.  He blew a little puff of breath up to ruffle his sweaty bangs as he and Annie began to revolve in a slow circle.

"Nice to see that smile."  Annie's cheek brushed against Richie's as she spoke into his ear.

Richie tightened his arms around Annie's waist.  She responded by pressing her hips suggestively against his as she leaned back to grin up at him.

"Yeah, well... you're making me smile."  Richie's words surprised him.  Apparently the Old Grand-Dad was some kind of truth serum.  And his buzz was loosening his tongue.

Annie chuckled and moved her lips back to Richie's ear.  "You're making me smile too."  She slipped her hands up Richie's chest to circle around his neck, then turned her head to rest her cheek against his shoulder.  Her eyes fluttered closed as she smiled blissfully, enjoying the feel of Richie holding her and swaying in time with the slow Sam Cooke song being played by the Juke Joint band.

Richie's pulse kicked up as he felt another wave of affection for Annie.  She was so perfect, so pretty and sweet and kind and smart and she smelled so damned good.... And she was in his arms.

He wanted her to stay there.  He wanted more from her than just a slow dance.  He wanted her to kiss him and hold him and murmur sweet nothings in his ear.  He wanted to let her do what she wanted to do.  Comfort him.

As they circled slowly on the floor Richie turned to face the band.  His eyes immediately found the gold Gibson strapped across Sammy's body.  A bittersweet little smile ghosted Richie's lips as he watched the guitarist finger out a mournful solo on the beautiful instrument.  Unable to look away, he stopped his and Annie's revolution, swaying with her in place as he watched the young man play.

Annie smiled to herself as she realized what Richie was doing.  In that moment she knew she would get her wish.  Richie was letting his guard down, admitting to himself what he wanted, what he needed.  Whether it was because of the alcohol or the music or her or all three didn't matter.

Annie raised her head, again moving her lips next to Richie's ear.  "Play," she whispered.

Richie pulled back and gave her a long, searching look.  Annie almost melted as she gazed into the deep chocolate pools, shining in the dim light.  His lips curved, then he tipped his head forward in an almost-imperceptible nod.

"Okay."