Chapter 2

“There’s the stage,” she said as she pointed ahead of us, “and the upright piano over there is where Daniel died.”

Okay, that was creepy.

“Heart attack?”

“Yes. Such a shock to all of us. One minute, he was playing Gershwin. Then he fell off the stage.”

Yeesh.

“Damn.”

“Fuckis more like it.”

It never ceased to amaze me just how colorful my mother’s language could be. Dad had been a Marine and had educated us all in the nuances of swearing over the years. Mom never objected. She loved it, the kooky old woman. To look at her, all five-feet-two inches and delicate skin and features, you wouldn’t think she’d say boo to a goose. More than likely, the goose would run away from her. Her air of frailty was her secret weapon.

“Why don’t you go on stage and check out the piano? I’ll find a program from the show, and we’ll huddle.”

“Sure.” I bounded up the wooden steps to the platform.

The piano was a Baldwin and in very good condition. I sat on the bench, opened the lid, and played middle C, and a few other notes. I had perfect pitch, and I could tell the piano was in tune. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

I ran through some scales to test the keys and how they responded to my fingers. The pedals worked well, too. While I played Bach, Mom returned and handed a piece of paper to me.

I looked it over as she spoke.

“We start out with five of us doing a tap routine to Lady Gaga’s Poker Face. Then we switch to a juggling act by Maria and Carl, and a duet by Sal and Lisa—it’s a Rodgers and Hammerstein medley, since they’re soold school.”

Mom rolled her eyes, and I held back a snicker. She was determined to be hip, no matter what. Hell, she even had a Twitter account.

“Following that is another dance number to Ricky Martin’s Livin’ La Vida Loca. Then Prissy does her magic routine. Clyde and the boys do a line dance number to Don’t Tell Meby Madonna. An a cappella version of Skyfallby all of us ends the show. What do you think?”

What could I think?

“Definitely adventurous. Who’s the choreographer for the dance routines?”

My mom had been a dancer and singer—I got my voice from her, definitely, since Dad had been tone deaf—and though she’d retired from the professional side of that, as well as teaching, she still kept in shape. I remembered spending hours with her in my childhood, playing the piano and singing, while Dad tapped his foot and sang along badly. I had two left feet.

“Clyde’s son.”

I should mention that Clyde was Mom’s best friend. He was very handsome and so kind to her. I’d met him a couple of times.

“He’ll be here soon,” she continued. “He’s really good, could have been one of my students.” That was a high compliment, coming from her.

“Okay. I assume you have sheet music for all of this stuff? Or do you have some of it recorded?”

“Lady Gaga and Madonna are recorded. With the exception of the a cappella piece, everything else is sheet music. Can you do it?”

“Oh, sure.” I was a quick study, and I knew most of the pieces anyway.

“Great. Well, let me get the music and—”

“Mrs. Tremone?” a voice called out.

My mother turned to the speaker and her face lit up. “Tim! You’re early.”

Wait a minute. That voice was familiar.

I glanced over and saw Tim Hugo, an old acquaintance of mine. “What the fuck, man?” I exclaimed.

“Dude!” Tim replied, surprised but pleased to see me. “You’re the new piano player?”

Tim filled in for me sometimes when I couldn’t make a gig with Hail The Dead Marys. He was an awesome musician, very laid back, but I’d had noidea he did this, too. And now that I thought of it, I should have caught on to the resemblance between him and Clyde.

I smiled. “Guilty. You probably could have done this yourself, though, but I guess you couldn’t choreograph and play at the same time.”

“I could, but these folks are a handful.” Tim winked at my mom, and she swatted him playfully on the arm.

“That’s enough out of you,” she said. “Okay, let me get everyone together, and rehearsal will get started.”

Tim and I watched her move away briskly.

“Your mother is something else,” Tim said, shaking his head and grinning.

“That she is. So tell me,” I said, turning to face him fully. “How long have you been doing stuff like this?”

“Choreography? I’m a dancer, have been since I was three years old. Music went hand in hand with that, naturally, and I took voice and piano lessons for almost as long. Dance is my first love, though.”

“Huh.”

I checked him out while he looked away briefly. He was a fine-looking man, built for dancing with his long legs and that firm, slender frame. I’d never noticed before just how hot he was, or maybe I’d been too preoccupied with other things. Those light brown, almost golden eyes and that tight, curly black hair were distracting. His mocha brown skin was definitely kissable.