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night. Amy is taking classes, and I keep the kids on Tuesdays and Thursdays since her lout of a husband is always at the office and too busy to look after them."
    Information overload. Bells rang, whistles wailed, and his brain refused to get beyond boys and play . "What boys?" he asked, trying to sort through the info dump.
    A sigh of impatience emanated from the receiver, and his overstimulated brain translated it to the heave of Joella's amazing breasts.
    "Didn't Charlie tell you anything? Local groups use that stage in the back room. They charge admission on weekends and use it for practice during the week. The acoustics are better than a garage, and it's warmer in winter."
    "Joella, would you mind answering just the question I ask and not half a dozen I don't care about?" He'd been thinking about turning that back room into a real office. He should have asked about the drums he'd seen in there. "Charlie was supposed to call and fill me in before he left for Florida. What hospital is he in? Maybe I can go visit him."
    "We don't have a hospital," she answered. "He's recuperating with his daughter in Charlotte. I'll give you his number. Got paper?"
    Once he'd scribbled the number, his brain had processed her problem and developed a few of his own.
    "Do I have liability insurance to cover bands and audiences?" He hadn't been oblivious to the business around him, just the people.
    That shut her up for all of five seconds, a new record, he calculated.
    "I'll talk to George Bob. He carries Charlie's insurance. But there's no audience tonight. I've got a key. You don't need to come in."
    He didn't want to go in. He didn't want to get near music ever again. It was a temptation he could do without, kind of like a drunk and alcohol. "All right," he agreed. "Just tonight. I gotta find out how much this is gonna cost."
    "It'll cost you more if you kick out some of your best customers. See ya in the mornin'."
    She hung up, and the big cabin echoed with emptiness again. Flint gazed at his bare shelves. His state-of-the-art stereo equipment hadn't brought half what it was worth at auction, but he'd seen a certain justice in Melinda getting half of his soul as well as most of his money.
    At the time, he'd been too livid to realize how fleeting life was.
     
    Slim and the boys watched Joella anxiously as she hung up the phone. She flashed them a bright smile and a thumbs-up, even though she'd heard the negativity in her boss's voice. It looked mighty like Flynn Clinton would be even more mule-headed than Charlie.
    The guys cheered and began packing up their gear to carry it down the fire escape to the cafe's back room.
    She unlocked the back door, turned on the overheads, and held the sagging door while Turbo entered with his keyboard, and Slim and Eddie carried in their guitar cases and amps. Bo's drums were already there. She didn't want to think where in town he could leave them and the bass amps if they had to move out.
    "Hey, Jo, you got any new material for us?" Slim asked. "Now Randy's using the old stuff, we need something of our own."
    "Why, so you can all make it big and leave me behind, too?" she half-joked. It still hurt real bad when she thought about Randy's desertion just as he was hitting the big time. He'd promised to take her with him on his path to fame and fortune.
    She was a little slow to make the same mistake twice, but she'd finally learned her lesson.
    "You know us better than that, Jo-Jo," Slim said. "We think you're the best thing to come along since Jack met Daniel."
    She'd feel a little better about that if Slim were looking at her and not his guitar while he said it. People around here pretty much took her for granted. She was about the only person who thought she had what it took for a bigger and better life than being a small-town waitress. Maybe she was wrong, and it was time to admit it, but Stubborn was her middle name. Or Stupid, if she believed the men in her life.
    "I've got a few rhymes you can play