Read Vanni: A Prequel (Groupie Book 4) for Free Online

music starts to play. I can’t even stop it anymore. I sing the songs I know the words to, and race to learn those songs I’m unfamiliar with in order to keep up with the high octane band onstage.
    By the end of their set, I’ve forgotten about Lori and Tony. I linger by the stage as the musicians load out their equipment. The guitarist carefully puts away the three guitars he’s brought along to perform. He’s got long hair as black as night, which contrasts with his pale skin. “Hey, man, great show,” I tell him.
    His dark eyes meet mine. “Thanks.”
    He tries to go back to his task, but I need to know more. “You can really shred. Have you had formal study?”
    The slight man offers a shrug. “You could say that.” I don’t say anything as I wait for him to fill in the blanks. Finally he says, “Julliard.”
    “No shit?” I say, immediately impressed.
    He finally smiles. I get the feeling he doesn’t do that often. “No shit,” he answers.
    I reach out my hand. “Giovanni Carnevale.”
    He looks down at my hand, as if he debates whether or not he should engage me. “Yael Satterlee,” he responds as he shakes my outstretched hand.
    I love it. Sounds exotic and interesting. “Nice to meet you. I’m an aspiring performer myself. I have to say that set was quite inspiring. Maybe I could buy you guys a round and pick your brains about the business.”
    The man named Yael chuckles humorlessly. “If you can tie Marty down, more power to you.” He nods off towards the bar, where nearly a dozen girls surround the lead singer. He has his arm around one, while he chats up two or three more. He’s literally got his hands full.
    “Girl in every port?” I ask.
    “Something like that. It would sell tickets if he didn’t give them all away. He likes to fluff up the crowd with sexy girls at every show. I tell him they’ll buy them, but I think he prefers other types of payment.”
    Watching the man named Marty work his groupies, I figure Yael is probably right.
    “Just you then,” I say. “You have to tell me about Julliard. That’s like a dream come true for someone like me.”
    Yael raises an eyebrow. “You play?”
    I shrug. Aunt Susan has tried her best to get me to play an instrument, but I really have no patience for it. “Chopsticks, mostly,” I answer. We laugh.
    He looks down at his packed guitars for a moment before he finally says, “Sure, why not? I could use a beer.”
    I notice that there are no groupies surrounding the stage for Yael. He seems perfectly happy with that. His fulfillment comes from elsewhere, and that’s a beautiful, fascinating thing. “Let me help you,” I say as I reach for one of the cases. He doesn’t argue, so I carry the case and follow him outside through the exit behind the stage.
    The December air turns our breath to frost the moment the heavy steel door closes behind us. Neither of us wears a jacket, so we trot over to his tiny, second-hand car parked close to the building in the private lot. As much as their act had filled the small club, his car is beat to shit. I can see why he’d be miffed that the lead singer gave away so many tickets for free.
    As beloved as they seemed to be, they are still living hand to mouth just like I am, busting my ass at Cynzia’s. This realization doesn’t deter me in the slightest. I know that it’s not the fault of the music, but a boneheaded decision on behalf of one of the important members of the band. With the right lead singer, Yael could be selling out venues all over the world. No, shit. He is that good.
    We make it back into the bar, where I buy him that promised beer. His hands still shake from the cold outside as he brings the frosty glass to his lips. “Tell me about your band,” I say.
    He shrugs as he places the mug back onto the polished bar. “I guess you could say we’re getting there. We’ve done a few demos that have been passed around town. No offers yet.”
    “Is that what you