Never Say Never Page 4

  “Thank you so much for that very kind introduction, Professor.”

  And that accent! Clipped, clear, and with just a slightest hint of Northern vowels, Danny Blue's English accent sent shivers up and down my body. “I daresay he's over-sold me quite a bit – he clearly hasn't read the latest draft chapter of my doctorate.”

  The class tittered, but I could sense that at least half the class was too busy checking out his rock-hard abs and muscular arms to care much about what he had to say. Even I – struggling to pay attention to what he said about the development of post-punk as a genre – couldn't help undressing him with my eyes, imagining what he might be wearing – or not wearing – underneath that tight black muscle-tee. There was something more than beautiful about him – there was a strange haunting sense of tragedy in his eyes – a brooding, mournful look that suggested that there was more to this Danny Blue than met the eye.

  Is he looking at me? I felt my face grow hotter still as Danny Blue's icy eyes fixed upon me. Why is he looking at me? Stop blushing, Neve...

  My mother always used to tell me the story of the first time she met my dad, screaming her head off at one of his concerts, catching his eye from across a crowded room. Was this how she felt?

  It was almost a relief when class ended, and I could get away. I briefly switched on my phone, noticing a text from Steve.

  Steve: Ten for auditions. Got some recs. Meet at the apt. S.

  Luc and Steve – already sophomores at USC – shared an off-campus apartment near the dorms.

  Me: Will be there.

  I texted back, noticing Danny out of the corner of my eye. He was checking his phone, too, his expression tense with concentration. He looked up at me, noticing that we were doing the same thing, and smiled, sending my attempts at cool aloofness torpedoing into destruction. He slid his phone down the front pocket of his jeans and walked over to me as I stood up with my book bag. He was a full head and a half taller than I was, I noted – a feat; I was nearly five-ten myself, having inherited my mother’s height and pretty much her build.

  “I've got to ask,” he said – his accent even more swoon-inducing than it had been a moment ago. “Have we met before? You look awfully familiar.”

  I turned even redder. If I told him that the reason I looked awfully familiar was because he'd probably seen my dad in concert, he'd probably think what the others did – that I was only taking this class like every other celebrity's daughter, for an easy A. “I just have one of those faces,” I said, avoiding his gaze. “I get that a lot. I'm always being told I look like somebody....” Neve, get a grip. Why are you stammering? I never stammered. I never got this red or embarrassed around a guy, ever.

  “I doubt that very much,” said Danny. “You definitely don't have that kind of face. If I'd met you before, I'd remember, ah...”

  “Neve,” I said quickly.

  “Neve what?” He looked down at his class list.

  Damn it. “Neve Knight,” I admitted. “It's – uh – it's under Never Knight.”

  “Never Knight?” he smiled. “Like – Never Ever Never?”

  “Exactly like that. But I just go by Neve.”

  “Were your parents hippies or something?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't put two and two together yet.

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Neve...” he said. Then he frowned, suddenly, his eyes darkening. Does he know who I am? “I imagine I'll talk to you more in the coming weeks. We'll be dividing up into small workshop seminars to work on our first-semester projects. We'll be choosing a decade and working on research presentations accordingly – so start thinking about which time period you want to work on, and we'll discuss music from then.”

  “Well if there's one thing I know about,” I blurted out before I could stop myself, “it's music.”

  Idiot. I wanted to clap my hand over my mouth in shame. Idiot. Did I just tell Danny Blue, future doctorate in musicology, that I was a music expert?

  But he didn't seem too offended. “Good,” he chuckled softly. “Same here, really.” He patted me lightly on the arm, sending electricity flying through my body. “Later, love,” he said, striding off, and leaving me standing with my backpack, staring after him and gawking like a schoolgirl. I couldn't believe it. This guy had me grinning like an idiot in ten seconds flat.

  Far from an easy A – this class was going to require every ounce of concentration to stop me from turning into a puddle of goo on the floor.

  Chapter 5

  That night I made an extra effort to change before the auditions, although I would never have admitted it to anyone but myself that it was because of Danny Blue. He'd caught me in sweats and a ponytail – well, this time, if he ran into me on campus, he'd see me in my glam rock glory. I squeezed into my favorite white skinny jeans, matching them perfectly to a pair of high-heeled silver sandals encrusted with spikes I'd cut off my dad's old jacket when I was ten. I had turned one of my dad's enormous T-shirts into a fashionable halter – the disparity in size was nothing scissors, a needle, and thread couldn't fix – fending off the night breeze with a black leather motorcycle jacket I'd picked up at a vintage store in San Francisco last summer. The perfect blend of glamour and grunge, I thought, intentionally smearing my eyeliner just a touch to give it that studied “morning after” look.

  Not that I needed to dress up for Luc and Steve. Their apartment was the epitome of “dressed down” - filled with beanbag chairs, empty Chinese food containers, a games console or two, and a few piles of dirty laundry Luc had given up ever bringing to the bathroom and seemed to have converted into miniature cushions instead. Typical guys, I thought, smelling the familiar aroma of two-day-old pizza as I walked through the door.

  “Looking good!” Steve laughed. “Did you get all dressed up for us, Neve? Or have you got a hot date tonight?”

  “You know me,” I said, trying not to think about Danny Blue's piercing eyes. “I've got two dates lined up, back to back.” I settled down on the black leather sofa in the middle of the room, before catching sight of a lacy red bra sticking out between the cushions. “So, guys, is there – uh – something you want to tell me?” I threw the bra over to Steve. “Funny, I wouldn't have pegged Steve for a 32DD, myself. He looks more like a 36B to me.”

  Luc turned redder than the bra itself, his eyes downcast on the floor. Steve, however, only grinned.

  “One of those blonde twins, was it?” I looked over at Steve.

  “One?” Steve looked like a cat that had finished all the cream. “You underestimate me, my friend.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don't even want to know.” I picked up a pile of dirty socks. “Come on, guys. If we're going to hold auditions here tonight, can't we at least try to make the place look professional, okay?” I began moving the laundry into the bedrooms. “Come on guys – help a girl out?”

  The others hurried to tidy up.

  “So, who's coming tonight?” I asked.

  Steve ran through the updated list. “We've got ten sign-ups so far,” he said. “And two recommendations that some other bands sent us.”

  “We'll be up all night,” Luc sighed. “If we want to get through all of them tonight.”

  “We don't have a choice,” said Steve. “It's already Tuesday night. We need to decide tonight if we want to be ready by Friday. Even now it'll be a real stretch.”

  “So, okay,” I thought for a while. “So if we give them each five minutes to play and about two to introduce themselves, we won't be more than an hour and a half, tops. That's not too bad. Then we can sit and deliberate.”

  “Hopefully we won't need to do call-backs.” Steve smiled.

  “Hopefully we'll get enough good people,” I bit my lip anxiously. Would anyone be as good as Geoff?

  Our first option wasn't too promising. When we let “Farmer, John Farmer” through the door, he trudged in wearing a dirty white T-shirt that looked like it had never seen bleach in its
lifetime and sneakers that had evidently been tracked through several fields' worth of mud. His shoelaces were untied and from the smell it seemed reasonably apparent that he hadn't showered for days.

  Maybe he's just a Kurt Cobain type, I thought to myself, trying to force myself to be more optimistic than I felt.

  “So, why do you want to play with us, man?” Steve was trying to be as friendly as possible, but “Farmer, John Farmer's,” surly demeanor wasn't making it easy for him. Good old Steve, I thought. Always trying to be friendly – always trying to put the others at ease.

  “I just think it's time for my big break,” John said. “You know, I just need that one break-out gig so I can get famous, move into the big leagues – get my solo deal, you know?”

  Luc and I exchanged looks. This guy was a textbook example of what we didn't want in a band member.

  “I hope he's not good,” Luc whispered into my ear. “Then we'd have to put up with him.”

  Luckily for us, he was utterly mediocre, and we felt no guilt when the door slammed behind him and we put a firm X next to his name on the audition list.

  “Let's hope the others aren't all like him,” said Kyle, “or else we're pretty screwed.”

  The next few were better – and among the mediocrity we picked out two or three players that we particularly liked – talented guitarists that could do more than hold a pick. A few even jammed with Steve and Kyle – and our spirits started to pick up. But the nagging feeling hadn't quite gone away. None of these guys is as talented as Geoff – even if they are easier to work with...

  By the time the clock struck midnight, we'd all but decided on Eric Southey – a well-meaning USC senior with floppy surfer-blonde hair and a gravelly voice. We didn't feel amazing about him – he didn't quite have the “it” that Geoff managed to manifest when rocking out onstage on a Sunday night – but he was talented and solid and seemed like a hard worker.

  And then the doorbell rang.

  “My friend in The Taxi Cabs texted me this guy's number,” said Steve. “Said we had to give him a chance. I know it's last-minute, guys, but do you mind if we see one more?”

  “Sure,” Luc shrugged. “Neve, what do you think?”

  I shrugged too. “Can't hurt.”

  But no sooner had our final candidate walked in through the door than I turned bright scarlet. There he was again, Danny Blue, looking sexier than ever in a black T-shirt that clung to his ripped, muscular body, leaving little of the chiseled contours of his painfully perfect abs to the imagination. He was wearing leather pants and black combat boots, his hair shining in the moonlight. I could feel myself trembling as I put down my head, hoping he wouldn't recognize me.

  He still has to be good, Neve. We don't pick on looks – you know that. It's about the talent.

  “Never Ever?” Danny Blue caught my eye. “I thought you looked familiar – why didn't you say you were from the Never Knights?”

  My mouth opened involuntarily. So that's how he knew me.

  “You know our work!”

  “'Course I do. I caught your show at the Veridium last week. Pretty solid, if I do say so myself. That's why I figured I'd come out here, see what you guys make of me. I'm sure you'll tell me I'm bollocks and send me home, of course. But I thought - what the hell, it's only an hour, I'll have a go, make a wanker of myself...” He laughed a charming, self-deprecating laugh, sweeping his long black hair out of his eyes. “I'd tell you all sorts of nice things about your voice, but you'd think I was just buttering you up to get into the band.”

  “I'm sure you're above such petty tactics,” I said, unable to resist a smile at his easy charm.

  “I'm sure you've heard all those nice things before. About your stage presence. About the way you sing like an angel and smile like a devil. All those things – sure you've heard them a million times! They won't affect you one bit.”

  And blush like a schoolgirl, I thought to myself bitterly. Still, if Danny Blue was trying to butter me up, he was doing a pretty good job.

  “Aren't you going to try to flatter all of us?” Luc said, his smile ever so slightly twisted. “Suck up to all of us.”

  Danny laughed. “After,” he said. “But first – I thought I might play you a little something. How about 'Rebel Rebel' – David Bowie? My favorite!”

  “Mine too!” I couldn't resist blurting out.

  And then he was playing, and all words died out like embers. From the moment his fingers first touched his guitar strings, I felt an energy buzzing through the room – an enormous, golden, pulsing force that seemed to enter each one of us in turn. All at once, it felt like we weren't in a smelly college apartment, weren't on some college campus – we were alone onstage just the two of us, me and him, feeling the rhythm of the music pulse through and overpower us. This is it, I thought to myself. He's the one. I had never been so sure of anything in my life.

  Danny finished playing, the music still echoing on the amp as it faded into silence.

  “I hope I didn't embarrass myself too badly,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

  We were all silent. Then, we looked at one another – silently trading imperceptible nods.

  “Welcome to the band,” I said.

  Chapter 6

  We had no time to lose. It was already Tuesday night, and we had three full days to rehearse nonstop if we wanted to make a good impression for our Friday night gig. We were all running on adrenaline – we barely had time to introduce ourselves to each other before we stopped exchanging pleasantries altogether and started jamming. I had so many questions for Danny Blue – where had he learned to play the way he did? What was a doctoral student in ethnomusicography doing with a black leather trench coat that rivaled that of David Bowie? And what could account for that strange, sad, brooding look in his eyes? But I had no time to ask any of those questions. We didn't talk about anything that wasn't about pure business – frets, chords, tabs, and rhythm. I taught Danny the songs; Steve did a few licks on the drums. Everything was about music – just the way I liked it.

  I was always the first person to complain when personal talking infringed upon band time – I'd always been the first one to say “back to work.” I didn't have a personal life; this band was my personal life. So why was I the one who, all of a sudden, felt a sting of disappointment when Danny said “back to work” and we didn't share more than two seconds of greeting before we were back to playing?

  But the second Danny started on his guitar, I didn't want to do anything else. I never wanted to do anything else. His cracked, soft voice – at once harsh and sweet – the way he made the guitar strings quiver in his fingers and strain out beautiful music – his energy was something that washed over me like a tidal wave. My mind went blank; my thoughts were silenced. I no longer thought in words or phrases or lyrics – the pure sound of the melody was all that coursed through me like adrenaline or blood. That was the effect Danny Blue's music had on me. It made me crazy; it made me weak. But above all things it inspired me – made me feel that somewhere within our lyrics and our melodies and our jams there was some height of beauty that we had not reached, some summit we had not yet scaled or reached the peak of, and in Danny's piercing blue eyes I felt hope that we would get there. If only we practiced a little harder.

  Unfortunately, by Wednesday night, we'd already experienced our first set-back. No sooner had we started a full run of our Friday night set list – crashed-learned between classes all day Wednesday – than there came a knock at the door. Luc sprang to his feet and opened the door to reveal Mr. Reynolds, the building superintendent, looking red and sheepish.

  “I, uh, hate to bother you guys,” he said. “But there have been a couple of complaints from the neighbors, you know. Apparently last night you guys were playing until pretty late...”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” Steve said, blushing. How could anybody object to Danny's playing? I wondered.

  “It's just – uh – you know the terms of the lease. Communal noise and al
l that. You guys can't really play after nine p.m., you know that. I've been pretty lax on you guys because you've been responsible, but once the neighbors start calling in it's off my hands.”

  “But we've got a gig on Friday!” Luc interrupted, his eyes wide with distress. “We're desperate – we need to practice...”

  “Sorry guys,” Mr. Reynolds ducked away. “Rules are rules, you know.”

  “Damn...” Kyle watched him go mournfully. “What could we do now?”

  “Can't we go to your house, Neve?” Luc turned to me.

  I sighed. “You know what will happen if my dad hears us practicing – he'll freak out!” I turned slightly red. I'd still managed to avoid letting Danny Blue know that my dad was Keith Knight, and I wanted to keep it that way as long as possible.

  “Your dad not a fan of rock and roll, then?” Danny turned to me with a wry smile.

  “He's...uh...old-school,” I said. “He's not really a fan of the idea of me being in a band. And we can't use my dorm – I share a room with Kaylee Miller, and you know how she is...”

  “I don't want my guitar smelling like pot smoke all week,” confirmed Luc. “We could go to my place – but I feel kind of bad, you know? It was one thing when we were kids, but now that we're all off to college Mom's turned the basement into a room for Jennifer so she and Amy don't have to share, and...”