Page 65 of Goode to Be Bad

We let ’em howl for a few minutes, and then we four butted our heads together, arms around shoulders.

“Three-song encore, boys,” I said. “‘Heaven Is You’, ‘Claim to Fame’, and ‘This Ain’t a Breakup’.” I grinned at them each in turn. “And then I drag Lexie on stage.”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah,” Jupiter said. “Just you two?”

“Yes sir,” I said. “You guys okay with that?”

Brand and Zan were enthusiastically all right with sharing the encore with Lexie.

We jogged on stage in the darkness, finding our marks via the glow-in-the-dark taped X on the floor. “Heaven Is You” started with a bold, thunderous bass solo from Brand, and then we all kicked in at once as the lights came on and deafening applause became ear-piercing cheers of approval at our choice of encore opener. All too soon we’d shredded through our three songs, and the lights stayed on as the boys trooped off stage, Jupe throwing spare drumsticks out into the crowd, some close and some as far back as he could fling them, Brand and Zan tossing picks to the front rows. I stayed on stage and handed my Fender to Alyn—the new tech whose name I was still learning—and accepted, not Betty-Lou, this time, but the guitar I’d named Na’ura, after Crow’s Mom.

The crowd, sensing something different than my usual show ending, settled and sat, silent.

I gestured at the cameraman, and he scuttled closer. “Get a good shot of my new guitar,” I said into the mic; I glanced up at the side-screens to make sure he was getting a good close look at it. “Ain’t she a beaut? She’s named Na’ura. All of you remember my guitar tech and best friend, Crow?”

The crowd’s affirmation was loud and enthusiastic.

“Well, he’s retired as my tech and taken on a new adventure.” I lifted the guitar. “Making these. Now this one here is a special piece—not only is it the first guitar he made, it was the last one ever made by his grandfather, River Dog who, if you know anything about custom acoustic guitars, was the maker of some of the hardest to get and sought after customs in the world. And this is the grand prize. He died before he could finish it, and Crow, my brother in every way except blood relation, finished it and gave it to me. You guys here in beautiful Tokyo, Japan are the first audience in the whole wide world to hear me play it.”

Alyn brought me a stool and a sound tech brought out a second mic for the guitar—it was a classical acoustic, no amplification. I settled on the stool, snugged Na’ura on my knee, and finger-picked a melody that the crowd soon recognized as the opening to “Sing You Home,” the first slow ballad I put out, and the only one to really ever make any waves, chart wise.

“Ya’ll know this one,” I said. “Sing along.”

I moved through the song, eyes closed, playing from the soul.

Let the last note quaver through the dome, and the kind of silence after a song like that is the perfect kind of silence.

“Got another special treat for you,” I said, after a moment. “So just…hang on for me for a quick second.”

I held the guitar by the neck and strode off stage. Lex was there, clutching her ukulele for dear life, shaking. I stand in front of her. “Ready?”

She shook her head slowly. “No.”

I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her toward the stage. “I got you, Lex. You can do this.”

She stumbled, resisting, and then as we hit the stage beyond the curtains, she found her feet and I heard her breath catch. “Holy shit,” she murmured, her eyes wide. “That’s a lot of people.”

The sound tech rushed out two more mics, setting them up for her vocals and uke, and Alyn brought her a stool, and she was there at the mic, on stage. I turned sideways to face her and the crowd.

“This is Lexie,” I said. “A very special woman in my life, and one of the most talented humans I’ve ever known. She’s a little nervous, since this is her first time on stage, so can you guys give her a big ol’ Tokyo welcome?”

She stumbled backward a step at the sudden assault of noise from the crowd that washed over us in waves the moment I said her name, and the cheering became a chant—Leeex-EEE Leeex-EEE Leex-EEE!

“They know your name, darlin’,” I said, sure to get the words picked up by my mic. “Say hello.”

She sucked in a breath, exhaled too loudly and too directly into the mic, and she reared back at the white noise it produced. Frowned. Tried again. “Hey, everyone.” Deafening applause. “Myles, uh…he said you may not mind if we play a song or two together.”

The crowd became louder, wilder.

“Sounds like a yes to me,” I said. “So. You pick the song, and I’ll play along. Whaddya got, Lexie?”

She swallowed hard. Stared down at her ukulele. Breathed in and out slowly for a few beats. “Um.” Another beat. “I wrote this one back in college. Most of my songs are kinda sad, so, you know, sorry if it’s a downer. This is, um, this is called ‘What You Don’t See.’”

She started a gentle, slow melody, and I waited till I’d gotten the gist of its movement and then set a line lower on the register of my guitar, slow and sad and moving around her part.

She smiled at me, acknowledging what I was doing. Then faced the mic, closed her eyes, and I watched sadness slide over her features as she started to sing:

“Dance for you