Suzie’s House 333 : You Can’t Manipulate Every Bitter, Tight Spot

Just like he thought, the drums took forever to get set up. Bruce had his keyboard up and running almost as fast as Tracy and Gene had their guitars plugged in and tuned. Of course Emma hovered just off stage. She kept touching the mask he’d given her like maybe it didn’t fit right. He’d have to check it later. That just left the drums, and there goes Kate, chasing one right off the stage.

Some drunk in the crowd pointed and laughed. You could hardly call it an audience, when most of the people were more interested in the bar than the pathetic excuse for a stage.

There was another stage on the other side of the room – one built high enough that people could still see the band even while dancing – but Malaprop wasn’t allowed to use it. Some other band’s instruments were already set up. In a way, Bruce’s band was being treated like a cover band.

He didn’t like it, but he already knew it would be like this. You had to start somewhere. And all things considered, it wasn’t like Bruce could complain. He was lucky to get another crack at this.

“Hey, hey, I know you.” The loud drunk pointed at Bruce, who was helping Kate grab the runaway drum. “You’re that keyboard guy from LubDub, right?”

Bruce flinched.

“You’re the kid who beat up Timmy last Summer. Yeah, yeah. You’re the one.”

“What is he talking about,” Kate asked as the two of them stepped up on their pathetic little stage.

“Nothing.” The word came out hard and mashed. Bruce really, really did not want to talk about it.

“Put the guy in the hospital.” Would the drunk ever shut up?

Bruce turned around. He was tempted to belt the guy. But it was belting the wrong guy – or maybe too many of the wrong guys – that got him dropped from the band in the first place. He glanced around the stage to see if any of his new band mates were listening. The last thing he wanted now was to get kicked out for something he didn’t do all that much of anymore.

Tracy, Gene, and Justin slipped into the back room behind the grill. Kate worked on her drum set up. That left him and Emma huddled in a corner. They so totally didn’t have time for this.

“Hey. Don’t think you can put ME in the hospital, you runt.” The loud drunk shoved his bulk off a bar stool.

He had the kind of spare tire you could float down the Mississippi on – all fluffy and round. Bruce could imagine his fist sinking into it for a long time. Punching bags were more fun to hit than guts like that. It’s like fighting a water balloon.

“Keep drinking,” Bruce muttered. “You’ll end up in the hospital soon enough.” He was thinking liver damage from the alcohol, but maybe someone would have thought otherwise.

“I don’t care if you did break three of Timmy’s bones and left a scar on his arm. You aren’t so tough.” The drunk’s friends grabbed his arms and hauled him away.

Embarrassed, Bruce went over to Emma.

“It’s not really like that,” he started to say. “I’m not going to mess with the band’s rep. You don’t need to worry. I won’t hurt anyone.”

Emma gave him a funny look. Even in the dark of the bar with a mask over the top half of her face, he could see it in her eyes.

“Bruce. It’s not like we didn’t know all along.”

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