Shakedown Street

they hold it at 7pm on halloween night, right when the handover is happening and the department is bustling, at a country club across town that's impossible to reach on time. needless to say, no one feels very appreciated.

jack -- who couldn't give two shits about halloween -- overhears a couple of the nurses complaining about it and decides that they can at least try to rectify the issue. he ropes robby and dana into helping him; they coordinate a time and date that works for most people, with the understanding that they'll get the ones who can't attend a gift card for a nice dinner.

robby hasn't thought about halloween in a while except in terms of it being an annoyance -- considering the fact that it is the only night in his life where he's had to surgically remove a clown nose from a man's trachea, this seems fair -- and he certainly hasn't thought about having to dress up. the last halloween he went out in costume was when jake was nine, and he doesn't have anyone who will be catwoman and robin to his batman at this point.

he and jack are in a weird spot, dating but not quite dating, hooking up but not treating it seriously, and matching with him seems both like it would tip off the majority of the people in the pitt (like they don't already know) and complicate their relationship in a way robby isn't ready for.

he ends up picking out the lowest common denominator and the easiest to pull off without being accused of being lazy, which he admittedly is. he buys a shitty facepaint palette from the spirit halloween that's opened up down the road, paints his face as white as he can get it and blacks out underneath his eyes, and tosses on the batman cape over a vest he's pretty sure he wore to donnie's wedding, and voila. dracula it is.

robby shows up a couple hours early to jack's party to help him get set up and make sure he isn't rethinking things, and when he gets there jack doesn't have a costume on. he's in sweatpants that leave little to the imagination and a ptmc sweater from the gift shop at the hospital (where they get a generous 25% discount, thank you) and he laughs at robby's costume like it's the funniest thing he's ever seen until robby takes advantage of the situation and shoves jack over the side of the couch so he shuts up. even then, he won't stop speaking in a dracula voice, and robby isn't actually annoyed but he acts like he is, huffing every time jack asks him to move something or pour something or chop something.

about an hour and a half before the start time (and they both know dana will be there early) jack decides to go get ready. he heads down the hall to his master bedroom and is only in there for ten minutes or so before he returns while robby is working his way through a bag of carrots for the veggie plate, cutting them into perfect batons. he glances at jack out of the corner of his eye, turns back to his chopping, and then turns around so quickly he nearly falls.

"what is that?"

"what?" jack asks, using one beer to knock the top off another before taking a sip, robby staring at him. "my costume?"

robby is falling off a cliff, his stomach plummeting with desire so intense it makes him no better than he was at fourteen and saw tom cruise in top gun. jack is dressed from head to foot as steve mcqueen in bullitt: gray slacks, brown suede boots, a navy blue roll neck sweater and a gun holster over his shoulders. he is an absolute vision, one of his curls twisted elegantly over his forehead, and robby sets the knife on the cutting board; this time when he shoves jack over the arm of the couch, it's not to shut him up.

He reached into his desk drawer and came out with something small hanging from a lanyard. “I had a friend that owed me a favor. He called me and asked if I knew anyone that might be interested. I didn’t want to say anything until I had it in hand.” He held it out to you. “Private event. Tomorrow at the Pavillion.”

You took it. The pass was nothing fancy, just a laminated card with some venue information and a barcode. You turned it over and sucked in a breath before darting your gaze back to Ben. “Buffalo Jump? Are you serious?”

He hummed and leaned back in his chair looking rather proud of himself.

Buffalo Jump had been in the industry for almost twenty-five years. They were famous for their eclectic blend of music and were your absolute favorite rock band for a variety of reasons. All of which Ben knew because you’d written a thorough analysis of their music and the evolution of their sound for your thesis.

“You need the reminder of what you’re working for,” he told you. “You’re going to go far, if you just get the chance.” He’d said that to you before, more than once. He’d said it when you played your recitals, when you defended your thesis, when you mother fell sick and you had to leave your position at the symphony as you couldn’t leave her to tour with them. You didn’t exactly envision yourself playing the harp for the rest of your life anyway.

You gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”

As usual, he could read you too well. “I’ve been in this position for a long time. I’ve seen so many students come and go. It is rare that I see one with your talents.”

Your eyes went wide and you shook your head. As you opened your mouth to protest, he cut you off.

“No. No arguments. I’m aware you don’t see it, trust me I am painfully aware.” You thought the wince he made was a bit dramatic. He held your gaze for a long moment. “You’ll get your chance. In the meantime, go. Enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it.”

The Pavillion was one of those places that could be used for intimate events or upper floors could be opened for more seating. Tables usually filled the main floor but they had been replaced with rows of chairs facing the small stage. Two barstools sat in the center with microphones in front of them. The left stool had an acoustic guitar on a stand beside it while the one on the right had an acoustic bass. Both instruments showcased a custom paint job. They were obviously well loved.

As no recordings were allowed, phones were collected at the door much to the dissatisfaction of several of the people filing in. You handed yours over without hesitation. There wasn’t a lot you wouldn’t do to attend an event like this. Most people were in pairs or even trios, but you took a seat by yourself toward the back where you could take in everything at once.

Your pulse raced as the lights over the audience dimmed and the lighting on the stage came up. Then Michael “Robby” Robinavitch and Jack Abbot walked out. There was no introduction, no special effects. They weren’t needed.

Robby wore faded jeans and an old Harley t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. The logo was so worn you could barely read it. Jack’s jeans were darker and he wore an old band tee showcasing a buffalo jumping over the moon, the cover art from their first album. Robby grabbed the bass and Jack took the guitar in hand before they settled on their respective seats. They adjusted the mics and Jack leaned forward with a small grin.

“Afternoon everyone. We’re going to sing a few songs if that’s alright.” His rough voice had you smiling and you applauded, cringing slightly at the handful of people that screamed.

Robby’s smile was more a twitch of the lips than anything. He counted them in with a tap of his foot. The first notes were enough to quiet the audience. Jack’s gravelly voice came in, Robby occasionally lending his own in support.

You’d listened to all of their albums dozens of times. You knew these songs. Understood the theory beneath them, the stories behind at least a few of them. But hearing them like this, stripped of everything, was so much more moving than you thought it would be. Jack closed his eyes as he became lost in the music while Robby kept watching the crowd, as if checking to make sure they were still paying attention.

Somewhere in the middle of the fourth song—a ballad Jack sang while Robby played his bass so beautifully it made your heart ache—your mind turned to your own songs, your own music. Songs only a very limited audience had heard because no one gave a shit if their bartender was composing in her head during last call.

The set ended as quiet as it began. They played the last chord and let it fade into the air. They stood to set the instruments back in the stands as people applauded, some still a little more exuberant than the environment warranted. You wondered briefly if the men ever got tired of people screaming at them like they were something godly instead of just people.

A staffer stood near the side door with a clipboard. “Meet and greet line forms here,” she said, not shouting, but loud enough to catch everyone’s attention. People scrambled, wanting to be first. Others moved for the end of the line, chattering to their friends about getting more time if they were the last to go. You settled somewhere comfortably in the middle.

The line moved forward slowly as people were shown into a small room in the groups they’d attended in. They were in there long enough to get a picture, presumably an autograph or two and then they’d exit through a door a little further down the hall where someone waited to return their cellphones.

You thought about what you would say when it was your turn. Hi, I’m a fan. Or perhaps, hi, I wrote my thesis on your music. Or even, hi, I tend bar and have a Master’s in Music and play the harp in my living room while I wonder what the point of any of this is.

Five people ahead. Then two.

Then it was your turn and you were directed through the door where you found Jack and Robby waiting along with a photographer. Someone who was undoubtedly security stood along one wall.

The room was small with bare white walls and a folding table along one side. A backdrop was set up along the back wall. You couldn’t help but think they all looked incredibly bored. Or tired. Very, very tired.

Robby and Jack gave you a small smile when you entered. Up close, Robby felt taller than you’d expected. His beard was neatly trimmed and his eyes were that particular shade of brown that looked almost black in the right lighting. Jack was shorter, more compact, his once auburn hair showing more gray than ever. God, they were hotter than they had any right to be.

You cleared your throat and licked your lips before introducing yourself. You told them you were a big fan all while keeping a careful distance between you, not wanting to intrude on their space. Then you thanked them for taking their time to do something like this and told them how much you appreciated it.

Robby’s posture shifted slightly and his smile became a little more genuine as did Jack’s. They exchanged a glance, then the photographer stepped forward.

Jack motioned you toward them. “Come stand in the middle, sweetheart. We’ll get you a good picture. Is it okay if we touch you?”

Heat crawled up your neck as you nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Robby draped a heavy arm across your shoulders while Jack’s hand came to rest in the middle of your back.

“Alright, big smiles,” the photographer stated in a tone that told you he said it all day every day.

The camera made a sound. Not a click or even a beep but a low whine that preceded a bright flash from the screen. The photographer frowned, pushed several buttons then muttered a string of profanities. “Shit. Give me a minute. Camera is having issues.” He went to a bag on the table and dug around before sighing. “Must have left the backup in the van. I’ll run and get it. Don’t go anywhere.”

He was gone before anyone could respond.

Their arms dropped and you stepped forward to give them back their space. Jack sighed. “You mind if I sit?” he asked.

It took a moment to realize he was talking to you. “Of course not. Please do.”

He nodded and dropped into a chair that sat against the wall. He reached for his leg then pulled his hand back. He’d lost part of his leg in a horrible accident right after the band signed their first contract. The record company had tried to replace him and the rest of the band had refused. You were sure the prosthesis was bothering him.

“So,” Robby said, drawing out the word as he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you do?”

“I’m a bartender,” you answered automatically. Then something about the way he was looking at you, made you add, “I just graduated with my Master’s in Music.”

Both men straightened, looking far more interested than they had a moment ago.

Jack huffed a humorless laugh. “Are you serious?”

You made a sound of agreement. “A couple of weeks ago.”

Robby’s brows went up. “What do you do? With the music, I mean.”

You shrugged. “Sing. Piano. Guitar on occasion. I can also play the harp but I don’t suppose you care as much about that.”

Robby’s lips curled into a real smile.

“So sing something,” Jack instructed.

You looked at him in surprise. His hazel eyes were steady on yours, nothing but curiosity shining in their depths. “You don’t want to hear me sing.”

He smirked. “Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“That was more of an order than a question, actually,” you muttered, heart pounding in anticipation.

“Can’t perform if you’re shy, sweetheart,” Robby added. The nickname should have rankled, but it didn’t. Not from them.

You glanced between the two of them as you stood there. Were you really about to do this? Ben would kill you if you didn’t.

Then you started tapping both palms against your thighs, a rhythm you knew by heart since you’d written it in your bedroom at two in the morning the week after your mother died. One two. One two three.

You didn’t even give it much thought, your hands moving into the rhythm almost of their own accord. Robby tilted his head, listened for a moment, then his right hand came down to the wall beside him, matching your rhythm exactly. You glanced at him. He watched your hands, then your face, then back to your hands.

Your voice when you started to sing was soft at first. Almost under your breath, the way you sang when you were alone in the car. The melody was simple and the words were about love and loss and the desire to be more than you were. The loneliness that came with wanting something so badly you could feel it in your soul. It wasn’t fancy or even particularly clever, but it was your truth.

Robby kept the beat, soft but steady, Jack watched from his chair, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted as he took you in. His eyes watched your mouth like he was reading your lips. When you hit the second verse, your voice found its weight becoming more solid, more sure. You sang the last line and let it fade.

Silence filled the room.

“That was…” Robby started. He paused, looked at Jack, then back to you. “Wow.”

“I didn’t recognize it. Whose song was that?” Jack asked.

“Mine.” Your voice came out rough and you cleared your throat. “I wrote it, I mean.”

The door opened and the photographer came in with a new camera hung around his neck. “Sorry, folks. Let’s get this done.”

The three of you recreated the original pose.

“Big smiles.”

You obeyed and heard several clicks. The photographer looked at the screen and nodded once. “Great. Next.”

Robby’s arm on your shoulder tightened before you could step away. You glanced at him.

“Wait. Could you…would you mind waiting until we’re done with the rest of the line? We’d like to talk to you,” he said.

“I…yeah. Okay.”

“Okay?” he confirmed with a wide smile.

You nodded.

“We’ll see you in a bit, sweetheart,” Jack said when you neared the door. You looked back and waved before disappearing into the hall.

The tech found the bag with your name on it and handed you your cellphone. A couple of chairs stood just down the hall and you sat on one, scrolling through your phone to kill the time and keep yourself from overthinking. You were nauseous with anxiety. What could they possibly want with you?

Minutes passed slowly until there was no one left in the hall except you and the two workers. They didn’t ask why you were still there. Didn’t try to move you along and you wondered if they knew somehow that you’d been asked to wait.

The door opened and three giggly girls poured out, clutching signed pictures to their chests. You’d forgotten yours and felt weird about asking for one now. The door stayed open this time and Robby and Jack stepped into the hallway. Their manager, Gloria Underwood, emerged from a door just down the hall.

She glanced at you, brow furrowed in confusion, before shifting her attention back to the men. “Gentlemen. We need to get back to the hotel and go over the set list for tomorrow. You also have a phone interview with People.” Her voice was clipped, efficient. She looked at her watch then back to them.

Robby waved a hand in her direction, a sour expression on his face. “Just a minute, Gloria.”

He turned his back on her and positioned himself in front of your chair. Jack stood at his side, close enough their shoulders nearly touched. The two of them created a barrier between you and the rest of the hall, between you and Gloria.

“Tomorrow’s show. You’re coming,” Robby said.

It wasn’t a question. You opened your mouth to respond but he cut you off.

“You’re on the list. Bring a plus one if you want. Park in the back by the buses. Give security your name, they’ll let you through.” He paused, gaze steady on yours. “Can you make it?”

Yeah, you could make it. You could make it if the venue was on the moon and you had to walk. What came out of your mouth instead was, “Why?”

Jack grinned. It was the first real smile you’d seen from him. It transformed his face into something almost boyish. He looked at Robby then back at you and the grin didn’t fade. “Just trust us, sweetheart.”

“Come early,’ Robby added. “Around four. Sound check. You should hear it. It’ll be a good learning experience.”

What the fuck was going on?

“Okay,” you managed to get out.

Gloria apparently reached the end of her patience. She stepped forward, inserting herself between the men with practiced ease and placed a hand on each of their arms. “That’s enough socializing. The car leaves in five.”

Robby sighed. “Fine, fine.” He pulled his arm out from under her touch.

“Now, Robinavitch,” she said with enough attitude to have even your brows raising.

“Enough, Gloria. We’re coming. Just fuck off for a minute,” Robby snapped.

Jack chuckled softly, obviously used to the animosity between the other two. He gave you a nod. “We’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart. Don’t disappoint us now. It will break our hearts if you don’t show.”

He was gone before you could respond.

“As you can see, we have to go. But you’ll be there, right?” Robby asked. “Promise.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you answered honestly.

He gave you a wide smile and backed down the hall for a few steps before finally turning and walking away.

You waited for the door at the end of the hallway to swing shut behind them before standing. Your legs were stiff from sitting, your fingers found the pass hanging from your neck and ran along the edge of it.

Less than an hour ago you’d been a fan in a meet and greet line. Now you were…what? Invited? On the list? Told to come early?

What the hell just happened?