Less Than Nothing Read online

  We both leap off the couch, and I hurry to the door. I gather my stuff, and Melody hugs me.

  “You look way better in those sweats than I ever did. Even if your ass is too skinny.”

  “Thanks for letting me borrow them.”

  “Just don’t let Derek see you in those, or you’ll be in real trouble.”

  “Thanks, Mel.”

  When we get to the door, she stares into my eyes as if searching for something. “So what are you going to do?”

  I sigh. “I have absolutely no idea.”

  Chapter 4

  After splurging on two slices of pizza, I spend my evening washing my clothes at the most run-down Laundromat in history, a ritual I perform every ten days or so. I travel light, mainly because I don’t have much, but also because if you seem to have too much, you’re a target for other street people, who will gladly steal your shit without a second’s hesitation. It’s one of the constant problems I face, especially with Yam. Even as beat up as it is, it’s probably worth a hundred bucks at least, which is a fortune on the street.

  Nighttime can be pretty scary. I’ve got a routine, a few different places where I can sleep for a few hours before I move on. I’m constantly on the lookout for threats, and by now it’s second nature – other homeless, gangs, rapists, derelicts, police.

  There are a couple of places in Golden Gate Park and the panhandle green that are secluded and where I haven’t had any problems, but I never stay in the same place for long, because then I’m predictable, and I don’t want to be. I usually try to stay up till one in the morning, then crash for an hour or two, then move again. It’s a routine that can wear you down, but I’ve never needed that much sleep, and I’m used to it by now.

  My last two hours of slumber take place after dawn, at a bus stop where there’s a bench I can dominate. I’ve gotten so accustomed to sleeping sitting up, leaning against my guitar case so nobody can lift it while I’m out, that there’s a permanent indentation in it from my shoulder and head.

  When I come to, I begin my trudge to my spot and stop at a bagel shop for a large coffee and a blueberry bagel – I’ve still got six dollars and change left over from last night, so I’m feeling flush. That quickly dwindles to two, and after devouring my breakfast, I count out the change and part with half for a refill, leaving me a buck and pennies.

  It dawns on me for the millionth time that there’s not much of a future in my lifestyle, but I don’t see any way out. I won’t do what so many girls I’ve met have done to support themselves – there are some lines I won’t cross. Then again, so many of them have drug habits it’s not surprising they’re turning tricks. Even with the drop in the price of heroin and crack over the last five years, it can easily run a hundred or more per day to get by, and there aren’t a lot of options for underage runaways trying to disappear.

  I’m lucky I at least have a skill to fall back on. Not that it’s a particularly profitable one. But it beats the alternatives.

  I’m still pissed because two weeks ago the collapsible stool I found at the flea market got stolen while I was sleeping. It made a big difference for my act, but I don’t have another forty dollars to squander, so I’ve made do with the blanket. It softens the sidewalk somewhat, but I still think back to the giddy days of my stool with regret and fond memories.

  I turn the corner onto Haight Street and make my way to my spot and almost trip over my own feet when I see Derek already there, leaning against the wall with one foot against the brick façade, his guitar strapped on, his rucksack on the sidewalk by his open case. He sees me and beams a megawatt smile. My breath catches in my throat, and for a second I can’t breathe. My heart rate accelerates by about twenty beats per minute, and my leg muscles feel watery.

  I’m glad I’m far enough away that he can’t see the effect he’s having on me, and I do my best to ignore how damned fine he looks. I had just about convinced myself that I was exaggerating his hotness in my mind, but this morning, if anything, he looks better than yesterday, which was a tough act to follow.

  When I draw alongside him, he stops playing and winks at me. “Morning, Sage.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Me? Keeping someone else from stealing your spot.”

  At least he acknowledged that it’s my spot, not ours. That’s hopeful. I sigh as I set my guitar case down and retrieve my blanket from my backpack, holding my tongue until I spread it on the sidewalk. He watches me out of the corner of his eye, and I feel for a moment like he can see through my clothes – a not altogether unpleasant sensation, but not a helpful one if I’m going to keep things businesslike.

  I look at his case. He’s already got two bucks in it. Damn him. It must be the female tippers, because I get nothing but spit before nine.

  He clears his throat when he sees me eyeing the coins. “Don’t worry. We’ll split that.”

  “Gee. Thanks.”

  “Did you think about what I suggested?”

  The moment of truth. I look up at him, at his hopeful face, and I know what I’m going to say. Still, when I do, I feel a sense of relief, a flood of anxiety washing away as the words tumble over each other.

  “I did, and I’ll give it a whirl as long as you remember your promise.”

  He crosses his heart with his pick hand. I haven’t seen someone do that in years. I notice his nails are clean and well trimmed, making me immediately self-conscious about my chipped black enamel job.

  “You bet. Let’s talk about songs. You know many?”

  I frown a little. “Are you kidding? I know ten hours’ worth. Maybe more. Hundreds. No, maybe thousands.” Only a little exaggeration, but I feel intimidated by his question as well as by how close he’s standing.

  “Cool. It’ll take some practice to figure out who does what, but if we switch off on lead vocals, the other can take the harmonies, and it shouldn’t be too bad.”

  I nod. Makes sense.

  His gaze drifts to my eyes, and I feel that sensation of spinning on the carnival ride again. “I heard you sing. Nothing that comes out of that mouth could be bad,” he says and smiles again.

  I flush. The blushing is uncontrollable, and I curse the German part of my heritage that blessed me with pale skin, the better to display my embarrassment when the blood rushes to my face.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask, more to have something to say than out of genuine curiosity.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a half hour?” He nods to a cup of coffee next to his rucksack. “I got you some brew. Just the way you like it. Should still be hot.”

  Maybe this isn’t going to be so bad after all. I try not to notice that the early sun is creating a halo effect around his head. Or maybe that’s just the last of the sleep in my eyes.

  I nod and move next to him. He smells freshly scrubbed. Again. I so want to ask him where he’s showering, but it seems kind of forward, considering I should be trying to crush him with the power of my will. Instead, I accept the coffee, which tastes better than good.

  “So how do we do this?” I ask, always the sensible one. “How do you want to pick the songs?”

  He rubs a hand across his face and considers the question. “It’s your gig. How about you pick ’em, and I’ll do my best to keep up?”

  He’s not getting off that easily. “What about the guitars? We can’t just strum the same chords.”

  “How about whoever is singing the lead plays the main riff, and whoever’s singing harmony noodles over it?”

  If this is going to work, I need to stop being so defensive, I decide. I can boot his ass off the street at noon when we’re still broke. Until then, I’ll play along. Literally. I also realize that it’s kind of cool to have someone to talk to during what’s usually a pretty lonely stretch of time. Which I would never tell him.

  “That should work.” I slurp my coffee. It’s still awesome.

  Derek slides down the wall and sits Indian style, and I reluctantly join him. We tune up,
and he looks at me expectantly. I throw a fairly obscure song at him.

  “You know ‘Thirty Days in the Hole’?”

  He cracks his crooked grin. “Lead on.”

  I give him a starting note and, on my nod, start the chorus refrain a cappella. His voice matches mine, the harmony perfect, no guitars, and a thrill goes up my spine. I strum the chords that start the verse and sing it loud. When I get to the part about weak in the knees, I realize that perfectly describes how I feel.

  We keep going well past the point where we should have stopped the song, jamming along. The final chorus extends for a good minute, his voice entwined with mine, both of us riffing in and out of the melody. By the time we finish, I realize something special happened. It was exciting and raw and powerful.

  He holds my gaze for the last thirty seconds as we sing, locked on me with laser precision, and when we’re done, it feels like the world comes back into focus, like someone turned on the color after everything being all black and white.

  A few bystanders clap, and one whistles. I look down. There’s a dollar thirty-five in the case more than when we started the song.

  “Get a room, already,” a familiar voice says. I look up, and Melody’s there, studying Derek like a jeweler with a fine diamond.

  “What are you doing here?” I stammer, genuinely surprised that she’s dragged herself out of bed.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new partner?” she says, her voice totally fake and innocent.

  Derek beams up at her and then looks to me with one raised eyebrow.

  “Oh. Um, this is Derek. Derek, Melody,” I say, my eyes narrowing slightly.

  Derek reaches out a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice smooth as velvet. I already hate how this is going.

  “Mel,” she corrects, approaching and shaking, her hips doing her very best Shakira with every step.

  Derek glances back at me. “That was pretty good for our first time.”

  I don’t trust myself to speak. Melody has enough words for both of us.

  “It was incredible. Really.” She eyes Derek like a snake eyes a mouse. “You’re very good.” She switches to me. “You too, Sage.”

  I find my voice. “Thanks, Mel.” I look at Derek. “You know any Michelle Branch?”

  He nods. “Sure. ‘All You Wanted’? ‘Are You Happy Now’? ‘Breathe’?”

  I thought I’d stumped him. I only know “All You Wanted.” How many guys know three Michelle Branch songs?

  I play the first notes, and he jumps in, leaning over and whispering in my ear like he’s telling me a secret. “You take the vocal on this again. Me trying to sing this with you next to me’s plain stupid.”

  Melody retreats to the parking meter she was leaning against, and we start in. A couple of quarters land in the case as I give it my all. So far, we’re cleaning up.

  The morning wears on, and after a few rough patches, we’re sounding pretty good. My assessment of Derek’s ability the prior day was conservative. He can play a guitar like nobody’s business, and when he opens his mouth, it’s magic.

  When we decide to give it a rest after the lunch rush, it’s 1:45, later than I’d mentally decided the cutoff for our experiment would go. Melody wandered off after half an hour, when Derek didn’t follow her every move with his tongue hanging out.

  He counts the money while I wipe down Yam, enjoying the sun’s warm afternoon glow on my face.

  He turns to me with a disappointed look. My heart stops.

  “Well?” I ask.

  “Only thirty-six bucks.” His delivery’s like a judge sentencing me to life in prison.

  I shake my head, sure I’ve heard wrong. “What?”

  “Eighteen dollars apiece, counting this morning’s take. A little more than your usual ten, right?”

  I try to keep my mouth from hanging open. “Yeah. I guess. You sure about that?”

  He hands me a fistful of coins and a few one-dollar bills. “I can recount it, but I usually get it right the first time.”

  I do a quick mental calculation, trying to ignore his look of triumph. Most of the real money will be made in the next four hours. If we’ve gotten this much already…we could end the day with fifty or so dollars apiece. A fortune by my standards and a personal best.

  “Maybe we got lucky,” I say, for lack of anything better.

  He nods. “Maybe we did. You want to grab a bite while I mind the store, and we’ll see if we can keep the streak going?”

  I stand and crack my neck. It’s stiff from sitting with the guitar for hours. “What do you want?”

  He smiles, and part of my heart shifts. I swear I can feel it move in my chest. “I’ll eat anything.” He looks me dead in the eyes, and I glance away after an uncomfortable second. Uncomfortable in a good way, but still.

  “Be right back.”

  As much as I hate to admit it, we sound really good together. Better than good. I can see why anyone who stopped and listened would cough up a few pennies. With one voice, one instrument, it’s limited. With two, it’s lush and full and playful and exciting. It’s everything I could hope for, with cream on top.

  As I round the corner to the burrito place I figure I can splurge for, I wonder at how connected our harmonies are, almost effortlessly so. It’s like Derek knows what I’m going to do next, where I’m going to take the note, even when it’s a detour from the melody.

  I look down at my faded Chucks, and a part of me questions whether this kind of thing happens all the time. Because it’s never happened to me before. And in spite of all my doubts, I have no question that by the end of the day, I’ll have a new partner.

  Chapter 5

  It’s getting dark at 6:45, and we decide to call it a day. Derek counts the coins and bills while I pack up my gear, and when he’s done tallying, he’s got a smug expression.

  “Hundred and eight dollars and forty-six cents.”

  “What kind of person tosses a penny into the case? That must have been one of your fans,” I say, but I’m smiling in spite of myself. I’m rich!

  “Probably someone that just threw all their loose change in.”

  He ferrets in his rucksack and takes out two plastic Ziploc bags. When he fills them with coins and hands me mine, it’s heavy. I heft it.

  “What is that, five pounds?”

  “About that. I can give you some more bills if you can’t carry it,” Derek offers, a hint of amusement in his tone.

  “Don’t go out of your way. I’ll figure it out one way or another.” After spending almost ten hours with him, the nervousness I felt when I first saw him this morning has passed. Although I still sneak a peek at his profile when he’s not looking, trying to find a flaw. The broken nose fits perfectly, and instead of marring his face, gives it a little air of danger. I want to ask him what happened, but I don’t. I actually want to ask him a million questions, but don’t want to seem too eager or give him the impression I’m interested in him or anything. My life’s complicated enough without that.

  All day long there were women who stopped and listened, and not many of them spent any time looking at me. It’s obvious that Derek’s got some sizzle, and after about the fiftieth one eyeing him with flirtatious glances, I didn’t even notice that much. At first I felt an unreasonable surge of annoyance, but then it was almost comical. I’ve never seen that kind of mass attraction before, outside of the tamer version of high school football heroes and the airheads that chase them. But this is everything from older women to girls my age or younger.

  I slide my coin bag into my backpack. Whatever it is, it’s working for us.

  I stop at the thought. Us.

  Is there now an us? I glance over at Derek, who’s changing the top strings on his guitar, having splurged on a set after I’d returned with our burritos. Today was awesome, but nothing lasts forever. And in my experience, good things come and go in a blink, whereas bad ones linger like fungus.

  He seems to sense my mood
. “Hey, so you have to admit, it worked pretty well.”

  “Do I?” That came out wrong. I try again. “It did work well. I’m sorry. I’m just a little tired.”

  He nods. “Where do you go when you’re done for the day?”

  I hesitate. Now we’re crossing into personal territory. What do I really know about Derek? He could be some kind of serial killer, for all I know. I mean, unlikely, but my instinct is always to play it close to the chest with any information.

  Because knowledge is power, and nobody’s going to get any power over me. Those days are over forever.

  “Oh, you know. I’ll grab something to eat and hang out someplace for a while.” Can’t get much more vague than that, I think.

  “What’s your favorite food?” he asks as he winds the final string on and turns the tuning key.

  Seems harmless to tell him, so I do. “I love Italian.”

  His face brightens. “Really? So do I. Might be because I’m part Italian. Yo, Vinnie,” he says, doing a passable Travolta imitation. At least I think it was Travolta. I’m not a big TV watcher, but I seem to remember it from growing up, my mom watching reruns all day long as she drank away her demons. “You want to grab something with me, Sage?”

  Every time he says my name, I get the same electric shock of pleasure. I feel silly. I’m behaving like an adolescent with a first crush. Or feeling like one. Outwardly, I give no sign of the thrill his words bring. At least, I sure hope I don’t.

  I stare at him for a few beats too long and then shrug. “Sure. Got any place special in mind?” I’m fat with coins, so I can spring for a real meal, as long as it’s a budget restaurant.

  “For Italian? Oh, yeah. There’s a great place down in the Mission. They literally put awesome sauce all over the pasta. Mind-blowing food, and right now I could eat a horse.”

  Maybe this isn’t a terrible idea. I can sneak in questions over dinner and find out more about him.

  “The Mission?” I normally stick to the area around the Haight. It’s familiar, and I know the traps to avoid, especially as it gets later. Parts of the city can get really scary ugly at night, and the Mission is one of them, depending on the area. South of Market’s another. The Tenderloin’s another.