A girl answered on the third ring. “Yeah?” Her voice was a honeyed rasp, like early Tegan and Sara, and Jacques could already hear music init.
“Hi… I’m calling about the band. You looking for a singer?” he asked, hoping to sound non-committal and skeptical, because, of course, he was both. Even if he was alsodesperate.
“Maybe,” the girl said, sounding more non-committal and skeptical. Even a littlerude.
He’d bet money she was the one who’d penned the caustic notice. When she didn’t offer more, Jacques considered hanging up, but something made him press further. Whether it was the intrigue or his lack of options, he wasn’tsure.
“What’s the name of your band? Have I seen you perform anywhere?” he asked, deciding to vet her if she wasn’t going to vethim.
“Heroine,” shesaid.
Leaning against the side of his car, Jacqueswaited.
“Like the drug?” he askedfinally.
“No. With an ‘e’. As in ‘a brave woman’ or ‘the central female in astory.’”
Heblinked.
“And you want a guy to join your band?” he asked, wondering if he was beingpranked.
“Only the rightguy.”
Stupidly, he waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he sighed. This was going nowherefast.
“What constitutes being the right guy?” Jacques thought of himself as a patient man, but he felt that virtue waning as he spoke to thegirl.
“Not an asshole, an egomaniac, a homophobe, a narcissist, or a racist.” She listed each item rapid fire, almost startling him with the vehemence in hervoice.
“O…kay… that’s a list of things youdon’twant,” he said evenly. “And, frankly, no one should want them. Now list what youarelookingfor.”
The line was quiet for amoment.
“Talent. Respect. Teamwork. And, preferably, a baritone or at least a voice that’s deeper thanmine.”
Jacques found himself grinning. “I’m a baritonebass.”
“Yeah, that’s obvious,” she said withouthumor.
His grin faded. He opened the door to the Impala and dropped inside. “I can’t say I’ve heard ofHeroine.”
“We’re pretty new,” shehedged.
He frowned again. “Done anygigs?”
“Um…” It was the first time she’d sounded unsure. “…yeah. We’ve played at the Hook andBoil…”
“In Broussard?” Jacques didn’t think the restaurant even had astage.
“And The Cajun Heartland StateFair…”
He felt his eyebrowsclimb.
“And a prom — I mean, a private party,” she quicklyamended.
“D-did you just say ‘a prom?’” Jacques nearly choked on a laugh. Who the hell was thisgirl?
“Yeah. So?” she asked, hostility lacing hertone.