Page 39 of Dirty Like Zane
“Zane!” Katie called from wherever she was hiding across the room. “Don’t ruin myman!”
Everyone was laughing and shoving at each other and wiping food off their clothes when Jude broke up the party and started kicking asses out. When Xander walked past me, I gave him a shove that he was smart enough not toreturn.
Dirty was my fucking band, Maggie was part of Dirty, and he was out of line. He’d been thinking with his dick, and I’d called him onit.
The chili was a warning shot, and he knewit.
“You’re a dick,” he muttered, and Ismiled.
At the door, Jude made all the musicians cough up whatever cash they had in their pockets as I paid the bill with my credit card. Then I handed Jude’s wad of cash to thewaitress.
Her eyes bugged out at the sight of hertip.
“Sorry about the mess,” Isaid.
Maggie leaned in. “Zane would be happy to sign something,” she offered pleasantly, “for your kids or whoever. He’s very famous.” She fake-smiled at me, pleased withherself.
The waitress, who clearly didn’t care who I was, scanned my mustard-smeared vest and face. “Well, my grandson likes the metal. Maybe he’s afan.”
Maggie handed me a Sharpie and a Dirty T-shirt she’d pulled out of her ass, because Maggie was always prepared like that. It was a shirt for theHell & Backtour, with some of Katie’s art on it. And it was already signed by everyone else in theband.
I signed it, and Maggie handed it over to thewoman.
“If your grandson’s not a fan,” Maggie advised her, “trust me, sell it on eBay.” She glanced at me, gave me a pleased-as-fuck-with-herself smile—a genuine smile—and walkedaway.
The waitress glanced at the shirt, then atme.
“I like her,” she informedme.
“So doI.”
I was second-last to head for the door. When I glanced back, Amber was lingering, stacking up dirty plates. “They think because they’re famous and rich, they can do whatever they want,” I heard her tell the waitress, and I stopped. “Can I help you cleanup?”
The waitress looked Amber over as she cleared a table. “What’s your name,hon?”
“Amber.”
“And what do you do,Amber?”
“I’m aphotographer.”
“Then take a photo, and go enjoy your tour.” She nodded at the camera slung on a strap around Amber’s neck. “We’re the only diner for miles and we’re open twenty-four hours, and this county is ripe with bikers. I’ve seen my share of food fights. Least this one didn’t end ingunfire.”
Amber’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Okay…” She lifted her camera and took a couple of photos of the chaos, the waitress cleaning up, then headed for the door. “Thankyou.”
I held it open for her and we walked outsidetogether.
“You don’t wanna be famous or rich,” I informed her, “you’re in the wrong place, with the wrong people,sweetheart.”
“You can be famous and you can be rich,” Amber said, wiping a smear of what looked like cheesecake off her cheek, “but you can be nice aboutit.”
“You don’t think tipping her more than she makes in a month in this dump isnice?”
“Hmm,” shesaid.
I tapped a joint out of the little cigarette case I carried in my pocket and Amber lifted her camera, pointing it at my face. I lit up, tossing a panty-peeling glance down her lens as she took myphoto.
When she lowered the camera she kinda shook her head at me, then headed over to her bus, where Dylan was waiting to sling his arm aroundher.
