All I Want Is Everything

Shield

And they stand there watching the sky
And they stand there ready to fly

Steve Winwood, Still in the Game

Ella sat at an inconspicuous table at the dive bar, nursing a bottle of Bud. There wasn't much choice in beverages, but it was a lot better than Coors. The band was here, raising hell. Nat was soundly beating a guy in pool who thought her boobs were the most impressive thing about her. She was kind of tired of the gigs, but it was nearly over, just another week, two more performances. Then the album was going to be released--it should have been out already but Steve had wanted to rerecord some of the tracks for a harder, cleaner sound. They might have to go back out on the road again for a bit to capitalize on it--the label was really excited and they were supposed to shoot their first video next week. The band was poised for success, and their manager Thor kept telling them that this album, Triskelion, was going to make them.

She flipped the cover of her notebook open and rooted around in her jacket pocket for her pen. It had been her mother's, a Waterman fountain pen, a gift that her dad had given to celebrate her mom's promotion to charge nurse. Out of habit, she checked the level of ink in the cartridge; it was nearly full, good. She'd left the refills in her hotel room. She flipped to the last page with writing, rereading the verse she'd started, searching for a rhyme for 'longing' that didn't sound tired or stupid. While she liked the harder edge of their sound, she was going to have to have a talk with her brother. He was taking more and more credit for the songs they cowrote, even as his contributions eased off, and he was taking more of the best guitar parts. They had promised each other, when they started the band, that each of them would get the chance to shine. Steve was lead singer, so she would get more of the best guitar lines and solos. Well, that was a problem for later. Right now she needed, in this order, to finish their gigs, show up for the launch of the album and make the video, then write lyrics and a melody that they could interpret as a group for their next album.

"Ella Bella!" She looked up at the familiar voice and smiled.

"Buck," she said, pleased. The old flutter of attraction came to life in her midsection, like a demented moth. "Have a seat."

"This is Cal Ringer, the reporter from Live Wire."

"I'm a day early," the reporter said, dropping into the chair by Ella. "Sorry, but Steve said you'd take point on the interview."

God damn it. Her brother, alternately tight-assed with the promise of fame and getting into the rock lifestyle, dumping stuff like this on her. It was the eighties, for hell's sake, she didn't exist to make his life easier. Bucky flashed her that grin that never failed to make her melt and left. Her eyes traced him back to where Steve and two women were standing, talking, one draped over Steve. Touring was hard when her brother's best friend spent most of his free time humping basically any decent-looking woman but her. She cursed herself; it was so cliched. Musicians were bad news, at least for the heart.

"Well, Cal, welcome to Shield, I guess," she said, smiling. Getting the attention of Live Wire so early in their career was huge, even if it was a new reporter and it wouldn't be a big article. She turned on some charm. "It's a pleasure to talk with you. Gotta say I like Live Wire better than Rolling Stone. I think the articles are more thought-provoking."

"Thanks," he beamed. "This is the introductory interview, I guess. To get leads for the other interviews, and I'd like to circle back to you at the end to update. Thor let me listen to some of your new tracks. There's really something there."

"Thanks. We're working hard on our sound, exploring, see where it all goes."

"I gotta say that Barnes's drumming has just exploded, first of all. It's just titanic. He could be the next Keith Moon or John Bonham."