Buzz grabbed a bottle of beer at the bar and came back to our table, smiling. Frank surprised me by offering the first compliment.

“You’re one hell of a player, Buzz.”

“Thanks, man.”

They proceeded to go through an elaborate handshaking ritual that left me staring at my husband in wonder. I was spared any comment on music or male ceremonial greetings when Gordon grabbed the seat next to Buzz.

“Excuse us,” Gordon said, turning his shoulders away from us and toward Buzz. “You never told me-did you listen to that tape?”

“Keep your voice down,” Buzz said, glancing back toward the stage, where Joleen was apparently complaining about something to Mack. He turned back to Gordon. “Yeah, I listened. Your friend’s got great keyboard chops.”

“Yeah, and you have to admit, Susan’s also got a better voice than Joleen’s. Great bod, too.”

Buzz glanced back at the stage. “Joleen’s bod isn’t so bad.”

“No, just her attitude. Think of how much better off our band would be with Susan.”

“But Joleen started this band-”

“And she’s about to finish it, man. She rags on all of us all of the time. I’m getting tired of it. This band would be better off without her.”

“But they’re her songs.”

“Hers and Mack’s. He has as much right to them as she does.”

Buzz frowned, toyed with his beer. “What does Mack say?”

Gordon shrugged. “I’m working on him. I know he was knocked out by Susan’s tape. If you say you’re up for making the change, I know he will be, too.”

“I don’t know…”

“Look, Buzz, I really love playing with you. Same with Mack. But I can’t take much more of Joleen.”

“But Europe…”

“Exactly. Think of spending ten weeks traveling with that bitch. You want to be in a car with her for more than ten minutes?”

I looked up and saw Joleen walking toward us with purpose in every angry stride. “Uh, Buzz-” I tried to warn, but she was already shouting toward our table.

“I know exactly what you’re up to, asshole!”

Gordon and Buzz looked up guiltily, but in the next moment it became clear that she was talking to the sound man. He didn’t seem impressed by her fury.

“You’re screwing around with the monitors, aren’t you?”

The sound man just laughed.

Joleen stood between Frank and me and pointed at the sound man. “You won’t be laughing long, mother-”

“Joleen,” Buzz said, trying to intercede.

“Shut up, you little twerp! You don’t know shit about music. If you did, you’d understand what this jerk is doing. You try singing while some clown is fooling around with your monitor, making it play back a half-step off.”

The effect the sound man had created must have been maddening; the notes she heard back through the speaker at her feet on stage would be just slightly off the notes she sang into the mike. Still, I couldn’t help but bristle at her comments to Buzz.

Instead of being angry with her, though, Buzz turned to the sound man and said, “Dude, that’s a pretty awful thing to do to her. She’s singing some really elaborate stuff, music that takes all kinds of concentration, and you’re messing with her head.”

The sound man broke eye contact with him, shrugged one shoulder.

“See?” Buzz said to Joleen. “He’s sorry. I’m sure it won’t happen next set.” Before Joleen could protest, Buzz turned to us and asked, “How’s it sounding out here?”

Picking up my cue, I said, “Wonderful. He’s doing a great job for you guys.”

“And what the hell would you know about it?” she asked.

“Joleen,” Buzz said, “this is my friend from the paper.”

She stopped mid-tantrum and looked at me with new interest. “A reviewer?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Well, I was right, then. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She eyed Frank and said, “You or this cop.”

“How did you know he’s a cop?” Buzz asked, but before she could answer, Frank took hold of her wrist and turned it out, so that the inside of her arm was facing Buzz.

“Oh,” he said, “junkies just seem to have a sixth sense about these things.”

She pulled her arm away. “They’re old tracks and you know it. I haven’t used in years.”

Frank shrugged. “If you say so. I really don’t want to check out the places I’d have to look if I wanted to be sure.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but stomped away without another word.

“Shit,” Gordon said. “You need anything else to convince you about what I said, Buzz?”

“She brought me into the band, man. It just doesn’t seem right.”

“If another guitar player came along, she’d do this to you in a minute,” Gordon said. “You know she would.”

Buzz sighed. “We’ve got three more nights here. Let’s at least wait until we finish out this gig to make a decision.” Gordon seemed ready to say more, but then excused himself and walked backstage.

The minute Gordon was out of earshot, Buzz turned to Frank. “Were they old tracks?”

“Yes.”

“I feel stupid not noticing. Not that it matters. If they’re old, I mean.” His face turned red. “What I mean is, she can really sing.”

I watched him for a moment, then said, “You like her.”

“Yeah,” Buzz said, and forced a laugh. “It’s obviously not mutual.” He looked toward the stage, then rubbed his hand over his chest, as if easing an ache. “Well, I better get ready for the next set.”

Frank watched him walk off, then looked over at me. He pushed his drink aside, moved his chair closer to mine.

Q: What do you call a guitarist without a girlfriend?

A: Homeless

Buzz seemed to recover his good humor by the time he was on stage. There was an air of anticipation in the audience now. It seemed that most of them had heard the band before, and were eagerly awaiting the beginning of this set.

As the band members took their places, I sat wondering what Buzz saw in Joleen. My question was soon answered, though not in words.

Buzz and Joleen stood at opposite ends of the stage, facing straight ahead, not so much as glancing at one another. She sang three notes, clear and sweet, and then Buzz began to sing with her, his voice blending perfectly with hers. It was a slow, melodic passage, sung a cappella. The audience was absolutely silent-even Frank sat forward and listened closely.

They sang with their eyes closed, as if they would brook no interference from other senses. But they were meeting, somewhere out in the smoky haze above the room, above us all, touching one another with nothing more than sound.

The song’s pace began to quicken and quicken, the voices dividing and yet echoing one another again and again until at last their voices came together, holding one note, letting it ring out over us, ending only as the instruments joined in.

The crowd cheered, but the musicians were in a world of their own. Buzz turned to Gordon and Mack, all three of them smiling as they played increasingly difficult variations on a theme. I watched Joleen; she was standing back now, letting the instrumentalists take center stage, her eyes still closed. But as Buzz took a solo, I saw her smile to herself. It was the only time she smiled all evening.

The song ended and the crowd came to its feet, shouting in acclaim.

Q: Did you hear about the time the bass player locked his keys in the car?

A: It took two hours to get the drummer out.

Mack joined us during the second break between sets. With Buzz’s encouragement, he told us about the years he studied at Berkeley, where he met Joleen, and about some of the odd day jobs and strange gigs he had taken while trying to make headway with his music career-including once being hired by a Washington socialite to play piano for her dog’s birthday party.

We spent more time talking to Mack than to Buzz, whose attentions were taken by another guitar player, a young man who had stopped by to hear the band and now had questions about Buzz’s “rig”-which Mack explained was not just equipment, but the ways in which the guitar had been modified, the set-up for the synthesizer, and all the other mechanical and electronic aspects of Buzz’s playing.