“Who was on the phone?”
Mert Mentel, lead singer in Cattle Call, slung the pay phone’s receiver back on its cradle and turned to find Phoebe leaning against the office doorjamb. She leaned real good. Had the best rack in town and a waist he could span with one hand even falling down drunk. Which was the only time to make a run at the girl. Something in her brown eyes stopped him in his sober tracks. Her eyes had always been sad, like grief had a permanent home there. And her smile was usually wry, as if life were a joke only she understood.
“Dunno. They hung up.”
He strolled closer because, sad or wry, she didn’t seem to mind displaying her bounty. Her brief denim shorts and briefer white lace top were the perfect frame for her breasts and curving hips. Even better, the shorts left her
