The Catalina Cruisers
an excerpt

Erica Wilson raised a sweaty fist and rapped on the door of 215 Maple Street. Her other sweaty fist gripped the handle of a guitar case.
While she waited for someone to answer the door, she looked around the neighborhood. This was a place she’d never visited. The Flint Hill neighborhood was what her wealthy parents considered “the other side of the tracks”. The houses were crowded closely together; mostly one-story cottages badly in need of repair. The grass was scraggly and most flower gardens were full of weeds.
This was the neighborhood where you saw a police car at least once every day with their flashing lights. Usually they’d pulled over a car for some reason or another.
The sound of the door opening caused Erica to jump and spin around. Facing here was a six-foot blond, his hair hanging over his ears, looking like a younger replica of Tom Petty.
“Hi.”
“Hi. I’m Erica? I called you earlier. I’m here about the bass guitar position?” She was surprised that she could even speak clearly. Maybe this was one time where her mother’s admonitions to “look people in the eye and speak clearly” was going to work.
“Oh, Erica. Sure. Come on in. I’ll take you to where the band practices.”
Erica stepped into the house and followed him to the kitchen and out into the garage area. Except it wasn’t a garage. Someone had converted the garage into a place where the band could practice.
“I’m Paul McAllister,” the blond said. “I play guitar. There’s two other people
in the band. Our bass player up and decided to go to college at the last minute so he can’t
be part of the band anymore.”
Erica nodded, looking around the garage – cum- practice area. Over to her left stood a keyboard rigged with a microphone. In the center back, a drum set sat like an anchor. Two microphone stands were rigged up in front of the drum set. Someone had built a platform across the back of the garage area so that the drum set was raised above the microphone stands.
“How noisy is this place?” she found herself asking.
Paul shrugged. “My dad put in soundproofing so we wouldn’t bug the neighborhood too much. We haven’t gotten any complaints. Yet.”
Erica nodded.
A door on the other side of the garage opened.