"On a long and lonesome highway, East of Omaha. You can hear the engine
moaning out its one note song. You can think about the woman, or the girl you
knew the night before..."

The 55 bar was packed with the usual amount of people. Some were there for us, others there just for the booze and chance to find their hook-up for the night. I was up on the stage, just like I always was, in Club Wha?, CBGB's before they closed, and even Don Hill's. We played all over the New York City area, and we all knew that at the end of one show, there was going to be some guy or girl that heard of us, and we were going to take off toward fame.


"But your thoughts will soon be wandering, the way they always do. When you're ridin' sixteen hours and there's nothin' much to do. And you don't feel much like ridin', You just wish the trip was through."

I had always been a Seger fan. Mom used to sing it to me before she got more and more into the drug scene, and Dad used to listen to him as he wound down from a night at work. When I played him at the gigs, it was always one of his songs that seemed to bring the house down, even with my own added touches. I added things to the music, not to take away from talented guys with old hits, but to add my own sound for more emphasis on something already great in my own humble opinion.


"Here I am, on the road again. There I am, up on the stage. Here I go...playin' star again. There I go, turn the page..."

I started into a guitar solo, to show my skills I had been working since I was old enough to hold a guitar, and I don't know why I looked toward the door when it opened up and I saw the Manhattan girls walk in. They looked good, and I could see they were turning several heads, but most of their eyes were on me, except one girl, who barely even shot a glance my way. They made their way to the bar, nodding their heads as they talked to Eddie, the Best Bartender in this whole damned town, and left the one who hardly glanced at me alone and started working through the crowd, talking to different guys, and then stopping near the stage watching us and whistling, or screaming.

"Well you walk into a restaurant, strung out from the road. And you feel the eyes upon you, as you're shakin' off the cold. You pretend it doesn't bother you but you just want to explode."

I always had groupies, some were even at every show, no matter how far, or in what part of town, so these were some I had seen before, I just hadn't seen her before. She was new, and there was something about her, maybe the way she wasn't interested in me, that kept pulling my eyes from the other people around, back to her.


"Most times you can't hear 'em talk, other times you can. All the same old cliches, "Is that a woman or a man?" And you always seem outnumbered, you don't dare make a stand."

She seemed lost, drawing or writing on a napkin. Honestly, I thought she was maybe giving some lucky guy her number, or maybe some fake one. She seemed to be drinking a martini, and talking to Eddie, more than anyone, and honestly, as much as I like Eddie, you could tell the guy was in his Sixties, and had seen one too many broken noses. Maybe he reminded her of some beloved family member. Either way, I wanted to get her attention, take a shot...take my shot.


"Here I am on the road again. There I am, up on the stage. Here I go playin' star again.There I go...turn the page."

She kept my attention, even when one of the fans that asked me to sign her ass was tugging at my jeans leg. Something told me that she was the one for me, and I never was a believer or put my faith into Destiny or Fate, but she just held my attention, and nearly caused me to miss more guitar work while singing.


"Out there in the spotlight you're a million miles away. Every ounce of energy
you try to give away. As the sweat pours out your body, like the music that you play."

I turned to look at Tyler, who raised his brows and inclined his head toward a very nicely built blonde girl right at the front of the stage showing us more cleavage and giving us that look of any obsessed fangirl, that one that stated she wanted us, or to have our children, so in a few years when we made it, she could come back and sue for millions, but even that wasn't really as distracting as the girl that really never seemed to look my way.

"Later in the evening as you lie awake in bed. With the echoes from the amplifiers, ringin' in your head. You smoke the day's last cigarette, rememberin' what she said...."

I worked in more guitar, but allowed Tyler's bass to shine, as well, as we worked the same notes in a different pitch, and again I glanced barward.

"Here I am on the road again. There I am up on the stage. Here I go playin' star again. There I go turn the page. Here I am on the road again. There I am up on the stage. Here I go playin' star again. There I go, turn the page. There I go. There I go."

The crowd erupted into applause and whistles, and I introduced us all. Fireballer on the keys, Rob on drums, Tyler on bass, and, of course, myself on lead vocals and guitar. I thanked them, as they hollered for us, gently reminded them of CDs we had for sale, which is really what kept some of us in food and things and then we kept things going as we broke into one of our own songs, after I took a swallow from the warm beer that rested on top of the amp. I noticed how people started making more noise. They loved our covers, but they were starting to really like our own works, too. Wrong Side of Love was written by Tyler, the bassist and I, and it seemed to be the one that most of our fans loved, out of anything we played, which at times made me think of us years later on some VH1 One Hit Wonders Countdown, Slow Streak at Number Forty. It was hard staying positive, but I was getting beyond the point of being hungry for our time of fame. I turned toward the guys, and told them what I wanted to do, and Rob was the only one that asked me, "Who is she?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," I told him, and turned back to the mic in front of my face. "Again, we are Slow Streak, and Miss Brunette, sitting at the bar, drinking what seems to be a martini, this is for you."

We started up with Jeff Healy's song, Angel Eyes, and I sang for all I was worth, and I knew that I had gotten her attention. She looked like she wanted to run, but she was also looking like she was struck by the gesture. The girls that she'd come in with were rushing to her, and I couldn't hear what was said, but they seemed to be singing with the song.

"Girl you're looking fine tonight, and every guy has got you in his sights. What you're doing with a clown like me, is surely one of life's little mysteries. So tonight I'll ask the stars above, How did I ever win your love? What did I do? What did I say, to turn your angel eyes, my way?"

The song was relatively short, and for that I was thankful. I'd noticed she was watching me a little more now, and I knew it was my time to cross the bar and talk to her.

"Eddie, can I get a bottle of water, please? I am sweatin' like mad up there." I asked, trying not to seem over eager to talk to her, but as I got close, she was the most beautiful woman I'd seen.

"You are doin' good tonight, Sydney, everyone's drinkin' and havin' a good time," he stepped back and pointed to the woman of my dreams and gave me a thumbs up. It was weird for him to do that, because usually he told me that I could do better. I always joked and called him my Drink Slingin' Yoda.

She turned then, looking my way, and was a little in shock, but recovered quickly.

"Evening, Angel Eyes," I said, and noticed even in the dark bar she had amazing hazel eyes, and my likeness on a bar napkin.

She looked amused at my statement, and then turned serious. "That line work with all the women?" She asked as she tucked the napkin into her handbag. She looked like a girl with money, but she seemed relaxed. Maybe it was the vodka martinis, maybe it was me. I was hoping for the latter.

"Don't know," I said smiling as I stuck a hand toward her and introduced myself. She eyed me a moment and slid her soft hand into mine.

"Sara Bailey," she said, leaving her hand there in mine.

Sara Bailey, a name I'd not soon forget.

Lunch was good, we talked and laughed, small talk, the getting to know each other kind of talk. She asked me if I was seeing anyone and I sucked a piece of pepperoni damn near down my wind pipe. I wasn't really expecting it, and it brought back memories of Lisa. Lisa was there when we first got going, and as long as there was money coming in from gigs, there were no problems, and she was happy. She had her trips when I'd loan..loan, hell, give my dad cash to help him out, and she hated the women around the stage. "Where's the money going, Syd?" she'd ask me, constantly, like it was *her money* and not me and the boys up there making it.

Lisa finally had enough, as had I with her, when we didn't take some shady deal that she sat up for us. Some greasy Wop, out of Jersey, all fat and sweaty, seeming way too eager for us to sign the contract.

"That's our ticket out of this rat hole we are staying in, Sydney!" she'd only call me Sydney when she was pissed off, and it didn't help her temper when I would remind her that no one said she had to stay there with Rob and I. She always pushed and pushed for meetings and shady dealings, but we all held out for the real deal, and Lisa was nearly a two year mistake made in my life.

I answered Sara's question as she rubbed and patted my back from choking, and her hands seemed to trace fire in my skin. Her touch was like something I'd known before, and swore I'd never forget. She smiled at me, as her hand lingered, and she damn near choked me again when she asked me how I felt about her painting me, nude.

"Now?" I asked her with a smile and caused her to nearly choke.

"I can pay you for your time," she said, trying to remain professional about the whole ordeal, but in all honesty, I would have done it for nothing anyway. "You aren't shy are you?"

"How can I be shy, standing up and singing in front of crowds nearly every night?" I said. "What's something like that pay anyway?"

"Two hundred?" she said, taking a bite and washing it down with the coffee she'd served for lunch.

Needless to say, I was shocked, that was about what we made per person, per night on the gigs. Sometimes we pooled our money for new gear or what have you, but most time it was just cash in our pockets, it wasn't really a bad way to make a living, even if most time it was just hand to mouth. I agreed on the two hundred and just as the conversation was getting interesting again, and I was really getting into the fact that she was into me, her secretary that I now knew as Amy came in, reminding her of another appointment.

"Are you in a hurry to get anywhere?" she asked me, looking nearly hopeful that I would say I was not, and I wasn't. "It won't take me long, I swear!" she said as she nearly ran from the door, after peeling out of her paint spattered coverall. I couldn't help but admire her figure, as she was indeed, the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on. So what, I said it before, I'll say it again.

I picked up a piece of the pizza and walked around the paintings she was working on currently. One was a beach piece that was the same color as the tan that was along her cheek I'd helped her brush away. The other looked suspiciously like me, when I was up on stage. There were balloons, people on benches, it seemed to be just whatever had caught her eye, or gathered her attention, and I was a bit envious. What I could put into music, she could put on canvas.

A moment later she bound into the studio and threw her arms around my neck.

"I made a sale, Syd!" she exclaimed. "You are my good luck charm!" she said, pressing her lips to my jaw. "Two grand! Can you believe it?"

"Well maybe I should move in above your studio and spread my luck all over the building!" I said as I tried to joke, and it would wind up backfiring.

"That would mean you would live with me, Sydney Kane." her eyes were full of excitement and joy, and I knew my heart was more and more going to her, and all I could hope was that she took care of it.