So unlucky! How did they figure out that she wasn’t the brat’s mother? Fran thought back on everything she’d said and done, and couldn’t think of anything that gave her away. Even now, she hoped she’d be able to bluff her way through. If they stuck their head out the oh-so-adorable Victorian two-story, she’d claim she really was his mother, and couldn’t help mooning over him. It could work because she’d never admitted anything, even when they accused her. They just said what they were going to say, then ran.
She’s walk right up to the door and ring the bell right now except they’d eject her so fast the impact would render her totally fkd. So unlucky. She couldn’t risk getting hurt before her next gig, so better find another way.
Well, she had no intention to running. That guitar, if it was the one she hoped for, was supposed to be hers all along. He’d said as much in front of… well, not really in front of anyone but her because they were all scattered around the backstage area and no one was paying much attention at the time. But a promise was still a promise. That guitar was supposed to be hers.
It was here. She was sure of it. She was so glad she’d followed when they all turned on their heels and walked out of the MacDonald’s place up by the Capital Building. Well, now that she knew where they lived, she understood a little better why they liked meeting there so much, though the hike must have been over a mile long. Parking was intense, but it was still a nice walk. Once she got the guitar out of there, she’d have to make a dash for it, maybe cut through some back yards, then call for a taxi.
She stood in the shadows of buildings as much as she could, since too many of the leaves were off the trees now so they didn’t help hide her at all, and she watched and waited. Eventually she saw him through a window. From the way he moved around, she could tell the brat was in his room, so that’s where the guitar had to be.
If only she could reach. No way she could walk through either the front door or the back door, because the house was crammed full of people all the time. Besides the brat and his girlfriend and that woman he called him mom, there was another brat with a girlfriend, some woman with fluffy, gold sprinkled hair, and a guy who sat in front of the TV in the den downstairs and constantly changed channels.
She needed to make her move soon. Once the kid went to bed, there’d be no chance. Besides, her first gig in months was coming up in a couple of days. She had to be in Detroit by then. Sooner if she could.
So it was now or never. She had to snatch that guitar right out of his room right now.
She hoped she’d find a ladder or something in the garage, and as luck would have it, there was a good one. As quietly as she could, she moved it into place. It made some noise, but not as much as the talking and laughter inside the house.
Laughter. That’s what burned her the most. Those people had it all because they had the guitar. They had all the luck that was meant to come her way. They were probably laughing at her, too. Plenty of people had over the years.
But not for much longer. In a few minutes she’d have the guitar and all the luck too.
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