CHAPTER ONE

The Little Man Pub
Dublin City

"Kieran?" called the young man at the door.

Kieran looked up from where he sat on the tattered brown sofa in the tiny room that doubled for a dressing room. Kegs of beer and boxes of crisps lined one wall and cases of hard liquor lined another. Between them was the only door into the room, and opposite that was the sofa where Kieran now sat. The sofa and side table had been an afterthought when Murph decided to start entertaining his patrons. A naked single bulb was suspended from the ceiling, barely illuminating the room.

This was a storage room cum dressing room cum catchall for anything and everything that probably should have been thrown away. And not for the first time, Kieran wondered if he should count himself amongst the throwaways.

Kieran had just finished his last set and was taking a break before heading home.

"What?" he replied, a little too abruptly to the young man at the door. Kieran attributed his irritability to the unexplainable twisting in his stomach that had come on during the performance for no apparent reason.

He was expecting Murph at any moment with his nights pay. Instead, his eyes met with the stage hand, Murph's 15 year old son, John.

John's nervousness was obvious when he stepped into the room and handed Kieran a folded bit of paper, fingers trembling and narrow eyes down-turned.

"I've been asked to give this to ye," he said, his voice pubescent. Kieran took the note, hardly casting John a glance as he scurried from the room.

Kieran gave the note a cursory glance. A woman's name and phone number on it.

Another one.

With a deep sigh he tossed it into his open guitar case then sank back against the lumpy sofa. His pint glass sat empty on the side table, froth from the finished stout running down the inside of the glass to collect at the bottom. His untouched cigarette smoldered in the ashtray.

Kieran wasn't really a smoker, but after slow nights like tonight, it gave his anxious fingers something to do. Once lit, he usually rolled the butt between in his fidgety fingers. Tonight, however, he just watched the ribbons of smoke rise to the ceiling where they cloyed around the dim bulb.

He closed his eyes, letting his head loll on the sofa back, and wondered again how he'd gotten himself into such a predicament.
This wasn't what he'd expected when he'd set out to play his music. Smoky pubs, cheap drunks and slappers whose ages couldn't be determined from all the make up they wore. Not that anyone was looking at their faces with their arses half hanging out from under their mini skirts.

"Feckin' hell!" The curse choked him as he jumped up to pace the tiny room. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair, finger-combing a wavy length of it away from his face.

What the hell was he doing here anyway? If he wanted to make it big, America was the place to be. No one in Ireland wanted to hear him play the blues. If any race of people knew the blues it was the Irish. They didn't need the likes of him to remind them.

A knock came to the door again snapping Kieran out of his thoughts. A short scruffy faced man stepped in, his belly preceding him, as did the smell of stale whiskey and the mans sweat stained shirt. Kieran's heart leapt in his chest. As unsavory as Murphy was, he still held Kieran's livelihood in the palm of his hand.

"What'd I bring in, Murph? Be tellin' me that me days of playin' in yer sorry auld pub are over and I can be gettin' on to The Point where I belong," Kieran taunted, throwing on a thick Irish brogue in the anticipation of tonight's take. Rubbing his hands together expectantly he stepped over to the sullen little man and snatched the envelope out of his hands, tearing open the flap.

Kieran's looked back to Murphy. "What the fook is this then? 40 euro?", he asked, his brows drawing together in anger, his expletive exaggerated.

"What can I say, boyo? Slow night," Murphy stated, shrugging.

"What am I supposed to do with 40 fooking euro?" Kieran tossed the notes onto the sofa table, then ran his fingers through his hair once more.

"That's your problem, not mine," Murph started, shaking his stubby finger at Kieran. "But if you don't start bringin' in the payin' customers I'll find someone else to take me stage and ye'll be out on your arse wishin' you were still bringin' in the fookin' 40 euro for 90 minutes of that catterwallerin' ye call music." Murph stepped out the door to leave then turned back, adding, "Don't look so sad, lad. Ye could be on the Dole." Murphy grinned, showing the missing front tooth.

"Feck off with yourself, Murph!" Kieran launched the pint glass at the door as it shut behind Murph. Shards of glass and droplets of stout sprayed out across the door and wall. He heard the old man laughing as he retreated back towards the pub.

Anger rose anew. Not at Murph but at himself. A blues guitarist wasn't going to get noticed playing in two bit pubs on the northside. The Irish wanted U2,The Cranberries and Paddy fookin' Casey, not a wannabe blues guitarist like Kieran Vaughan. He loved to play the blues, but if he was going to make it he was going to have to go to America. He abhorred the idea of it, but he loved his music. He just hated the thought of leaving Ireland more. If I want out of this life I better do something about it, he told himself.

He'd spent years with bloody fingers from the steel strings, long hours of practice to play to the best of his abilities, had even thought he was getting somewhere with his last music venture only to see it destroyed before his eyes. It seemed like years of one step forward and two steps back. Now he found himself resorting to playing in seedy pubs with no hopes of getting heard, failing to make something of all his hard work.

Holding onto his tattered pride was getting more difficult each day.

There had a to be a compromise somewhere. There just had to be.

Just once he'd like to be offered the brass ring and go for it.

Just once he wanted something in his life to go the way he'd planned.

Just once he wanted to be_someone_.

Fed up, he kicked the guitar case lid closed then flipped the latch closed with the toe of his boot. He shrugged into his leather jacket, turned up the collar and shoved the 40 euro into his pocket. He considered a last drag on his cigarette, but the thought if it turned his stomach. He tamped it out instead. Guitar in hand he headed for the back door.

The weather outside The Little Man Pub was better than inside, even though it was pissing rain. The dark side street suited his dark mood. Thanks to late night mischief makers, streetlights were few on the street, which is why a car just missed him as it sped up the street. Its tire hit a pothole and splashed dirty rainwater up the front of him.

"Fookin' hell!" he bit out for the second time tonight. "Bloody fookin' hell."

Eilis Kennedy stepped from the steaming shower and wrapped herself in a thick white terrycloth towel. Her hair was bound to keep it dry, but she let it down now. She watched the coppery curls fall in the foggy mirror, her reflection an apparition in the haze.

She swiped her hand across the mirror to clear some of the fog then applied moisturizer.

She'd had a late night last night, as was evident by the dark circles under her eyes. She had hung around The Little Man Pub until closing time, amongst unsavory types that she wouldn't like to meet on a dark street, but she still hadn't met the man who would take her places at Eireann Records.

By the time she left, she was tired and had a stomachache she attributed to the warm stout that kept her awake most of the night. She assumed that was what kept her awake most of the night, not her anticipation of what she was about to do.

The music industry was a tough game to play. Too much competition. Too many long hours. Too much heartache. Too many people stepping on everyone else around them trying to make it, trying to get their big break.

It wasn't just the musicians either. Those behind the scenes too. Producers, sponsors and other artist representatives like herself. Hell, even the roadies stepped all over one another trying to get ahead in the industry or trying to get themselves discovered, trying to be that rare overnight success. She'd met them all. The one she wanted to meet the most had eluded her last night however.

She stepped away from the mirror as her reflection disappeared in the mist once more and walked into the bedroom. Her clothes for the day were already laid out--a stylish Brown Thomas two-piece navy suit. The white blouse had dainty pearl buttons at the front closure. Blue pumps would complete the professional appearance she strived to perpetuate, even when deep down inside she sometimes felt less than professional and more like a shy girl.

Eilis dropped the towel to the floor the bent to retrieve the conservative panties and bra that lay beside the suit. She put them on then cast a quick glance at her reflection the full length mirror across the room. She sighed and turned away quickly. Nothing had been invented yet to disguise her full figure. The tummy control panties controlled nothing and the bra reminded her of something her old Aunt Assumpta would wear with its stiff fabric and unforgiving elastic.

Eilis sighed, acquiescing. She had more rolls than Bewley's bakery counter.

What did she care? No one would see her undergarments anyway. Business would always come first for a full figured woman like herself. If she wanted to make it in this industry she'd have to put her personal desires aside. Even though what she wanted most this very moment was a comfortable bra!

When she'd finished dressing, she turned back to the mirror. Her copper hair bound into a professional chignon, she was now ready for business, with her personal under-achievements pushed aside for the day. Briefcase in hand, she headed for the door.
How wonderful, she thought as she took the stairs to the foyer. Another day in the office, another day fending off unpleasant come-ons from those not only promising her advancement but also from those hoping to pick up a contract with Eireann Records.

"I'll remember you when I'm famous, Ms. Kennedy."

"When I'm famous I'll have enough money to take you away from all of this. I promise."

She'd heard them all.

Things would change for her. They had to. She'd worked too hard, too many long hours, and she'd given up too much to let her career slip away unnoticed, leaving her at the same place as when she'd come in.

Eilis knew how she could instantly advance at E.R. It took only one thing. And that one thing she would never give up, even if it meant eating nothing but tea and toast in her restored Georgian terrace house on Merrion Square for the rest of her days. She'd worked hard for her posh Dublin 2 address.

Fergus, her boss and most avid pursuer, could call her the Ice Princess all he wanted, but she knew the truth. No one knew how deep her passions ran. Passion for her work and passion for the music; this was her true love now, the music. She loved to hear it and she knew what sold.

She had to make it. She would make it. She would compromise where she must to make it work. It had to work.

It would work "if that bloody man would just call", Eilis fumed aloud, looking at her watch as she reached the foyer at the foot of the stairs.

What was taking him so long? Was he happy playing in seedy pubs in the northside? He had a gift. He deserved to get noticed and she was the person to get him noticed. He was as much her big break as she was his.

Well, she wasn't going to wait for him to come to her. If she wanted to make something of her life she would just have to go after him, which is where she was headed now before going into the office.

Stepping onto her front porch, the door locked behind her, Eilis turned to hail a passing taxi. She climbed into the backseat and gave the driver the northside address of The Little Man Pub.

The Dublin northside looked far different by day than it did at night. The storm from last night had been one of the seasons worst. Huge puddles in the road hampered traffic and trash had collected in the corners of doorways and blocked the gutters. The lingering breeze still had a crispness to it. Whispers of dark clouds streaked a sky that was a pale blue but reminiscent of last nights tempest.

As the taxi drove through Dublin's inner city, Eilis looked out of her window at the tacky Euro shops, out-of-business chemists, shoddy newsagents and off-licenses, all of whose shop fronts had seen better days.

This part of north Dublin wasn't noted as one of the rough spots, but it did have a seedy side. Especially in some of the pubs. The Little Man was a perfect example.

Eilis pulled her arms around her middle, instinctively protective. Was this the compromise she must face to get where she wanted?

As the taxi slowed at a junction, Eilis pressed herself back against the seat. A group of out of work young men sipping something from a paper bag spun their heads to look at her. The appearance of a taxi in this part of town caused a bit of notice and it made her feel all that much more vulnerable.

Just this once, just this once, she chanted.

Just this one trip to find who she was looking for and that would be it. She'd never have to come back to this place ever again. She could stay safely tucked away in her D2 house for the rest of her days. She'd worked hard for that house. She deserved it. She deserved it all the more now by putting herself through this.

Long ago, Eilis had promised herself never to set foot in the northside again. But if it took this one last visit to get what she needed, it would be worth it.

The taxi pulled around the corner and the now familiar entrance to The Little Man Pub came into view. Nicotine stained curtains were pulled across windows that reflected the dirty street. The façade's red and black paint was weather-faded to pink and gray. The M on the sign hung askew and swung in the breeze, and the P was missing altogether. For all intents and purposes one would think that the place was shut--had she not been here last night.

Eilis pulled some money from her purse to hand to the driver as the taxi slowed. "I'll wait fer ye, luv," he said, waving her money away. "Taxis can be hard to come by 'round here."

Eilis was suitably taken aback. "Thank you. I won't be a moment."

Eilis swallowed hard as she entered the dark pub. Her stomachache returned. She tried to convince herself that the twisting was caused by the smell in the pub, reminding her of warm stout and nicotine from recently banned cigarettes.

Normally, she would have ordered white wine. Last night when she asked for it at the bar, the bartender laughed at her and handed her a glass of Guinness instead. She grimaced at the memory.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark room, Eilis noticed that the few men who sat around the bar all had their eyes on her. Understandably. A well groomed business woman in the pub was surely a novelty. These men were long since retired, or long since employed. Their stubbled faces meant they hadn't shaved in many days. The dim light helped hide their unkempt appearances, but nothing could disguise their unwashed clothes. The scent of the latter wafted up her nostrils with the pong of nicotine. Her stomach lurched again.

She stepped further into the pub as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light then strode to the bar.

The publican was the same old man from the night before. He was short and pudgy with a missing front tooth. His disheveled appearance made him look like his patrons. Had he not been behind the counter she wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.

His striped brown and white shirt had frayed cuffs and was open to mid-chest, showing a dirty sweat-stained t-shirt underneath. His brown trousers had seen much better days and were held together not with a button or belt but with a bit of twine that looped from belt loops on either side of his round belly, his belly spilling over. The only thing that held the trousers up was his equally round bum. It seemed to push the waistband up as his belly pushed it down. The sight would have been funny if Eilis's belly hadn't twisted again.

Her voice cracked when she first spoke, but it picked up strength in her determination to make something of this horrid trek. "A-are you the proprietor?" she asked.

The man grinned a broad gap-toothed grin and loud enough for his patrons to hear said, "Loov, I'll be who ever ye want me to be."
The room burst into laughter at his comment. Eilis felt the flush rise in her cheeks. Not because she was embarrassed, but from frustration because she just wanted to get this meeting over with.

Eilis stood her ground. "I'm looking for the man who played guitar here last night. Kieran Vaughan. I have business with him. Will you please tell me where I can find him?" She looked the man in the eye, much as she could, considering she stood a good foot taller than he, even without her heels.

"No miss, I doubt you have any business with himself. 'Spec'ly a fine lass such as yerself. Now, if ye were to come home with a real man like meself, well..." He left the rest unsaid, the insinuation hanging in the air.

The room burst out laughing again.

Eilis's eyes never wavered as she stared this little man in the eye. "Sir," she smiled sweetly, honey dripping from her words as she leaned over the bar just enough to give him a glimpse of the swell of her breast through the opening at the top of her blouse. "I doubt that you have anything I would be interested in. Besides, do you really want me to find out why this places is called "The Little Man"?"

This earned the publican long ooh's and chuckles from the patrons who were on the edges of their seats waiting to see what the disagreeable little man would say.

Obviously taken aback by such brazen retort, the man stood gaping at her red faced for a moment before he got his whit's about him. He looked to the men around the bar and winked at them. "Oy does like me birds feisty!" And they all burst out laughing again.

Eilis would have found the banter funny if she didn't find the man so repulsive. All she wanted to do was meet Kieran Vaughan and get out of Finglas as soon as possible.

When the laughing stopped, Eilis's gaze never leaving the little man, she said, "Well?"

"Well, what loov?" he asked, wiping the tears from his eyes with a dirty bar towel.

"Are you going to tell me where to find Kieran Vaughan?" she said, trying her best to keep the frustration out of her voice.

Then she felt someone step up behind her. She straightened instantly. Somehow she knew it was Kieran. The feral scent of him permeated her senses instantly and her pulse quickened. Butterflies replaced the strange ache in her stomach that had been there just moments before.

She turned slowly and looked up into the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever seen in her life. She found herself instantly speechless.

Never before had she seen such blue eyes. And as she gazes into them, they changed from the light steel blue to the color of storm clouds that were heavily ringed with gunmetal blue. That he had dark brows and thick lashes only made his eyes seem more intense.

"Ye've found him loov," the little man taunted. "Now what are ye goin' ta do with him?"

The hammering of her heart and the pulsing blood in her temples blocked out the noise in the room as she looked into Kieran Vaughan's eyes, her knees quivering. Something in the pit of her belly ached. No, it was lower. Something new that she'd never felt before, like warm melting honey running through her marrow. In that moment she longed to touch him, to brush an unruly wave of his dark hair away from his face, to feel hip lips against the pads of her fingers, to...

When he spoke she almost didn't hear him. All she heard was the baritone voice that had sung the blues last night in the smoky pub, pouring his heart into his music as if he'd lived the blues his whole life.

"Like the man said, now that you've found me what are you going to do with me?" His blue eyes sparkled with unabashed mischief.

"Anything you want me to," she heard herself whisper.

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