Forty-five minutes later, Billy and his players joined me by the exit doors. A grin stretched my face.
“Great set, Billy.” I nodded to the girl in the white tank top. “Truly epic opening.”
She graced me with a wintry smile, the kind you see on cannibalistic snowmen. She seemed about to say something along the lines of “What’s it to you?”
“Introductions,” Billy interjected in a rush. “Guys, Ed Johnson just started over at Main Line. He’s the dude offering to work up a professional album. Ed, meet the A-Chords. Randy, on drums; Jinx, lead guitar and vocals; and Quinn, bass.”
“Hey,” I said, receiving in return a friendly nod from Randy as he whipped sticks from his back pocket and gave into a sudden need to bang out rhythms on the nearest chair. His dirty-blond hair lashed at his neck and chin, desperately trying to keep up with the cadence.
“Nice to meet you, Ed,” Jinx said and pumped my hand with fingers that wrapped completely around mine. His dark ginger beard, trimmed neat and tight, complemented the black, button-up shirt. Although the stylish look was marred by the sheen of sweat glistening atop his shaved head.