Shelby has quieted down a little too.
“Shel, look,” Jaselle says, pointing to some falling leaves. They leave trails of color behind them, so bright and beautiful. That takes care of it. Shelby starts giggling, then laughing.
We’re out there for over an hour before we’re comfortable coming back in. Shelby is sloppy and continuously erupting into hysterical laughter, falling all over me again. “You’re really pretty.” I wonder if she’s ever done ’shrooms before.
When we come back in, Noah is in his room. He doesn’t say anything to us, thank God. We settle back down in the living room. Shelby goes to get us more beer. When she tries to hand me mine, she trips and spills it all over me. She starts laughing until she falls on the floor. The anger threatens to turn my trip again, so I force myself to let it go.
Being high with this girl is exhausting and infuriating. Jaselle is beautiful though, soothing, like a river. I want to hold her.
“Come on.” Jaselle is staring at me, and I realize I just went through a time warp and missed the last ten seconds or so.
“Huh?”
“You can wear one of my shirts.”
Right, the beer. I forgot already. I follow her into her room. She’s sliding the hangers over one by one, selecting something for me. She eventually pulls out a Grateful Dead shirt, tie-dye with the bears, perfect choice for the evening’s extracurricular activities.
She doesn’t make a move to leave, so I take off my Corona-soaked shirt right there, turning away shyly. I laugh to myself. She knows what I look like already, what am I hiding? It feels like she doesn’t though, like that night never happened. She’s so relaxed, like there isn’t a huge question hanging in the air. I’m dying to answer it, but I want her to ask first.
“What’s this?” She’s pointing at one of my tattoos. It’s a staff of music starting on the back of my shoulder, winding down my ribs, and ending by my hip.
“It’s a song,” I say.
“Well, duh, smart-ass. Which one?”
“You’ve never heard it.” I hate the cold way it comes out, but she seems not to notice.
“How do you know?”
“Because my brother wrote it.”
“He’s a musician too?” She gently traces her finger along it. I shake with desire.
“He was incredible. Incredible,” I say.
She doesn’t dwell on the “was,” just nods. “Will you play it for me sometime?”
I look into her eyes. My throat hurts just at the idea of it. I haven’t been able to play it since he died. It’s just too hard, to hear something that beautiful and know that it’s all that’s left of its creator. I’m too choked up to answer.
“Do you not want to talk about him?”
Again, my voice gets stuck. Jaselle is so gentle and soft about it I don’t want to deny her, yet talking about him, well, I’ve never been any good at it.
“How about just one question, then,” she says. “Nothing major, I promise.”
I smile. “Okay.”
She thinks for a minute, choosing her question. “What did he play?”
“Violin. And drums.” Jaselle opens her mouth, then closes it again. I telepathically know it was another question she had to stifle.
“He loved the drums. Mom made him play the violin, the way she made me play piano.”
“You didn’t like playing piano?”
“No, I did. I always loved it. I just mean it was important to her that we both learn to play classical music. But Michael hated violin. He was just so good…” I can hear the soft notes in my ear. “I don’t blame her for making him play. It was the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever heard.” If tears have a sound, he knew what it was. That song, the one I have tattooed, it never fades. I can always hear him playing it. It’s immortal the way nothing else can be. Even his face, his laugh, our last conversation, all those things blur, though I hate to admit it. But that song, that’s him, and it’s always there, fresh and alive.
“But I haven’t heard it,” Jaselle says. She looks ever so slightly toward the room that houses that dazzling piano. My eyes fill to the brim.
“Another time, maybe,” I say. She doesn’t press. We stand there just looking at each other. Ask me. Let me tell you. Why did I leave?
“Come on,” she says and leads me back to the living room. Shelby is crashed out on the floor. We each take a huge sigh of relief, then laugh as we catch each other.
Jaselle lies down on the couch. I settle down between the couch and the coffee table, which puts me right by Jaselle, but two feet lower.
“Can I ask you one question now?” I say.
“You can ask me however many questions you want to, darlin’.”
A wave of warmth goes through me. “Do you really like her?” I nod at Shelby.
“Nah, she sure likes you though.”
“She’s just high,” I say.
“No, really, she was going on about how beautiful and sexy and talented you are before you even came over.”
“Shut up.” I fidget uncomfortably.
“She’s right, you know, but in all the wrong ways.”
I just let that hang in the air for a while. I can’t think of anything to say that won’t come out weird.
“Hey,” Jaselle says, soft because she’s falling asleep.
“Yeah?”
“Be here in the morning, okay?”
My insides melt. “I will.”
Chapter Four
It takes me half an hour to scrounge up the change I need for the bus. I check the change returns in all the pay phones and soda machines I can find. I scour the floor by the self-checkout in the grocery store. Finally, I hit the jackpot by the window in the Burger King drive through.
An hour later, I’m sitting at the bar at the Cuff Link. The bartender’s name is Jimmy. I know this because he tells me so every time I come in here. Apparently, I do not have a memorable face.
“Is Brad here?” I ask.
“Maybe,” Jimmy says. “Maybe not. Who’s asking?”
“Just get him out here, please.”
Jimmy disappears for a long time, so long people at the bar are getting frustrated. When he returns, he’s Brad-less.
“He’s busy.”
“Come on, man. Get him out here.”
“Sorry.”
I get up from the bar and crane my neck to see in the back room. “Brad!” Once I’ve made eye contact he smiles and gets up. I shoot Jimmy a dirty look. Jerk, must have described me as a greasy homeless girl who’s taking up space at his bar just drinking water.
“Hey, Rainn!” Brad’s smile is warm. All the lecturing I was prepared to do feels wrong now.
“Hey, Brad.” I just stare at him. He obviously doesn’t remember he was supposed to see us last night at all, but I just stand there staring until finally:
“Oh, shoot! I’m so sorry, girl! I missed your show, didn’t I?”
“You sure did.” The anger is coming back. Give it another second and I can proceed with lecturing.
“Gosh, it’s just been so busy down here. Last night was ridiculous, and I had this new band I just picked up going on for the first time. Had a stage fright episode and next thing you know, completely spaced it. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” How mad can I really be at someone who’s doing me a favor to begin with? It’s like trying to yell at your boss, not an option, no matter how sweet the fantasies are.
“We’ll reschedule, okay?”
I smile weakly, another reschedule. I guess I should be glad, but I just keep wondering if he’s doing this because he’s really interested or just to shut me up.
“Are you ever going to come see us?” I ask. My stomach turns with the anticipation of his answer. I’ve been too afraid to ask for so long. Maybe I don’t want to know. “Just be real with me. Don’t make me keep coming down here if you’re not serious.” Since it takes me forever and all. I remind myself that’s not his problem.
His smil
e turns to a sneer. “Look, kid, I’m trying to be nice to you. I don’t need you busting my balls. I’ve got a lot of shit on my plate, all right?”
“I’m sure you—”
“I’ll get down there when I get down there.”
“I—”
“People kill to get on my stage, you know. I don’t need you. You need me.”
“Trust me, I know I’m the one who needs you. I just don’t want to be humored. If you’re standing there knowing damn well you’re never coming to see us don’t keep telling me you are.” I don’t mean to raise my voice, but I must be because the whole room goes silent. “You don’t have to lecture me about how important you are. Why do you think I keep coming down here? Trust me, I get it, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t need me too. We’re the best.”
“All you musicians think you’re the best.”
“Yeah, but we are. We can prove it to you if you let us. Let us play here if it’s too much trouble to come down.”
“Don’t act stupid. You can’t get on my stage until I know you’re good. I won’t know you’re good until I come see you, and I can’t come see you on just any Saturday night. I’m busy!”
“You picked the Saturday.”
“Shit happens!”
“Shit happens?”
“That’s right. Shit happens. Deal with it.”
I just stand there, defeated. “Okay. You know where we are then, I guess.” I turn to walk away. He’s never coming. I’ve suspected this for a while, so why does it hurt so much?
“Rainn?” he says. I turn back reluctantly. “Come here,” he says, gesturing wildly for me to come back over. My legs don’t want to move. They’re dead from discouragement, but he just keeps waving, so after a few lifeless seconds I obey.
“Look, the fact that you’re willing to tell me off and walk away says one of two things. Either you’re a little punk that’s going to throw that attitude crap at me constantly or you’re actually talented and you know you’ll find someone else if it isn’t me. Now for whatever reason my instincts are telling me you’re actually talented. They’ve always told me that.” Brad pauses long enough to grab the drink Jimmy is handing him. “So, what I need you to do is calm down, relax.”
“This isn’t as relaxing of a situation for me as it is for you. This is the only thing I’ve ever wanted. I know you have a million things to think about, but I don’t. I’ve just got this.”
“I’m not telling you to want it any less, Rainn,” Brad says. “I’m just asking you to be patient. You wanted to know if I’m really going to come see you guys play, and I’m telling you I do want to. But you’re asking me for honesty, and if I’m being honest, it’s going to take me a while.”
“A while?”
“How about if we just give it a few months? Let things settle.”
“A few months?” I blurt.
He turns to the calendar on the wall behind him and starts flipping pages. “We’ll shoot for, uh, the fifteenth, okay?”
“Sure, Brad. Whatever.”
“I’m serious. The fifteenth of January.”
“Mm-hmm.” It’s so far away it’s comical to think he’ll remember. I stand up and start heading for the door.
“The fifteenth, Rainn, I’m writing it down!”
I flash the horns at him and step outside.
I decide to go see the guys. I can take the bus if I want to look for change some more, but I can probably walk there faster than I can find the money. Their apartment is only forty-five minutes from here on foot; the Chapel is about the same from there. It’s easier to do it in stages.
The outside door to their apartment building is broken and covered in graffiti. The speaker box people are supposed to use to get inside only works about half the time. They worry about me in the alley. I worry about them here. They’ve been here for years now, though, and so far without incident.
When I get to their apartment door, I can hear saxophone. I listen outside for a minute. It’s beautiful, Shiloh. I know he plays, but only in a distant, vague, sort of way. He’s embarrassed about it for some reason. I guess it doesn’t fit with his bassist persona, only it totally does. Eventually, I knock. The sax stops immediately, and I hear him unchaining the door.
“Hey, you,” he says when he opens it.
“Hey. You’re tearing it up in there.”
The tops of his ears turn red. “Just messing around.” He closes the door behind me. “Jay and Alex went for beer.”
We settle down on the couch, which is three feet away from the TV because the screen is so tiny. Behind the TV is a small open space where they’ve jammed all their music stuff, including a synthetic drum kit for Alex. There used to be real drums there, but now we pretty much leave them at the Chapel. There’s a hole behind the drums from where I put Alex’s head through the drywall two years ago.
I hear the front door open and Jayden and Alex laughing about something as they come in. They turn the corner, two twelve-packs in hand.
“Hey!” Alex runs and jumps on me. “Check you out, got your chick back, huh?”
I try to ignore him, but the smile I can’t control says it all.
“She’s your girl now?” Shiloh asks.
“I don’t know about that. We just partied together.”
“You guys hook up?” Alex asks.
“Of course, they did,” Jayden says from the refrigerator, where he’s putting the twenty-four beers away one by one.
“No, actually, we didn’t.” I scowl at him. He tosses beers across the room at the guys. I hold up my hand to say no.
“When do we get to meet her?” Alex asks.
Jayden sits by me on the couch. “Yeah, when do we get to check out your new piece of ass?”
My ears get hot. My chest is boiling.
“Aw, come on, Jay,” Alex says. Shiloh and Alex both are watching. My reaction must be obvious. I just sit, waiting, fuming, unsure why it’s ticking me off to this extent. She really isn’t my girl, after all.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Jayden says. “What do you want me to call her?”
“Jaselle.”
“When do we get to meet Jaselle?”
“Never if you’re going to behave like that,” I say. “I’ll take that beer now.”
“I got laid last night too, if anyone’s interested,” Alex blurts to ease the tension. I don’t bother reminding them I didn’t “get laid.”
“Yeah, by a chipmunk,” Jayden says.
“Guess we know who didn’t get laid last night,” Shiloh interrupts.
Alex points at Jayden and laughs in his face. “He gets grumpy when he’s backed up.” He hands me my beer.
“Hey, you can act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, but you saw those cheeks. Chipmunk.”
“Shut up, dude.” Alex punches him in the arm.
“Get some females in here already, then.”
“You guys are idiots,” I say, but Alex is already dialing from his list of skanks.
I tell them about Brad while we’re waiting for the girls. Shiloh and Alex are optimistic as usual. Jayden is more on the negative side with me. I can hear the girls giggling in the hallway outside, trying to figure out which door they’re looking for. I decide it’s time to go.
I point them in the right direction as I leave and overhear them arguing over who gets Jayden as I start down the stairs.
I go straight to the alley when I get to the Chapel. I don’t want to talk to Benny and go through the whole not hooking up, she’s not my girl crap again. I slide down against the dumpster so that I can see Libido on the brick wall. The blue spray paint he’s made of is so bright he almost glows in the dark.
I notice the phone number on my hand, blue Sharpie. It’s Shelby’s cell, written in that loopy, girly handwriting. “It’s not like I asked for her number,” I tell Libido. Shelby was all upset when I left. She had the whole day planned out, breakfast, walking around downtown. Walking around aimlessly is just about the last t
hing I consider when I’m trying to make plans. I walk enough.
I keep catching the briefest hint of Jaselle’s scent. Then I remember I’m still wearing her shirt. I pull it to my nose and breathe in deep. “Is it rude of me to keep it?” Libido’s smirk has more life to it than the last time we talked. Now he’s playful, saying, “Yes, it’s rude, but you know damn well you’re keeping it anyway.”
“No. Cut it out.” I point my finger at him. “I don’t need or want a girlfriend. That just makes things complicated.” But I keep catching myself thinking about her. It’s too much. I feel like I’m violating her in some way, thinking about her like this. “I can be her friend. That’s it. Her friend.”
Now he’s back to that skeptical look. The one that says, “Good luck with that,” while chuckling in delight.
I’ve always said that some of our greatest moments of clarity come immediately after orgasm, once our heads are finally free of all that lust, the games, the facade you throw up over yourself that you think makes you attractive. We all have one, even if you consider yourself “real.” We all modify ourselves, tweak our natural behavior just a little to fit with that person we’re leaning into.
But once you orgasm, well, then you can relax. Not for long, just long enough to figure out if you feel like you’re in the right place or not. Do you want to reach over and squeeze them as hard as you can? Don’t let me go. Or do you feel guilty and wrong?
I don’t remember what I felt after Jaselle. I just remember waking up six hours later and running for my life, but that doesn’t count.
Libido leers devilishly down at me saying, “I guess there’s only one way to find out now, isn’t there?”
“Stop it. You’re such an asshole, cat.” I try to convince myself I’m actually talking to the cat, like some inanimate drawing is responsible for any of this.
“I should have gotten her number,” I finally tell him. “I’m such an idiot.” She was just standing there, looking at me with that serene stare, those stormy eyes. What’s your number? That’s all I had to say. Can I call you sometime?
“Coward,” Libido says. His eyes were sprayed way too long and are darker than the rest of him, with small drips from the paint buildup that could be interpreted as tears at the right moment. This is not the right moment. He looks mad right now, reminding me that at least Shelby had the guts to come prancing across the room in gazelle strides. “You don’t have a phone, huh?” she said. “Here! Take my number, we’ll hang out sometime!”
Shadows of a Dream Page 4
