Charmer

by Loring, Kayley

  RICKY: Greetings, Lou. You can call me anytime.

  LOUISE: Alright, you just calm down, mister.

  NICO: And this is Kat, behind the camera. Tate’s mother, Lou’s daughter.

  RICKY: Welcome aboard, darlin’. Please note—this here’s my good side.

  KAT: They both look pretty good to me, Ricky. Wow, this really is big and fancy.

  NICO: Yeah, so this is the front lounge, the public area. Lots of storage here under the seats. You’ll notice that this drawer here is where I keep the Cocoa Puffs.

  TATE: Mom! Can I have that for a snack later?!

  KAT: I guess so. Not every day, though. Thanks a lot, Nico.

  NICO: Please know that you are all welcome to enjoy my Cocoa Puffs.

  TATE: No way—you have XBox and Wii?! Do you have Mario games?

  NICO: I’ve got all the Mario games. I got a zoo game.

  TATE: Zoo Tycoon?!

  NICO: Yeah.

  TATE: Mom! He has Zoo Tycoon! Can we play it?

  KAT: Maybe later, baby.

  NICO: I also have Halo.

  TATE: Mom can I play Halo?!

  KAT: Not until you’ve graduated high school.

  NICO: Fair enough.

  LOUISE: Now, where can I put these containers of soup? You have a fridge and a freezer, I thought? Kat’s muffins can go in the fridge. Ooooh wait ‘til you get a taste of my daughter’s muffin, Mr. Nico.

  KAT: Mom.

  NICO: Fridge and freezer here in the kitchen area. The freezer is pretty deep. And I cannot wait to savor your muffin, Kat.

  TATE: Is that a bathroom?!

  RICKY: You wanna tell ‘em about the No Pooping Rule, or should I do the honors?

  NICO: Uhh, there’s a strict No Pooping Rule on this bus, guys.

  TATE: No pooping ever?

  LOUISE: Only when we’re on the bus, hon. Just like in a car.

  RICKY: Liquids in the bus toilet only. No mud bricks. No paper. You wipe your nether parts, you put the paper in a bag, you put the bag in the bin under the sink. Understand? There are no chemicals in this toilet, so as soon as you start to feel one pokin’ out—you let Uncle Ricky know and I will find a place to pull over ASAP.

  LOUISE: Well, that is very inconvenient. And unpleasant.

  RICKY: Please believe me, ma’am, it’s a lot more inconvenient and unpleasant to be on a bus that smells like dookie for hours or days until we can get the toilet emptied out.

  LOUISE: Alright now, that’s enough toilet talk, Rick.

  RICKY: All due respect, ma’am. The name is Ricky. I’ve been driving these buses for a decade and I am still haunted by the first mud rat that ever got trapped in one of my –

  13

  Nico

  “I spy with my little eye…something blue.” Tate stares out the window, at the sky.

  “Is it the sky?”

  “No, it is not!”

  I knew it wasn’t the sky. I’m onto this guy, but I’m not letting him know it yet. He tries to trick me by staring at something that’s similar in color but isn’t the thing that he spies with his little eye. I invented that trick on road trips with my sister when we were kids. But I have also figured out pretty quick that there’s no end to this game when you’re playing it with a six-year-old whose grandmother won’t let him play video games until after lunch. So even if I guess it right, he won’t let it end there. “Is it my jeans?”

  “Noooo.”

  “Is it…your loose tooth?”

  Tate’s eyes go wide as his fingers go to his loose tooth. “It’s blue?!”

  “Nah, I’m just kidding.”

  He laughs so hard, squeezing his eyes shut, holding his belly. I don’t think I’ve ever made a kid laugh this hard before. It’s nice. He finally manages to say, “Did you see my space?!” He sticks his jaw out to show me the little space in his lower teeth.

  “Yeah. It looks good. What’d the tooth fairy bring you?”

  He holds up six fingers. “Six dollars, because I’m six! And I got six no sugar lollipops that don’t taste too bad. And a new toothbrush that buzzes.”

  “An electric one?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I use one of those too.”

  He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Guess something blue.”

  Dammit. I thought if I distracted him, he’d forget we were playing.

  “Is it your mom’s eyes?” I can’t even say the words ‘your mom’s eyes’ without smiling. It’s so uncool.

  Is it my balls?

  Kat glances up from her laptop and gives me a little smirk, but her blue eyes are glowing with the smile that she’s been trying to hide from me all morning. She’s been writing in her Moleskine journal and looking things up on her computer at the kitchen table for an hour and it’s thrilling to watch. She’s planning out her work on the tour and I love how inspired she is.

  “Nope. It’s not my mom’s eyes.”

  “Is it Louise’s eyes?”

  Louise looks up from her Kindle and widens her baby blues at Tate before getting back to what I’m guessing is some kind of raunchy romance novel.

  “Nurp. Guess again!”

  I’ve been playing I Spy and Twenty Questions off and on with this kid for almost three hours now. He’s already showed me the few toys that he was allowed to bring for the trip. He’s already gone through all of the card tricks that he’s learned. Guessing what he’s thinking of or spying on stopped being fun two and a half hours ago. I just couldn’t walk away because I felt so bad that he started crying after Ricky was done with his five-minute Rules of the Bus tirade. They’re good rules, and I follow them without fail. But Ricky made it sound like we’re in a prison on wheels. I’m hoping that if I start strong, Tate will be more forgiving when I disappear to the back lounge once we get closer to Phoenix, because I need to practice my set list and rest the pipes before I get to the venue for soundcheck. I usually try not to talk too much before a show, especially when we’re driving through the desert.

  “Do you want me to make you some more honey lemon with warm water?” Kat asks, as if reading my mind. “To soothe your throat?” She just can’t stop waiting on me.

  “Yeah, if you aren’t busy.”

  “Gonna make myself some tea,” she says, sliding out from the bench. “Lou, you want anything from the kitchen? Tate?”

  “I’m good, thanks hon.”

  It has also taken Louise a while to calm down after meeting Ricky.

  Ricky’s a good guy. He drove the last tour I was on, but he really does act like the captain of a ship when he’s in work mode. When he’s stoned it’s a whole other story. He’s got a David Crosby vibe going on, if David Crosby were from Nashville. Long white mustache and flowing white hair. Super chill with an air of authority. Like he’s seen some shit and done some shit so if you’re gonna mess with him you’d best be prepared to dance. Meanwhile, Louise is a middle-aged Jersey Girl with perfectly manicured nails that match her lipstick and purse and if you’re gonna mess with her you’d better be prepared for sass or some next level passive-aggressive baloney. Traveling with the two of them will be interesting.

  “Is it the label on the water bottle?”

  “No! Guess again!”

  “I have an idea,” Kat says, as she switches on the electric kettle. “Why don’t we do a warm-up interview. So I can get used to filming Nico on this bus. Get used to the lighting and angles.”

  “Can I be in it too?”

  “You can interview him,” she tells Tate, as she pulls out her HD pro camera and swaps out a lens. Watching how she handles equipment is a total turn-on. So confident and reverent. She really knows what she’s doing with those hands of hers. I need to not watch her do that. “You can ask him anything you want for a few minutes, but remember that when I’m interviewing him later on, for the rest of the tour, you need to stay quiet.”

  “I knoooowwww.” He drops his head back dramatically, slapping his forehead. “You told me soooo many times!”
>
  Kat watches me and then looks around for the best place to shoot me from.

  “You want me to move?” I ask, shifting around on the leather sofa.

  “No!” she insists. “Don’t ever make adjustments for me. I accommodate you.”

  I waggle my eyebrows, mouthing “Oh really?” but only because she’s standing in front of her mother so I know Louise can’t see. That gets me a well-deserved eyeroll.

  She sits on the sofa across from me, setting the camera up on the tripod, looking at me through the viewfinder. It is not a new thing for me, being filmed or photographed or interviewed, but I’m feeling a little self-conscious all of a sudden. Because now I’m thinking about what Shane said about me trying to bone her while she’s interviewing me. So I need to not think about how badly I want to take her into the back lounge and quietly drill her until she screams my name into a pillow while Ricky and her family are out at a rest stop. You’d think that having her mother and son right here would be enough to keep me from wanting to do bad things to her body, but I’m thinking of about twenty of those things right now.

  Meanwhile, Tate has grabbed his mother’s pen. He’s tilting his head and touching the tip of the pen to his chin while studying me, like he’s on 60 Minutes.

  “Thanks for being here, Nico.” He tries to make his voice really deep.

  That cracks me up. “It’s a pleasure, thanks for having me.”

  “Can I start now, Mom?”

  “Do your thing, buddy.”

  “Tell me, Nico,” he says, tapping the pen against the side of his face. “You said that you know a lot about cereal. Is that what you eat when you’re at home?”

  “Sometimes. I eat out a lot, but I cook a little. When I have time.”

  “What can you cook?”

  My mind goes blank for a second because he’s staring at me so intensely. “Well, let’s see. I can make scrambled eggs. Omelets.”

  “What kind of omelets? Cheese?”

  “Sure. Definitely cheese.”

  “What kind of cheese?”

  “Cheddar, usually.”

  “The orange kind or the white kind?”

  “Orange, usually.”

  “Do you cut up the cheese in little pieces or do you buy the kind that’s already little pieces?”

  “I usually get the shredded kind if I know I’m going to make omelets.”

  “That’s cool. How many eggs do you use?”

  “If it’s just for me, I use four eggs.”

  “That’s a big omelet!”

  “I’m a big boy.”

  “Do you put ham in it?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Vegetables?”

  “Of course.”

  He gives me a look. “I can tell you’re lying.”

  “Okay, I don’t usually put vegetables in my omelets at home. But I do drink a green juice with them. So I consume vegetables while eating my omelet. That’s not exactly a lie.”

  “Do you use butter or oil in the pan?” Louise asks, without looking up from her Kindle.

  “I used to use oil, but when my sister was staying with me, she used butter and it’s fucking delicious.” I look over at Tate. “Sorry.”

  He shrugs. “They say it all the time.”

  “How many frying pans do you have?” Louise asks, a pair of vertical lines forming between her eyebrows.

  “Just one.”

  “Do you clean it, or do you have a maid?”

  “I have a housekeeper who comes once a week, but I always do my dishes right after I’ve eaten. I don’t like having dirty dishes around.”

  Louise removes her reading glasses, lowers her chin and squints at me. “Really?”

  I look over into the camera lens. “I seem to recall you telling me that this wouldn’t feel like a weird first date interview on the Food Network.”

  “Sorry,” Kat laughs. “My son and mother don’t usually join me on my first dates, so I can’t account for their behavior.”

  “I’m not lying about the dishes, am I Tate?” I look over at Tate, who has been strangely silent. He’s staring at the floor, pouting, and he’s got his hands on his tummy. “You feel okay?”

  He shakes his head. “Mom. I gotta go number two.” His voice is low and strained.

  “Uh oh.” She turns off the camera. “Does your tummy hurt?”

  “No, but it feels like a big one. Like the one from Disneyland last year.”

  “Oh boy. That was a doozy. A double flusher.” She steps out from behind the tripod and comes over to the sofa, to sit between Tate and me. And even though we’re having yet another discussion about Number Two, I’m still picturing her naked, as I watch her comfort her son. It’s weird, but it also isn’t. She looks over at me, twisting her lips to the side. “Bet you’re regretting a few of your most recent life choices right about now.”

  “I once traveled with a bipolar drummer who’d just done Peyote. This is a cakewalk. I’ll alert Uncle Ricky.”

  “I need to go real real real soon!” Tate says, whining. “I don’t know if I can hold it in.”

  We’re halfway through a six-hour drive to Phoenix, on I-10, in the middle of nowhere. When I inform Ricky of the situation, he curses and tells me the next exit is for a residential neighborhood with no gas stations or restaurants, but he’ll “figure something out.”

  I decide to tell the Dempseys that the trick is to limit the coffee intake and eat as little fiber as possible unless you’re staying in a hotel overnight.

  Louise laughs. “Well, I sure wish you’d told me that last week. I’ve been making us eat as much salad and fruit as possible! I don’t trust restaurant food that’s uncooked when we’re traveling.”

  “Good thing we brought all that vegetarian chili and flax muffins,” Kat mutters, stroking Tate’s hair.

  We’re still discussing bowel movements and I still want to get her naked. I guess friends who work together can still picture each other naked and remain professional. Maybe I’ll get the hang of this platonic relationship with a woman thing over time. It’s only been a few hours.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, and I have not gotten any better at not picturing Kat naked.

  Ricky had turned into the suburban neighborhood with the intention of knocking on someone’s door to ask if we could enter their home to use the restroom. But then he saw a sandwich board for an open house and now Kat and I are pretending to be a couple who are thinking about moving. We’re trying to distract the realtor, so she doesn’t wonder why Tate and Louise are spending so much time in the master bathroom upstairs. I’m guessing it’s a triple flusher situation and hoping that the plumbing in this 1980’s house can handle it. Kat studies the printout for the property, nodding appreciatively.

  “What are the schools like around here?” I ask. This gets me a surprised look from Kat. I’m not even sure where ‘around here’ is. I don’t know if we’ve crossed into Arizona yet or not. But I know that’s a dad thing to ask.

  “Oh well the public schools are very good, considering the property taxes are quite low,” says the real estate agent. “Your boy’s what—six, seven?”

  “Six,” we both say at the same time.

  “He’s a great kid,” I tell her. “Very bright.”

  “He’s probably checking out the backyard with his grandma.” Kat pretends to look around for them.

  I’m about to question the private school options when Kat asks if there’s a community park nearby.

  “Yes, just down the street. What do you two do for a living, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I’m a stay at home mom, and he’s a neurosurgeon.” She takes my hand and pulls me away. “Excuse us, I need to take another look around. Check out the storage situation.”

  I’m sure there are many people in this world who have no qualms about attending an open house just to use the bathroom, but Katherine Dempsey isn’t one of them. So I’m not either. Her hand is warm on my arm, and when we’re in th
e foyer, I’m about to lead her back to the guest room to kiss her—because fuck it—but Louise and Tate hustle down the stairs. You’d think they’d just robbed a convenience store from the look of them.

  “There you are,” Kat says.

  “We need to go,” Louise hisses.

  “I just wanted to check out the closets upstairs,” Kat almost yells out, for the realtor to hear.

  “Code brown,” Louise mumbles. “We gotta boogie.”

  I open the front door and Kat waves the printout at the realtor, smiling brightly. “Thank you so much—the house looks great!”

  Ricky parked the bus a block and a half away so it can’t be seen from the house. As we’re all speed-walking down the wide street, Louise says, “The plumbing in that house is not adequate. Whatever the asking price is, it’s too much.”

  “Lou had to use the punger.”

  “Thank God they had a plunger, but it still didn’t all go down. Finally, I just gave up because we’re on a tight schedule. Right?”

  It isn’t until Louise glances back at us, that Kat and I realize we’re still holding hands. Kat calmly releases my hand, avoiding eye contact with her mother. She jogs ahead to catch up with Tate. “No more fiber for you, little man,” she says, playfully.

  “I don’t have to be at the venue until five-thirty for the soundcheck,” I tell Louise, who continues staring, very pointedly, at my hand. “We should still have plenty of time to stop for a late lunch on the way. We’re good.”