by Staci Hart
“Has it?”
I groaned. “No. I mean, yes. But no.”
She sighed and gave me a loving look. “Just call him, Penny.”
“But I’m unhinged! I don’t do alone. I’m co-dependent and psychotic, and this is why I don’t have boyfriends. You know this!”
“I know this. You’ve just got to get over it.”
I laughed. “That’s cute, Mona.”
“I’m serious. You can’t go dying your hair and then find a new guy every time things get hard.”
I made a face at her. “That’s not why I—”
“Liar! You wigged out, so you wigged out.” She motioned to my hair. “Your hair is like a mood ring. Do you know how he feels?”
I inspected my cuticles. “Not really. I mean, I think I do, but I’m not sure.”
“So talk to him, Pen. Be a grown up and call him and talk to him.”
“Maybe I’ve already screwed it up.”
“Or maybe you’ll call him and everything will be fine. Because he’s into you. I have a feeling he’s wigging out too. Hopefully he didn’t shave his head or something.”
I laughed and ran a hand over my hair, feeling insecure about it now that I’d been called out. “Do you really think it’s that easy?”
“I really do. I mean, even if he doesn’t want to be with you, that would be better than this, right? Because then you could just try to get over it.”
I sighed. “Yeah.” And then I thought about calling him. I thought about seeing him smile. I thought about just being with him, like it had been before Peggy came around, blowing cigarette smoke in my face. “I don’t know how to get back to the happy place, Ramona.”
“Tell him how you feel, and let him tell you how he feels. Once you talk about that, you’ll both feel better. And instead of having to text Ronnie BEAR TRAP, you can talk to him about it.”
“Traitor!” I shouted at Veronica, who shrugged.
Ramona leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. “Just call him. It’s the only way to stop the crazy. I know you’re afraid, but not talking to him is what made you crazy in the first place. The only power anyone has over you is what you give them.”
I took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.”
She watched me for a second. “Okay?”
I nodded and smiled, reaching for my phone. “Okay.” But before I could even unlock the screen, it rang in my hand.
The number was from Santa Cruz. It was a number I recognized. It was the first number I programmed into my Razr when I was sixteen and the number I’d dialed from my mom’s cordless phone.
Rodney fucking Parker was calling me.
I stared at my phone stupidly for a second before snapping out of it to answer. “Hello?”
“Pen?” His voice was familiar and velvety and full of swagger and ease.
My eyes were big and round, and my mouth was sticky and dry. “Rodney?”
Ramona’s mouth popped open
He laughed. “Holy shit. I can’t believe you kept the same number.”
“What the hell, man?” I said lightly, shooting for breezy, which wasn’t easy considering every nerve in my body fired in warning. “How are you?”
“Good, good. Damn, it’s good to hear your voice.”
I mouthed Oh my God at Ramona, who blinked at me. “You too. What’s up?”
“You’re in New York, right? I caught your show on TV. Couldn’t believe it. You’re just as hot as you always were.”
I stood and paced out of the shop and into the steaming hot afternoon. “Uh, thanks.”
“So I called my agent, and she called your agent to get your number. If I’d known it was the same, I would have called you yesterday,” he said, smiling on the other end of the line. “Listen, I’m in town with the band — we’re playing at Lucky’s tonight, and I’ve got a couple of tickets for you. Tell me you’ll come see me.”
I felt sweaty and a little nauseous. “Yeah, okay,” I said a little sarcastically. I had literally no intention of going to see that asshole anywhere.
“Good. I was prepared to beg.”
Rodney. Begging me. For anything.
It was the stuff of my wildest dreams and my worst nightmares.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I had to be dreaming or having a full psychotic break or a stroke or something.
“You okay?” he asked as I laughed like a hyena.
I pressed my fingers to my lips and tried to stop, succeeding after a second and a few heavy breaths. “Yeah. Yep. I’m good.”
He chuckled, and I remembered all the nights with him, all the kisses at my locker, all the hours listening to the band practice. All the good. All the bad. All of it rushed back over me like a tsunami.
“All right,” he said. “The tickets will be at Will Call under your name. And bring a friend.”
“Sure, sure,” I answered as I swallowed my laughter.
“Doors open at seven. Man, I can’t wait to see you. It’s been too long, babe.”
“Oh, yeah. Cool. For sure.”
I hung up without waiting for him to respond. And then I sat down on the dirty fucking curb and burst into hysterical laughter.
Rodney had called me. And invited me to a show. And asked me to bring a friend. And called me babe.
The universe had to be fucking with me.
The last time we’d actually spoken, he’d dumped me after graduation, and I’d unloaded two years of feelings on him with my volume level at twelve and an audience of at least two fifty. I’d seen him at a few parties after that, and both times, we’d ended up fucking in a bathroom and his car, respectively. There was no talking either time.
After that summer, I’d moved to New York, and I hadn’t really thought about him much. I had thrown myself into my life, my goals, which in part included not ever getting serious with anyone. Which insured they always wanted to get serious with me.
And I know what you’re thinking — God, Penny, you’re such a liar. You thought about him all the time.
But I really hadn’t. He’d affected me, but I’d closed the door and tried not to let it bother me otherwise. It was simply a sticking point, a reason why, devoid of general emotions on the matter.
I was an excellent suppressor of emotion on that particular matter.
Things I could thank Rodney for.
My abs hurt a little from laughing, and I wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye.
Rodney had done so much to shape who I was, and Bodie had undone it all just by existing, just by caring for me.
I thought about Diddle, the boy I used to know. I thought about the man he’d grown up to be and how brilliant and determined and wonderful he was. I thought about how good he made me feel, how he cared for me, how I cared for him. I thought about how different Rodney was from Bodie, how one could be so cruel and one so kind. How one could seek to tear me down while the other lifted me up.
I thought about how Bodie was everything I wanted, and I thought about how wrong I’d done him.
I thought about how I could possibly make it right again.
And then I unlocked my phone, navigated to my favorites, and touched his name, hoping I still had a chance.
* * *
Bodie
When my phone rang and I saw our picture on the screen, my heart stopped and started again with a jolt I felt down to my toes. I’d imagined the moment for days and had lost hope that it would happen, that I would hear from her. And now that my phone buzzed in my hand, I had no fucking clue what to say or do or feel.
So I went default.
“Hey, Penny,” I answered, hoping I sounded cool.
She laughed nervously. “Bodie, oh my God. You won’t believe who just called me.”
A slow tingle climbed my neck. Not what I thought she’d say. “Who?”
“Rodney.”
My insides liquified at that single word. “Really?”
She laughed, the nervousness slipping away unti
l it edged on hysteria, her tone giddy and rushed. “Seriously! Get this: he had his agent call my agent.” She laughed again, a burst of feverish giggling that made my blood boil.
I tried to chuckle, but it sounded a little like I was choking. “No shit. What did he want?”
“He’s in town and has tickets to his show tonight at Lucky’s.”
More laughter — my pulse ticked up.
“He told me to bring a friend.”
“Great. I’m your friend. I’m coming with you.”
Another round of giggling, this one hitting me in the heart, reminding me how much I wanted her for my own. It was a sound meant for me this time, a sound that said she wanted me with her.
All that was gleaned from a simple series of bursts of air from her lips.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” she said, half-joking.
If there was one thing I didn’t joke about, it was Penny and Rodney in the same room together.
“Penny, I’m interested in all things related to you.”
She paused for a second. “Listen, I don’t really think—”
“I’m coming with you. What time’s the show?”
Another pause.
“The doors open at seven, but I don’t want to—”
“Pen,” I said with finality, “I want to see you. I need to see you. And you’re not going to Lucky’s without me. So it’s settled — I’m coming with you. I’ll meet you there at seven.”
“All right,” she said quietly, tentatively. “How’ve you been?”
“Busy with work but good,” I lied, suppressing a sigh, the pressure in my chest mounting. “You?”
“Oh, I’ve been okay. Just working a lot.”
She lulled, and I grappled with what to say.
“I … I missed you.”
My anxiety softened by the smallest degree. “Me too, Pen.”
“Bodie, there’s so much to say. I’ve been thinking about everything, about you and me, and—”
I heard someone call her name in the background, and she hissed a swear.
“I’ve got to go. Let’s talk tonight, okay?”
“Okay,” I answered with my heart drumming, and we said goodbye, disconnecting.
My palms were swampy as I slipped my phone into my back pocket and paced into the living room where Jude and Phil sat at their desks working.
I ran a hand through my hair as they turned to eye me.
“This is the worst possible thing that could fucking happen.”
Jude’s brow quirked. “What is?”
“Penny called.” I turned to pace in the other direction.
“Wait, that’s bad?” Phil asked.
I sighed. “Penny called to tell me that Rod fucking called her to ask her to go to his show tonight.”
Jude’s mouth popped open. “No shit.”
“No shit,” I echoed.
“Fuck,” he said, running his hand over his lips. “This is bad.”
“I’m so fucked. Fucked. Eight years later, and that asshole is coming back to throw a wrench in everything, and the timing sucks. We haven’t talked, she’s wigging out, and he’s the one person who has the power to ruin everything. Nobody gets under her skin like he does.”
Phil looked confused. “Why the hell would she agree to go?”
“Because,” I huffed, walking back toward the door, “he’s a fucking rock star, and he had her under his thumb for half of high school. Because she’s Penny, and of course she wants to go. But I told her I’m going with her.”
Jude laughed at that. “You told her?”
“Yeah, I fucking told her. You think I’d let her go without me? I mean, at least if I’m there, he can’t get to her. Plus, there’s too much unsaid that needs to be said once and for all.”
“And you think Rod’s concert is the right time? With him up on a stage, licking the microphone in a leather jacket?” Jude asked, shaking his head. “Bro.”
I groaned and paced the room again, hand in my hair. “Fuck. Fuck! What the fuck am I gonna do?”
Phil sighed. “Cross your fingers and pray.”
“Go to Lucky’s and deck Roddy as a show of manhood and territorial superiority,” Jude said helpfully.
I shook my head. “I’ve just got to survive. Show up. And hope to God I don’t lose her for good.”
17
YOU CAN'T ACTUALLY BE SERIOUS
Penny
My emotions were jumbled up like Scrabble tiles as I worked through my day, trying to keep busy, which wasn’t too hard. From the second I’d hung up the phone with Bodie, I’d had somebody in my chair, affording me plenty of time alone with my thoughts.
The last thing I wanted to do was go to the concert, and somehow I’d gotten roped into it. And Bodie had sounded hard and a little angry on the phone, and when he’d insisted we go to the show, I couldn’t find a way to say no. I needed to see him as much as he’d said he needed to see me, and the prospect of seeing him, talking to him, was too much to argue. That on top of not wanting to make him any angrier.
The conversation had taken a hard left, and I’d found myself agreeing to go to my ex-boyfriend’s rock concert with my current boyfriend-slash-slam-piece who I hadn’t spoken to in days.
Basically, the whole thing was a fucking hot-ass mess.
The sound of Bodie’s voice had made my insides squishy and warm. The thought of seeing him made it hard to breathe. I’d missed him so much that in hindsight, staying away seemed ridiculous and futile. I wanted to be with him; that hadn’t changed. I was still scared; that hadn’t changed either. All that had changed was my resolve to go after what I wanted instead of running away.
The problem was that I didn’t know what to expect, and I dreaded meeting him at Lucky’s.
I should have called it off. I should have told him to just meet me somewhere else, anywhere else. But the afternoon got away from me, and one thing after another went wrong. My last job, a massive back piece, ended up running over. Like, an hour over.
I texted Bodie the first chance I got, but by that point, he was already there. And the second I was finished, I blew out the door and caught a cab with my pulse speeding. I hadn’t even had time to go home and change. I fussed over my clothes — my Misfits tee with the oversize neck, black miniskirt, shredded up tights and combats. And as I touched up my makeup, nerves overwhelmed me, stoked by the anxiety of being late and not knowing what to expect from the night.
When the cab pulled up to the curb in front of Lucky’s, I spotted Bodie leaning against the wall next to the box office, his eyes dark and brows low, hands in his pockets and ankles crossed.
He looked gorgeous.
Gorgeous and pissed.
I paid the cabbie and slipped out of the car into the sweltering heat, trotting across the sidewalk to him as he pushed away from the wall.
I found myself breathless, probably from jogging. Or from Bodie — broody and tense and pumping out testosterone and pheromones at me like tear gas.
“Hey,” I breathed, wishing I could wrap myself around him like a boa constrictor. As much as I’d thought I’d missed him, it was nothing compared to standing there in front of him without permission to touch him. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”
He attempted to relax with a deep breath that lowered his square shoulders just a touch. “It’s all right, but can we get inside? I could use a drink.”
I smiled, hoping it looked like I wasn’t nervous as shit. “Yeah. Of course.”
We headed over to the box office in heavy silence, and I picked up our tickets. And within a few minutes, we were stepping under the blasting air-conditioning and making our way to the bar.
It was already packed and loud, and within ten feet, the air-conditioning was a distant memory — the heat from the hundreds of bodies packed into the space had turned it into a sauna. We waited in line at the bar, trying to shout at each other over the noise with a thousand things we wanted to say pressing on us like the oppressive heat
.
Lucky’s was general admission only, and we wormed our way through the masses to get as close to the stage as we could. Every second, the crowd closed in a little tighter around us, and I slammed my double tequila almost as fast as he slammed his double whiskey.
Bodie leaned down to my ear. “I’m gonna get us another round.”
I nodded and yelled, “I’ll be here,” which sounded way less cute in scream-speak.
He disappeared into the crowd, and I took a breath and let it out. As excited as I had been to see Bodie, he was angry and tense, and it was my fault. The combination of me going radio silent, him having to wait an hour for me in the hundred degree heat, and the fact that we hadn’t talked about anything we wanted to — it was almost too much to bear in the span of a few minutes.
It all of a sudden felt like a kamikaze mission, and I clambered for a way to salvage the night.
A few minutes after he left, he was back with a fresh drink, looking a little more relaxed. He smiled and brought his lips to my ear. “I found another bar upstairs, it was empty.”
I reached up on my tiptoes to get to his ear in return. “Good. Thank you.”
He repeated the ridiculous motion to get to my ear, the frustrating lag in conversation pissing me off.
“You’re welcome.” He ran a strand of my blue hair through his fingers. “You changed your hair.”
I nodded, our lips had found places, our cheeks almost pressed together so we didn’t have to move. “You like it?”
“It’s different,” he answered enigmatically just as the crowd began to cheer.
I turned to find the opening band making their way onto the stage, raising their hands to the crowd as they picked up their instruments. And just like that, any shot we’d had to talk was blown.
We bounced around to the opening band, pounding drinks. By the time their set was finished, Bodie and I hadn’t spoken, and we’d each had three doubles. This could have been a good thing, except for the fact that we were both drinking to ease our nerves. Or at least I was. Bodie seemed to be drinking so he could tolerate me.
