I was deep in my own thoughts when the nurse approached and started Pops’ IV. He teased her about being gentle. He showed her the bruises that had yet to heal from his last treatment and she smiled kindly.
“Mr. McShane this is your last one today, so if you get a bruise, at least that will be the last one, right?”
He laughed and told her she could rough him up all she wanted as long as he was still sitting there breathing. When she walked away he kicked my boot.
“Now why didn’t ye smile back at her, son? She’s smiled at ye every time ye’ve come in here! That’s the kind of woman ye should be dating.”
The nurse was a petite Filipina, and she was cute, but I was ruined. I figured I should confess. “Pops, I can’t get that woman out of my head. The one from the show. A redhead, can you believe it?”
Pops’ expression grew serious. “Ye have to take care with a ginger woman. They can be a handful.”
I laughed humorlessly. “I could use a handful right now. Seriously, Pops. It’s scary. She was pregnant, even! She was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Not including Mom.” Pops gave me a sad smile.
“Son, I hate to see you so alone. A’ course she was beautiful if she was pregnant. That’s the loveliest time for a woman in my opinion. Yer mother was never more breathtaking than when she carried ye and yer brothers.”
I sighed. “I don’t know, Pops. I know I did the right thing, leaving my job. I love the shop and I’m glad I can be there for the family. Is it too selfish to wish for love?” I knew how Pops felt about love, which is the only reason I felt comfortable belly aching with him about it.
His face grew determined. “Son, you know what I think. Without the love of a good woman a man’s life is empty. I don’t want that for you.” He reached over with his good hand and squeezed my knee.
We sat in silence for the rest of his treatment, him, resting his eyes, me thinking about everything and nothing and always coming back to the image of flame colored hair and those blue-green eyes.
Chapter Four
Stevie
Losing my baby must have kick started that ability to see the future because I could see it now. It was all grey. That’s all I had ahead to look forward to. The little alien was a girl, and I named her Nancy Ann Wilson after my favorite rockin’ sisters, and after myself. My own mother named me Stevie Nann Wilson after them and Stevie Nicks. She was even more of a music junkie than I was. Her and my father spent a lot of the seventies travelling around in a VW bus going to shows. Mom developed breast cancer when I was in high school and only made it long enough to see me graduate. Dad tried to get on without her, but while I was away at college, he succumbed to a broken heart. At least that’s how the doctor put it. It’s literally called Broken Heart Syndrome, a heart attack brought on by loss. Apparently losing my mother and then me to college was more than he could take. My parents were seriously in love with each other, more so than they were me. I couldn’t understand that now. I loved Nancy and missed her terribly, but I knew that the real Nancy would be telling me the show must go on. And on it went.
I spent as much time recuperating at Maryland’s as I could handle. She sent the girls to stay with Mike so that she could devote her energy to helping me heal. She held me while I cried and made me eat when I wanted to just curl up and die so I could be sleeping forever beside my little girl. I could understand why my father might have died of a broken heart. Only for me, it was my child that came first, not a partner. My partner had chosen to be nonexistent. Maryland supported my decision to not call Ben. I didn’t want anything to do with him. Once I felt like I could be trusted to actually see to my own basic needs, I decided to get my own place. Maryland did not support that decision. I explained to her one drunken night after almost a whole bottle of Malibu Rum, that watching her with the girls was like giving birth to my dead baby again, an act I did without anesthesia because I was too out of it to consent to them giving me the drugs. The look in her eyes when I made that declaration made me even more confident that I needed to be on my own to heal. I wasn’t going to be stupid about it. I joined a support group and my doctor referred me to an excellent therapist who let me cry, scream, and mourn my child without the guilt I felt whenever I talked to Maryland about it.
Six weeks after giving birth to Nancy I was settled into a studio apartment in Foster City. I could no longer afford to live in the city where I worked. The Peninsula was ridiculously expensive and Foster City was the best I could do without going much further south or to the East Bay, which I didn’t know very much about. I spent a lot of time on my music blog and on social media. I did a lot of research on what had happened to Nancy and tried to focus on the stories of women who’d shared my experience and then gone on to have healthy babies. Going through this made me realize just how much I truly wanted a child, but even more, how much I refused to do it without a true partner next time. I had to believe there would be a next time.
My therapist suggested I get back to exercising so I went swimming for an hour every day, 7 days a week, in the pool at my apartment complex. They had a decent gym as well, so if the weather didn’t permit or there were too many people there, I would go run on the treadmill with my earbuds in to tune out the world. I had dinner with Maryland and the girls twice a week and went to my support group. By mid-summer my body was back in shape and I was about ten pounds lighter than I had been before I got pregnant. I read books. I watched movies. And I cried every day. I was grateful to be off of work and to not have to face everyone until September to tell them there was no baby. I even contemplated finding a new job. My therapist thought that might not be a bad idea since I didn’t really feel ties to my school. Lots to think about. Lots to keep me occupied. None of it was soothing. It was just like brushing your teeth or shaving your legs, all things that had to be done, but didn’t bring much satisfaction or fulfillment to the soul.
By the end of July I’d decided not to go back to work at my school. I decided not to go back to school at all. I took a leave of absence for the year and decided to use some of my nest egg and do some soul searching. Maryland was cautiously supportive.
“As long as you don’t sit home moping. If you do, I’ll come over there and kick your ass. I’ll make you be a home instructor to the girls!”
She knew how much elementary kids scared me and knew I would laugh. I also knew she was serious and I had no intention of wasting any more of my life. I’d been given the gift of Nancy for eight and a half months. I wasn’t going to waste this new perspective. So when Maryland sent me the latest concert updates and I noticed that Mötley Crüe was playing in two weeks, I decided that now was a really good time for some normalcy and fun. The grey was starting to dissipate.
McShane
Taking on the Shoreline job on top of the store and my family obligations proved to be just as insane as Callie said it would be. I got both brothers through the end of the school year with honor roll grades and sent Peter to summer school to bring the D+ in math up for college purposes. Patrick came to work at the store for me and I taught them both to drive. If I had any hair, I’m sure it would have been grey.
Pops was having a hard time bouncing back from the chemo. He had very little energy and became severely anemic. Red meat became the most popular meal in the house, whether it was served as Corned Beef or Beef Kebab. I tried to walk with Pops around the block at least once a day, and by the end of July it seemed like he was finally starting to bounce back.
The twins got their licenses August first and I gave them my old Camry to drive. I walked to work at the store and really only needed a car when I was going out to Shoreline. Pops told me to take his truck on those trips since he didn’t go out at night.
Things at the shop were running really smooth. Callie was doing a helluva a job managing with me gone so much and Schroeder was using the time to focus more on his music. I made it to a couple of open mic nights and was thrilled to see him and Callie play and sing together on those o
ccasions. I hadn’t picked up my guitar in months and I missed it. I was enjoying the shows at Shoreline, even the ones that weren’t necessarily my genre of music, because I loved being around the live music. I also could appreciate the running of the venue. I became friends with the general manager, Tyson Stillwell, and he shared some of his insights with me during the slow times. I thought at some point I might want to open a music venue of my own. Not a huge place like Shoreline. I loved the Fox in Oakland and even the Warfield in San Francisco. I fantasized about maybe renovating one of the dormant theaters around the Bay Area into a successful music venue. But I was getting way ahead of myself. That’s just how my mind worked. And that’s how I’d gotten myself into so much stress in Silicon Valley. I put those thoughts on the backburner and focused on the immediate future.
I worked six shows in June, eight in July, and I had four coming up in August, starting with this weekend’s Mötley Crüe show. Schroeder continually gave me a hard time about my music tastes and made endless hair metal jokes during the week leading up to it. One of his favorite comedians, Patton Oswalt, did a bit about narrating your life in Hair Metal-ese, so that’s what Schroeder did to me.
“McShane’s gonna buy him some black leather assless chaps and draw on his face with eyelin-errrr. He’ll get a rash goin’ commando and never get blown again.”
On and on his trash talk went. Callie thought it was hysterical and would jump in to add air guitar solos when appropriate. Patrick didn’t get it, as I knew he wouldn’t. He was a lot like the kid who sold his grandmother’s records to me. The newest technology was more important. At least Patrick had taken an interest in my music collection. I enjoyed sharing it with him, telling him about the bands and their music and what it meant to me. He even asked Schroeder to start teaching him how to play piano!
The day of the show I had to be out there in the early afternoon, so I went over to the house to grab Pops’ keys and lunch. Grandma McShane was throwing together big roast beef sandwiches and she shooed me over to the huge table we used for meals.
“Ye need to eat before work, young man.” My sweet little Irish grandmother, who barely breaks 5’, would easily kick my arse and drag me by my ear to the table if I didn’t go willingly.
Grandma Samadi was sitting at the table working on a crossword puzzle. “Ali, you work too much! When we gonna have great grand babies around here?”
I sighed, knowing full well this was going to be the mealtime topic of discussion.
As a boy I learned some Dari, but Grandma Samadi only wanted to speak English so she could learn. Mom spoke it to me enough so that I wouldn’t forget what little I’d learned. I studied it on my own and used it frequently when I was in business, but with Grandma Samadi, it was good old English.
“Grandma Samadi, I’m trying, I swear.”
She raised an eyebrow and looked over the rim of her reading glasses. “You not try hard enough. Do you need lesson in how it works?”
Thankfully Grandma McShane shoved my sandwich in front of me for the save. “Fareeza, give the poor lad a break. He’s had his heart trounced enough.”
They both gave me worried looks.
Grandma Samadi hrmphed at me. “I still think he forget how to make babies.” Wow, so not the conversation most men wanted to have with their grandmothers. “I find you nice Afghan girl and you two make beautiful babies. Nadia at hair salon is not married. I get her phone number for you.”
I had to put my sandwich down at that. “Grandma Samadi, don’t you remember? I talked to her before. When she saw my car she said I couldn’t possibly support the kind of lifestyle she intended to have. Face it; most girls are not excited by the thought of settling down with a guy who owns a music store. It’s just not glamorous enough.”
More hrmphing. She started to mumble and I swear I heard her say in Dari that I should never have quit my job.
I answered her quietly in her native tongue, “It is more important for a man to be satisfied with his life than to be rich.” I shoved back from the table, startling Grandma McShane.
“Aaron! What in the devil...” She caught the look traveling between Grandma Samadi and I and grew quiet.
“I am sorry, Ali. I only want you to be happy.”
Never wanting to upset either of my grandmothers, I stepped over to her and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Peace be with you,” I whispered.
She answered me back and took in a shaky breath.
I kissed Grandma McShane on the cheek on my way out, thanking her for the sandwich and heard them start arguing. I ran into Mom in the living room.
“Hey Mom,” I said as I kissed her cheek.
She pulled me in for an enthusiastic hug. “My wonderful son. How are you?”
I shrugged and offered her a weak smile.
She held my face in her hands and said, “I want to thank you for all you are doing for your father.”
I squeezed her once before letting go. “I like having the time with him,” I said quietly and she could sense my mood.
“Aaron, why don’t you take some time to just be? A vacation? Something? I miss your smile.”
I laughed. “I was just coming to get Pops’ keys so I could run away. Have you seen them?”
She laughed and helped me look. The twins’ shit was all over the room along with piles of books my mother had been reading and Grandma McShane’s crocheting. She finally grabbed them out from under a pile of newspapers and crosswords Grandma Samadi had been working on.
“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”
She gave me another hug and I went back down the hall. The grandmothers were still arguing in the kitchen so I stuck my head in the family room in back.
“Hey dickheads, why don’t you get off your damn video games and clean up your shit in the living room.”
I got a synchronized grunt from them in return. They were sitting on the couch a foot apart so I knocked their heads together and ran before they could tackle me. They were currently hovering around 6’ and together they could almost take me. Almost. I ran out the back door and shouted good-bye to Pops, who was working in the flowerbed out back.
“Happy hunting, Son,” he shouted back, chuckling to himself. He yelled to the twins as they came barreling after me and put them to work pulling weeds.
The drive to Mountain View on a Saturday afternoon went fairly quick. I parked in the employee lot and glanced over at the activity around the tour buses. Vince Neill was out walking his little fluffy dogs with two security guards and a buxom blonde that was probably his wife. I checked in and went by Tyson’s office to say hello.
“McShane! Good to see you, man! How’s the store?”
I told him things were going great. He asked about my family, which I really appreciated. He had gone through the whole cancer shit with his grandfather last year, so he was very familiar with what I was going through.
“Hey, I wanted to see if you were going to be available through October for a few shows and if you thought you’d be back next season?”
I shrugged at him. “I’ll think about it. I’ve had a good time this summer.”
He gave me a look that had me thinking he had major plans for me. I let out a breath and waited for it. “I want to make you head of security for the rest of this season and add you to my management team next year. It’s hard to find good people, McShane, and you are good with people both on the job and at the venue.”
I had a feeling this was coming so I answered honestly. “I’d really love to help you out, Tyson, but this is supposed to be my ‘escape from responsibility’ job. I know that sounds shitty, but I’ve got too much on my plate to be any good to you.”
Tyson laughed. “I know, I know. I just thought I’d ask. Shit, I don’t fucking blame you one bit. Although, I don’t think I would have taken on another job to get away from it all. Don’t you have a lady?”
I rolled my eyes. “Damn! You, too? I just got chewed out by one of my grandmothers today for not giving her great grandk
ids yet! No! I’m not seeing anyone and the way my life is going, I’m never going to!”
Tyson got up from his seat behind the desk and came around the front to stand in front of me. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to add to your bullshit. My wife is bugging me for another kid right now so I hear you. It’s tough.”
I ran my hand back over my head and leaned back in the chair. “I’m sorry I snapped. Just feels like I’ve got it coming from every direction.”
He smiled at me. “I’m sorry, too. Hey, the job’s here if you want it, whatever you want. If things are mellow tonight, take off early and enjoy the show. You like these guys, right?”
I laughed. “I like it all, but yeah, I’m a rocker. Always have been. Thanks, I could use a beer later I think,” I said and he clapped me on the back.
“Then have one on me, alright? Just get us going tonight and then take off before Crüe starts. Go out there and enjoy yourself, my friend. You deserve it.”
Chapter Five
Stevie
“What do you think, the jeans or the skirt,” Maryland asked me, trying to get me dressed for the night.
“I don’t know! Nothing fits! I need to go shopping I guess.”
She was holding up a short denim skirt I happened to know was two sizes too big and a pair of black jeans that I wore while I was still pregnant, so those were a definite no.
“What am I going to do with you? You have to feel good in what you’re wearing or else you’re going to be miserable. And we can’t have that! This is your debut of your even hotter bod! We need to flaunt it!”
I sighed and flopped down on my bed. It was useless. “Forget it. Maybe I should just give you my ticket. You and Mike can go.”
She turned around and shot fire at me out of her eyes. “Stevie Nann Wilson! You get your scrawny ass off that bed and come find something you can live with! We’re going shopping this week. Even if you aren’t going back to work, you need to feel better. Clothes will definitely make you feel better.”
The Rock Season Page 4
