“Oh that’s great, honey! Isn’t that great, Gary?” mom prods.
“Yeah, spectacular,” he remarks. “You still following that girl around?”
“How is that I’ve been friends with that girl for close to twenty years and you still can’t remember her name?” I ask.
“Henley Hendrix. That’s her name. Some kinda name if you ask me,” he insults.
“What’s wrong with her name?” I ask.
“Too much ‘Hen’ in one name.”
“What the fuck kinda sense does that even make?” I raise my voice.
“Now listen here, you won’t talk to me like that in my house, boy,” he spits.
Mom rounds the corner again, “Now boys, let’s not start.”
I take a deep breath and wish like hell Henley was here. She always comes home with me so I don’t have to face them alone. I’ve never had to ask her, she jumps in the car with me when I announce my destination. I’m mad as hell at her right now, and I wish I wasn’t because I need her like hell. It makes me a tad bit angrier at her. I need her and she can’t be here because I’m already mad that she tried to kill herself, or die, or whatever the fuck she did. It’s all getting blurry now. I am fully aware this makes no sense.
Lunch is served which is great because as long as we are stuffing our mouths we don’t have to speak to one another. Fucking great! As you can see my father is a dick. He signed his soul over to Uncle Sam and spent years as a marine travelling all over the world killing God knows who. Mom coped with the help of Mr. Boston’s cheap ass vodka, nasty shit really. The only people who raised me are Henley’s parents and grandparents. Henley saved me, but fuck her because I’m still mad and shit.
“So, son, have you decided what you will do when this rock star gig burns itself out?” my father asks.
I ignore him, because thinking about my dream no longer being a possibility hurts, and he knows it. He’s pushing my buttons. Breathe man. Do not punch your old man out. It will upset your mom and she might start drinking again. I take one deep breath and shovel food in my mouth.
“You hear me?” he asks.
Are you blind? I’m ignoring you asshole. See? Ignoring. Ham, bread, corn. Ham, bread, corn. Ham, bread, corn.
“You will not come into my home and disrespect me. I asked you a goddamn question and you will answer it,” he yells as his fist comes down on the table like a sledgehammer.
I drop my fork on my plate, push back from the table, and try to choose my words carefully. I want to utter the words I’ve crafted in my mind for fifteen years, yet I’m never able to vocalize them. They may be shitty parents, but they are my parents. I can’t bring myself to disrespect them, although they disrespected my life since the day I was born. I once again swallow the insults blended into truths and painful revelations.
I stand and lean over my mother to kiss her cheek. “Thanks for lunch mom.”
“Don’t go, Kip,” she whispers quietly.
“How about I take you shopping and we’ll catch dinner too?” I ask to appease her.
“Sounds good. You’ll call?” she asks unsure if I will call her.
“Yeah, mom. How about we plan for Saturday?” I ask.
Dad scoffs, and mom pats me on the shoulder and agrees to a date for Saturday.
I get the fuck out of there before I lose my temper.
I find myself in Red’s studio banging the hell out of my drums. There is no song, just beating the shit out of my kit. I have no idea how long I sit there pouring my anger and resentment into the heads. A hand clamps down on my left wrist preventing me from slamming the sticks down one more time. I open my eyes to see Koi.
“Grandma has dinner ready. Red said if you hit those damn things one more time he’s shoving the snare up your ass.”
“Won’t fit dumb ass.”
“You want to tell Red that?” he asks.
“Nope, I don’t feel like getting my ass kicked by an old man today.”
“Let’s eat,” he instructs.
We walk down the small path that connects the house to the studio.
“What crawled up your ass?” Koi asks.
“Had lunch with my parents today.”
“Fuck, dude. Hen usually goes with, yeah?”
“Yeah, but went by myself this time,” I say.
“Want to grab a drink and some strange after dinner?” he asks.
“Uh… hell yeah!”
Dinner is amazing as usual. Their grandmother cooks like Paula fucking Dean without the annoying accent that makes me want to punch her in the throat. I head home to a house Jagger and I share out in the country close by. I need to clean up and get my swag on. When you are born this amazing, there isn’t much else you can do, but chicks dig cologne and when my hair is slicked back showing off my undercut. I’m not sure why that does it for them, don’t really give a shit either, I just need the panties to drop and the legs to spread.
Chapter 5
Henley
Ian: Are you really back in Georgia?
Me: Yeah.
Ian: I was just in a store where I bought the latest issue of Playboy. Want to guess who graces the cover as the “Baddest Girl of Rock-n-Roll”?
Me: They did not call me that!
Ian: I am afraid so love.
Me: Fuck.
Ian: I’m digging the picture where they have you in the boxing gloves. Oh, I have enjoyed that picture thoroughly this morning.
Me: TMI
Ian: When are you coming to see me?
Me: Soon. You have a birthday coming up as I recall.
Ian: I do. Would you like to know what I want?
Me: I’m afraid to ask.
Ian: Ok, fine, twist my arm. I want you in nothing but a big red bow.
Me: While that is flattering, you don’t want me. I’m a mess right now. Going through a rough time.
Ian: And exactly how does that change how I feel about you?
Me: It should. I’ve made some pretty big mistakes lately.
Ian: Come see me on set.
Me: I will soon. I promise. I need to get my head straight first.
Ian: Let me help, Hen. Worried.
Me: Doing this for me. I need to do this by myself, but thank you.
Ian: You’re my favorite rock star. xoxo
Me: You’re my favorite movie star. Xoxo
I set the phone down and get back to work pulling wood from the stables. It’s a backbreaking process, but it keeps my head in the right place. Once I remove the damaged wood, I replace it. The radio is blaring out Rise Against, and I work through the course of three albums. I sing along as I work on the stall. When the iPod falls silent, I find myself lost in thought. I realize I don’t want to get lost in the scary place that is my mind, so I turn on some Allman Brothers and keep working.
When the day has warmed, and the sun is at its brightest, I feel a tap on my shoulder and almost jump out of my skin.
“Easy,” Jagger says putting his hands on my shoulder for comfort.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I say breathless.
He looks around to check my ass and grins mischievously. I roll my eyes at his smartassness. I can’t hear him over the music so nothing else passes between us. He hands me a plate of food and I nod in thanks. I drop the hammer in my hand and sit on a bale of hay. I uncover the plate to find my grandmother’s fried chicken and some vegetables. The woman can cook.
As I eat, I watch Jagger pull off his shirt. Fuck me. He picks up where I left off and measures wood, cuts it, and nails it in place. Watching his muscles move starts a fire down below and it spreads quickly to my belly. I still find him overwhelming in the attraction department. I could throw him on this bale of hay, ride him for a good ten minutes, and feel a release I haven’t felt in months. No, that’s a bad idea. Sex is not a good way to deal with your problems. It is no different that numbing it with blow.
I place my paper plate in
a nearby trash can and get back to work. Jagger and I work around each other for hours. I can hear him singing along to the music. We take turns measuring and cutting the wood and then work together to hang each piece. It makes the process easier when there is help; however, when his skins glistens with a slight sheet of perspiration, I find that to be more difficult.
I have self-control. I am a grown ass woman. I can resist Jagger Carlyle and my tendencies to use his body for my pleasure. Stop thinking about pleasure and Jag in the same thought. Not good. Will power. I have will power. I can… not fuck him.
I make several trips to the stable restroom when I need pep talks. I used to do this when I wanted to snort more coke, now I’m hiding in the restroom to keep from having sex. I have issues to say the least.
Time hasn’t changed just yet, so the sun will fade around 8:00. Red calls my phone and advises Jagger and I need to clean up and be at dinner by 7:30.
“Thanks for the help today,” I say once I turn the stereo off.
“No problem. You can get more done with a little help,” he shrugs.
“Yeah.”
“See you at dinner?” he asks unsure of what else to say.
“Yeah.” Oh I am quite the wordsmith.
He turns away from me, heading for his vehicle, and I feel like I’ve offered nothing in way of conversation after he helped me. It makes me feel discourteous.
“Hey, Jag? Be careful driving home, okay?” I fidget with the ring on my thumb.
He smiles his biggest smile. You remember what I told you about his smile, right? I move my legs to assess my panties are indeed still in place. Check.
“I always am, babe,” he says and enters his car.
Not fucking him will be difficult.
***
Jagger
All my band mates and Hen’s parents and grandparents are in attendance for dinner. Laughter comes easy around these people, and while Kip and Henley still haven’t spoken, he still entertains us with his antics. I don’t know how one person can have so much energy.
Henley is quiet during dinner, but speaks when spoken to. She helps her grandmother with the dishes, and the men gather around a table on Red’s screened in porch. Red decides he wants to take all of our money so he calls for a game of poker. Two hours later, I reenter the home in search of the restroom, and glance around for Hen.
“She’s not here,” her grandmother says.
I turn to see her sitting in the chair she always rests in.
She smiles a small smile, “You have this look on your face when you’re seeking her out. You’ve had that same look since you were a kid. It’s almost as if you can sense if she’s around, or maybe you’re just looking for your other half.”
“Sometimes it is a little of both,” I confirm.
“It’ll all work out, darlin’.”
I nod, “Yes ma’am.”
“She sits out on her dock with Cash a lot of nights. I guess she’s meditating. I don’t know much about meditating. I asked her about it last week and she said she just closes her eyes and blocks out the world. She goes to some other place and finds peace. I was curious if she finds peace, then why does she keep doing it? She said living drains that peace away little by little during the day. I guess it does her good.”
“It seems to, yes,” I agree.
“What happened to her out there?” she asks.
“In California?”
“Yes.”
I sigh, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. I peer down at my shoes searching for the words that can take the sting out of the truth.
“She sure hurts. Heartache is the worst kinda hurt? Ain’t a damn pill in the world that can take that hurtin’ away. Time heals all wounds, but you gotta be willing to let time do its job,” she imparts her wisdom.
I nod my head in agreement.
“We all hurt the people we love. Wouldn’t hurt near as much as it does if we didn’t love. I’m not sure what all’s been goin’ on with my grandbaby, but I think you’re a part of that. You didn’t do wrong by Henley, it was a sticky situation with that girl and her baby. Still hurt her like hell I imagine. Just remember the truth can hurt like hell sometimes, but at least you know what you’re dealing with. Lies are something awful hard to get over.”
“Yes ma’am, I learned a very valuable lesson,” I admit.
“That’s what is important. Life is all about trying to be the best you, you can be. Trials and tribulations is a part of that growth. You two will be just fine. Remember you gotta let time do what it’s supposed to do.”
I give her grandmother a hug, find the restroom, and announce my departure. I drive down to Henley’s home and park on a path to the pond most people don’t use.
I walk through the dark woods, using my cell as a light, and when I come to a swing at the end of the path, I sit. I find her easily enough on the pond, illuminated by security lights. Her own dock is brightly lit with several lanterns. She almost seems to glow among them.
I sit for half an hour when movement catches my eye and turning, I find Kip. He takes a seat beside me on the swing, and we sit together in the darkness and silence watching our favorite person in the entire universe.
“I miss her,” Kip says softly.
“Me too.”
“You see how she looks at Red? Like he could do no wrong? He is invisible to her. Super human. He seems all-knowing, insightful, and the wisest of men. He could tell her the sky is green and she would believe him because he’s never led her astray.”
“Yeah. I guess we all sort of see him like that,” I say.
“I look at her like that. I have since we were kids. She fucked that up for me and I can’t seem to get my head around it. It doesn’t make a lick of sense, but that’s how I feel.”
“She’s a human being, Kip. She’ll make mistakes and go through difficult times. She’s stuck by you during your worst times. She’s always had your back and never walked away from you. You should keep that in mind.”
“She’s not only human. She saved my life. She saved my life more than once. She saved my life in more than one way. Right before my twelfth birthday, my father left to go to the Middle East again. The entire two months he spent home, he ignored mom’s drinking. He continued to let me cook, clean, and pay the bills like it was normal for an eleven year old boy to do that. Mom almost drank herself to death one night, and with the help of Henley’s parents I got her to a hospital, and then to a rehab program. They helped me contact my father. Man when he came home he was so fucking pissed. He wasn’t as pissed at mom as much as he was pissed at me. He asked me how I could let this happen. He blamed me for letting her embarrass him. I didn’t understand how I was supposed to control her. I was the kid. Hen got wind of that shit, and as soon as mom checked herself out of rehab for one last bottle of vodka, she lit into their asses. My dad attempted to cut her off and Red Newman only had to shake his head and he shut the hell up. Henley helped me pack my shit, and they took me to her house. Hell, I basically already lived there, but she gave me a few years of childhood, a happy childhood. I didn’t worry about bills or how if I would eat that day or not, and it was freeing.”
“You should remember that when you think of Henley. She fucked up, but she’s still here, and she’s trying to work through her stuff. Give her the chance she gave you in life,” I suggest.
“Yeah,” he sighs.
We sit there for a longer watching Henley row back to the bank. She ties off the dock and picks up a lantern as she and Cash mount a four-wheeler to drive back to her house. I see her porch light go out through the sparsely arranged trees.
Good night, baby.
Chapter 6
Henley
My alarm screams before the sun rises. Cash lifts his head off the bed and looks at me as though I’ve grown another head. His head finds the bed two seconds later. I pad to the kitchen and press the power button on the Keurig, place a cup in the machine, an
d wait patiently on my precious coffee to brew. Breathing in the aroma, my vision seems to clear a bit. Once I’ve added milk and sugar, I throw a robe on and sit on my front porch in a swing and drink my favorite beverage. The fog clears from my head, and a second cup gives me the juice I need to get moving.
After a shower, Cash and I head to the stables. He greets the horses, his friends, and finds a tennis ball to pass the time. Before I can crank the music up, I hear a car’s engine approach the stables. I step outside, shielding my eyes from the bright beams. Jagger emerges from their brilliance, toting a tool belt.
“Good morning,” he smiles.
“Mornin’,” I smile back.
He hands me a cup of joe, “I figured you’ve already had a pot by this point, but I grabbed some on my way here and figured you could always use another cup.”
I laugh, “You know me so well.”
His smile fades, and his eyes shine brightly, “That I do.”
Awkward. I clear my throat, pretend not to notice the discomfort that stretches between us, and offer another thanks for the coffee. Heading back into the stable, I press the power button on the stereo and wait for Jimi Hendrix to blare through the speakers. Once Jimi begins his musical journey, I begin measurements on the stall that needs to be completed. Jagger follows my lead. It’s not long before he loses his shirt, and I remember the covers from all my mother’s romance novels. The tool belt rides low on him, giving him the Harlequin novel front cover appearance. Jesus Christ in a handbag.
Around ten, Koi shows, nods, and gets to work on the stalls. Cam shows an hour later with Kathrine in tow. We work with the music blaring, speaking little. At twelve, Kip shows with food. The volume on the music is turned low, and the work crew greets Kip with hungry stomachs, but I continue to work because I don’t want to assume Kip thought enough of me to get me food too. I’m not sure what to say to my best friend, and I sure as hell will not be the one to start a conversation. He walked out of a hospital when I almost died, and I’d like to say I’m angry as hell about it, but I’m more afraid than anything of further rejection.
Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4 Page 60
