by Eden Butler
“For all you die-hard shock rock lovers out there who have wondered when Dash Justice would surface after that scandalous sex tape story, your wait is over. According to his label, Riptide, Justice and his band have signed on to do the reunion of the Savage Freaks tour, set to launch this summer. This tour promises to be a riot with the return of its founder, Gunnar Bloody, just to be released from his stint in Rikers Island for assault.”
The clang of the plate I held as it hit the floor was deafening. “Son of…”
“What?” Iris cried, dropping the knife. “You’re touring while Wills…”
“No!” I shook my head, looking between Iris and my father. “I never said…”
“You’ve decided then?” my father said, leaning back in the recliner. There was a definite disappointed scowl he tried and failed to hold off his face.
“Decided what?” Iris threw down the cucumber in her hand, and it rolled onto the floor. “And with that asshole? What happened to ‘nothing else matters but mi familia?’ Was that just some bullshit you said to get me to stop crying?”
“You made her cry?” Wills moved the guitar to rest against the recliner and tried to get up, stumbling once before I caught him.
“No. I didn’t.” The noise of Gunnar’s latest release boomed through the speakers, and I grabbed the remote from the side table and clicked off the set. “I didn’t make her cry,” I told my father before I watched Iris, shoulders lowering when she pulled a dish towel from the counter and wiped her hands dry. She already had her bag over her shoulder before I could stop her from leaving the kitchen.
“Well, go on then. Go after her, mate,” Wills said, steadying himself against the island, and I heeded his words, trailing behind Iris before she hit the bottom step.
“Will you hang on a second?”
Iris turned, but she wouldn’t look at me, deciding instead to watch the alleyway and then the full moon over head.
“I didn’t agree to anything. Kenny wants me on the tour if I want to stay on with them. If not, I’ll have to buy out my contract.” I scrubbed my face, my fingers already stinging against the cold in the air. “I’ll be broke if I do that, so it’s complicated.”
“Money.” Iris shook her head, her nose turning red at the end as her breath fanned and fogged from her mouth. “Fame. Tours…God, Jamie, you haven’t changed, have you?”
I stepped back, feeling like I’d been slapped. I may haven’t made the most of myself in the past seven months, but I had changed. “Haven’t changed…” Why couldn’t she see it?
“Don’t act all hurt, Jamie. Shit, you won’t even walk around this town without your shades on.” Iris’s voice lowered, and when she spoke, each word felt like an accusation I didn’t deserve. “You’re still hiding. You always hide from the world…” She exhaled as though she was too exhausted to fight with me. As though all the energy had gone out of her. “I keep asking myself what I’m doing here. If it’s just for Wills. I told my mother…” She waved her hand, deciding to keep whatever she was going to say to herself. “She thinks you’re trying, but you know, no amount of fixed pickets and mended porch boards is going to change the fact that you have no clue what’s really important.”
“I know what’s important,” I yelled, pointing toward my apartment behind me. “My father…”
“You keep saying that and then you let something like this get announced. All those people who believed you hated Wills when you bailed on the interview are going to be proved right if you do that tour, especially with that disgusting piece of shit.” She backed away, tugging her coat closed before she turned, hands stuffed in her front pockets. “Are you ever going to stop disappointing me?”
Iris didn’t wait for an answer. She turned, leaving me on my own as she disappeared down the alleyway, away from me and all my meaningless excuses.
Chapter Fifteen
Wills wanted to celebrate making it another year. Sixty-one was a monumental feat, considering the life he’d led. Or so he promised.
“Never thought I’d make it to thirty, if I’m honest. Every decade after that is surplus.”
We were celebrating that surplus on a frigid, Saturday night in early February, with steaks, wine and the awkwardness that could only be provided by my mother, my ex-girlfriend, and her mother, who still wasn’t so sure she’d forgiven me for being a jackass, no matter how many chores I did around her property.
Luckily, my band filled in the lows of conversation, and Isaiah especially squashed the awkward silences when someone who didn’t know them asked my parents how they’d met or when they’d divorced.
“Never been married, mija,” my mother provided when Kyle’s wife sat next to my mama. “Too wild for marriage.”
On the tip of my tongue was “or a kid,” but I held that back, trying like hell to remind myself that we were all starting over, though Iris, at first, seemed to ignore that fact. She wasn’t as livid at me as she had been the week before, after the announcement, but I think her good mood had more to do with the wine she drank than with any ideas about starting over.
My father worked some serious magic, and Mrs. Daine, it turned out, was impressed by him, even laughed at his obvious flirting. To Iris, of course, Wills could do no wrong.
But it was my mother who brought the most calm, something that was out of character for her. She kept smiling at me, touching my arm, patting my face, and moved around my apartment, refilling drinks, making sure anyone who was hungry had a full plate. A couple of times, when someone commented on how generous she was, or how sweet, I’d catch Iris’s eye or Isaiah’s, and we’d shake our heads, or shrug. This new Juanita was nothing like the woman who made me. She was helpful; she listened, and advised even with the most mundane things. And, it turns out, she could be sentimental.
“I’d like to raise a glass to Wills,” she’d started, grabbing the attention of the loud crowd, and, as habit, my face flushed and I stood back, near the corner of the kitchen, waiting for whatever embarrassing thing would come out of her mouth.
She looked beautiful, dressed more conservatively than I’d ever seen her, in a modest pair of jeans and purple cardigan. Her hair fell around her waist and was straight and clean. Her makeup wasn’t overdone, and in her glass was pineapple juice, and nothing else. I’d been the one to make the drink for her.
“To the man who blessed my life. You may have brought the world together with your talent and music, but you brought the world to me with my son. Thank you, mi querido. I will forever be grateful.” She wiped her eyes, smile wide and brilliant. “To Wills.” Everyone echoed the toast, and my mother looked at me, winking. Iris came next to me, holding a full glass of red.
“I don’t understand how you could forgive her so quickly.”
We stood arm to arm, watching as Juanita hugged my father, as he rested his hand against her waist and whispered something that made her laugh. They had both destroyed me, in their own ways, but I couldn’t hate them. That took too much energy.
“She’s my mama. I’m not going to get another one.” I downed the rest of my bourbon, setting the empty glass on the counter in front of me. “Besides, you didn’t ask me why I forgave Wills so quickly.”
“Wills neglected you; he didn’t abuse you.”
“Semantics.” I turned to her, my fingers itching to touch her. “It’s a lot of work keeping up with the list of people who’ve wronged me. I’m tired of doing it. Especially since I know my name is at the top of so many similar lists.”
Iris turned from the crowd, watching me close. Something familiar caught in her eyes then, a glint of memory, a flash of light that reminded me of the way she used to see me. Before I destroyed everything.
“You get that from them.”
“What do I get?” I said, stepping closer. She didn’t retreat. She didn’t stiffen or frown, like our argument the other night had never happened. I wasn’t going to remind her of it and I wasn’t going to question why she looked at me the way she was.
“That charm, and the insufferable way you can smile or tell a joke or bite your damn lip, and every bad thing you’ve done are somehow erased from memory. Or at least, forgotten for a moment.”
“Am I charming you now?” I engaged that smile, because coño she was in a good mood, and I liked how her grin lit up her entire face. She was probably a little buzzed, and her anger only simmered instead of boiling up to the brim just then. That might change, but right then I took advantage of her mood.
“Well…” Iris laughed when I leaned toward her, and she pushed on my chest like she didn’t really want me so close but couldn’t find the fight to tell me to leave her alone.
“You’re drunk, florecita.”
“A little,” she admitted, moving the tips of her fingers over my arm.
“Then let me get you some coffee.”
She sighed, resting back against the stool next to the island as I walked to the other side of the room where Isaiah had set up a makeshift bar.
The crowd was getting louder, and someone cranked up the volume on the stereo, an old Crash Nelson song that made Wills bob his head and smile wide. It was a good night—the laughter and the buzz of conversation stirred something sweet inside me that I didn’t want to let go of. It was nice to feel connected again, to see people I loved and remember the good, to let go of the bad that seemed so constant in my life the past few years
The feeling was intoxicating, but even as I fixed Iris’s coffee, no sugar, two creams, I felt that sweetness dim. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and something unsettled and restless turned inside my guts as a loud voice shouted over the crowd across the room.
“Shit,” I said, forgetting the coffee as Winston and Gunnar walked through the door, and the crowd went quiet.
Chapter Sixteen
“Look at this motherfucker right here.” Gunnar shot the insult at me with a smile. It wasn’t something I hadn’t heard from him before. The man was rude. He was loud; the kind of guy that invaded your personal space just to have a conversation and didn’t back away no matter how many times you asked him to.
Gunnar was an asshole from Norway that had invaded the states at fifteen, living off an elderly aunt until she died and then spent the next five years as a street kid in L.A., having nothing left of the old lady’s estate after he’d shot up, snorted, and drank all of it. He’d been Asbjørn back then and lucked up when Ronnie discovered him singing on the corner of Hollywood and Vine for pocket change.
The tall, wannabe Viking walked toward me, arms wide open like I was supposed to run to him, welcoming him like he was an old friend and not just some jackass I used to party with when I was young and stupid, fucking or drinking anything that would put the memory of Iris in my rearview.
“Dude,” I said, holding a smile on my face that shook. I had no clue why Winston had brought Gunnar here, or what either of them expected from me by showing up. Still, he was the sort to cause a scene, and in Willow Heights, that was more noise than I wanted to make. I didn’t need this jackass raising hell and leaving me to clean up the mess I was sure he’d make. “Pai, how’s it going?”
“How’s it going? Ah, motherfucker, I’m out and ready to party.” He tightened an arm around my neck, hugging me as he pounded a fist against the back of my shoulder. “You asshole, yeah? What are you doing having a party and not inviting me over? I’m out now. I could use a party.”
He turned then, ignoring Isaiah when my cousin glared at him, and Gunnar took Isaiah’s bottle of Patron and guzzled down half of it before I could extract it from his hand.
“Easy, acho. Chill.” I waved off my cousin when he stepped forward, ushering Gunnar to the sofa and away from my band with Winston at my elbow. “What the fuck are you doing, bringing this pendejo to my home?” I asked the man, voice low. “I don’t need the headache he’ll cause in my hometown.”
“Relax. Kenny just thought Gunnar could encourage you to sign up for the tour.” The big man eyeballed one of the girls who’d joined Kyle’s wife and the other girlfriends, licking his lips when he caught sight of someone who must have met with his approval. To Gunnar, Winston passed a joint, and the Norwegian lit it up, right there in the middle of my living room, ignoring the frown he got from my mother when he blew smoke in her direction.
“Kenny’s already telling people I’ve signed up. Without giving me a heads-up.” To my right, Gunnar inhaled the joint, laughing when my mother told him he was rude for smoking that “thing” in the middle of her son’s party.
“Mama,” I cautioned, eager to keep the peace, and she shook her head, moving from the sofa to sit next to Wills on the recliner. I didn’t care if Gunnar or Winston got offended by anyone telling them to leave. I was more worried about the shitstorm Gunnar could make. I’d seen firsthand a few years back what he was capable of, and it wasn’t pretty. It had taken his manager six months to settle the chaos that jackass left in hotel after hotel, when Gunnar set off on a three-week bender that ended with a fire, a pregnant minor, and the girl’s father, who went after the Norwegian with a shotgun.
The memory reminded me of Gunnar’s antics, and how nothing could make him remorseful. Even two years at Riker’s. Thinking of that, I jerked a look over at Iris, frowning when I spotted her expression. Gunnar was the last person she wanted to see, I knew that. He’d spent months locked up for hurting someone she cared about, all because he didn’t know how to take no for an answer.
“Hang on a sec,” I told Winston, heading straight toward Iris, bypassing the looks I got as I crossed through the crowd. When I reached her, Iris already had a slow twitch pulsing under her right eye and I knew something vicious was itching to leave her mouth. “Mami…”
“You invited that asshole here?”
“You know I didn’t.”
She kept her gaze focused, razor sharp as she watched him, and I pulled her aside, drawing her away from the crowd to look down at her. “Please don’t read anything into this. Winston just showed. I didn’t know…”
She didn’t slur when she spoke, and the glare she shot at Gunnar was steady. His appearance seemed to sober her, and it took the teasing light from her earlier expression. “Old habits, Jamie,” she said, her voice low, as though she hadn’t meant for me to hear her. Then, Iris looked at me, the tension I’d seen from her when she first came to the hospital to see Wills, back to harden her features. “They never die.”
“What?”
She didn’t look mad. Iris looked, in fact, a little defeated, beyond any surprise or expectation and I hated that look. It didn’t belong on her face. “You left me messages telling me how you wanted to be who you were. You said the life you led, the music you made, and the company you kept wasn’t enough anymore. You told me it would never be enough for you.”
I stepped back, my chest feeling tight at Iris’s confession. “You listened to them?” I asked, wanting to touch her right then. Wanting to kiss her and swear I’d meant every word I’d told her in those messages.
But she closed her eyes, folding her arms like she’d gotten cold in just those few seconds talking to me. Like her small revelation wasn’t important. “You’re not finished with Dash yet, are you?”
“It’s…not that simple,” I told her, because it wasn’t. I wanted to work. I wanted to avoid losing everything I had because I refused to do one tour. “Sometimes we have to give the devil his due.”
“That devil almost killed my friend.” Her voice rose over the crowd, and I could feel the stares and judgement of the people I loved on my back. It wasn’t a good feeling.
“Iris…please,” I said, reaching for her, trying to hide the disappointment I felt when she jerked out of my grasp. “It’s one tour and then I can walk away. Completely.”
“It’s always one more tour, one more record. It’s always another excuse for why you have to put yourself first. Another reason to hide who you are from the world.”
“Fuck, Iris, isn’t this what you wanted for me?” I leaned closer,
so only she could hear me. “Isn’t this life why you and Isaiah lied to me about being together? Because you wanted me to live the life I wanted, and now…you think I should give all that up and go back to what I was before? You think I want to be poor and destitute, depending on other people for food and shelter? Shit, what do you want from me, really?”
There was no noise in the room then. There was only the silence left by our argument and the clink of glasses and ice behind me. Iris watched me close, expression empty, and I hated that she wasn’t mad. I hated that she seemed to feel nothing at all.
“I want what I’ve told you I wanted for seven months. I want you to leave me alone.”
Then I realized, right then, I’d never make up for what I’d done. I’d never be trusted. Not with Wills, and not with her. No matter what I did, it wouldn’t be enough. I could try. I could work and sacrifice and spend the rest of my life trying to prove I wasn’t the monster she’d made me out to be, and still, it would be there. In the back of her mind, she’d only expect the worst.
I didn’t stop her when she left, and I didn’t turn to face anyone behind me. I followed behind far enough that Mrs. Daine passed me by, and I watched both women get in Iris’s car and drive away. Then I went into the record shop, ignoring the party. Forgetting the pendejos who’d ruined the night. I went into that shop and finished the song I’d been writing for her.
I’d walked away once and thought it might break me. I could probably do it again. I didn’t want to, but as I sat on that metal stool, in that frigid shop, with darkness surrounding me, I realized Mrs. Daine had always been right. I’d never measure up. Hurt kept coming from me, and it always landed on Iris. It was time I redirected where that hurt landed.
Chapter Seventeen
