Scary Modsters... and Creepy Freaks: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection)

by Diane Rinella

Niles pulls back and his eyes again lock into mine. Dear God, there is something about him that radiates amazingness. The tears come harder than ever, for both of us.

  So this is what everybody raves about. Lord, I can't blame them, but it poses a question. If being near someone overwhelms you with love, why wouldn't you tell her how she has given you a precious gift? We have this ridiculous notion that it is fine to have sex on the third date, yet we're supposed to take months to say I love you. We have it all backwards. This woman right here in my arms, the one who tried to stand by me, the one for whom I risked my life because she drove me to better myself—she is my reason for going on, and I will not shy from telling her. If everyone follows the rule of never being the one to say it first, the most important words in the world would never be said.

  "I love you, Rosalyn."

  My God. Such strong words, and so soon.

  No, with what Niles and I have been through it's not soon at all. This man has shown me so much. He makes me want to overcome my obstacles so that I can be like him. As I begin to say the words my voice cracks. "I love you, too, Niles, and I love you, Peter. Thank you for giving me faith in love again, and thank you for preserving us."

  Fresh Air

  What else about me has changed?

  With reluctance, my view pulls away from Rosalyn's beauty so that I can take in the room. Swing-era wood dressers, a marble trinket box, perfume bottles in a myriad of shapes, and books on music and film surround us, but it's her desk that draws me towards it. A waterless vase holds brittle flowers—flowers from me. She saved them—every last one. What really gets me is the drawing she did of me with M&M's. I look like a lost little boy. Do I still appear that way now?

  The sketch of Peter fills me with both love and loss. Jane, you must be somewhere in my memory. Why can't I remember the color of your eyes, the smell of your hair, or the sound of your voice? This sketch proves if Rosalyn's memories of Peter live within her then you're within me, somewhere.

  The scrap of paper Peter placed in my hand reveals his final introspection, reduced to a scribble of ink.

  Use your intelligence and passion like a magic wand. Change the world.

  Rosalyn tugs my hand. "You okay?" Her other hand dabs away my tears. They emit sparks of love that warm my entire being. This is what Peter gave us by leaving his memories of Jane behind.

  I can't change the world if I've never experienced it. "Pack your bags. We have big things ahead of us."

  The chill of the salty breeze. The golden sun glowing among cloud-dotted azure. The fresh air that wafts over me. The rumble of the Muni. This is the real San Francisco.

  "Come on," Rosalyn says while pulling on my hand. We head down Haight, past all of the little shops, both ancient and trendy, on our way to a place of magic. "This way. Just a few more blocks."

  Rosalyn's green and yellow paisley dress billows in the breeze. She perfectly looks the part. My beautiful girl with the beads around her neck and buttercups in her hair. Their glow reflects off of her cheeks that have been kissed by the sun.

  Artful painted ladies of brilliant colors surround us as we stroll to the tune of a street musician playing drums made of plastic tubs. The physical beat vibrates in my chest while the power behind it brings my senses to life. Does this man know the control he possesses over my emotions?

  All of the sights and sounds paint my heart and fill my ears, but what rings in my head is Quicksilver Messenger Service with John Cipollina's guitar and Dino Valenti crooning the lyrics to "Fresh Air." Its sound reflects a moment in time, a unique drop of life on this tiny planet.

  Finally, the three-story palace stands proudly before us, and we take seats on the curb across from seven ten Ashbury Street. I should be kneeling. The deep purple, lavender, rose, and metallic gold of The Grateful Dead House enliven my spirit.

  I pull Rosalyn's head onto my shoulder while dreaming of the music that once poured out of the turn-of-the-century home and into the streets. "Of all the things we've said to each other, the night you first came to my house and we talked about this place stayed with me. You described San Francisco by the way it felt, and I realized I had never really been here, or anywhere for that matter." I hand an earbud to Rosalyn. With the press of my iPod's button, Workingman's Dead begins. We sit—listening, staring, and dreaming.

  The spot takes on a new dimension when "Uncle John's Band" begins. I imagine the sound coming from inside. My mind seeks to see what once was and the hopes of those who walked up those stairs. Did they know that in some way they were changing the world? Did they have any idea how many lives would be altered because of the music pouring out of those orange-trimmed windows? Not just the lives of the musicians, but also those of the followers—the people who traveled the world supposedly just to see a band play. But it meant so much more. It was the birth of a peaceful community that experienced the world instead of sitting behind a desk.

  Never before has Uncle John's message of taking his children home to peace spoken to me. This is what Peter was trying to tell me with that note. I'm in the wrong kind of law. I should be helping people enjoy the precious things this world has to offer. "I'm going to uphold Peter's wishes—my wishes—and change my focus to civil rights. I don't care if it means less pay or if I'm an old dog who now needs to learn new tricks. Peter has shown me I can't be detached any more. It's time to grow." Rosalyn's eyes well with pride. They do that every time I mention how I've changed. "You okay with this?"

  She smiles, and the water streams down her cheeks. "Of course I am. I want anything that makes you happy. I'm by your side the entire way."

  Faithful

  "Hmm …" Niles moans. "We've been curled up so much I'm losing track of the days."

  Though it has been a week of bliss I'm all too aware of what day tomorrow is for a very solemn reason, meaning "Today is Friday, honey."

  "Riiight. Two days in San Francisco followed by three days in court, followed with I don't have to be anywhere until ten so stay in bed with me and show up late for work."

  "You've forgotten about the six nights I've spent in your arms."

  "I don't dare forget a thing. Peter taught me to cherish every memory. Lord knows I have enough bad ones from the stupid stuff I've done, so I'm clinging to the now."

  I wish my quest for self-forgiveness would bring me as much success. However, I'm now daring myself to blow away the layer of darkness added on by Niles. I don't really want to talk about this, but we've agreed to lay the foundation for the best relationship possible.

  "I need to let something go, but it won't happen without your help." I pause and brace myself. While the answer is kind of water under the bridge anything related to Joseph rips at my heart. "Why did you open that box in my closet?"

  Niles rolls onto his back. His face contorts with a cringe that leads into a gulp. Does he think I'll hate him?

  His eyes start to close, but he forces himself to face me. "It's kind of complex, but truthfully—" he rolls onto his back again, "this is so lame." He sucks it up and faces me. "I was desperate to find a way to win you over. With the box being under your lingerie, I thought maybe something in there held the key to keeping you around until I could figure everything out."

  After spending the last few months learning who Niles really is I find his untypical, typical guy move to be hysterical. "You mean you wanted to lure me into a relationship with kinky sex?"

  A cringe hisses through his teeth. "Sorry. I still feel dirty about it."

  His sincerity is touching. If he had said this a week ago, it might be different, but now … Yeah, I can move past this. "Well, maybe it would've worked if you had looked in the right place. I keep all that stuff in the nightstand."

  Niles bolts up. The sheet falls to his waist as he yanks open the drawer. His eyes grow wide in response to the contents as mine grow wide at the beautiful specimen in my bed. This trim yet beveled sculpture was forged by a master and then coated in golden silk.

  Okay, truthfully, he's a
little thin, but I'm good.

  "What the hell is all this? Dear God, did you rob a porn store?"

  "They are called adult book stores, and no, I didn't rob one. I happen to appreciate a variety of men and it would be disrespectful if each one didn't have his own symbol of the place he holds in my heart, or rather, in my body."

  "These all represent different guys? Dear Lord, there are like three dozen in here."

  I'm dying to hold up a mirror so he can see his expression. I also wish he'd stop staring at my flushing face. "There are only seven. I'm not exactly a harlot."

  Niles laughs. With a touch as soft as a cloud he raises my chin so our lips touch. It removes some of my reddening. "Should I pretend I didn't see those?"

  "Nah, it's fine." I'm fine too. At least I am as far as this is concerned.

  "Okay, in that case, I'm asking." He grabs a vibrator. "Who does this represent?"

  I throw the cover over my face and mutter, "Jerry Only."

  "That creepy guy from The Misfits?"

  Rapidly I nod. My face is still buried in shame while my insides are laughing.

  "What about this red one?"

  I peek out. "It's not red, it's cherry. There's your clue."

  "Huh?"

  No! Don't tell me the merger fried the most important part of his mind. "Think, 'Cherry Bomb.' "

  "Last I checked, The Runaways were all women, so which one is—"

  I lose the makeshift mask of the sheet. "Niles, do not make me explain myself!"

  "Lord!" Niles tosses the vibrator back in the drawer. I love this diversion of happiness he brings me. "All right, who gets the honor of being the bad ass this gargantuan one is named after? Geez, does this thing even fit?"

  "Aren't you done yet? This game has gone on long enough." I yank the black bad boy from him and slam it in the drawer before burying myself back in the bed.

  "Oh, no." He opens the drawer and points to the mammoth thing. "Who is that one?"

  "Led Zeppelin."

  "All four of them?"

  "Hey, we all have our fantasies. Do you have any that you would like to share?" Niles shuts the drawer and crawls back under the covers. "Yeah, I thought so."

  His arms wrap around me, brightening the darkness of the cloud hanging above. "I really wish you'd let me stay with you tonight."

  "I can't, Niles. With all that's gone on I need to step back and absorb everything. Tomorrow is going to be a tough day, and …" and we won't recover if he blows it again. "I'm just going to shut myself away until it's over."

  It's sweet that Jacqueline is trying to disguise the fact she has called to check up on me, but it would be so much better if I could crawl into a hole of isolation for a few days.

  "It's not that it's bad," she says, "it's that I'm unfulfilled and not seeing any room for advancement. My chances would be better if I were in the same position elsewhere."

  The tone in Jacqueline's voice translates stronger than her words. I totally get it. We are both wasting away in our current jobs. The fact I am again rebooting my computer that keeps locking up reinforces that. "It's the same here. I love the people I work with, but this isn't the life I want."

  "Then let's go on a quest to start our own business. With your degree in business and mine in marketing we are already part of the way there. Let's start saving money with the plan that the moment we find the right avenue, we hop on it! Are you with me?"

  This pep talk is a little on the much side even for my Drill Sargent. "Jacqueline, this isn't some crazy idea to get my mind off of everything, is it?" Darla dashes in while waiving a piece of paper and motioning me to cover my mouthpiece.

  "No, Rox. I am dead serious," Jacqueline continues as Darla smacks the paper on my desk. "We're always talking about taking chances. Frankly, this isn't just to boost you, it's to boost me as well. We've spent decades growing up together. Let's not stop now."

  "Guess who is here completing his employee orientation package," Darla whispers. She points to the résumé for the hot guy who came in here a few weeks ago—the one she held on to just in case he was needed. "Think Jacqueline would like him?"

  I nod with gusto. With all the stability on that résumé and his desire to move forward, yeah, there's a damn good chance she would. Darla is brilliant!

  Something in my brain clicks. No, Darla's not brilliant, she's ingenious! Maybe my current mental state is clouding my sense of good judgment, but she and Jacqueline may have planted a seed for our futures.

  My computer finally does something definitive in the form of presenting me with the blue screen of death. Omens surround me, and I'd be a fool not to get my head out of my butt and act. I look to Darla while speaking to both her and Jacqueline. "Okay, I'm in. Start dreaming."

  Five o'clock creeps its way into the day, and what is the kick-off to two days of fun for the rest of the world is the moment that deepens my suffering. Once I leave work there's not much to keep me from thinking about tomorrow.

  I've been so intent on staying busy that my desk is nearly spotless. I head down the hall while practically begging for someone to give me a reason to stay, but everyone is leaving, and being here seems futile.

  Existing seems futile.

  Witnessing all of the Friday enthusiasm that others display while exiting the building is salt in my wounds. I've been that happy before. I've been that happy all week. In fact, since Niles returned my life has become a carnival filled with cotton candy and lineless thrill rides. Right now though, happiness seems wrong, not just for me but for everyone. Don't they know that two years ago the sweetest little angel was brought into the world only to be ripped from it two short weeks later? Everyone should have witnessed his beauty.

  The click of my heels echoes in the desolate hallway. It's sterile-looking walls seem the perfect reflection of the inside of my heart—the perfect place to sit and cry alone. Regardless, I move on exactly I promised myself I would.

  My drive home is spent in silent mourning. Music means life, and because of my negligence someone's life ended.

  Jacqueline sits on my bed with my most colorful dress sitting in her lap. "You're late!"

  "Late for what?"

  "Okay, you're not really late, but I know you're going to try to wuss out of going tonight. Darla and I have decided you don't have a choice. I've already pulled out one of your favorite outfits, and the second you get done putting on all that crazy eyeliner you wear with this thing, we're off to Mulligan's."

  "I don't want to go out right now. I'd just cry off my eyeliner and people will think I'm Alice Cooper. Besides, with the mood I'm in I'm not so sure I should be drinking."

  She pops up and tosses me the dress. "All the more reason not to cry. If you want to stay sober, I'll do it with you. Besides, I've barely seen you since that weirdness with Niles happened which, by the way, I still can't get my head around no matter how many times you wackadoodles describe it to me."

  "Jacqueline, I really don't know about this."

  Her features soften as my Drill Sargent is replaced by the best friend anyone will ever have. She takes my hands, and her expression conveys the understanding that only she can have. "Knock it off, Rox. Tomorrow I'll stand by you each and every second and help you dry every single tear that I'll shed right along with you. However," she swallows back her own pain over losing her Godchild, "you were the best damn Mom in the universe, even if it only was for two weeks. Just know that, okay?" She heads out the door, sniffling away sorrow as she goes. "Five minutes!"

  Inside Mulligan's, Darla and Jacqueline do all they can to take my mind off the pain that won't lessen. They get me to check out guys, to laugh, to generally suck it up—and it's all a joke. Every bit of my participation is faked more for the sake of my friends than for myself.

  Jacqueline looks to Darla. "Why do you keep looking around the bar? Are you expecting someone?"

  "Nope, just checking out the scenery."

  "Why? I thought you were happy. You're not giving up on Chris alread
y, are you?"

  "Nah, everything is great. In fact, there really is something to this thing about allowing yourself to be happy."

  Jacqueline puts her hand on her friend's arm and squeezes. "I'm really happy for you."

  While honesty shines in her eyes I can also tell that Jacqueline's wishing she could get so lucky. We all wish it for her. Of all the people who deserve someone special in their life, Jacqueline is at the top of the list.

  Now that it has been mentioned, I'm also noticing how Darla keeps eyeing the place. I softly kick her under the table and shoot her a look asking what she is up to. With a demure wink she slurps her drink.

  Laughter fills the room as a group of guys enter. It's a bunch from the warehouse and the new hottie is right among the pack. Out of the corner of her eye Darla catches a glimpse and then shoots me a "don't say anything" glare. "Hey, Rox, did you hear about the latest pranks Oliver and I played on each other?"

  I play into it. "Lord, what now? You didn't follow through on your threat to exchange sweetener packets with salt in them for the ones he uses in his coffee, did you?"

  "God, what is it with you two?" Jacqueline asks.

  Darla's eyes subtly follow the guys. Casually she pulls her purse off of the back of her chair and rummages out a tube of lipstick. She dives back in, presumably for a compact, while her eyes keep roaming upward. "Well, I had to come up with something clever after he gave me—" Her hand slams onto the table, and with a hearty shove, the spider doll sails toward Jacqueline. It looks like a tarantula flying into her lap. Jacqueline jumps up with a shriek, accidentally shoving her chair back and cutting off the guy passing behind her. The act also lands her in his arms. "Are you okay?" the cute new warehouse guy asks.

  Jacqueline's eyes dart up to him while she's still in shock over the freakish doll. Her expression of terror dissipates only to be replaced by something entirely different—something that says, "My God, who are you?" The moment has them so captivated I feel I am witnessing the mysteries of the universe unraveling before me.