by Jesse Jordan
“I don't know,” I mutter. “I missed the fucking license plate, I really gotta work on my whole crimefighting skills.”
Ian laughs, catching his breath. “And I gotta work on running more. Jesus, how'd your little ass move so fast?”
“Little? I'm five ten, man. That's still above average. Not everyone's built like a Yeti, you know.”
Ian pats me on the back, his breath returning slowly. He's not much of a runner, but he's actually in decent shape. “Yeah well, starting tomorrow I'm going to start doing more cardio. Maybe I need to get me a bike or something because jogging kills my knees.”
“We'll figure something out for you, man. Come on, we've still got a gig to do,” I reply, walking back to the van with Ian. James has his phone out, putting it away when he sees us come back.
James sighs and picks up the piece of drum stand that he set down, putting it in the van. “Well, I'll give Larry a call after we get this loaded up, tell him to have the Gashouse people keep an eye out. Unfortunately, there isn't shit the police will do. You can't get a restraining order against someone just because you think they're a creepy bastard.”
“Which is the only way you survived your twenties,” Ian jokes to James, who snorts in amusement. “How many women did you perv on?”
“It was a very distinguished list, all fine, upstanding women.”
“Short list though.”
James snorts again, and even I grin at Ian's one liner. “You know Ian, you can be an asshole sometimes?”
“I know. Come on, let's get the rest of this loaded up so we can get out to Twenty-Nine Palms.”
It doesn't take us much longer, Ian and I have loaded up cars and vans for trips before. For the first four years the Fragments were around, we were our own roadies more often than not, and I haven't forgotten all the old habits, tying things down quickly and efficiently, making sure there's nothing that will slide around for James as he drives. It's just after ten when we finish up, and I slide the door closed, slamming it tight. “Okay, road trip time. Ian, are you driving, or am I?”
“I'll drive, my car's better for doing drive through burritos,” Ian notes, and I agree.
“You and Andrea....” Ian says as we pull up to a drive-through Mexican restaurant. I've learned to never discount anything this man says about wanting food, “you guys are looking more and more serious the more I see both of you.”
“It is serious, man. She's... Ian, I think she's my one,” I tell him, waiting while he orders. We've done this enough times he knows my order by heart, and after he gets four burritos (two for me, two for him) and drinks ordered, I continue. “I'm not saying things are perfect, I'm living in my garage for fuck's sake... but still, that's the way I feel.”
Ian nods, looking out the windshield at the taillights of the Prius in front of us, his eyes never wavering. I've seen him like this before, he's about to drop wisdom, and for a guy who's barely past twenty-six, he's got a lot of it. With a life like what his has been, even with as much as he's kept secret about his past, I can understand. “Good. She's good for you, Joey. You keep giving to others, and aren't taking anything for yourself.”
“Andrea needs things too, Ian. In case you forgot, I'm living in the garage that you helped me turn into a living space.”
The Prius pulls out, and Ian and I creep forward to await our food. When we stop, Ian speaks up again. “Real relationships are giving and taking on both sides. And I could see it as she and I did that little video interview for the website, she's giving to you as well. I don't know what, don't want to know what, but you two are good together.”
Our food comes, and Ian takes the bag, setting it in the console between us where the four paper wrapped burritos stand like slightly slumping trees. I take my drink and put it in the cup holder attached to the dash, thinking. “You don't mind? I mean Ian, Rocky and Cora... now me and Andrea, you're going to find yourself single and by yourself soon, things keep going this way.”
Ian laughs, taking a burrito out and tearing the paper, holding it in one massive hand while he steers us towards the freeway again. “Man, I'm never going to be the last single member of the band. In case you forgot, we've got James with us now too. If I can't find a girl before he does, I don't deserve to be in music.”
“Here's the beta on the website,” Andrea says, showing all of us her laptop. “What do you think?”
James looks it over, and I can tell already that he's impressed. “I like it. It's uploaded?”
“I've got it on the server, but it's not live yet,” Andrea says, taking her laptop back and closing it. “I wanted to make sure you guys approve before that happens.”
“I'm good,” Ian rumbles, wandering off to go set up his drum kit. He starts opening the cases and setting things up. He’s using an electronic kit tonight, which I know he hates, but it saves space.
“I'll take that as a rousing endorsement,” Andrea jokes as Ian walks away, looking at Rocky and James. “Guys?”
“It's good, really good,” Rocky says, smiling. “James?”
“I'm going to ask Larry to launch it live right around your wedding, Rock. It's a great way to combine real life good news with the relaunch, drive more traffic. Speaking as a publicist, of course.”
Andrea's smile grows, and she puts her laptop back in her bag, proud of her work. “Thanks, guys. Listen, my plan was to get some shots of you guys all setting up, maybe see if the Public Relations Office here will let me interview a few Marines about the fact you guys are playing the ball, and then cover the event itself.”
“In that?” I ask, surprised. Andrea's not dressed badly, but when she said she had something for the ball, I thought she was going to dress up more than a blouse and some slacks that make her legs look amazing, but at the same time are more daytime office work and not formal ball to me. Andrea raises an eyebrow, and I blush. “Sorry, you look amazing Andrea, but...”
“But the rest of my stuff is in Rocky's car, and I'm not showing any of you until it's time for the ball,” Andrea teases, winking. “Hope you have plenty of water for hydration, I'm planning on making you sweat Joey.”
Andrea goes over to Ian, taking my camera out of her bag and taking a few pictures before leaving the ballroom, Rocky, James, and I still speechless. “Was that the same casual, slightly shy, and the thankful woman I helped move into your house?” Rocky asks, snorting. “Looks like you woke up a fiery side to her.”
“All that Puerto Rican influence,” I joke, recovering. “I'm looking forward to seeing what she's got up her sleeve. James?”
“I'll escort her around the base if she's leaving here, I'm sure the PR Office won't mind if she talks to a few people, but you know Marines better than I do,” James says. “I agree, it's nice to see her blooming I guess is the best word.”
James leaves to follow Andrea, while Rocky and I start getting set up. Thankfully, a couple of guitars are nothing, and the ballroom has some people who are familiar with the sound system. We've still got three hours until the ball starts when we finish our sound checks, and Ian gives me a thumb’s up. Rocky is all smiles too, and I unsling my guitar, sighing happily. “Rocky, you don't mind playing a small ball like this?”
“You mean like playing my prom, or that impromptu bar job we did before Four Letters dropped?” Rocky asks, hopping down from the small stage that's been set up. “Man, this is what I got into music to do. Play for people who are going to enjoy what we're doing. Who cares if the crowd is twenty thousand or two thousand or two hundred? Hell, give me the right appreciation, and I'll play for a crowd of two that pays us in potato chips.”
“Good point,” I reply, setting my guitar aside. Other than me playing a version of the Marine Hymn, the set list we're going with is nothing hard, a few standards thrown in with a lot of our popular songs. We've played these songs at least a thousand times together, and I could play all of them nearly asleep. “I just hope I don't screw up my solo.”
“You'll play it with guts and
balls, two things Marines appreciate,” Rocky reassures me. “You sounded fine in practice, you'll do fine tonight.”
The door to the ballroom opens, and Andrea comes in with James, still smiling. “Hey guys, how's setup?”
“Just finished,” I reply, hugging Andrea when she gets close enough and giving her a kiss. “How were the interviews?”
“Pretty good. I got an offer for you guys. General McClintock offered to have you guys poke around a tank if you'd like. What do you say?”
I glance at Rocky and Ian, who are both grinning. “As long as we've got the time to change and get ready for the ball.”
“Follow me then,” Andrea says, taking me by the hand. James is also nodding happily as we leave the ballroom and are met by a group of Marines, a Captain, and two NCOs. They introduce themselves as members of the 1st Tank Battalion, and we jump in a couple of Humvees to ride over to the motor pool. It feels awesome, almost like I was a kid again on the days that Papa could let us into the actual Marine areas, and as I look around, talking with the Marines and being shows their Abrams tank, I must stop a few times to get control of my feelings. Andrea takes plenty of photos, Ian hamming it up a bit for her while I step away, collecting my thoughts.
“Excuse me, Mr. Rivera?” someone asks me, and I turn around, seeing a Lieutenant Colonel, his hair starting to go gray at the temples but still tremendously fit, a total Marine. “Are you Joey Rivera?”
“Yes, I am sir. Thank you for letting us see your motor pool. Your Marines should be proud.”
“Thank you. However, I had a question. We were just notified, and there's a lot of people with your name, but... was your father Staff Sergeant Tomás Rivera?”
I blink, trying to control the tears that are threatening my eyes. Dust, you can never fully get it out of motor pools, especially in the desert. “Yes... yes, he was, sir. Did you know him?”
The Lieutenant Colonel nods, offering his hand. “Sergeant Rivera was in my company back when I was a First Lieutenant. I even met you once, although I understand if you don't remember me, I wasn't his platoon leader, I was the company XO. Still, he was a good man, a good Marine. He used to talk about you constantly, I'm glad to see that you've grown into everything he wanted you to be. And I'm looking forward to the ball. My daughter has your songs on her iPod.”
“If you've got a CD at home, bring it by, I'll make sure all the guys sign it for your daughter,” I reply, shaking his hand. “Thank you, Colonel.”
“No, thank you, son. Enjoy the ball.”
“Wow, Andrea looked great,” Maria compliments as she goes through the photos on Andrea's laptop, looking over the shots from last night's ball. I'm still rubbing at my eyes after the ball went until nearly midnight, Andrea and I didn't get back home until after three in the morning, and I'm still sleep-addled. “You found yourself a knockout, big brother.”
“I know that,” I half yawn before draining the rest of the coffee from my cup. “It was hard to keep my focus on playing when she had Marines coming up to her all night asking her to dance.”
“And I turned every single one of them down,” Andrea teases, coming into the living room and kissing the back of my neck. “I'll admit, it was a bit much, but I thought you'd like it.”
“Andrea, the slit goes all the way up to your waist,” Maria says, pointing to the next photo. “You can get arrested in some places for wearing a dress that sexy.”
“It's yours then,” Andrea replies, coming around the sofa and sitting down next to me. She's got a plate with a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich on it that she's cut in half, and she offers me the slightly bigger portion, which I take gratefully. “Seriously Maria, we're close enough in size that you could wear it.”
“Maybe with eight-inch-high heels,” Maria jokes. “I'm a lot shorter than you.”
“Then we get it hemmed. You find a guy who you want to wear that dress for, and it's yours. Hey, check this out.”
Andrea reaches over me to the laptop and pulls up the videos, playing my guitar solo that started the ball. Maria watches silently as the video of me playing the Marine Hymn plays, and I can tell she's moved too. She doesn't remember as much about Papa as I do, but she still remembers him, and she's touched. When it finishes, Maria kisses me on the cheek and gives me a hug. “That was amazing, Joey. Papa would be so proud of you.”
Angel looks up from his coloring book, where he's been scribbling while the adults go over stuff that bored him by about the third picture, although he was slightly interested again when the pictures of us posing around the tanks were shown to him. “Andrea?”
“Yes, Angel?” Andrea asks, biting into her sandwich. “Would you like me to play the video again?”
“No... it's cool, but ….,” Angel says. “Do you know my Papa?”
Maria goes pale, and even I'm shocked at the question, Angel so rarely mentions his parentage. Andrea catches Maria's expression and sits forward, trying to maneuver the situation carefully. “No, I don't think so Angel. To me, Joey's your Papa, he acts like a father to you all the time.”
“Oh,” Angel says, sighing. “I just thought... well, we have the same color eyes. I thought maybe you knew my Papa.”
“Angel, hush!” Maria snaps before leaving the room. Andrea watches Maria go, and Angel follows her, upset that his mother was so strict with him. I can hear them both crying in the back after a moment, and I sigh, setting the rest of my sandwich down on the table, instantly forgotten. I'm not hungry anymore.
“I'm sorry if I handled that wrong,” Andrea whispers, setting her sandwich down as well. “I'll apologize to Maria when she's calmer.”
“There's no need to, you did your best,” I reply, taking her hand. “Just... Maria's got a lot of scarring from that. You didn't do anything wrong.”
“What happened?” Andrea asks. “I mean, I know the basics, so you don't need to tell me.”
I shake my head, standing up. “You deserve the story. Get changed into workout gear, I'll go make sure Maria and Angel are okay.”
“Workout gear?”
I nod, looking over my shoulder. “Every time I even think of this story I get so angry that I need to let it out somehow. The gym's a good place to do that safely.”
Andrea nods and gets up, going past me down the hallway to her room where she closes the door to her room silently. I check in on Maria, who's stopped crying while Angel hugs her, the two of them lying down on the bed. Maria looks at me with her eyes still rimmed in red when I come in. “Maria?”
“I'm okay, just surprised,” Maria whispers, obviously lying. “I heard what you told Andrea.”
“I won't tell her if you don't want. I just felt like she deserves to know a little more.”
Maria nods, blinking. “I love her too. Do it.”
“I love you, Maria. We'll be back,” I say, leaving her bedroom to meet Andrea in the hallway, her eyes full of concern. I nod, taking her hand and leading her out to my car. I get in, starting the engine and pulling out before I talk again.
“It was fall, Maria was fourteen and a few months,” I start, putting my car into drive and heading down the street. “We'd been back in school for long enough that the excitement of starting a new year had worn off, but before the grind got to us. I was in high school, a junior while Maria was still going to junior high, a weird trick of her birthday and the school calendar. It sucked for us, going to different schools. We'd spent so many years going to the same school or at least nearby enough that we could walk together.
“One night, it was a Wednesday, Ian calls me up. Rocky hadn't been with us long, in fact, those two were crashing together. There was a paid gig that Ian wanted us to really bust our asses for. Coming off the summer, where we could play more often, we had momentum going, so I said yeah, we could practice that night.”
“A Wednesday?” Andrea asks, and I nod, swallowing.
“Yeah, a Wednesday. Anyway, as I'm getting ready to go over to the Metro to catch the train that would take me cl
ose to Ian's, Maria asks if she can come along. I was going through a period where I was feeling like Maria and I lacked discipline, so I told her no. I said she had to stay at the apartment and left, not being a very nice brother when I did it either.”
“You were seventeen,” Andrea reminds me, and I know I’ve told her this before. “Most guys are jerks at seventeen.”
“Yeah well, I was a prime dickhead that night,” I sigh, turning onto Los Arboles and heading towards the gym. “Practice was practice, but when I got back, Maria was crying, sniffling and didn't want to let me near her. She started apologizing as soon as I asked her what was wrong, and she told me. She'd left the house, she had five dollars that she'd kept from a summer weekend job she helped me with, going down to the corner store. She got... she got trolled.”
“Huh?” Andrea asks, confused. “Trolled?”
“I'd heard the term around high school, I thought it was just an urban story, like the headlight thing or how on Halloween you couldn't wear Lakers gear at all since that was a signal that you wanted to be jumped into any of the sets around our neighborhood. It was one of those types of places,” I explain. “Trolling was supposed to be where girls, young girls especially, got picked up by guys for sex. The ones that found Maria... they'd work in pairs the stories went, always two white guys. They'd find a girl, the younger looking the better, and it wasn't her choice when they'd scoop her up. Later, after Maria calmed down enough, she told me what she remembered. She'd decided to go down to the convenience store a quarter mile from our apartment to get some ice cream. She was walking down the sidewalk when she noticed the guys, but she didn't think anything until they grabbed her, knocked her out with ether or something. Her memories of the rape itself are hazy she says. Thank God for small favors, but she remembers little bits. He was older she said, and she remembered that he had eyes like yours. She's never told me more, I didn't ask. When she turned up pregnant... I never asked her about it again. It doesn't matter. I failed, I failed as a brother and as the man of the family.”
