by Jesse Jordan
Andrea sits silently, taking it all in. When she speaks again, she's quiet and I can hear the same anger and self-doubt in her voice that I've heard many times. “Did I... did I hurt her with my statement about the dress? I mean, talking about her finding a boyfriend. I was stupid.”
“No, that wasn't anything that hurt her,” I reassure her. “Maria's tried to have boyfriends sometimes, but once they see that she's got a kid, they jet. I don't know if she's been intimate since then, some things I don't ask, but I don't think she's scarred in that way. But no Andrea, you didn't hurt her with that. I was the one who hurt her, by being a bad brother.”
“No, you made a choice, not even a mistake. Maria didn't make a mistake either, and Teresa didn't make a mistake by working her job,” Andrea says, her voice stronger but still angry. “If anyone is to be blamed, it's the sick fuck who took your sister's innocence.”
We pull up in front of the gym, and I put my car in park, my pulse pounding. “Perhaps, Andrea. But still, I swallow a lot of that anger and blame. I can't help it, that's who I am.”
“And I'm here to give you a way to share that anger and blame,” Andrea says, taking my hand. “For now, though, I'm angry too. So... let's go work some of it off.”
“You're driving home. I probably won't be able to walk.”
We get out of the car, slamming the doors closed, and Andrea nods, holding out her hand for the keys. “Deal. Then we go home and hug your sister.”
“Our sister. She wants to be your sister too.”
“Our sister, then.”
Chapter 15
Andrea
Despite my best efforts, Maria and Joey are still in major funks the next day, Teresa understanding when I explain to her quietly what caused it. Teresa says that she'll help Maria, but I'm more worried about Joey. “Teresa, he's still so angry at himself, this is something that's been boiling inside him for a while. Yesterday, I thought he was exaggerating when he said he wouldn't be able to walk out of the gym.”
Joey wasn't the only one who was angry though, I think to myself. Last night, I had nightmares, green eyes chasing me in the darkness while the words 'trolling' and 'ordering in' echoed around me. I woke up with a scream barely held behind my lips, twisted up in the sheets of my bed, panicked thoughts running around in my head. Ordering in? That's what Mom used to say Dad did and trolling... it's too horrific to think about. They can't be connected, they just can't. Even now an hour after waking up, having breakfast with Teresa who studies me with her sad, soulful gaze, the words gnaw at my head, and I have to do something to get them out.
Teresa sips her coffee and nods, her dark eyes glancing towards the garage door where Joey's lying in bed, still sleeping. “He was like this back then, too. Andrea, your heart and your beauty have captured my son's heart, but yes, your eyes have obviously dredged up memories that both of them prefer to not be reminded of. Of course, since Angel has those same eyes, I doubt they will ever be fully rid of them. I hope.... well, I hope that they will find peace with their pain.”
“Can that happen?” I ask, and Teresa nods. “How?”
“I would say through the grace of God, but I probably come off sounding too religious that way,” Teresa says quietly. “But I have my own anger and pain, Andrea. I have watched in the past thirteen years as my husband was taken from me, my son had his childhood ended far too quickly, and then my daughter became what some people would say is just another barrio statistic. I watched the pain my son and my daughter have been through, and I've been able to do little more than hugging them and make empty promises. This house, this coffee I'm drinking right now, that's from Joey's genius, not my hard work. Before you start, I don't discount my efforts, I'm saying all the effort in the world would not make a guitar player able to do what Joey did for those Marines two nights ago. That takes a genius that I was only able to.... perhaps the best word would be, assist.”
At the mention of music, I think, then nod. “I think I've got an idea, for sure for Joey, maybe for Maria too. Teresa, would you mind if I took them for the day? Can you watch Angel?”
Teresa's eyes sparkle as she nods. “Of course, Andrea. Grandmothers always have time to play with their grandbabies. We can spend the day making cookies. Are you going to tell me what the idea is?”
“I checked some of the arts and entertainment websites, I read a mention that the City Art Museum is doing a special on California Music. I know that Joey would like it, and from the online review I read, the Art Museum also has a big exhibit of natural photography, maybe he'd like that too.”
“That sounds very nice,” Teresa says, nodding. “Maybe sometime, I'd like to go too, but not today. It would be nice to have some private time with the woman who has captured my son's heart and has my daughter calling her sister. You are far from the guera loca that Maria teased Joey about you being before meeting you.”
“Guera loca?”
“Crazy blond, or hot tempered blond. It's Mexican slang. Don't worry, Maria was joking with Joey the whole time with that. But I would like to spend some time with you if you don't mind.”
“I'd like that, Teresa. Maybe we can give them another little break, cook dinner together? I'm not very good with recipes, but I can chop and mix and slice just fine if I have a good mentor.”
“I would like that very much. I can teach you how to make jibaritos, Joey has never gotten the plantains down correctly. And I'd like to speak some Spanish with you, I feel like it's going to be important in the future for us.”
After Maria and Joey wake up, they are willing to go with me to the museum, although I can tell that Joey's legs are still in serious pain. He walks like an old man as we cross the parking lot at the museum, his hand on his right hip as he groans, using the wheelchair ramp to the door. The walk pulls Maria out of her bad mood a little, and she smirks as we wait for him at the top of the steps. “Just what all did he do yesterday?”
“Timed leg press sets,” I explain. “He took six big plates and put them on the machine, then used a timer set to thirty seconds that kept repeating. He'd do thirty seconds of leg presses, then rest thirty seconds, then repeats. Basically, he fried everything, and that was before all the other stuff we did. Low back extensions, hamstring curls, in other words, he killed everything from the waist down.”
“Everything? Shame on you,” Maria teases, and I smile, seeing a bit of her deeply hidden sauciness come back. “Andrea... thanks.”
“You're welcome,” I tell her, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “Come on, let's help Joey, so he doesn't need a wheelchair to get around.”
“I heard that,” Joey grumbles, but despite the pain, I can see that he's happier to see Maria smiling a little bit as we go into the museum. It's fifteen of my last twenty dollars in 'my' name, but I don't mind as we go in, taking a flyer as we go.
“The history of music in California,” I read, handing it over to Joey. “See anything that might be interesting?”
Joey's eyes gleam as he reads, and we head into the big display hall. I had thought that the exhibit would be mostly a lot of old images or a few artifacts, kind of a pumped up Hard Rock Cafe, but instead, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that while there's plenty here to look at, there's just as much to listen to. There are at least a hundred different stations of headphones around the exhibit, each of them playing recordings on a loop of different sounds, different genres that have come out of California, and sometimes famous artists. Joey's quickly enraptured by the different sounds, giving Maria and me little insights on what makes each of the recordings unique and special.
Of course, we tend to listen more to the rock sounds, with Joey even air guitaring some of the different tunes for us while Maria and I listen in, impressing both of us with how quickly he adapts to the loops.
“Whoa, I didn't know Metallica was from Southern California,” I note as Joey fingers his way through Master of Puppets. “I seriously thought they were European or something.”
“And you?” I ask, smiling. “It seems to me that you've air guitared about twenty different songs. Your forearms are pumped right now.”
Joey smiles, nodding. “Rocky's just so much more into music theory and history than I am. But yeah... it's just what I needed. Thanks, beautiful.”
“You're welcome,” I say, giving him a hug just as Maria comes over, hopping up and down.
“Hey guys, guess what's over on the other side of the room!” she says, pointing. “It's Brown Boy!”
“Who?” I whisper to Joey, who chuckles and leans back in.
“He's a Chicano rapper originally from Mexico City who moved to Los Angeles a few years back. Maria's liked him for a while now. Let's go say hi, maybe you can score an interview for your blog,” Joey whispers back. We go over, where Maria tries but fails to contain her excitement.
“Oh, my God, I'm like such a big fan!” Maria giggles, trying to shake his hand. Brown Boy smiles and shakes, listening as Maria babbles for a minute so quickly that even I can't understand her. Finally, he tilts his head, holding up a hand.
“Lo sentimos, pero no sé lo que estás diciendo. Te importaría desaceleración? Ah... slow down please?”
Maria blushes, and stops, looking at Joey who laughs. “Sorry, my sister gets excited. I'm Joey Rivera, this is my sister, Maria and my girlfriend, Andrea. Nice to meet you.”
“Joey Rivera?” Brown Boy asks in heavy accented English pronunciation, then his face brightens. “Los Fragmentos?”
“That's me,” Joey admits, shaking hands. “You know our work?”
“Yes, my sister like you very much. She will be muy triste you have a girl. Nice to meet you though.”
The conversation continues, Joey helping me with translation from time to time as we exchange information. Maria switches totally to Spanish, her voice lilting and musical, and even Brown Boy is smiling when Maria goes on for a minute, she sounds so sweet and innocent. I even get a promise for an interview with him after Joey explains the purpose of my website and blog, confident that if anything I can get Maria to act as translator for us. After we say our goodbyes, Maria's practically glowing, and that more than anything helps Joey as we finish up the exhibit, heading out to the car.
When we get close to the exit, Joey stops, putting a hand on our shoulders. “Wait a minute, guys.”
“What's wrong?” I ask, and Joey turns, pretending to be interested in a piece of artwork in the corridor. We turn, and while we're turned he points with his right hand held against his body.
“That guy, over by the poster for the music exhibit, I think I've seen him before,” Joey whispers. “He looks like the guy I chased out of the parking lot yesterday at Gashouse. The one I told you about who was poking around and taking pictures of the cars?”
“Jesus,” Maria whispers, fear in her voice. “How'd he get here?”
Joey shakes his head slightly, still studying the art in front of us. “I don't know. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Still, isn't there a back door to this place?”
I look at the museum guide, nodding. “Yeah, over on the other side of the place. It says employee exit, but I bet if we say that a famous rock guitarist is being perved on by an obsessed fan, they'd let us slip out. What do you say?”
Joey gives me a tight grin, nodding. “I always knew you were smart. Devious, too? Sexy as hell.”
“Get a room, you two,” Maria jokes, her fears assuaged for a little bit. “Oh, wait. You've got one. A whole garage.”
“Yeah, yeah. Come on, we can loop through the exhibit and try to make sure he doesn't follow us,” Joey says, leading us away. As he does, he raises his voice. “No Maria, I'm serious, I am sure that was Ritchie Valens' actual guitar, not a fake!”
Maria catches on, giving me a wink. “No way, that went down on the plane with him!”
We loop through the exhibit, ducking out the side exit without being stopped, the sunshine feeling wonderfully freeing as we step outside on the other side of the museum. “So, what now?”
Joey thinks, then points to a park across the street. “Now, we chill. If he was trying to follow us, I don't want him thinking we knew about him and got spooked. So, let's kill some time. What do you want to do?”
“Hey guys, I'm starving, as weird as that sounds. Joey, do you mind if we go eat soon?” Maria asks as we cross the street to the park. “I promise, nothing too expensive.”
“Sure,” Joey says. “What do you want?”
“How about the food truck over there?” Maria asks. “We can enjoy the park after that.”
“Sure. Here, take forty and get whatever you think we'll like,” Joey says, peeling off the money for Maria and handing it over without a care. Maria squeals and runs off across the park's parking lot, Joey watching her before putting an arm around my shoulder. “Thank you, love. You broke our bad mood perfectly.”
“And you handled the creepy guy perfectly. Besides, I just wanted you two to feel better. I love you both. Joey, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, it'll take Maria a while to get the food,” Joey says. He's a little less stiff as we go climb the steps that lead to the park, but he's still slower than normal, and we pause at the top, sitting down on the concrete steps. “Remind me, no more dumbass workouts like yesterday. Or at least none without a hot tub and a rub down from you.”
“Rubbing you down was exactly what was on my mind last night,” I joke, rubbing his knee. “But you were in too much pain to do much more than lay there in bed. But I was wondering, that talk with Brown Boy, it got me thinking.”
“What's that?”
“Well… where do you see yourself in five or ten years? The idea's been on my mind a lot recently.”
Joey hums, thinking. “Honestly? I like where I am career wise. I don't want to be a solo act, I like Ian and Rocky even if I appreciate the little side project that Cora recorded. They're family to me. We're doing what we do best, make good music. Is it always going to be pure rock? Probably not, but I'm fine with that too.”
“I can tell,” I reply, leaning against him. “You spent just as much time listening and jamming to the other stuff as the rock.”
“I know. So, what about you? Where do you want to be in five or ten years, career-wise?”
I shake my head, taking Joey's hand. “That's hard for me to figure out, Joey. I mean, two months ago I was totally single, and comfortable, if not exactly happy in my job. My biggest worries were telling Chad off and trying to get out from under my father's thumb. Then a month ago I meet you, and it has been very West Side Story in some regards. I've never imagined that I would fall in love with someone so hard, so fast.”
“Do you want to slow down?” Joey asks. “I know that living in my house makes things weird to some people. I bet if you asked, Rocky and Cora would be willing to let you crash in their spare room. Hell, Rocky's mom would probably let you sleep in his old bedroom if you wanted.”
I shake my head, smiling at his sweetness. “No, actually I've never been happier in that regard. Every day, spending time with you, with Maria, with Teresa, and Angel, I'm discovering new depths to the meanings of the words family and love. But when it comes to my work, I've been torn.”
“How so?”
“On one hand Joey, every day I feel afraid. I'm afraid that my blog is going to fail, that my reader list is going to be in the single digits and nobody's going to give two craps about what I have to say. I worry that I wasted the hundred and ninety-nine dollars that I spent to get the upgraded user interface and server size for hosting my site. But then I think of all the freedom I've had the past couple of weeks since moving in with you. And I don't mean anybody bugging me about when to get out of bed, but the freedom
to tell the stories that I want to tell. To be able to make some connections, to stand on my own. Before I was ANDREA COATES, put it in bold if you want. Now, I'm Andrea, and that feels good.”
“What about the Coates part?” Joey asks, and I can hear a bit of nervousness in his voice.
“It's my name, but nothing more really,” I reply. “I'll use it to maybe help open doors, but I want to stand on my own, to be my own woman.”
“Stand on your own?” Joey asks. “And if someone, say, wanted you to stand with him?”
I glance over at Joey, who's looking more nervous than ever, and I squeeze his arm. “Joey, are you asking if I want to stand without you?”
“I guess I'm just asking if you'd like to…” Joey says before Maria interrupts us, bringing over two paper bags of food.
“Come on guys, I found this great spot we can sit down and I bet you can see the whole city from the picnic tables!” she says, grinning. “It'll be great!”
She walks away again, and I look back to Joey, who's using the handrail to pull himself up. “Joey?”
“Never mind, I was just being silly,” Joey says, shaking his head. “Come on, let's eat lunch.”
“Wait,” I say, putting my hand on his arm and stopping him. I look up into his eyes and give him a hug. “Joey, I love you. I love you, and I love living with you. And I love your family. Okay?”
Joey looks into my eyes for a moment, then nods, smiling. “Okay. I guess that answers what I was going to ask you. Come on, let's go eat before Maria noshes it all.”
Welcome to Andrea Loves Rock Cocks! Home of the music's world's biggest, dirtiest slut!
This isn't what I put on my website, and as I read the text, my face gets hotter and hotter as I try and figure out who the hell would do this to me. Check that, I know who did this to me, or at least I can narrow it down to one of two people who hired whoever did this to me.
