by Jesse Jordan
I feel on firmer ground again, and I chuckle back. “I certainly do. Actually, I think last night confirmed for me... at least for a while this drummer is totally off the market.”
“That just made my day. Thanks,” Mary says, and I can't help it, it makes me smile too.
“No problem. Talk to you later.”
It feels weird going into the Gashouse Studios, knowing that Rocky has a mostly completed studio at his house. I feel like I’m just visiting, but at the same time sitting down behind the studio set of drums, I feel at ease. Adjusting my stool to the right height, there's a familiarity to it. I know these studios, and I’ve recorded a lot of good stuff here.
So, in some ways, it's like coming home, and James gives me a raised eyebrow when he sees that I've got an energy drink in my hand. “Rough night?”
“Not as rough as what I'm gonna give you,” I mock-threaten. “There's a reason my solo album's going to be called Jupiter's Cock.”
“Promises, promises,” James says with a laugh. “I just wanted to hear what you guys were mixing up, you know the old producer in me loves hearing it. Any ideas?”
“I had some lyrics I wanted to try and lay down over one of Joey's tracks,” Rocky says as he comes in, Cora right behind him. She's as beautiful as ever, motherhood looks good on her, and as always, she gives me a hug. Cora has always been sisterly affectionate to all of us, although I think for a little while Joey had a crush on her, that first tour, but he always respected her and Rock, and then he met Andrea who is even better for him.
“Really?” I ask, intrigued. “Any particular one?”
“Yeah, that one you guys did that had that angry vibe to it? I just really got into it, and then I was watching the news the other day and something pissed me off, so...”
“So, you got to writing,” I finish, and Rocky nods. “Good deal. Not too many rock songs about poopy diapers.”
“We can start a new trend,” Cora says, laughing. “You sound better that what Rocky said you were on the phone. Everything's okay?”
“Not perfect, but.... shit.”
Cora blinks, surprised, but sees me look at the door to the studio as I see a familiar looking curvy Chinese girl with blue tinged hair knocking on the door, waving. “Who's that?”
“Mary's friend, Brenda. Uh... she might be off the wagon,” I say, getting up. “I'm gonna check. Rocky, keep Cora safe? Mary told me her friend likes to carry a knife.”
“Got it,” Rocky says, Cora immediately backing up. James gives me a wary look, but I wave him down, I don't need them freaking out on me. I don't know how Brenda found out we were here, but maybe she's trying to get away from Carl and just felt like I was a better option than going back to her once burned best friend.
I open the studio door, stepping out into the hallway but leaving the door open so that Rocky and James can have my back if I need it. “What are you doing here, Brenda?”
“Hey, sexy stud,” she tries to purr, but instead it comes out as a half-slur. Great, this is the last thing I need. “After that hot fucking show last week, I just had to find you. And I heard you were here.”
“You're high,” I sigh, resisting the urge to shove her away. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Only thing wrong with me is a hot tightness that I know just the cure for,” she says, reaching for my crotch. “Come on, don't tell me you've never had yellow fever.”
“Brenda, you need to leave,” I say politely, grabbing her wrist. I could crush her bones, she's got a tiny frame despite her gym stockiness, but I don't. She's still Mary's friend. “You don't want to do this, I can tell Carl's putting you up to something. Stop it, fight it.”
“Oooh, such a strong grip,” Brenda says desperately, licking her lips. “Come on big man, gimme a ride. I promise I'll let you put it anywhere you want.”
“No,” I repeat, reaching the end of my patience. “Now go, before I call the cops.”
Brenda pouts, but blows me a kiss anyway. “Aww... just remember, stud, when I say anything, I mean anything. I love you long, long time.”
I gently push her away and she leaves, walking down the hallway sashaying her ass back and forth. I sigh sadly and stick my head back in the studio. “Guys, you mind if I make a phone call?”
“Go ahead. Joey ain't here yet,” Rocky says, concerned. “You worried?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “First off, how the fuck did she know we were here?”
“I'll take care of that,” James says, shaking his head. “I made the reservation for the studio time yesterday when Joey contacted me. There can't be too many motherfuckers who could have found out and blabbed.”
“Thanks,” I comment, heading out into Gashouse's entrance and watch as Brenda gets into the passenger side of a relatively new Mercedes that pulls away before I can get a good view of the driver. I sigh and pull up Mary's number, my head still whirling with what the hell's going on. “Hey, Mary?”
“Hey, stud,” she says, her words confusing me more with the unintentional deja vu. “How's your afternoon?”
“Ah, not good,” I reply, still confused. My headache's back, the nap might have helped but this is too much for my sleep-deprived head to handle. “I just... listen, you know your friend Brenda? I think she might be shooting up again. I mean, even more than what you were thinking when you called me about it.”
Mary sounds shocked, I don't think she expected me to know anything about it. “I thought so too. I'm worried about her. How'd you find out though? Did you see her?”
I should tell her the truth, that I think she just got into Carl's car, but for some reason, I don’t. “I just.... ah, I just remembered it. I saw her at the church the other night, she was looking, you know... twitchy.”
Mary doesn't sound convinced, and her voice is suspicious. “I know... uh, thanks, I guess. Ian, are you sure everything's okay?”
“Yeah, I just still haven't gotten fully rid of my headache yet. Really, I'm sorry.”
The front door of Gashouse opens and Joey comes in with Andrea, and I quickly cough. “Okay Mary, listen I gotta get to practice. I'll call you later, okay?”
“Okay... uh, talk to you later,” Mary says, hanging up. I feel like an idiot, why did I just lie to her? I should have just told her the truth, that Brenda showed up at the studio high and trying to hit on me for some fucking reason. I’m not the kind of guy who normally lies to a woman, good or bad. Just, for some reason, the idea of telling Mary that another woman is hitting on me is a total no-go. Even if that woman is high as a kite and probably being forced into it.
When I get back to the studio, Joey sees my face and gives me a worried look. “Hey big man, is everything okay?”
I take a deep breath, nodding. “Yeah, I guess so. I might have to check out early though, I slept like hell last night.”
“So we heard,” Andrea says with a smirk, her laptop ready for recording and blogging. Thankfully she's not recording live. “Congrats, Ian.”
I swear I'm going to kick James' ass.
Chapter 9
Mary
When Ian doesn't call me on Sunday, I start getting worried. I know I shouldn't be, I mean we've only had a few dates and had sex once, but to me, it was more than that. The way he touched me, the way he was so much of a gentleman on our dates but then powerfully possessive and slightly rough when we were having sex, h’s like no man that I’ve ever known before in my life. Even now my body aches to be taken by him again, to be made helpless and totally soaked underneath his massive body.
I know I shouldn't be freaking out, he said he had some work with the band to take care of. Who knows, maybe he had a session go long and the other guys in the band wanted to just hang out and chill for a while. Maybe his headache didn't disappear and he wanted to recover again. I don't really know the full effects of what missing a night with the BiPAP can do to someone with apnea.
But now it's Monday morning and I'm confused, still trying to figure out things. The thing that keeps co
ming to my mind is the way he stumbled over the whole issue of Brenda. I know I told him about her, and I shared some of my concerns. I mean, fuck, the man sat there while I called her on his phone. At least a quarter of the conversations we've had has mentioned her in some way or another.
But when he told me that he thought that Brenda was using again, he came off like he was telling me at best a half-truth. Like he had some other reason for mentioning it and the story about him seeing her at the group meeting was just a cover. But why? Why would he not just flat out tell me he'd seen her somewhere, that he'd talked to her? I don't get it.
I don't have time to worry about it much now though, I've got a class in forty minutes and I still need to get to the bus stop. I grab my backpack that has my math and psych books in it along with my laptop and head out. I'm halfway across the parking lot at my building when I stop, shocked to see Carl sitting on the hood of his white Mercedes. He's dressed more casually than normal in a pair of chinos and a short sleeve button down with sunglasses, but I can see the gleam of the crucifix around his neck and when he sees me, he smiles. I can't leave the parking lot without walking right by him, not with the way my building is constructed.
“Hey Mary,” Carl says, mock-casually. “What's up?”
“I've got a class in a little bit Carl, and I need to catch my bus,” I reply, trying to just walk right past him. “I'm a little too busy to talk.”
“Mary, I might not be your favorite person right now, and I'm sorry about that. I know last time I got a little heated,” he says, trying to sound concerned. “Listen, I apologize. I know I was rough, but it's only because I care about you. I don't want you to go back to... well, I don't want you to go back to what you were.”
“And Brenda?” I ask, turning to him. “Did you tell her the same thing before you got her hooked back on the shit?”
Carl looks around quickly, taking off his sunglasses, the smile disappearing from his face. “Mary, you know that junkies will lie. I'm trying my best to help Brenda, but that means that sometimes I have to be tough on her. Just like I have to be tough with you too, as much as it hurts. Tell me, are you using again too?”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I ask, pissed. “Look at my arms, Carl. You know I'm clean as a fucking whistle.”
Carl sighs, shaking his head. “Then why'd you leave the group, Mary? I checked around with the NA groups in this area, you haven't started going to meetings in other locations yet, I know most of the group facilitators in Los Angeles. What, you decided to join Narconon or something?”
“No,” I protest, feeling battered. “I'm just deciding where to go. Seeing Brenda fall off the wagon really shook me up, okay?”
“Is it the rock star you're dating?” Carl retorts, his face full of concern. “You know he came to the NA meeting trying to start shit with me. Said that you belonged to him now and that you were going to have a new life. I'll tell you, it worried me. Face it, Mary, rock musicians don't exactly have the best reputation for being clean.”
His words shake me even more, and I feel more doubt start to creep in. Could Ian be lying to me too? Could he be trying to peel me away from the people that I need, to isolate me? But, why? And what about my worries about Carl, about Brenda?
“No, Carl. I'm not saying that Ian isn't gruff sometimes. He can be. But he isn't like that.”
Carl pushes away from his car, stepping towards me, but I back away, and he stops. “Mary... oh Mary, Mary quite contrary, I'm just looking out for you. I want you to be successful. Listen, I know that I may have freaked you out when I hit on you some, I understand that. You're right, I shouldn't have. But Mary, you're quite pretty, and I don't exactly have a lot of experience trying to talk with women who aren't either easy or screwed up, and I know that you're neither. I'm sorry about that. It was clumsy and stupid. I feel like a lot of this misunderstanding between us stems from that and Brenda’s drug-addled accusations. I want to make that up to you, to apologize. So how about you let me give you a ride to class?”
“I can't,” I reply. “You know that'd be a bad idea, Carl. Trust issues, you know?”
“But you trust this guy? Ian Ivory? You know that's not even his real name,” Carl says, his voice trembling on the edge of anger. “He changed it.”
“He told me. What's your point, Carl?”
“My point?!? What do you know about these people?” Carl asks, his voice rising a little, his face turning slightly red with anger. “Come on, Mary! He's a fucking rock musician! And that group he's with, the Fragments? You know what sort of shit they're into, right? Can you really afford to get mixed up with people like this, Mary?”
Carl steps forward again, and I take a step back, more confused than ever. “Carl... I get what you're saying, but I need to get to the bus. Sorry.”
“Come on, let me give you....” Carl starts but then stops when he sees my face. “Okay, okay, your call. Have a good day in class today. I hope to see you tonight or Thursday at the group. We'll keep a seat open for you. Even one of the good donuts if you want.”
Carl backs up and gets in his car, and I watch as he pulls past, giving me a little wave as he gets ready to pull back into traffic. I glance at my watch and take off jogging. If I hurry I should still be able to catch the bus I need to be able to make it to math on time.
I get through math pretty well, but I get more worried as I go to psych class and I don't see Brenda. We're supposed to share this course together, we made sure to share one class period to support each other. Psych class is supposed to be the reality check that we’re staying on track to getting our acts together. Instead, there's no stocky Chinese girl in class, and I'm barely able to focus as the professor goes on and on about operant conditioning and how it differs from classical conditioning.
“The biggest difference in the study of classical and operant conditioning is perhaps best looked at in terms of learning,” our professor says.
My professor continues, but I want to tell him that, at least in my case, I understand conditioning to a degree that he's never going to understand. He's never going to understand the irrational mix of want and hatred that I get every time I see a syringe, even if it's something as simple as a diabetic's insulin. He'll never be able to understand why the few shows I do stream to my laptop are almost all cooking shows, kid's programs, or sports.
As for operant conditioning, I can give him a lecture or two on that. How easy it is to teach someone how to use only the 'correct' showers, unless you want to risk catching a beatdown from the gangbangers who don't care that you don't want to be part of their little micro-dramas, that you're not trying to disrespect them and you just want to wash your hair. He'll never really know the amount of control you can achieve with your own body as you wait for the one 'clear' toilet to open up, regardless of how much you need to take a piss.
If anything, jail taught me more about how to fight the addiction inside me than anything else. Once you've held a crap for twelve hours because your toilet was broken and none of the shared toilets were available to you, and you have to wait until eight the next morning so that you can use the one in the drug treatment area, you can get past the worst of the cravings for smack.
After class, I hurry outside, pulling out my phone and trying to call Brenda. “Come on babe, come on, pick up, pick up....”
No dice. I try again, then again, but still she won't pick up. I can feel the fear clawing at me, that she's high, she's nodding off in some shit shack while her phone buzzes uselessly next to her, but I can't let the fear control me. Taking a deep breath, I open my messenger.
Hey, Bren. I'm just worried about you. Please, when you get this, give me a call? Any time, day or night. Just tell me that you're okay. Big love, babe.
I hit send and put my phone away, rubbing my temples. It's just after two now. Okay, if I grab the bus that's on the other side of campus, I can go up to the Metro, head down to Burbank. I think that's where Ian said they were doing some sort of practice or re
cording work, so maybe I can talk to him face to face. I don't want to just talk, I want to look into his eyes. Maybe it's not the best way to check on things, but it's worth a shot.
That’s problem with having an understanding of addiction like I do. I realize that after only one night, I’m getting hooked on Ian Ivory too. I want him deep in my bones, in the places that used to yearn only for heroin.
I only pray that this addiction is a healthy one.
Chapter 10
Ian
“Come on, Joey, I know that the vibe is a little different than what you originally laid down, but you gotta admit, right now it just doesn't work. It’s just not meshing, not what you played with the lyrics that Rocky wrote.”
We've been going over this all afternoon, and while I'm feeling better than yesterday, that doesn't mean I like listening to my two bandmates arguing over the music.
“Then we make new music to fit the lyrics,” Joey protests. “Rocky, I'm not saying your lyrics suck, but I feel like we're fucking peanut butter and barbecue sauce with this. Two great tastes, but these fuckers don't go together.”
“This is what we get when we let him keep watching all that goddamn cooking television,” Rocky grumbles, shaking his head. At least he’s making progress, if Rocky were really pissed he wouldn’t be cracking jokes. “Joey, I get what you're saying, but you laid down a good track. Anything that would be changed, on my side or yours, to get this done would be so close to what you and I already did, what's the point? I wrote those lyrics with that beat in mind, I had that track playing in my headphones when I was writing.”
“Then we tweak the lines,” Joey shoots back. “Rocky, we can't just shoehorn in what you wrote with what I played. There's gotta be some change somewhere. Cora, what do you think?”
Cora shakes her head, holding up her hands. “You two both know that until you think you're ready to record, I stay out of this sort of crap. I'm not taking sides between you two.”
