By Degrees

by Elle Casey

  “If it makes you feel better, you can bring your stupid games to his place if he doesn’t already have what you need.”

  His arguments go silent. Then he sighs. “For how long, did you say?”

  “A week or until we’re sure he’s playing fair and doing what he says he’s doing.”

  Scott shifts from his whining voice to his negotiating one. “I’ll need a raise. And money for expenses, too.”

  “I figured.”

  “And lots of mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

  “Done.”

  “That was too easy. Fuck. I should have asked for a car or something.”

  “I already bought you a car on our last job, remember?”

  “Okay, a Vespa, then. I should have asked for a Vespa.”

  I smile. “Play your cards right and maybe it’ll happen.”

  He grabs my arm. “Are you serious? Because don’t play with me like that if you aren’t. You know how much I want a Vespa. I’m Vespa Desperate. It’s a medical syndrome, you know. I see Vespas and I want to chase them down the street like a rabid terrier.”

  I smile and say nothing more. It’s going to be fun torturing him with his scooter obsession. For some reason he denies himself the things he wants most, even though he makes enough money at this job to buy pretty much whatever he wants. The only nice things he has are gifts from me and the video games his brother gave him before he died.

  “I need a red one. Or blue. But not pink. Don’t you dare make me ride a pink one. Because it’s a Vespa, so I’ll have to ride it anyway, but everyone will think I’m gay, which I’m not. Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. Unless people think you are when you’re not. That would suck major donkey balls. Not that I’d know anything about sucking balls, but I assume it would be really unpleasant...”

  “Could you shut up now?”

  “Yeah. Right now, I can. I’m shutting up. Right this second. I’m not going to say a single other solitary word to you. Not one. Not even one. Just don’t forget about the Vespa and it not being pink.”

  I step close enough to elbow him sharply in the ribs before moving off to join Mel at his side.

  “Ready for the big reveal?” I ask.

  “I think so.” He glances at me. “Call me hopeful at this point, but I thought the meeting this afternoon went really well.”

  “Yes. Better than I expected, actually.”

  “That isn’t how it usually goes?”

  “Not necessarily.” I don’t give him details about how Tarin flipped a switch in the middle of our negotiation and suddenly became perfectly amenable to changing his whole life. Mel’s already stressed enough as it is; I don’t need him trying to figure out the mystery that is Tarin when he has so many other things to manage.

  We both turn our attention to the group that’s gathering. It’s a motley crew with everything from straight-laced preps to drugged-out losers. None of them is Tarin. The last person in the door is Zach. He walks over to us, his expression dark.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Mel before Zach is even close.

  “Can’t find Tarin.”

  My heart sinks. “Did you call Ricky?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Tarin ditched him earlier today and left him driving around town looking for him.”

  “Who’s responsible for this? … Because I know it’s not Ricky,” I’m pissed, ready to kick ass and take names. No way am I going to let Tarin get dragged down any farther. I had him for a moment today, totally connecting on an eye-to-eye level, and it was enough to tell me this can work. The conversation I just had with Scott about Tarin being so much like Austin only makes the whole thing feel more urgent.

  Zach responds. “My guess who’s responsible? Jelly. She was with him at the time. He got a phone call, told Ricky to wait for him outside a restaurant, and when he wasn’t out an hour later, Ricky went in looking for him.”

  “Where was he?” Mel asks.

  Zach shrugs. “He wasn’t anywhere. He hadn’t even stayed to eat. Must have gone right back out the front door when Ricky wasn’t looking.” Zach’s shoulders sag. “I should have been with him. I should have known he was being too easy about the whole thing. Tarin never does anything the easy way.”

  I push away the anxiety that wants to take over. “Don’t worry about it, Zach. Now we know he’s going to fight us a little. We’ll do better next time.” I’m pulling out my phone to start making calls to people who might be able to locate him when the door opens and three laughing, snorting people come stumbling into the room.

  Tarin. My heart skips a beat at how messed up and handsome he is. I have to work really hard to not shoot daggers at the idiots with him. Tarin, Jelly the dingbat, and Brett the druggie are all standing together, laughing at some private joke. The three stooges. Maybe it’s just paranoia, but I suspect their mirth has something to do with me, since they keep looking at me and giggling rudely all over again.

  Zach looks like a bird with ruffled feathers, so I put my hand on his arm. “Just leave them to me.”

  He stares down at me for a few seconds and then nods. “Probably better that you do it. I’m about ready to crack a couple skulls right now.”

  “I know the feeling,” I say, earning a smile from him. I turn my attention to Mel. “You can stay or go, your choice.”

  “I’ll stay. No need for you to have to do this on your own. I hate to admit it, but I feel somewhat responsible for this whole mess.” His face sags and he looks every bit his age for a change. It’s sad to see him resembling an empty balloon. An empty balloon with a comb-over is about as pitiful as it gets.

  I pat his arm. “You’re not to blame for his bad choices. And if you hadn’t called, things would be worse. Let’s just get tonight over with and tomorrow morning we’ll start getting him back.”

  Mel nods. “Good. I leave him and the rest of us in your hands, then. I’ll be over in the corner with a triple scotch if you need me.” We share a wry grin before I move to confront Tarin and his buddies.

  Tarin’s head comes up from Jelly’s neck as I approach. Zach is behind me and Scott is behind him. Everyone else is watching intently and the room goes quiet. Dave and Stick take a few steps and get behind their bandmate. At first I worry that it’s going to be a showdown between all of them and me, but then I see the shame in their eyes. They’re pissed at their friend, and it fills me with a new strength of purpose. I have their support and it’s going to make a world of difference.

  “You’re late,” I say.

  Jelly, Brett, and Tarin all giggle, Jelly more than the other two. She’s clearly wasted, barely able to stand without Tarin’s help.

  “Not much,” Tarin says. “We’re here now. Go ahead and do your worst.”

  I give him a tight smile. “Fine.” I turn to Zach, happy to see that Leonard has also arrived with Ricky right behind him. “Zach, would you do me a favor and escort Jelly and Brett off the property? I need you to take them back to Tarin’s place, clean out their stuff, and deliver them to their own houses.”

  Zach nods once and steps up to my side, waiting for me to finish.

  I look at Jelly who has finally stopped laughing. She’s staring daggers at me. “Jelly, I’m sorry this didn’t work out between you and Tarin, but you have to go. Consider your relationship over.”

  Her jaw drops. She gives a half-hearted laugh but then stops suddenly. “Go to hell,” she spits out. “You don’t decide where I go.” She looks to Tarin and whines, “Tell her, babe. Tell her to go fuck herself.” She tries to put her hand on his chest, but she hits his chin instead.

  Tarin instantly gets angry, pushing her hand away, causing her to stumble back against Brett. He catches her, his expression leaving no doubt as to how he feels about me.

  “Just go for tonight, Jells. I’ll come get you tomorrow. I just have to do this meeting shit.” Tarin’s words are slightly slurred and his lids are heavy.

  I shake my head. “Sorry, Tarin, but that’s not gonna happen. I told
you, I don’t give second chances. I also told you no more booze or drugs.” I look at her, my expression showing all of them what I think of her messed-up ass. “She’s a bad influence, so she goes.” I look at Brett. “Him too.”

  Brett looks at Tarin, incredulous. “You’re gonna take that shit from her? I thought you said she was just a consultant.”

  Tarin’s chin comes out. “She is just a consultant.”

  “What the hell then, man? You gonna let her talk to your friends like that?”

  “You ain’t no friend, man,” says Dave.

  Brett whips around to confront the drummer. “Fuck you, dude. You’re one to talk.”

  Dave holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Yo, don’t get worked up about it. I’m just sayin’ … friends don’t let friends … whatever it is you just did together before you showed up here.” Dave looks at Tarin, regret in his eyes. “I was a shitty friend too, Tare, but I’m gonna fix that for you, man. For us. For the band.”

  As inelegant as the delivery was, I give him points for having his heart in the right place. And he’s right about one thing for sure: Friends don’t let friends piss me off.

  “Listen, Brett. I’m sorry to have to be the bearer of bad news, but Tarin’s about to make some big changes in his life, and one of them is cutting the dead wood. That means people like you.” I look at the other people gathered, the ones who haven’t yet officially met me. They share the same expression: confusion. I can practically see the WTF word bubble over their heads.

  “Heads up to everyone in the room … I have a contract that says I can fire and get rid of anyone who I deem in my sole discretion to be counterproductive to getting Tarin on the right track. No second chances, no appealing to Tarin, Mel, the label, or anyone else. You either get on board with helping Tarin my way or you’re out. End of story.” I pause for a moment to let that sink in. “Anyone who has a problem with that can save us all a lot of trouble by walking out now.”

  No one moves a muscle at first. Then heads turn to look at Stick. Clearly they consider the guitarist to be the one making decisions for them.

  I have to give him credit. As against the idea of me as I know him still to be, he still does the best thing I could have hoped for. He turns his head slightly to show them the side of his face. “What she said.” Then he looks back at me, giving me his full attention. His snub of Jelly and Brett is bold and sharp. Everyone is on pins and needles now, waiting for their response.

  “Tarin, man, you gotta do something about this,” says Brett, laughing uncomfortably under his breath. “We go way back, man.”

  “Tarinnn,” whines Jelly, wiping her hands all over his upper arms and chest, “come on, let’s just go…” She tries to push him towards the door, but he digs his heels in, shoving her hands away again. He’s upset, but he can’t seem to bring himself to either argue against me or make Jelly and Brett feel better.

  “Go,” I say to Zach, softly so only he hears it. There’s no need to rub salt in any wounds, and I don’t need anyone giving Zach a hard time for following my bold orders.

  Zach and Leonard move forward, Zach gesturing toward the door. “After you, Brett. Jelly, come on. Don’t make a scene.”

  Brett points at me, his face screwed up in anger. “Fuck you, bitch. Fuck you! You’re nothing, you hear me! Nothing! I’ll be back tomorrow and you’ll be fucking gone!” He looks at Tarin. “I’ll call you, man. We’ll talk.”

  I stare Brett down, saying not a single word.

  Jelly’s crying, her fat tears causing her mascara to run down her face in bluish-black smears. She looks a lot like she did in her mug shot, the only difference being that her hair is brushed this time. I have a feeling it won’t stay that way for long the way she’s flopping all over the place as she tries to hold on to a struggling Tarin.

  “Get off!” he says, turning his attention from her to Zach. “Get her off me, would ya?” He’s annoyed. I take that as a good sign.

  “But Tarin, I love you!” she screeches as Zach pulls her away. She tries to hit him, but it’s like a piece of paper battling a hurricane gale. She’s halfway to the door before she can get her next sentence out. “But I’m pregnant! You can’t make me leave, I’m pregnant! With Tarin’s baby!”

  I’m instantly sick to my stomach. I don’t know why, but I see my life flash before my eyes. Why Tarin’s future as a father has any connection to my life, I have no idea; but this definitely adds a new wrinkle to the plan. A big fucking hell of a horrible awful wrinkle.

  The room goes mostly silent, the only sounds left to be heard being Jelly’s cries and struggles to get free.

  Tarin’s face has gone white. At the same exact time, both Scott and Tarin say precisely the same thing.

  “No. Fucking. Way.”

  Scott looks at me, his eyebrows practically up in his hairline. “I totally called it. I told you this shit was going to be bad.”

  Chapter Ten

  LEONARD ESCORTS BRETT OUT THE door and promises to watch over him as he removes his belongings from Tarin’s house. It takes me a good half hour to calm Jelly down and get her to believe me when I say that I’ll let Tarin talk to her.

  I’ve given up on cutting her out of the equation entirely, but for sure she can’t be here right now during this meeting, because otherwise I’ll get nothing accomplished. She’s too big a distraction, although now in a much more complicated and heinously awful way.

  Ugh. I can hardly stand the idea of her and Tarin making a baby together, especially with her being such a drugged-out mess. All I can picture is a baby in a stroller wearing a bustier and high heels while her mother blows cigarette smoke in her face. Jelly does not strike me as the good mother type, and I should know; I was raised by a wingnut myself. It’s partly what drove me into Austin’s arms in the first place. He was my shelter from the storm that was my life.

  Jelly finally agrees to let Ricky drive her home, and even though Tarin looks like he’s still in shock, I start the meeting up again.

  “Okay, well … that was … unexpected.” I wait for the nervous twitters to go away. “So, as I was saying, we have a project ahead of us. Getting Tarin back.” I look over at him and he’s just staring out into space. I don’t know if it’s the mood-altering drugs he’s taken or the life-altering confession of a girl named Jelly, but either way, he’s lost right now, lost more than usual. I continue to address the group. “Anyone here feel like they can’t support the cause?”

  No one responds. I look at each and every face in turn, trying to figure out if anyone’s playing games. I see nothing but unasked questions and confusion. The only one with a hint of attitude is Stick, but I know for now at least that I have him on my side.

  “Good. Tarin starts a new program tomorrow at six a.m. It continues for at least thirty days. No drugs of any kind unless they’re prescribed by a doctor I’ve approved in advance, no alcohol, and no cigarettes. Anyone who supplies him with any of the above is out, no questions asked, no second chances.”

  “No cigs? Man … harsh.” Dave is shaking his head.

  “Rots your lungs,” says Tarin in a distracted voice. Everyone looks at him. He’s staring at the floor, like he’s in a trance. “I saw a lung once. In biology class. Remember that, Stick? Black as shit.”

  He’s traveling down memory lane, stoned. I can only imagine the horrible images his warped brain is conjuring for him right now.

  Stick smiles vaguely. “Yeah, I remember. Why do you think I don’t smoke? That shit was nasty.”

  “You think my lungs look like that?” Tarin asks him, finally looking up.

  Stick looks sad. “Nah, man. Your lungs are fine.”

  Tarin looks at me next, his eyes not exactly focused. “You think my lungs are black, don’t you?”

  I shake my head silently. He looks positively tortured.

  He’s almost in a trance as he speaks. “Black lungs. Black soul. You think I have a black soul, don’t you?”

  I stare at
him, wondering what kind of mood-messing-up drugs he’s been taking. He looks like he’s ready to jump off a cliff. Moving forward, I take his hand. It’s cold and clammy. “I don’t think that about you, Tarin. If I did, I wouldn’t be here. We just need to get you on the right track. You don’t have any black lungs or soul or anything ridiculous like that. Trust me.”

  “Trust you.”

  “Yes. I never lie.”

  He smiles a little. “What are you doing in L.A.?”

  I smile back. “I’m taking care of Austin’s legacy.”

  His smile disappears in a flash, leaving a pale, fearful expression behind. “Yeah. How could I forget?” He pulls his hand away and sighs heavily before facing his group of friends and co-workers. “Yeah, so,” he says, stopping to clear his throat of its rust, “what she said … I, uh… I support it or whatever.” He flops his hand in the air in my direction. “Just do what she says and we’ll get through this shit, okay?”

  Everyone nods. A few people give him their verbal agreement.

  “Happy?” he asks, looking at me. I could swear he’s about to cry.

  “Yes. I’m happy.” I look out at the group. “Let’s eat! Dinner’s in the garden. Please no smoking around Tarin. If you want to smoke, go around to the front of the house.”

  I hold out my hand to Tarin, palm up.

  “You want to hold hands now?” he asks, his expression tortured.

  “No.” I give him my thousand-watt smile. “I want your cigarettes and the pipe you have in your pocket.”

  He slowly reaches into his front pockets and pulls out the items I could see outlined there. “It’s not a crack pipe, you know. I don’t do crack,” he says.

  “Crack is whack,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I just smoke a little dope every once in a while to relax.”

  “Not anymore,” I say, motioning for him to give me more.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Don’t act like you’re not holding,” I say.