by A. M. Jones
I need this to happen.
Easy peasy, baby. Consider it done.
My hands shake uncontrollably. I have a sneaking suspicion on who this could be but why? And I don’t want anything to do with her. I snatch up the folder with Mr. Blake’s card attached, dial his number, and reject the offer.
I’m stretched on my couch with my feet on the table when the door opens. Madison appears, scanning my messy apartment. She moves in front of the muted television and stares at my iPhone dock. “You’re listening to this? Shouldn’t you be packing?” She glances at her phone. “Actually, shouldn’t you be packed?”
I shrug and gesture to the TV. “Will you move?”
“Give me a break. You aren’t watching television. Taylor rejected the agent. Several times.”
“Taylor is exceedingly independent. She doesn’t need anything or anyone.” I might sound a little bitter. Madison has the audacity to look sympathetic. She’ll gloat eventually. Maybe not now or tomorrow, but someday she’ll find the perfect time to throw Taylor’s independence in my face.
She sighs. “Get up. Go shave and shower. You look like bigfoot or a relative of the Robertson’s.”
I try to move but can’t. My torso feels rigid, and my will to give a shit is on vacation. “I don’t see why you care. Shouldn’t you be enjoying my misfortune?”
Madison stares at me with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. She moves from the TV and I reclaim my view. What the fuck? What am I watching? Since the remote is still attached to my hand, I turn the TV off. “Eli? Are you listening?”
When I glance to Madison, she has a hand on a hip, pointing to the wet dream covering most the far-left wall with her other hand.
“Huh?” I manage.
“What is that?”
I shrug again. “It’s Taylor.” I love it. But the image of her crossed arms over her chest, as if she’s locking up her heart, isn’t lost on me. Like Marcus knows this about her, so he decided to make me see it every day. I’ve replayed what I said to her in Jackson a million times. Fuck, I don’t even know how I’m going to apologize for the things I spewed.
My apartment door opens again. I’m starting to wonder if the neighbor across the parking lot thinks I’m running a crack house.
“Knock-knock!” Crockett strolls in looking fresh and ready to be gone—sleeping weird hours and eating a bad diet for a month. “Oh, fuck no, Grizzly Adams! I’m disgusted with your hygiene.” His face scrunches. “Is that a fly? He’s your new buddy? Tell him to help pack your suitcase because we need to be gone five minutes ago.” He glances at Maddie as if he just noticed her standing there. “What are you doing here?”
“Taylor won’t take the agent. I’m hoping Eli can talk her into it.”
The comment takes a second to sink into my brain, and I sit, bracing my elbows on my knees. Crockett visibly relaxes in relief at my movement. Understandable, since I was in the exact spot and position when he came by yesterday. “Wait a minute. Why do you care so much?”
Her mouth becomes tight. “Because I need the music.”
“An honest answer. I’m impressed,” Crockett comments. “And does it look like he’s in any shape to talk to Taylor?”
I shake my head. “I’m not discussing Taylor with you two.” I point to Madison. “Take the music. I don’t want it.”
“I can’t just take the music, Eli. Dash Top wants you guys.”
I groan, sick of her shit. My finger moves to Crockett. “You’re leaving Taylor alone like we agreed, right?”
He raises his hands. “I haven’t called her, but your grace period is over.”
I groan. He’s right. It’s time to work but, “Why can’t you just leave me alone with Adele? I was almost in the mood to kill myself.”
He laughs as I move toward the bathroom. My body protests, but it’ll work itself out in the shower. After I turn it on, I look in the mirror. Go live your life and chase the dream. My shoulders slump. I’d love to chase my dream, but it’s not the one Taylor assumes I want. I gasp. Dash Top wants you guys. I stare in the mirror as a deep determination sinks into my gaze. Maybe there is a way.
Loose rocks skid under my feet as I stumble my way to the van. I’m dead tired, so the alcohol I drank makes my balance ten times worse. Opening the side door, I fall in…
Laughter jars me awake. I lift my head toward the sound and realize I never closed the door. The overhead light glares down on me. A steady thump develops in the forefront of my skull.
“What the fuck you doin’, man?” Jack slurs, with a faux-blonde hanging off his arm and cigarette smoke curling from his nostrils.
I groan. “No. Not tonight.” They both climb over my legs to the back. I stuff my face in the seat. “Go away. I’m sleeping.” Of course, my words are muffled, so they laugh. I suck in a breath to sigh and almost gag at the smell—one I don’t want to contemplate too closely. I flop over to breathe fresh air, or whatever I can get of it.
“No worries, E-li. Amy will be quiet.”
“My name is Sara.”
“Oh yeah. That’s right.” He chuckles. I groan again.
Sara lets out a disgusted noise. “Oh yeah,” she mocks. There’s a distinct thump as if she hit him. “Looks like you’ll be fucking yourself, Josh.” Silence thickens the air in the van. I imagine Jack wants to punch himself in the nuts right about now. Sara climbs over my legs with an unattractive scowl. “Fucking losers.”
We listen to her fading stomps over the rocky concrete. I can’t help it, I laugh, and the effort only makes my head pound harder.
Jack sighs in the back. His lighter flicks triggering a brief flash of light right before his smoke fills the van. “I don’t even know why you’re laughing. You could live it up. You’ve been married since we were kids. You’re practically free. Thinking you’re one of Cockett’s buds on Church Street and you’re hidin’ in a closet. Maybe behind some skeletons.” The seat squeaks with his smack. “Shit, I need to write that one down.”
I don’t think any of the people who frequent the same sex clubs on Church Street are hiding but… “Don’t get gay confused with an aversion to slinging my dick around.” I move to a sitting position with my head in my hands, ready to go. I’m sick of waiting on those drunken bastards. “Are they about finished here? I’d like to sleep in a bed tonight.” If Jack sits in the back comfortably, Milo’s drums haven’t been loaded.
“One to talk about slinging dicks around,” Jack slurs, right before a cloud of cigarette smoke hits my face.
I laugh at his drunk ass even though the truth hurts. He told me to live it up. “At least I’m selective.”
Looking in the back, Jack wobbles even though he’s sitting. He licks his lips and takes another drag from his cigarette. When he tries to lift his head, one eye isn’t coordinated with other and both are bloodshot—a telltale sign he drank excessively. Probably the cheap bourbon he hoards so he doesn’t have to buy drinks in the bars. The cheap bourbon that made me let loose on Taylor. Her face flashes in my head. I don’t care how much time she needs, I’ll give it to her. I never meant to corner her like that.
Finally, I’ve had enough waiting and make my way to the bar to check things out. After I don’t find them, I go back to the van. “Where’s everyone?”
Jack points over to the right, and I follow his finger to the purple neon lights that announce, XXX. Great. “It’s where Amy found me. I think she… could be the one.”
“What?” I put my knee in the seat and look over at him. It reeks of whiskey. His flask is propped between his legs. The bourbon bottle is tipped over and whiskey soaks into the seat and drips on the floorboard. “Shit.” Why can’t he just drink from the bottle? I bring out my phone. Two o’seven in the morning. Perfect.
After cleaning most the whiskey, I go in search of my band mates who, somehow, transformed themselves back to age twenty-one. By the time I make it inside, I’m no longer tired but pissed off. This place charged me ten dollars just to retrieve the bastards. Upb
eat music assaults my senses as a leggy woman swings around a pole. Raunchy laughter comes from a darker corner, and I spot Crockett giving a stripper a lap dance. Kevin catches my eye, giving me a nod, but returns his attention to the busty brunette on top of him.
“What is he doing?” I ask Kevin, pointing to Crockett and trying not to glare or clench my jaw.
Kevin tilts his head to try for a better look between her legs when she bends over and sticks her ass in his face, jiggling her cheeks. “I was worried about him at first. Thought he was having some kind of sexuality crisis because he wanted a lap dance, but he didn’t like how she was rubbing against his junk. He told her to sit so he could show her how it’s done.”
Kevin doesn’t have a clue.
About this time, Milo stumbles from the back with a lopsided smile and bursts into laughter at Crockett. The stripper, surprisingly, seems to enjoy his attention. He swings his leg over her head, using the back of the chair for leverage and moves in a manner no guy should be able to move.
I turn to Milo, hoping he is coherent. “We need to go before Jack drowns himself either in whiskey or puke.”
Crockett scoffs, shaking his shoulders as if he has something to shake. “I’m not going anywhere until I get my forty bucks worth of ass and titties.”
“Right. You do that.” Seems like he’s giving forty bucks worth of… Crockett. I cross my arms, hold back any amusement, and exchange a glance with Milo. He laughs harder.
Crockett runs his body over hers. “You like that, don’t ya, darlin’?”
She nods, licking her lips. Her hands touch his sides and he automatically stops, slapping her hand and shaking his finger in her face. “Uh-oh. You’ve been a bad girl.”
Kevin stands in an awkward way—his upper body leaning to the side, thankfully removing my attention away from the scene before me. He adjusts himself. I don’t envy him. He’s seven or eight years younger than me, so this shit’s not out of his system yet. One day he’ll wake up from a night out and realize he blew a load of cash on a serious case of blue balls. Or he might never care.
“Why are you in such a hurry, anyway? You knew we were celebrating our last weekend on tour.”
Kevin makes a good point. I run my hand through my hair and Milo speaks, “I’ll go keep an eye on Jack and load my drums.”
I sit in the nearest chair and count the minutes. Truth is, I’m glad my time of babysitting is almost over. At least their shenanigans have managed to keep my mind from wandering. Much.
A week later, I’m catching up in the shop. Mick kept it running, but a few things are behind. I spent the better part of the week doing bills and paperwork. Now, I’m removing parts from a junked car for an old man Silkes who collects these things for some reason unknown. He pays extra for me to extract them, so I don’t question his motives. For all I know, he could build a car from scratch out of the sheer boredom of retirement. Mrs. Silkes sends jars of honey from her beekeeping hobby. Win-win.
A summer night breeze flows through the open doors, bringing the scent of fresh-cut grass and a nearby barbecue. It’s quiet except for the sound of my socket wrench and metal clanging together. Normally, the stereo would be blasting, but after three weeks of nothing but music, I need to recharge. Plus, I’ve got a new song I’m tossing around in my head.
“It’s getting late. What’re you still doing here?” Madison’s voice brings me from underneath the rusty hood.
I roll my shoulders. “Catching up.”
“I see.” She takes in the blackened parts laid out on a drop cloth by the car. Then she scrutinizes me. “How’d the tour go?”
“The shows went great. In fact, Jack’s already scheduled another show in Knoxville. But the traveling aspect—not so much.”
She laughs, stepping over tools. “I know what you mean.”
“I don’t think you know what it’s like to live on top of four other guys.”
Amusement lights her features as she leans against the bumper. “This is true.”
Dipping back under the hood, I ask, “You come here just to ask about the tour?”
“I thought you’d call when you got back to town.” Her tone gives me pause.
“Don’t make me feel guilty. I’ve been busy.” I’d say she missed me, if I didn’t know better.
“Have you talked to Taylor?”
I jerk, bumping my head on the hood. She loves making it hard for me to be nice to her. I rub my head. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” I toss the wrench on the drop cloth with a muffled metallic thump. “I don’t ask about your lover.” Taking a calming breath, I stick to my guns. No matter how much of a vindictive bitch she is, I’m over it. While she’s no longer a source of happiness for me, she isn’t a source of unhappiness either.
“So, Taylor’s your lover?” She sounds surprised.
I clench my jaw. “I haven’t talked to her. My problems aren’t hers to endure.” I need to take care of them myself. The only tidbits I catch of Taylor are from Twitter. I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t check on her to figure out how she’s doing. She makes it hard though—hardly ever posting or tweeting anymore. I suspect it’s because she knows I’m a stalker. My eyes burn at the thought, so I blink a few times to keep my expression indifferent.
She studies my stoic expression before looking away in thought. When Madison thinks, it’s hardly ever a good thing.
Shaking my head at my actions, I click to the next photo of Tainted District. In this one, they’re in Wichita, Kansas.
“That’s a great one,” Brenna says from behind me. It is. Eli stands behind the mic with his head down watching himself strum. His hair is a curtain around his face with his forearms dominating the picture. He sports the cuffs, and after a closer look, the nerd specs, too. It’s like his way of telling the world—telling me, I’m still important to him. “They’re back, right?”
They should’ve gotten back over a week ago, but they already have a new show scheduled. “I think so.”
Closing the laptop, I go into the bedroom and try not to get irritated when she follows.
“Will you introduce us?” she asks for the billionth time since she’s been here. Sitting on my bed, I watch her as she does the same. She knows something happened between Eli and me, but I haven’t gone into any great detail. She loves to assume and make versions of our ‘fling.’ She has no idea.
Brenna blinks her brown eyes. “Please, Taylor.”
She’s either oblivious to how hard this is for me or she doesn’t care. I sigh.
I move in slow motion to grab my cell phone. That smile she gets when things go her way forms on her face. I do a quick search and hit dial before I lose the nerve, send my siblings home, and crawl into a hole to die.
“Well, well, well. Didn’t think I’d hear from you so soon.” His words are sharp, but there is no mistaking the smile in voice, too.
I swallow and stare at Brenna, who watches me with keen interest. “Crockett.”
A long pause, but he blows through his phone as if he doesn’t know how to deal with this unexpected turn in his day. “I shouldn’t admit this, but you probably already know, anyway. I’m glad to hear your voice, luscious. How’ve you been?”
“Hanging in there.” All I want to do is ask him how he’s been, what has he been doing, maybe even ask about — “I need to ask you a favor,” I blurt.
“Anything.”
“I’d like tickets to Tainted District’s show in Knoxville this weekend. Maybe for some one on one?” Brenna bounces on my bed, slapping a hand over her mouth.
“Tickets aren’t needed for this one, but how many?”
Three, three, three. “Two. For my brother and sister.”
“Brother and sister? The twins?”
“That would be them. They’d love to meet you guys.”
A mischievous chuckle comes through the phone. “I’d love to show them the ropes.” Brenna’s eyes widen, and she jumps in excitement unable to contain herse
lf.
“Thanks. And Crockett?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell him I called.”
“I won’t.” His tone is serious—like a conviction—and it startles me. “Listen, we need to catch up.” I’m already shaking my head, ready to say no, but he plows on, “But I have to go right this second.” His tone changes into his dramatic flair, meaning someone is within earshot. “Buh-bye, peaches.”
I sigh and toss the phone to the end of my bed. I freeze when I realize Brenna watches me with her head cocked. Her face brightens as she smiles. “I knew it! Eli Gregor has a huge cock, doesn’t he?”
I can’t even muster the energy to be irked. All I can think about is Crockett’s tone when he said, “I won’t.”
My face stings a little, and I can’t concentrate on drafting, or actually, my plot at all with this crap on my face. I’m once again, going through photos of Tainted District. “What’s in this again?” I ask Brenna.
The same goop is on her face—a homemade facial to prepare for their trip to Knoxville tomorrow. Camden’s absence makes her fretful. Especially since last night was the second night he stayed out all night.
She stretches, placing her calves on the arm of the couch and looking through her phone. “Raw honey, baking soda, and lemon juice. Trust me when I tell you, your skin will glow like you threw down two Ben Franklin’s on a professional facial.” She says all of this as though she’s distracted.
I shrug and continue to click through photos, trying to put myself there with him and thinking back to a time when I was the one photographing. I open said pictures to compare. Why am I feeling pathetic right now?
“You bitch!”
I spin to find Brenna with her phone to her ear. “What?”
She wags the phone. “I see what this has been all about. You’re in love with each other.”
I blank my expression. Not her phone. My phone. “What do you mean?”
“The text messages! And this voicemail. Holy shit, Taylor.”
