Stay Until We Break (Hub City Romance, A)

by Mercy Brown

  “You know, she’s awesome,” he says, and I feel my jaw go even more stiff and my eyes start to get mean and I have to check myself. “She came upstairs before your set and rallied everybody who was there for the Chimp to come downstairs to watch you. She and Jeremy were like cattle herders, it was great. Really glad I didn’t miss your set.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sonia turns to me and there’s that look again. What now? she seems to be asking, but I don’t fucking know what now with her. All I know is that this skin of hers feels like flower petals under my hand and I’d sure like to feel more of it. I know she’s not other girls, she’s not the girl who works at Monticello, and she’s not the girl with the gap in her teeth. Those girls might smell good and look good and feel good under my touch, but they’ll never be Sunshine. What the fuck am I going to do? I honestly don’t know. Do I play out the fantasy with her now and then deal with the fallout when we get home and she learns I’m quitting the band and moving back to Lodi to be a plumber?

  What now, I guess she wants to know. I look back at her, cock an eyebrow, and smile.

  Your move, Sunshine.

  Chapter Five

  Sonia

  Time isn’t what it used to be, that’s one thing I’m learning about the road. For example, at home three a.m. is diner time—the last stop before fall-drunk-into-bed time. But on the road, three a.m. is when the real party starts. It’s Sunday night and nobody here has to worry about getting up for class, for work. Nobody has a paper due or an exam to stress out over. All we have to worry about is making it over to Lexington tomorrow night to play with Crown the Robin, our friends from Jersey City, who we’ll be sharing a leg of this tour with.

  The night is ours.

  We turn down a long, moonlit, gravel lane behind Chimp Cringle’s and the Crypt Whores’ Econolines, where we find an old Virginia farm. Back behind the house, a number of people from the club are already hanging out around an in-ground swimming pool. Some of them are actually in the pool, which looks really inviting after a long, hot night in a bar, but I didn’t think to bring a bathing suit on this trip. Then I realize none of the swimmers brought suits, either.

  “Whoa, naked people!” Emmy says. “Awesome!”

  “Awww, yeah, tonight’s my night,” Joey insists. He’s still hanging on to Debbie and Jenny, and Jenny is half on my lap because blow-up dolls take up a lot more space when the drummer refuses to deflate them. (As soon as Joey falls asleep I think Jenny is going to meet her untimely end on a piece of farm equipment, because I have no intention of spending the next two and a half weeks with this oversized, oversexed Barbie on my lap.)

  “Mark my words,” he goes on, staring at the naked swimmers with a gleam in his eye, “that girl in the pool with the nice . . . personality and the gap in her teeth? Little Lauren Hutton? Mine. Back at the club she said she appreciated my stature.”

  “Your stature?” I say. “Like, your Paul Bunyanesque physique?”

  “Just wait until she gets her hands on his trunk,” Travis says.

  “God, let’s hope so,” Emmy chimes in. “Because if you even consider sticking your dick in one of these dolls, I swear to you I’ll set it on fire.”

  “Hey, don’t talk like that!” Joey protectively covers Debbie’s ears. “She’ll hear you.”

  And he’s not even drunk.

  The thing about post-show musicians is that they don’t need to be drunk to be insane. The show itself is the drug, and the more shows they do, the more they crave. You’d think that might be a bad thing, and I know to my parents, who can’t understand why I’d take three weeks of my summer to sleep on people’s floors, it can seem like a life-ruining path to pursue. But this high is the good kind—the kind that makes you feel alive. And I know by now I’ve got a contact high, because after tonight’s show I’m starting to feel like I could do this forever.

  We park and try to convince Joey to leave the girls in the van, but he insists Shen will be offended since he offered them to us as some sort of transcultural, punk rock goodwill gift. That makes us the weirdest-looking bunch here as we lug our sleeping bags and backpacks and two blow-up dolls across the driveway over to the studio, which is an enormous, converted barn, fully equipped with three bedrooms (where the Crypt Whores are living right now), a kitchen, bathroom, and this big, main room where the recording actually takes place. That’s where we’re sleeping tonight.

  “Welcome to the Crypt, whores!” Shen says with a huge grin as he throws the lights on in the main room, and I’m still not sure if he knows what that word means. We stash our stuff and follow him and Jeremy out to the pool, where everyone is hanging out, many of them half-naked with towels draped around them. We are totally overdressed, especially me as I’m actually wearing a dress.

  Little Lauren Hutton comes up to us, a towel draped around her waist but not her . . . personality. I try not to stare. Look at her face, look at her face, I tell myself. Then I feel my claws extend as she beams her personality right at Cole and says hello. He acts totally cool, though, like hey, I’ve seen a lot of tits in my day. I groan inwardly as I consider just how true that probably is. When Joey comes over, she seems to forget about Cole and gives him the rock star treatment instead, kissing him on the cheek and everything, and I’m so glad I can’t see Joey’s boner, hidden as it is behind Debbie, who he is still clinging to. Then Little Lauren Hutton (not her actual name) turns to me, tugs playfully at my skirt, and says, “Hey, you should lose this dress and come in the pool with me.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I try to act super cool, like no big deal, naked women ask me this all the time. Meanwhile, I ignore Joey gawking behind her back and Cole’s amused little smile as he cocks his head at me like an intrigued Labrador.

  “It is a beautiful night for a swim, Sunshine,” he says. “And you do look a little warm.”

  “Nah, I’m totally good,” I say. “You know, maybe later.”

  “Yeah?” Cole says.

  “Really?” Joey’s eyes pop.

  “Yeah, no,” I say. “Probably not.”

  “Well, hey, I’ll go,” Joey says.

  I’m a little alarmed when he strips his shirt off over his head and hands it to Cole right on the spot, but damn, I’d forgotten what a nice body Joey has. He really is a lumberjack, minus the sideburns. I look away when he drops his pants, though. I have no need to see Joey’s junk, even if it is probably enormous. Luckily, he keeps his boxers on as he follows Little Lauren Hutton to the diving board. Then he does a cannonball into the deep end with Debbie and Jenny tucked under each arm. Maybe we won’t even need farm equipment to take them out.

  I settle into a lounger by the poolside between Cole and Craig, the station director from TJU. He strikes up a conversation with us about radio promotion, never mind all the naked folks milling about. As I get more absorbed in the conversation, Cole gets up to go chat with Trap and another girl (who happens to have clothes on) when it dawns on me that Joey isn’t out here any longer, and neither is Little Lauren Hutton. I can only hope for the best.

  Every so often, Cole looks in my direction and makes eye contact, and every single time he does it I can feel his hand on the back of my neck again, his fingers threading up into my hair like when he did that back at Tokyo Rose. Fucking zing. I’m right back there. I think about his offer . . . I can help you out—all you have to do is ask . . . and I know it’s a bad idea, but I’m seriously considering it. Ever since he kissed me last night back at Stache’s, all I can think about is hooking up with him. The problem is we’re friends, and we have to be able to live together in the van and get along for the next three weeks. Hopefully after the tour is over, too, if Soft will keep me on as their manager. And if we hook up, I just don’t expect him to take it—or me—seriously. He doesn’t seem to take any girl he takes to bed seriously. And I would consider just doing it anyway, with the mind-set that it’s just a casual hookup. But I
don’t know if I can.

  As Craig talks to me, I stare at Cole, watch him laugh with Travis, his eyes all bright and happy. I stare at him for minutes and minutes without stopping, waiting for the moment when his eyes find mine again. I never tire of watching him.

  “Hey, where’s Joey?” Emmylou asks, sitting in the lounger on the other side of me. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “Yeah, I hope it’s a good sign,” I say.

  “Let’s pray it is,” she says. “But Debbie and Jenny are missing, too, so, you know . . .”

  “I can’t even consider that possibility.”

  “How sanitary are those things, anyway?”

  “I like how you think I’d know that.”

  “You’re the practical one,” she reminds me.

  “Well, I don’t think you can really catch anything,” I say. “But I’d worry about chafing.”

  “That’s gross, Sunny.”

  “That’s why I brought Lubriderm.”

  “Oh God, I hope dick chafing is not the real reason you brought lotion. Is it?”

  It isn’t, but I just smile and shrug at her horrified expression.

  She polishes off her beer and then saunters over to Travis, and the way he eye-fucks her as she walks to him is practically indecent, but just made my list of life goals. I try to imagine what it would feel like to be that desired by someone, but I can’t because I never have been. I find myself looking at Cole again, wondering who he’s ever wanted like that.

  He catches me staring as I’m half listening to Craig, raises his eyebrows, clearly a sign. A glorious, obvious sign, but I’m not sure if I’m grimacing or what, because he turns back to his conversation with Travis and Emmy. But then he heads over to where I’m standing and my stomach drops like I’m about to take a free fall.

  “Sorry, Craig, I need to borrow Sunny,” he says, taking me by the hand. When I look up at him he smiles. “I need you to help me find something in the back of the van.”

  “Find what?” I ask, because I’m really that dense.

  “I’ll show you when we find it.” He gives Craig this knowing sort of wink before he leads me away from the party, and my mind races as I walk with him. Is he serious? He wants to get with me in the van? Right now with all these people here? And . . . am I doing this?

  Oh, how I’m regretting my choice to stay sober tonight. My hand is cold and clammy in his and I can’t stop feeling like an awkward sixteen-year-old. And I really can’t deal with how good he looks in that plain black T-shirt with that beautiful little mole on his neck, just under his hairline and perfectly visible with all this stupid, magical moonlight.

  “Should we get a beer first?” I suggest. “Or maybe five?”

  “Oh . . .” He’s caught off guard. Great. “I mean yeah, sure.” He lets go of my hand. Go, me.

  “Or not,” I say.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I thought you looked like you’d had enough talking about radio promo. If you want to hang out with Craig, that’s fine. Seriously.”

  “I don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s not that.”

  “What’s not what?”

  “It’s not . . .” I kick the dirt and look down so he can’t see me gnawing on my lip like a jerk. He’s waiting for me to explain myself, but I can’t explain that I need a drink because of how nervous I am, because that sounds pathetic.

  “C’mon, let’s get a beer,” he says, and turns to walk into the barn, his hands in his pockets. I follow him, cursing myself. Why can’t I just be like any of these normal women who jump him when the opportunity arises? How many opportunities do I think I’m going to get with him before he just goes back to hooking up with girls who aren’t neurotic?

  I follow him inside where Jeremy and Shen are now hanging out, all cozy on the sofa as they check out the latest Alternative Press. They point us to the kitchen and we help ourselves to the last two Red Stripes. Cole pops the tops off of the bottles and hands me one.

  “Cheers,” he says, and at least he’s smiling.

  I nod and smile too widely and exhale through my nose.

  Breathe, Sunny. Just breathe like a normal person.

  He starts to chat about the Tokyo Rose, thanking me for pulling the crowd down to the basement for Soft’s set. He asks me what else Craig had to say about radio promotion, and he actually seems interested so I tell him everything, including my big plans for blitzing the stations with calls from the road and to get some folks from home to make a bunch of calls over the next two weeks. I’m sure our housemates, Jeff and Adam, will do it, probably Trap’s housemate, George, too, if I offer to pay the phone bill and buy him a case of beer when we get home. And now that I’m talking business again, I feel okay. I know how to handle myself in this territory.

  When we finish our beer, we head back into the main room and now it’s just us band-related folks, though Joey is still missing in action, and now I’m pretty sure of the action part. Emmy and Travis are hanging out on top of their sleeping bags on the floor. Travis is sprawled out with his head in Emmy’s lap, smiling, blissed out as she plays with his hair. Cole and I unroll our sleeping bags and he puts his right next to mine. This makes me both nervous and stupidly happy, so I try to keep myself from grinning too much. We sit on top of our bags with our backs against the sofa, and he’s sitting close enough for me to feel his arm brush mine every so often, and every single time we touch, even accidentally, my heart feels it. I think if he intentionally touches me I might combust.

  Jeremy lights some candles on the side table and turns the lights out. Shen starts to play “Dire Wolf” on an old acoustic guitar, and Emmy joins in on the harmony. I’m loving the sound of her Jersey accent combined with his Mandarin. Now it feels like the family vacation I wish I got to have as a kid, where everyone gets along and all that’s required for a good time is being together. I almost want to open my mouth and sing, Don’t murder me, I beg of you, don’t murder me . . . but no way would I ever sing in front of these guys, or anyone. I notice Cole is quiet, just watching me, and I blush for no reason, hoping the darkness hides it.

  “Wish we had some weed,” Shen says when we finish the song. “The Dead always make me want to get high.”

  “I have weed,” says Cole.

  “You do?” Emmy asks. “Since when did you start smoking again?”

  “Marilyn gave me some. We should kill it.”

  “Bust that shit out,” Travis says, sitting up. “I don’t want to drive with it in the van anyway.”

  “Really, Bean? You’re gonna smoke?” Emmy asks.

  “Yeah,” Travis says. “Are you?”

  “Sure, if you are. We’ve never done it high before,” she says, grinning.

  “Oh, do you have a checklist of sexual milestones?” Travis asks. “If so, I’ve got a few items I’d like to add.”

  Emmy grins and kisses him. I look away, but something about my mood makes me want to watch, and it’s not like they’re being discreet. So I glance back, only now they’re really making out—I can even see Trap’s tongue, right here like they’re a couple of teenagers. But instead of the eye-rolling I normally reserve for moments like these, I feel the flutter of thrill deep in me and it starts to spread. I look back at Cole and he gives me a crooked smile that does me in.

  “How about it, Sunshine?” he asks. “You wanna get high?”

  “Um . . . yeah,” I say, blinking. “Yes.” I think I would say yes to pretty much anything he asked me right now. Petty crime, mechanical bull riding. Even line dancing.

  He digs a cigarette pack out of his backpack and pulls out three fat joints and passes the first to Shen. Shen lights it, the smoke billowing out of his mouth and floating upward in the candlelight. Cole lights the second joint and passes it to Emmy. She takes a hit and then coughs it out as she tries to hold it in. She passes to Travis, and who are we now? We
never smoke pot at home. We’re by no means straight-edge, but it’s just not a thing we normally do. It feels so surreal, it’s like we’re not even us. Or maybe we are. Maybe being here with new people in a new place lets us be some other side of us we don’t get to be at home. The thought makes something in my brain tingle with curiosity.

  Cole lights the last joint and turns to me.

  “Open your mouth, Sunny,” he says.

  My mouth drops open in surprise. My heart races. His smile is far more sly than I’ve ever seen it, and I think this bad-boy stoner Cole might be my favorite yet. He takes a hit off the joint and shotguns it into my mouth. I suck that hit all the way down and hold it in before I exhale and then proceed to cough for about thirty seconds straight.

  “Em, give Sunny some of your water,” Cole says, and Emmylou hands me a bottle of Poland Spring and wags her eyebrows at me as I take a nice, long drink.

  “What?” I say, though I know exactly what she’s thinking.

  “Uh-huh,” she says, nodding. “Stoner.”

  “You are.”

  “No, you are.”

  We both laugh like idiots, and already I feel my buzz come on like a dream rolling slowly in. Travis starts kissing Emmy’s neck as she’s laughing and it strikes me as absurdly hot, like I can’t look away. Now Shen and Jeremy are making out on the other couch, and good lord, it’s like a high school party in here tonight, which is surprisingly a lot better than it sounds. I turn to look at Cole, whose glazed-over, relaxed smile feels like an open door to bliss.

  “Want more?” he asks, those big, brown eyes of his shining, all happy and dreamy in the candlelight. I nod that I definitely, most positively do. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah,” I say. He hands me the joint and I take a hit and lean towards him. He smiles and opens his mouth so I can exhale into it. He breathes it in and touches his forehead to mine, then exhales off to the side.

  “Had enough yet?” he asks.

  “No,” I whisper, so quiet I’m not sure I really said it at all.