Stay Until We Break (Hub City Romance, A)

by Mercy Brown

  “Are you . . . are you moving or something?” Sonia asks from behind me, and I nearly jump out of my T-shirt. I turn around and it’s hard to meet her eyes, but I do. My stomach feels like I just swallowed a bucket of ice chips.

  “Yes,” I say. “Back to Lodi.”

  “When?” she asks.

  “When we get back,” I say. “Sunday.”

  She stands there making faces, like she’s still groggy and trying to process what I just told her.

  “But . . . why?” she asks.

  “Well, I’m covering some of Claire’s tuition to Rutgers, so I need a better job,” I explain. “I’m going to start working for my uncle’s plumbing business, and it’s up in Lodi.”

  Sonia closes the door and gives me a totally perplexed look. “But what’s Joey going to do?”

  “I don’t know, I haven’t told him yet.” The shock on her face reminds me of what a dick move that is, keeping my best friend of all time in the dark. “Look, I’m planning to tell him right after Maxwell’s, and I’ve already paid him the rent for September, so he’ll have some time to figure it out.”

  “You’re going to commute an hour back for rehearsal four times a week? And where are you guys going to rehearse? Or are you just assuming Joey will get another roommate?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I guess they can always go to G&L Studios and rehearse there if they need to.”

  “Don’t you mean we can always go rent rehearsal space at G&L?”

  “No, I don’t,” I say, studying her face. She’s quick, so I know she gets it, but she just stares blankly at me. No response whatsoever. She shakes her head in disbelief.

  “No,” she says. “You can’t do this.”

  “I have to, Sonia,” I say. “Believe me, if there was any other way . . .”

  “But you guys are going to get signed,” she says. “You can’t quit right before we break, Cole. That’s insane.”

  “Getting signed doesn’t mean shit, Sonia. Most of us are not the fucking Pumps. We’re Crown the Robin—busting our asses and barely surviving. If we get signed tomorrow, it’ll still take years to make any kind of living at this, if it ever happens at all. I don’t have years. I have to make a living now.”

  “But you’ve already worked for years for this and you’re going to quit now?”

  “I have to. I’ve got obligations.”

  “What obligations? To pay for your sister’s college?” she says, her voice rising. “You’re her brother, not her father! Can’t she get her own job? Take out loans?”

  “Goddamn it, Sonia, just stop,” I say. I feel my heart race, my face begin to get hot. “This isn’t what I want, but I can see reality when it’s staring me right in the fucking face.”

  “This isn’t reality,” she accuses. “It’s a cop-out.”

  “Look, you really have no clue what reality is like for me, all right?”

  “Yeah, apparently I don’t,” she says. “But how could I when you’ve been lying to me this entire time?”

  “I haven’t lied to you,” I say, exasperated.

  “Bullshit!” she yells back. “You let me believe you were staying in the band—that’s totally dishonest.” Fucking hell, she looks like she’s just been punched straight in the gut. “It’s like you were just pretending the whole time.”

  “Come on, Sonia. What are you insinuating here, that I’ve just been fucking you and it’s meant nothing to me?”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me the truth?” she demands to know.

  The edge in her voice pushes all the wrong buttons in me. I don’t yell back, though. I just get mean on her.

  “Do you normally ask for a resume before you hook up with someone?” I ask. “A five-year plan? What are you really mad about, here? The fact that I didn’t tell you, or that I’m not the rock star you want?”

  “I thought you had the balls to go after what you want,” she says. “I thought you saw a future for us.”

  “Honestly, Sonia, I did see a future for us,” I say. “And sadly, this moment right here was it.”

  ***

  Thursday, August 24, 1995

  House Show at Misty’s, Atlanta, GA

  With Crown the Robin and Dope Double X

  Soft Tour—Day 15

  I have to spend the rest of the afternoon walking the streets of muggy Atlanta, because fuck if I can be in the same house with Sonia right now. I can hardly be in the same town. But why am I so surprised at how that worked out? It’s what I expected all along, isn’t it?

  Sure sucks to be right sometimes.

  A few hours later, when I walk back into Misty’s house, the first person who grabs me is Emmylou.

  “Where have you been?” she says, totally hoarse from her cold.

  “Shit, your voice, Em,” I say.

  “We were looking all over for you,” she says. “I was half worried you weren’t coming back.”

  “Why would you think that?” I snap, my stomach in knots because if Sonia told Emmylou I’m leaving instead of letting me tell them personally, I’m going to be doubly pissed. “Would I ever walk out on you guys? Seriously?”

  “No, but what happened with Sonia? She’s been a mess all afternoon.”

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  “No,” she says. “She won’t tell anyone anything. Did you guys break up?”

  “Break what up?” I ask. “Emmy, we’ve been together a week, it’s not like we were going to get married.”

  Her eyes soften, but she doesn’t say a word, and I don’t want to talk about it, anyway. The party is filling up now, people streaming in through the front door. I finally see Sonia out of the corner of my eye, walking out of the kitchen, and she’s a mess. Her eyes are dark and sunken in her head like she hasn’t slept in days, and I can see she’s been crying. Her hair is messed up like she’s been sleeping on it. She sees me and our eyes lock for a second, but she looks every bit as angry as I still feel. Then she turns and walks down the hall, away from me.

  “It’s time to play,” Emmy says. “Are you ready?”

  My stuff is already set up—obviously Travis has arranged my pedals and plugged all my shit in for me. When he sees me he just gives me a nod, nothing more, but his expression is full of concern. I give him a nod back: It’s fine. I’m fine. Chill out. Joey calls me over from behind the kit and says, “What’s up, you good?”

  “Yep,” I say. “Let’s make some noise.”

  “I hear that,” Emmy rasps. She hands me a whiskey glass and picks another up from the top of her cabinet. We clink glasses and down our shots, and the alcohol burns warm down my throat, makes my eyes water. But at least we’ll both be able to sing through this fucking head cold. “Cole—if my voice gives out, take over the lead, all right?”

  “Sure,” I say. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that.”

  Sadly, by the middle of the fourth tune, it does. She’s unable to reach any of the highs and by then her throat hurts so bad even another shot of whiskey doesn’t help. I end up singing all the lead vocals on the second half of the set, which isn’t so bad because I have to stay so focused on what I’m doing that I can hardly pay attention to Sonia, sulking in the back of the room.

  The crowd is packed in so tight it’s got to be a fire hazard, and they’re jumping wildly in front of where we’re playing. A minor mosh pit breaks out. Maybe it’s the testosterone I’ve added by singing the lead on “Fire in the Empire” that gives it more of a hardcore edge. In any case, I’m so busy trying not to fuck up the set that I almost don’t notice when Jason and Maury and the rest of the fucking Pumps walk in during our second-to-last song.

  “The Pumps are here!” someone screams from the side. I look over and see Misty pumping her fist in the air, shouting, and then a bunch of other people start doing the same. All the crowd st
arts chanting, “Pumps! Pumps! Pumps!”

  “Well, well, well,” I say from the mic. “I’m sorry, I thought this was an exclusive party. Can we please see your invitation?”

  Jason grins and flips me the bird.

  “Holy shit,” Emmy squeaks.

  “What’s wrong with Emmylou?” Jason calls from the crowd. “Cat finally got that enormous tongue of hers?”

  “That cat’s still around here somewhere, so watch out,” I tell him from the mic. “Thanks for having us, Misty, and happy birthday,” I say. “This is our last song, ‘Loud Is How I Love You.’”

  Several people in the audience hoot and holler like they’ve heard of it, so that’s cool. Travis starts to pick the guitar riff when Jason walks right up and whispers something in Emmy’s ear. We get to the beginning of the verse when he looks at me and takes the mic and starts singing over me, “Way back when . . . first day of school . . .” And would you believe that motherfucker knows all the words?

  The party goes ballistic because Jason Foley, big shot frontman for the Pumps, has just wrestled our single away from us. Emmy shrugs in defeat and I back off the mic, just jumping in to do harmonies with Travis when they come around. The Pumps are assholes, through and through, but when you see the crowd having such a good time, it’s tough to argue.

  When our set is over, I don’t see Sonia anywhere. Fine by me. I have nothing to say to her, anyway. Crown starts setting up their gear and Jason asks me if I’ll come outside to talk for a minute. Why I agree, I don’t even know.

  “Look, man, you should play bass for us,” Jason says when we’re out of earshot of anyone.

  “What?” I laugh. “Are you fucking with me?”

  “I’ve been wanting to let Maury go for a while now,” he says. “He’s all right but he doesn’t have what we’re going for. And you do.”

  Jason gives me the once-over like I’m a ham hock in a butcher’s display case.

  “I’m not interested,” I say.

  “Give it some thought, first,” Jason says. “You know, we could even use Sunny to pick up some of the publicity work. Package deal.”

  “My answer is no,” I say again. “Maury’s a great bass player and he puts up with your shit. Why would you dump him?”

  “It’s nothing personal, he just doesn’t get what we’re about,” Jason says. “You? You can sing, you play like a motherfucker, and you’re almost as good looking as I am.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “God, you’re such a dick.”

  “Yeah, well that may be true, but I’m also on Geffen. You’d kill to be here, and I know just how you feel.” He takes one look at me, and I know what he sees. My exhausted face. My worn-out Vans. An old pair of Levi’s with the knee gone. “I know it’s fun to hang out with your friends and play rock star, but you want to make money at this, don’t you? You’re good enough. The question is, how bad do you really want it?”

  He hands me his business card—a fucking business card. I’m so pissed off I want to smack it right out of his hand. But I don’t. I just stare and marvel at the size of this guy’s balls.

  “Think it over,” he says. “That’s the number for Hailey, our publicist at Geffen. She can always get a hold of me.”

  Before I gather my wits enough to tell him to fuck off one more time, he slithers away, back into the house.

  I sit on the porch steps, stare at the card for several minutes, just thinking. Thinking things I don’t even want to think about. Like, I could probably earn all of Claire’s tuition for her entire Rutgers career in a single year if the Pumps hit as big as they probably will. If they break the top ten at Billboard, Jason won’t be paying for the hotel suites anymore. I wouldn’t have to be a plumber. Mom could quit cleaning at the Marquis. And then, maybe Sonia . . .

  “What was that about?” Emmylou says, coming up behind me, her voice jagged. She winces and takes a sip from a steaming mug.

  “You’re a mess, Em.”

  She takes a seat next to me on the porch steps and points to the business card in my hand.

  “What did Satan want?” Her eyes are red like mine from lack of sleep and getting sick. You know, having the best time of our lives.

  Like a dying man, I flash through all my memories of hanging out with Emmylou and Joey and Travis, all the shows we’ve played, the adventures we’ve had doing this crazy rock band shit. I imagine them going on without me, and I know they will. But then I imagine how they’d feel if I left them and joined the Pumps. I know how much I’d hate myself if I ever did that to them.

  And really, what’s the point in living the dream if you have to sell your soul?

  “Nothing,” I say. I take my lighter out of my pocket and set the card on fire. I watch the flames lick around the edges, pinching the corner between my fingers until I have to drop it and stamp the fire out under my foot.

  And then any dream I ever had of being a rock star dies with this fading cloud of smoke.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sonia

  What a fucking waste.

  That’s all I can think as I watch Crown the Robin play their set—what a stupid waste it is for Cole to quit playing music. I’ve always known he was an immense talent, but after watching him front Soft for half a set? Jesus Christ. That boy’s voice is like melted chocolate poured right on a starving tongue. Even as sick and as pissed off as he is, he got right up on stage and brought it anyway like it was effortless. How dare he throw that away like it’s nothing? What a fool.

  This is what I think about, because I can’t think about how utterly and completely he broke my heart. I can’t think about how the friendship we started out with is broken beyond repair. And I really can’t think about how dumb I feel for falling in love with him when I knew better all along.

  Totally McCormacked. Just like I’d predicted from the start, only it hurts even more than I’d expected.

  As I’m stewing, Jason catches my eye from the kitchen doorway, where he’s being fawned on by three different women. He waves me over, and while I want to pretend I don’t see him, I still want to convince him to make a contact at Geffen for me. I weave my way through the crowd and I’m surprised when Jason actually hugs me. Me—“Pediatric”—the girl who blew a perfectly good hit of cocaine all over his hotel suite.

  “Epic guest appearance, right?” he says, totally satisfied with himself. “Soft owes me for giving them a huge hit of hip cred.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say. What an enormous prick. “Just imagine what they’d owe you if you hooked them up at Geffen.”

  “Well hey, guess what?” he says. “Remember John Salinger? He was a year ahead of me at PDS.”

  “I remember him,” I say. “Alto sax in jazz band. Didn’t he go to Oberlin?”

  “He’s at Matador now,” Jason says. “I called him for you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did,” he says. “They got the single but he hasn’t listened to it yet. He said he’ll come check them out at Maxwell’s. Sonia? What’s wrong?”

  I’m standing here with my mouth hanging open. Because I’m in shock, that’s why. I’m in so much shock that I throw my arms around Jason’s neck and hug him again.

  “You really did that?” I say.

  “Yeah,” he says. “You know, I’m a nice guy.”

  “No you aren’t. Get real.”

  Of course, he then lets on that he called John Salinger because he wants credit for breaking them. All you have to do is see Soft play to know that they’re going to get signed, and soon—especially now that they’ve been playing a new room every night for two weeks. By the end of this tour, they’ll be primed for Matador to come see them.

  “I can’t wait to tell them,” I say.

  “Oh, don’t tell them,” Jason says. “They’ll get nervous if they know he’s there, and they need to kill it, Sunny. My repu
tation is on the line.”

  “They always kill it,” I say. “How can I even thank you for this? It’s almost like you’re a decent human or something.”

  “There is something you can do, actually,” he says, his eyes narrowing and his smile oily and lecherous like he’s only been able to hold his true nature in check for so long. “I need you to talk to McCormack for me.”

  I follow Jason’s gaze across the room and see Cole watching us, and boy, he looks pissed. If he’s decided he’s jealous, all I can do is laugh.

  “I want him to join the Pumps,” Jason says in a low voice. “He’s considering, but you need to talk him into it.”

  My jaw hits the floor. Second time Jason has shocked me in five minutes. I feel every bone in my body go brittle. That fucking scheming, lying snake—and I’m not talking about Jason.

  “But . . . what about Matador Records?” I say.

  “If Soft gets signed to Matador, they won’t have any trouble getting a new bass player. Hell, Maury will be looking and he’d fit right in there with them. He’s got all that shaggy hair like Travis.”

  “Cole is really considering it?” I ask him. “He said that?”

  Cole starts making his way through the crowd towards us and I can’t hide my disgust. Not that I can think of a single reason I should hide it.

  “It’s a smart move for him,” Jason says. Then just as Cole reaches us, Jason gives him a sly, knowing look and walks off into the crowd. I feel like my insides have all liquefied and are draining like ice water through my feet. I give Cole the bitchiest Sunshine face I have in my arsenal. I put real effort into it, but he doesn’t flinch. He just gives me the same face back.

  “We need to talk,” he says.

  Fucking fine with me. I need to get a few things off my chest, too.

  I follow him as he storms back to Misty’s den, and by now, I’m pretty sure I’m going to start screaming at him the minute we’re alone. He closes the door behind us and I count my breaths before I blow up.