by Dean Mayes
“And how much was it that you earned pulling beers this week?” Vasq queried with another smile. He looked around at the crew, signaling for them to leave him and Andy alone.
Andy turned to Cassie.
“Why don’t you go dance? Enjoy yourself.”
Cassie looked at him with some contempt, but it quickly melted and she kissed him tenderly on the cheek. As she got up with Alyson and took her hand, Andy handed her a small piece of foil.
Cassie smiled, quickly unwrapping it to find two blue pills. She handed one to Alyson, who eagerly took it and slipped the other under her tongue.
Finally Vasq and Andy were alone. Vasq took two of his own foils out of his jacket and offered one to Andy. Andy looked at it coldly and shook his head. Vasq raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push it.
“I was worried about you, Dev,” he said. “I was beginning to think that experience of yours had damaged you. Why didn’t you return my calls?”
Andy took another swig of his beer and shrugged. He surveyed the crowd on the dance floor, particularly Cassie and Alyson, who were already rubbing up against each other and kissing passionately. Though he was used to this kind of behavior from her in the past, Andy suddenly found himself inexplicably jealous.
“I have to say, man, your girl looks severely fuckable right now, doesn’t she?”
Something clicked inside Andy and he felt as though he was suffocating. The room began to spin, and all he wanted to do was to get out of here as quickly as he could. He took a deep breath and turned towards Vasq.
“I don’t know if I can do it anymore, Emilio,” Andy said in his best attempt at sounding matter-of-fact.
The statement caught Vasq by surprise - so much so that he choked on his beer.
“Are you serious?” the Latino retorted. “You’ve conducted one of your best runs tonight, man. The product is good, everybody is happy. You’re just still a little shaky from your ordeal.”
“No, Vasq, I’m not. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I don’t think I’m cut out for this anymore. I’ve been marked by the police now, so I’m a risk to you. And I’m losing the drive for it.”
Vasq shifted in his seat, irritated.
“Andy, you are my best courier. No one can move around a room the way you do. None of the crew will measure up to your skill. If it’s a question of money, I can cut you in on a better deal.”
Vasq immediately drew out the wad of cash again, and thumbed out a few extra bills. Andy waved it away.
“It’s not about the money, Emilio. Look, you’ve got two or three guys already who could take over. Chew’s been working rooms, and he’s got contacts with infrastructure. Sanchez is nimble enough. You don’t need me.”
Vasq’s expression darkened and he gripped his beer bottle harder.
“But you see. I do need you, dawg,” he leaned in close, lowering his voice until it was barely a whisper. “None of these fucks are gonna measure up. You’re my best asset, my cash cow, baby. I can’t just let you go that easily.”
Vasq nodded across the room to the edge of the lounge where two large and imposing bouncers stood. Both were dressed in tight-fitting black tees, their meaty hands adorned with large jewelry. They were watching Vasq and Andy warily.
Andy’s heart thudded noisily in his ears. The presence was there again, silently influencing him, directing him. Andy met Vasq’s eyes with a piercing determination.
“Don’t threaten me, Emilio,” he whispered shakily. “It doesn’t become you.”
Andy got up off the couch and straightened his jacket.
“I’m done with this, this ... bullshit!”
He turned away. Instantly, Vasq’s men approached him as he stepped through the ruined wall.
“Are you kidding me, Emilio?” Andy stopped, turning his back on the two men and facing Vasq. There was a fire in his eyes and, as he stood over Vasq, the normally cocksure man began to wilt.
“You want me to bring you down? I can, if you’d like. I can give the police everything - the suppliers, the networks, the crews you’ve got sucking your dick!” Vasq shrank further as Andy unleashed a potent anger. “I want to step away now before it kills me, Vasq! I’ve got no problem with you, but if you fuck with me, I will bring it all down. All of it!”
Vasq was stunned. His two lackeys appeared unsure of what to do. Andy spun around and marched towards the men as if to go through them. One of them put his hand up instinctively and shoved it into Andy’s chest, but he slapped it away angrily, brushing the taller man aside. They looked to Vasq for guidance, but this time he shook his head, signaling them to back off.
On the dance floor, Cassie and Alyson continued their flirtations while others around them were getting similarly amorous. Cassie was aroused by the effects of the drug as much as the feel of Alyson’s body, her skin, her lips.
Cassie saw Andy out of the corner of her eye, pushing his way through the crowd. She drew back from Alyson and watched him through her ecstasy haze, blunted concern tugging at her altered consciousness. Somehow her mind shook itself back to lucid attention once she realized that he was leaving.
“Wait for me,” she told Alyson, kissing her lips softly before stepping away.
Andy pushed through a group of people at the entrance to the Warehouse and stepped out into the cold night air. He felt a nauseating panic rising from the pit of his stomach. Emilio Vasq had been sat on his ass, but Andy was under no illusions that Vasq wasn’t capable of retaliating. Andy’s emotions spun like a tornado as he tried to get the silent presence out of his head - the presence he was sure had influenced him in shutting the door on Vasq. He had to get away from here now - as far away as he could from this place, from this life.
As he crossed over a thoroughfare that had once been the Warehouse’s parking lot, Andy glanced back over his shoulder and saw a trio of young women stumbling about in what he recognized as a drug-induced stupor. One of them was teetering on the verge of unconsciousness. Her companions tried to support her while she vomited in a gutter. She was pale, gaunt, sweating profusely. Andy stopped. The girl lifted her head towards him and in that moment, his eyes met hers. He was horrified by what he saw.
He saw nothing.
Her eyes were devoid of color. They were devoid of life. She was already dead.
Spying the fenced entrance to the Warehouse, Andy broke into a jog, heading towards a line of taxis that were dropping off and picking up partygoers outside the perimeter.
“Andy!”
He stopped suddenly at the sound of Cassie’s voice and turned to see her walking unsteadily towards him.
“What are you doing?” she shouted. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home. I don’t wanna be here anymore.”
Incredulity crossed Cassie’s features as she stepped yet closer to him.
“What is going on with you, Dev? Something’s seriously fucked you up.”
Andy looked skyward with a pained expression.
“I don’t want it no more, Cee. This ain’t living! It’s fucking slavery.”
“What are you talking about, Dev? You’re the one who’s in control. Vasq and the others rely on you. They’re the slaves! Not you!”
Andy shook his head in frustration and tossed his bottle to the ground. It clinked and rolled noisily across the pavement.
“I’m not in control of anything, Cee! My whole life is a fraud. This! All this…” He held his arms out to this world around them. “It’s no good. I need to get out while I still can.”
“You are so full of shit,” Cassie spat. “What have you got to get away from? This is what you do. This is what you’re good at. They love you in there! You’re somebody in there! Outside you’re nothing!”
Andy smiled bitterly at Cassie’s revealing tirade. He turned from her, his shoulders slumped as he walked away.
Cassie, unable to comprehend his behavior, screamed after him: “What are you doing to me?!”
In an act of pure, reflexive ra
ge she pitched her beer bottle at him. Her aim was true, striking the back of his head. Andy yelped in pain and he staggered, putting a hand up to the bleeding gash. He felt sick at the sight of his own blood.
He glared at Cassie, who fell to her knees, stunned at what she had just done. Then he turned away again and continued walking.
“Andy!” Cassie cried, breaking down in tears where she had collapsed. “I’m sorry! Come back!”
Andy had already disappeared into a nearby cab.
CHAPTER 8
“You’ve got to go gently, from the quick to the end.”
They sat at opposite ends of the sofa. Denny was crouched over Sonya’s left foot, cradling it in one hand and holding an applicator brush in the other. A small bottle of nail polish sat on the coffee table beside him and every so often, he delicately dipped the brush in and applied a layer of polish to her toes.
It was dark outside, even though it was only early afternoon. Rain fell harshly against the roof and the window panes of the old beach house; the sea beyond boiled and bubbled under the might of the storm. Angry white-topped breakers pounded the shoreline. Here inside, with a warm fire crackling in the potbellied stove in the corner of the living room, they were oblivious to it all. Sonya leaned back and closed her eyes, luxuriating in the sensual grip of Denny’s hand as he gave his first pedicure. He sat deep in concentration, a slight quiver to his hand as he held the brush. He clenched his tongue between his teeth as he brought the brush down, attempting a delicate brush stroke of the rich burgundy polish across her toenail.
“Now, don’t let it clump there, otherwise you’ll have to wipe it off and start over,” Sonya chided with a wicked smile.
She had been teasing him without mercy since they’d started this exercise. The rain had brought them indoors from working on the house. They’d showered together, making love underneath the water. He’d washed her hair with her favorite shampoo, rosemary and mint. He’d brushed it lovingly.
Denny flashed her a glower with his eyes, without altering the rest of his face at all. His tongue quivered at the corner of his mouth.
“Concentrate,” she snapped, barely able to contain herself as she sipped at the glass of wine she held.
Denny calmly set the brush down in the top of the bottle, adjusted his grip on her ankle, then - without warning - he tickled the underside of her foot. She giggled furiously and bucked her leg wildly in his grip. She was unable to shake it.
“Denny, stop it!” she squealed. “You’re terrible!”
“And you’re a pain in the arse,” Denny shot back, chuckling as he continued to tickle her.
Sonya felt dizzy, felt her breath leave her from her fits of giggling. Then Denny stopped tickling and began massaging her sole tenderly. Instantly Sonya caught herself and took a deep breath in before melting under his soft and delicate touch. She sighed, submitting to him, closing her eyes and laying her head back on the arm of the sofa.
“Now, do you want to try this again?” he asked gently, pressing his thumb into the ball of her foot, releasing a knot of tension.
“Mmm-hmm,” Sonya whispered. “As long as you do it properly.”
She opened one eye and grinned mischievously at him. Denny responded by tickling her sole once more, but this time with less fervor.
Sonya giggled softly again, and Denny dipped the brush into the polish and took it out, holding it up and glancing at her expectantly, as though he was waiting for her to give him permission to proceed.
Sonya nodded and gazed into his eyes, holding them in her own.
His eyes.
They were among his most beautiful features, and had caught her attention when they first met. They were wondrous orbs, full of intelligence and soul, filled with a kindness that radiated outward and influenced anybody who met him. They were filled with love. For her. For this life.
Denny looked back down at Sonya’s slender foot and began painting her toenail again.
She smiled warmly, wishing this moment would never end.
***
Rain fell outside, pattering against the window. It was a gentle sound, not at all disruptive. It was peaceful, an almost perfect accompaniment to the sound of the guitar.
Andy sat on the bed in his pajama bottoms, his head leaning against the headboard, supported by a pillow. The bandaged cut on his scalp still throbbed painfully, but he tried his best to block it out. He was gazing through the window, not really focusing on anything. A pair of potted seedlings sat on the window sill. They were herbs - one rosemary, one mint - that he had bought from the grocery store on his way home.
He had never owned an actual houseplant.
The act of their purchase was bizarre enough, even to him. But their combined fragrance - subtle as it was - reminded him of something he could not put his finger on. Something familiar that, whatever it was, lay just beyond the edge of his memory.
It had maddened him.
Right now, his mind was attuned to the sound of the guitar he played.
He played the melody over and over, mentally adjusting his finger technique each time to perfect the chord progression. He was meticulous in that way. One of Andy’s greatest qualities was the technical skill he brought to his guitar playing. It was a quality that had been evident ever since he had begun to play as a child. The song he played now, the opening interlude from the Foo Fighters’ “Come Alive,” wasn’t especially challenging. It was just that he felt it, felt its mood, and it carried him along. The sensation was pleasant.
There was a certain irony to the ballad. To him, it was a story of reflection, of a troubled soul examining his life and realizing how much of it he has wasted. In the aftermath of the night before, Andy found himself examining his own circumstance.
He had existed in a monochromatic underworld whose color was illusory and sounds aurally bankrupt. The drugs just gave the impression that there was something better within it. It was all false - a simulacrum that drew you in like the web of a spider and snared you there.
His friendships were just empty acquaintances, relationships built on desperate need. They would destroy you as easily as nurture you, and they almost always did the former. There was no truth to them. All they wanted from him were the drugs. It was all so meaningless.
Closing his eyes, Andy felt something changing within him. This presence seemed to hover around him. He could feel it getting stronger, he was more aware of it. It scared him and yet, at the same time, he drew a strange sort of comfort from it.
Who was this presence that was speaking to him, showing him those potent visions?
Andy knew that wherever these dreams were coming from, the presence had something to do with them.
The music soothed him as he fingered the strings gently, expertly, the tone bouncing into the guitar and returning melodically without a hint of scratching. The hum was pure, more pure than any drug. It lifted him, carried him.
The guitar, a Taylor GS series model fashioned from Indian rosewood and cedar, was the one possession of real value to him. It had been a gift from his grandmother, before she had died, when he had been accepted into the Conservatory. His grandmother, who had essentially raised him in the frequent absences of his father, was the only person Andy had really cared for. She had loved him and nurtured him. She ensured that he and sister were well cared for, had clothes and food and even had decent medical insurance - another thing she struggled to afford. But she would not allow her grandchildren to suffer the indignities of a fractured health system.
The cell phone on his desk vibrated. He gave it a cursory glance, but made no effort to get off the bed. It was probably Cassie. He wasn’t going to answer it. He wanted nothing from her. Vasq had called also, but Andy ignored him too. He wanted even less from him. Andy had retreated here and closed the door, locking himself away from everyone and everything.
Andy stopped, relaxed his grip on the guitar and leaned forward, wincing as his head throbbed painfully. He thought he should be doing something,
but there was nothing to do. He often felt this way after a night working a room - the need to do something honest, cleansing. He wasn’t required at The Pub today, though he half considered calling in and offering himself up for a few hours. That would really knock the stuffing out of Gideon. Instead, he relaxed back on the bed and considered his guitar once again.
Picking it up, he stretched his fingers and set them to the strings and fret board. He began tentatively playing Deciso, the first movement from Astor Piazzolla’s renowned Tango Suite, an intricate and rapid-fire stanza whose opening refrain Andy had been practicing for some time. The piece required intense concentration, especially for someone unfamiliar with its movement. Though it was composed for a guitar duet, Andy played a single part, imagining the other as he played.
His natural gift allowed him to relax and he began to play more fluidly. He closed his eyes, concentrating. Then he was drifting - to a place he knew...
The beach house had a balcony overlooking the sea, the same stretch of ocean front he remembered from his dream. It stood at the top of a meadow bordered by the sandy shore.
It is an old house, a beach house. An aged retreat furnished lightly with the kind of second-hand accoutrements one would save for a holiday retreat rather than consign them to the rubbish heap. There’s a slightly lumpy double bed in the master bedroom, bunk beds in the second bedroom, an old sofa in the lounge room - slightly moth-eaten, but sturdy - an ancient leather arm chair next to that with splits on the seat and broken springs.
The house smells of the ocean. A breeze wafts in from the open french doors that lead to the deck. Seagulls caw nearby. A dog barks, down on the sand.
A young man lounges in the old armchair. He holds a guitar in his arms, cradling it as though it were a natural extension of his body. Andy is in the room with him. He watches him from behind.
The young man plays the guitar.
Andy joins him. Together they play expertly, in concert with one another. For Deciso is a movement for two guitars.
They progress through the movement together, journeying through its lyrical dance. They play as though they have always played together; because in a way they have.
