Sid and Teddy

by H. D. Knightley

  “I’ll sign up for it tomorrow. I’m assuming you’re offering to pay for it?”

  “It’s cheap for how much it will help me.”

  We looked at each other for a moment, then he asked, “How will you go surfing now?”

  “Not sure. Not sure I want to.”

  He said, “Yeah, I feel that way about a lot of things too. I also feel like the most un-fun person in the world. And that sucks. I want to have fun again, someday.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  He dramatically sighed. “But until then I have Axl Rose.” He grinned.

  I rolled my eyes, “You only gave Foo Fighters two days. You might be hopeless.”

  “And old.”

  “You said it not me.”

  “You want to watch a movie? Something new, something funny? Hopefully something neither of us will cry through and that I can quote tomorrow so my work friends won’t think I’m as depressed as I actually am.”

  “I love you Dad.”

  “Love you too.” We cleared away our bags and trash and went to the living room to pick a movie to stream.

  Fifty-Five

  Sid

  For the next month that’s what I did, a lot of the same, hanging out by myself in the house, watching movies with Dad, going to a class that met for a few hours a week. Dad and I called me busy, but we were mostly joking. I went to a coffee shop to write. I made a deal with myself that I would do more things soon. Next month. Six months tops.

  Fifty-Six

  Sid

  Then there was Gavin. I didn’t fall for him, he slammed into me. Like an untimed wave that I forgot to look for. Trust me, Teddy might have said, time them, look for the good ones, be patient. But Teddy wasn’t here and it had been a long time since he had advised me on things that mattered.

  Cameron had called me with a favor. His band wanted to open for a bigger band called Broken Blasters. (I googled them, they were a hot and upcoming band out of England) The lead singer, the guitarist, and the drummer of Broken Blasters would drop in to see Cameron’s band rehearse.

  Cameron figured it would look good to have a small audience while they played. But his point was, basically, that it might sell them to have pretty girls watching them adoringly in the rehearsal studio where they practiced. I was a little flattered that he asked me. I was also a little irritated when he asked if I had any friends, and when I said I didn’t, not really, he said, “What about Zoe?”

  I answered that Zoe and I didn’t hang out any more, and he huffed. “But you’ll come, right?”

  And I said I would because I was bored.

  Man, it had been a long time since I had anything interesting to do. Also, Dad had just reminded me I was supposed to be trying to be the kind of person who had fun.

  When I got to the rehearsal, I perched on the arm of a ratty old couch while Cameron’s band, The Strange Monikers, tuned their instruments and pretended not to be nervous.

  Then they walked in.

  By they I mean—Gavin. And two guys who were impossible to notice because of Gavin.

  He was hot. Wicked hot. Pale pasty white, like he might need an intro to the sun, dark wavy hair, a jaw that looked like you wanted to kiss it. Anyone would want to. Guy or girl, it only made sense.

  Living in LA you get kind of used to people who are celebrities, the famous, or the On The Cusp Of Famous, walking around in your normal world. By used to, I mean, able to spot them, capable of maintaining your cool, knowing to ignore them, but also track them, in case.

  Gavin had that famous person aura. He wasn’t a celebrity, but he walked into that room and every set of eyes landed on him. I caught my breath. The two young men with him, deferred to his decisions—where would he go, what should they do?

  He swept the room with his eyes and then his eyes landed on me and he did this—I kid you not—he put his hand over his heart and took a step back. He literally said, “Whoa,” under his breath.

  I looked down at my Mexican Coke bottle trying to figure out what might be wrong that this gorgeous stranger lost his step at the sight of me. Probably spinach in my teeth. I brushed, but still.

  Gavin beelined for me. I stood up and we almost collided which caused him to laugh. He swiped his hand through his hair, and looked into my eyes, as if we had known each other for a long, long time, like he was trying to get me to remember. Positioning himself right there. Close.

  Then he spoke in a sexy, sexy British accent. Jeez, could he get any better? “What’s your name then?”

  “Sid.”

  “Sid? I never knew a ‘Sid’ to be quite so feminine.” Heat crawled up my cheeks. “My name is Gavin.” I stared down at my feet, one shoe on top of the other. He asked, “What brings you here?”

  “My friend invited me to listen to them play tonight.”

  “Ah, but see, you strike me as above decorating-the-furniture-for-a-mediocre-rock-band.”

  I chuckled. “You haven’t heard them yet.” And then I said, “You also just met me, this might be exactly what I’m suited for.”

  He raised his eyebrows and smiled, head cocked back. “Are you from around here Sid?”

  “I’m from the Southbay, actually.”

  “Ah, Sid from the Southbay, makes perfect sense.”

  I knew I should also ask questions, but I was having a hard time keeping up with his cocky assuredness. I took another sip of my Mexican Coke.

  He watched me, like he couldn’t take his eyes off my face. I nervously glanced at an old ratty Green Day poster.

  He put his hand over his heart and leaned in. “So Sid of the Southbay, what do you do, your day job, when you’re not decorating concert halls?”

  One of his band mates thrust a drink into Gavin’s hand and he took it without looking and drank. How would that be? To have total trust that your needs will be fulfilled because you’re just that cool?

  “I’m a writer.”

  “Oh, really? See, I was right. What do you write?”

  “I’m working on a screenplay, about Mary Queen of Scots.”

  His eyebrows knit together and he looked at me from the corner of his eye, “Mary? Our Mary? The Scottish Strumpet?” He laughed loudly.

  Heat burned up my ears.

  He said, “Will you tell about how she murdered that one Brit and then tried to overthrow the Crown?”

  I glared, “No, I’m going more for the tragedy of her life, how she was carried along by a course of events she couldn’t control. That she was young, and basically good, but fate intervened.”

  “Ah, a retelling. I see.” He ran his fingers through his hair. Then he smiled and his hand went back to his heart. “You see, us Brits, we’re divided into two camps, either we’re anti-royalists, like my father, or we believe Elizabeth the first was correct in all things, like my Mum. You won’t find many Brits that will embrace a retelling of the Adulteress of Edinburgh to make her look like she was treated unfairly. It will be a hard sell.” He looked deep into my eyes again, “That being said, a young American, like yourself, might be just the person to try.”

  One of his band mates whispered in his ear. Gavin took a deep swig from his glass. “I have to get to work deciding the fate of this band. You best resume your seat so your beauty can distract me from their imperfections.”

  He turned and stood with his band mates as Cameron’s band started to play.

  What the hell was I supposed to do now? I couldn’t go sit on the couch. Not after being told to. But then again, he was just pointing out that Cameron had asked me to sit on the couch. Cameron was the problem, right? I also couldn’t stand here on the back wall of the room, by myself, while a band played. I looked ridiculous.

  So I did the only thing I could think of—I walked to the couch and perched on the arm and tried to look beautiful. Like I had been told. But here’s the thing, you might think I had lost my power, but Gavin couldn’t take his eyes off me. Barely ever. He listened to the band, but he watched me, the whole time.

&nbs
p; After Cameron’s set, Gavin came back. He sat on the couch leaned back, looking up at me still perched dutifully on the arm of the couch.

  “I can see why you got this gig, you performed your part perfectly. Will you come to the show?”

  Cameron was looking over at us. He was probably watching Gavin for signs of whether the Strange Monikers had been picked or not. Maybe he was a little jealous too.

  I said, “I’m sure the band will invite me.”

  “No, I mean, will you come with me, to the show.”

  “Oh, um, yes.”

  He nodded and ran his hand through his hair. He shifted his weight and grabbed his phone out of his back pocket. “Sid of the Southbay, might I have your number, please?”

  I called out the digits and he worked for two seconds until my phone vibrated in my pocket. “Sid, it has been a pleasure. I’m greatly looking forward to spending more time in your company, as you take my breath away.”

  Seriously? This was real? He stood and cocked his head again. “It will also be fun to tell my parents I’m falling for a California girl named after Sid Vicious who happens to be a royalist and a believer in the goodness of the Harlot of Scots.”

  He smiled and gave a small shake of his head, not in a bad way, in an I Can’t Believe The Way She Makes Me Feel kind of way. A way that made me get all hot inside. And then he said, “We have another band to see, will you be up later? If I text?”

  “Yes,” I said, because who could sleep after all of that?

  Fifty-Seven

  Texts

  Sid of the Southbay are you up?

  Yes.

  You’re beautiful when you say yes.

  You can’t even see me.

  I remember.

  Can I see you tomorrow?

  It’s my 19th birthday.

  Good, I have a present.

  Are you always like this, so smooth?

  Usually not quite so.

  You caught me on a work night.

  I have to be all ‘rock star’

  You’ll see when you invite

  me over to eat cake tomorrow.

  If I see you on my birthday you have

  to share me with my dad.

  I share.

  I’m good at sharing.

  Okay, you can come to dinner

  and have some cake.

  6 o’clock.

  Presents aren’t necessary.

  Too late

  I already got you something.

  :o)

  Good night Sid.

  Good night.

  Fifty-Eight

  Sid

  Gavin showed up.

  I hadn’t even believed it was possible.

  He was charming, shook my dad’s hand, said, “Anyone who names their daughter after Sid Vicious is all right in my book,” and was generally cool. I expected him to be sticky with rock-and-roll sweat, or inappropriately dressed, or maybe cursing too much, but no, he seemed like normal guy, but with fully intact famous guy aura too.

  Hot. Wearing a plain tee, tight jeans, boots, and a few too many bracelets. He talked to my dad about music and then cut his eyes to me and smiled like we were together on some kind of secret. Like we had known each other for a long time, but here we were first time together (by choice) and it was my birthday and he was wooing me. Wooing me hard. And my dad. Dad actually got flustered a few times talking to Gavin. That aura was hard to resist.

  We ate dinner. We had birthday cake. Dad had remembered to buy one from Becker’s Bakery our family’s favorite. Mom had always ordered it before. I was impressed and a little teary. Dad went to the kitchen to light the candles, and Gavin asked “You look sad on your birthday, Sid of the Southbay.”

  “My mother only recently passed away, it’s still a little raw.”

  He leaned his arm out long across the table for my hand. I placed my hand in his, and he enclosed his fingers around.

  Dad returned carrying the cake, all nineteen candles blazing, and turned the lights off with his elbow. He sang Happy Birthday while Gavin harmonized, causing me to become breathless and very incapable of blowing out my candles. Three tries.

  When I looked up at him, shifted back in his chair, he raised his brows and smiled.

  After cake Gavin went to his car and returned with a cardboard tube.

  I pulled the cap off the end and fingered inside for its rolled-up contents—a poster. I pulled it out and unfurled it on the table. It was a concert poster for Oasis from 1994. The year my parents got married. My mother’s favorite band. Best part? It was signed by Noel and Liam Gallagher.

  “What? Wow?” I was extremely speechless.

  “You like?”

  “Yes, oh, wow, yes!”

  My dad leaned in. “This is a Los Angeles show. How did you get this?”

  He said to my dad, “My old man’s a record producer, he has connections.”

  To me, he said, “I’m glad you like, I suspected.”

  And that my friends is fate.

  There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that this was destiny coming true.

  A sign that this was meant to be.

  And possibly a visit from my mom. Definitely maybe.

  Dad put the poster back in the tube and rushed it away to await the frame he would buy the next day, and I stood facing Gavin, suddenly awkward. What do you do next with the hot stranger that just celebrated your birthday, won over your dad, held your hand through your grief, harmonized your birthday song, and gave you the perfect gift?

  Whatever he wants.

  And what did Gavin want?

  He leaned in and entwined his fingers in my hand. “Will you come stay the night, Sid of the Southbay?”

  Oh yes.

  Fifty-Nine

  Texts

  I know this is against the rules,

  but I’m sure this day was

  hard without your Mom.

  I hope you’re making it through

  and that your dad

  Bought you a Becker’s cake

  and I just wanted to say

  Happy birthday.

  Thank you Teddy. My birthday was good.

  School going well?

  Yes. When I go, the waves have been

  Can I call?

  Can we talk?

  I’m actually in bed right now.

  Good night.

  Sixty

  Sid

  Gavin drove up La Brea Boulevard to Sunset Boulevard and pulled up to his apartment in Silver Lake. It was small, but nice, and all his own. No roommates—which at his age, in this economic climate, in this city, was unheard of. Note to all of you paying attention, this was not only my first boyfriend since Cameron. (Teddy doesn’t count.) This was my first night in a man’s apartment. He pointed to the living room, gestured toward the bathroom, and offered me a drink.

  I asked for soda which seemed a little young of me to say, but I didn’t come up with a better idea fast enough. He asked, “Want anything mixed in your soda? Birthday and all?”

  “No thanks.”

  He returned with Sprite in a glass and what smelled like a rum and Coke in his. He sat down on the couch and patted the seat beside him. I sat down, and then he jumped up to fiddle with a laptop. “Trying to decide if I should play Oasis, which would be safe, or something different, like—hmmm.” He put on something I didn’t know. “One of Dad’s new bands.”

  He placed his drink on the coffee table and jumped his whole body lengthwise onto the couch, landing with a thud beside me, and then gently laying his head in my lap. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Thank you for celebrating my birthday, for the present.”

  “My pleasure, Sid.”

  Then with one motion he was up, kissing me, hand on the back of my head, pressing up on my mouth. Hot—breathless—awesome. And yes, I kissed that jawline, and yes, he kissed my neck to my shoulder, and then he stood and pulled me by the hand to his bedroom—we both undressed by his bed and kissed and caressed before dropping down. H
e wrapped me up in his arms and legs with his chin on my breast. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”

  I stroked my fingers through his hair. “Me too.”

  He kissed my chest. “I could live like this, here.” Then he crawled up and kissed me deeply and we spent a while there—I would give you details, but it was all a little wow, and oh, and oh my god, and lots of other stuff that was awesome. I’m a huge fan.

  Maybe his number one fan.

  I hoped.

  But what are you going to do? The signs were all there. This.

  I spent the night. You know how in the movies the characters have all kinds of issues with people spending the night? Not Gavin. He curled in and wrapped up and woke kissing and then he got up and made breakfast: bacon and eggs. And kissed me and asked me to spend the day.

  Yes. Oh yes.

  I spent three days actually. In the evenings I went home for dinner with Dad, but caught an Uber back to spend the night at Gavin’s, kissing and whatnot, holed up in his apartment, stepping out to walk down the street for more food or coffee or a candy bar or just a walk around the block, my arm wrapped in his.

  On the fourth day I woke up, and Gavin was standing in the kitchen talking on the phone. He said, “I know, I’ve got it. Yes. It’s getting done. Yes, sir. Your office, yes.”

  He hung up the phone, tossed it on the counter, and stood leaned on his hands, head down.