“Thanks,” I said. “What did they say?”
He leaned closer, did a good TV reporter voice in my ear. “Merle Johnson, who originally claimed to be Delacroix’s agent but later retracted the claim, found the body this morning after Delacroix apparently missed a breakfast meeting. Police questioned Johnson’s friend as to his whereabouts, and a source tells us they haven’t ruled out his involvement in the matter.” Back to his rage. “Why couldn’t you have just said, ‘I know this metal singer, Justin. Want to meet him’?”
“It was complicated.”
“What, he’s attention shy?”
I took another slow sip and fought off the urge to collapse. I brought my bandaged hand to the bar, straightened my fingers slowly. There was a spot of blood on my palm, probably a busted stitch.
Justin said, “What happened? How’d you do that?”
I decided to give him the truth. “I was mugged. Or almost. I fought back, got sliced. Look, did you get what I asked for or not?”
He set his jaw and waited a while. Wanted me to beg, I supposed. Eventually, he said, “I’ve got a number I can try. We’ll see.”
“Thank you very much. Sir.”
“You going to tell me the whole story?” Justin said.
I searched out Bald & Suede in the crowd, still locked on me like radar. “You willing to lose the hunk tonight and give me a hand?”
His expression told me it was a tough choice and he hated me for it. At the same time, I knew I’d roped him in.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
*
I waited on the sidewalk while Justin grabbed his things from the back and told the other bartender he was cutting out early. Justin owned the place and could do whatever he wanted, but he always did a regular shift just like the other employees. His working class façade. I wondered if the employees knew about his antiques.
The street was nearly deserted. I lit a cigarette, hard to do one-handed, inhaled deep, and almost choked to death when a couple of hands shoved me out into the street. I sprawled, tried to save both the bad hand and the cigarette, ended up scraping my knee really fucking bad. Bald & Suede was coming at me with a friend.
He grabbed the front of my jacket, pulled me in close. “You don’t muscle in like that.”
The friend, gelled hair crowning a face with tiny glasses, watched with a grin that bordered on laughter. Okay, I’d give him something to laugh about, then.
I didn’t have a shot at Baldy’s balls, so I aimed my boot toe for his knee and took it out. He let me go and shouted pain. The friend stepped in and wrapped his arms around me.
Bald & Suede, tears in his eye, grabbed me by the hair and was ready to pulverize my face.
“That’s enough, David,” we heard.
He turned to see Justin on the sidewalk, one arm raised with a snubby .38 in his fist.
David eased off. He was pretty pathetic, like a guy caught cheating, all the whining like he was so put upon. He took a couple of steps in Justin’s direction. Bad idea. Maybe David watched too many TV shows, never had a gun pointed at him before.“I was only messing with him, Justin. A pissing contest.”
The gun didn’t waver, leveled at David’s chest. Justin said, “I told you this was a different thing altogether. You didn’t believe me? Had to come beat up a good friend of mine because you thought he might steal me away?”
“I couldn’t help it, because it’s building inside me. I’ve shown you how much I want to be with you.”
Didn’t matter to Justin. Words were shit. Words were lies. I’d already screwed him over in that regard, my lie of omission. He didn’t want to hear anything from anyone unless it was backed with action.
“You’re a weak motherfucker, aren’t you?” Justin said. David placed his hands on hips, a half-laugh exhale. Justin kept on. “You thought this guy could barge in and with five words tear down what we were talking about? You almost had me. But I swear, I see you, hear from you, anything, ever again? I’ll kill you and cut you up, feed you to gators, steal your car, and out you to your family.”
“Whatever, J. Look, I’m sorry, okay? I messed up, I admit it.”
“I said we’re done. End of discussion. Get out of here and don’t come back.”
The expression on David’s face was all acting—sputtered words, pained wrinkles and squints. Justin blew out a breath, stepped closer to David and whispered in his ear. Whatever he said had the man and his friend backpedaling before Justin was finished with his sentence, palms up, “Okay, okay, I get it, bitch, I get it.”
They faded around the corner. Justin pocketed the revolver. “You all right?”
My knee burned with every step and my bandage was lined with blood. I said, “No, I’m a mess. I didn’t get beat up this much when I was—” What the hell are you saying? “like, in high school. Goddamn, this sucks.”
He took my injured hand, peeked under the bandage. “I can do you up a new one. Let’s do that first.”
“I don’t have time.”
“You’d better make time. Then we talk, right?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry about this thing, you know, with the guy.”
He waved me off. “Everything David said seemed perfect. Made me think I was only seeing a character, not the real man. And I was right. That bullshit he pulled tonight on you was what I guessed was right under the surface. If it’s okay to pound on you, imagine what he’d do with someone he’s fucking.”
“Thanks for helping me there. And for trusting me again. I don’t deserve it.”
“You sure don’t,” he said. “But at least I know that whatever you’re not telling me, most of you is the same underneath as you are up top.”
“Whatever. You and your psychic powers.”
He rolled his eyes. “Last time I save your ass.”
*
We drove to the corner drug store. I swallowed a few more codeine while Justin was inside. My supply was dwindling too fast. In the parking lot, Justin rewrapped the hand—a few popped stitches, nasty stuff—while I told him what he needed to know. Mostly true.
“Yeah, I met Todd a couple times, and he just happened to be in town, and we just happened to run into each other,” I said.
“Sounds unlikely.”
“It happens.”
“Then he drinks himself to death the same night? Maybe he looked you up for a reason.”
I stared out my window. “Why?”
“A cry for help?”
“If that’s what he was doing, I certainly didn’t hear it.”
“You’re not the most subtle guy, I guess.” Justin turned the radio on, hit Scan. “How much you want to bet there’s one of his songs on right now? Even better, one from the band. What was their name? Savages?”
“Savage Night.”
He snapped his fingers. “Right, right. I remember, I think. I wasn’t big into metal, but they started to hit radio near the end there.”
I turned to him. “What did you think of them?”
“I don’t like that high pitched singing. No offense to your friend, but shit. He calmed down on the verses, but everybody was trying to outdo Robert Plant back then.”
The radio played something that sounded like déjà vu. I couldn’t really place it until Justin said, “I think this is one. Like a Memphis blues sort of thing.”
It was. I heard perfect drums, remembered how the producers decided to sample my playing and loop it, leave out the organic race-and-crawl pace. It was the last album anyway, these guys in the booth trying to slick us up. If they had known about Nirvana around the corner, I’m sure we would have been aiming for rough, raw, unraveled work. It’s what I was pushing for anyway. The only concession I got was a harmonica solo they let me do on the intro and outro. For the tour, we tried to teach Todd how to play, but he sucked. So they used my stuff on tape, Todd pantomiming. It was humiliating, especially when he ducked the question in interviews.
Magazine Idiot: “So, you played harmonica on
this one?”
Todd: “We just tried to keep it authentic. No faked synth harmonica for us.”
MTV Moron: “The credits say your drummer, Cal Christopher, played the harmonica, but now you’re doing it in concert. Why’s that?”
Todd: “It’s just a harmonica, man. It doesn’t matter who plays it as long as we do.”
I thumped my good hand on the dash, exhaling like a bull.
“Hey! You’ll break it,” Justin said.
I pulled Todd’s keys from my jacket pocket. “We need to find this car. It’s important. Todd left some of his stuff in it, and I want to get it first.”
Justin was quiet a long moment, fingers curled tightly on his steering wheel.
I kept on. “He didn’t say what exactly, but once he was drunk enough, he let it slip that he couldn’t let the news get out.”
“Jesus. What, like he was into kiddie porn?”
“I don’t know. Help me and I’ll show you. If you ever tell anyone, I’ll come after you.”
His laugh was more like a sneeze, exploding out of closed lips. “Fuck off.”
“What about that number? He knows hot cars?”
“Yeah, I know a guy. But it’s still a long shot.”
I jingled the keys. “I thought we could use the chip in the remote to track it.”
He cranked the car. “You’re pretty stupid, man. Pretty damned stupid.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Damn straight.”
Justin’s stereo was digital, had killer EQ, and Doug’s bassline popped up from the depths, clear and steady. Most people didn’t pay attention to the bass. That was the bassist’s job: keep a solid beat and don’t show off.
Doug was never one to show off.
13
Jacksonville, 1987
I had to be careful with Alison. She was still young and I didn’t want our thing to break up the band, get me arrested, make me a daddy by accident. Before we got hot and heavy, it was nice—teenage romance and heavy petting. Then she called and said her parents were gone for a couple hours. I should come over and, you know, watch TV.
“Is Doug there?”
“No, not right now. He’s, like, okay with this, so stop worrying.”
That wasn’t true and we both knew it, but it worked as a comfortable lie in case he got pissed. Then I could counter, “I thought you were cool with us, man. I didn’t know.”
I drove to Alison’s. Doug’s car was in the driveway, so I guessed he was out with Stefan to buy some strings. Ali let me in. She wore cut-off sweat pants, pretty damn short, and an old T-shirt, some strategic rips showing a nipple. An almost instant hard-on. She enjoyed that, making me a bit of the fool.
We let the videos roll, commenting on Bon Jovi and Crue and that wimpy-ass Scorpions ballad bullshit between kisses, near-hickeys, hands pushing boundaries, testing, little grins and eyebrow lifts and moans.
I was conscious of every little noise, skittish at creaks in the house, ready to spring away from Ali and hide the bulge in my jeans. Ali laughed.
“Afraid of my daddy? Think he’ll beat your ass for climbing on his little girl?”
“Will he?”
“Oh yeah, but tell me you want me to stop. I bet you can’t.”
I unbuttoned my jeans so she could have a little more room to work. I shouldn’t have been doing this. A voice in my head reminded me that at our gigs, I had to play chaperone to keep the drinks away from her. Jesus, if her parents only knew.
We kissed hard, bumping teeth, her hand in my pants and my hand up her shorts, trying to find the spot that would make her shiver.
That’s when Yo! MTV Raps came on.
Later in life, I got into the Black-Eyed Peas, Ludicris, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, and Outkast, lot of underground hip-hop, but in Alison’s living room, we were white rockers who loved guitars and didn’t like rap.
Ed Lover and Dre told me we’d see Fresh Prince and LL Cool J, and I said, “Shit.”
“Forget it,” Ali said, mumbling because her mouth was on my neck.
“We don’t stop, this’ll be our song, won’t it? ‘Going Back to Cali’?”
She smiled and backed off. “Damn, you’re right. Forget that.”
I hopped off the couch and said, “Doug’s still got my Ozzy tape. Let me go get it from his room.”
“No, don’t worry about it. We’ll just turn off the TV.”
“You don’t like Ozzy? It kicks ass. ‘Bark at the Moon’ is the best.”
“Doug might not want you going in his room when he’s gone. That’s not cool.” Her voice was angry, shaking somewhat. I’d been over here for years, always felt I could go anywhere except Ali’s and their parents’ room. She was freaking me out a little.
“You’re going to stop me?” I smiled. We could make it a little game. Maybe even fall into Doug’s bed and make out. That would get his fur up. “I bet you can’t.”
I started down the hall, Ali practically yelling at me to stop. That was just Ali, I thought. A drama queen.
Doug’s door was closed. I turned the knob. His lock was engaged, but I knew it was broken and all I had to do was twist the other way. Ali had caught up by then, grabbed my wrist.
Why was she so manic? I was sure I’d hung out in Doug’s room before when he was on an errand or something.
Opened the door. Hit the light switch.
It took me a moment to make sense of it, get a feel for what I’d interrupted.
A guy from Doug’s chemistry class was sitting on the bed, shirt off, pants and underwear pushed to his ankles. Doug was on his knees in front of the guy, wearing only a super-tight Van Halen T-shirt. I was pretty sure I’d walked in on my best friend giving some guy a blowjob.
“Holy shit,” Doug said. He reached for a pillow, covered himself.
I took three steps and grabbed the guy on the bed, pulled him out of the room and down the hall. Didn’t say a word, didn’t have anything to say. I wasn’t even mad at this guy I was dragging like a rag doll while he bitched me out and said he needed to get his pants up.
“Do it outside. Come back later.” I threw him out the front door, slammed it, and turned to find Ali more demonic than I’d ever witnessed, Doug holding her by the shoulders. He had at least put some shorts on.
“You son of a bitch! I told you, didn’t I? Why didn’t you listen to me?” Alison might’ve bitten me if Doug had let her go.
I said to him, “What the hell was that?”
A shrug. “You didn’t see it. Forget you saw it.”
“I can’t forget. Are you insane? I’ve slept over before. We’ve dressed out in gym, and you’d better tell me you’re drunk.”
“Nope. Not a drop.”
I pointed at him, then Ali. “You aren’t even supposed to be home. Lying to me, and so was this bitch.”
He crossed the room to me in three quick steps, reared back and punched me in the nuts. I fell back against the door, a howl turning into, “You’re a fucking homo.” I fell to the floor, caught my breath.
We didn’t say anything or look at each other for a long time—Ali slumping into a kitchen chair, Doug pacing the living room, and me against the front door. When we heard the muted car door slams of their parents, he said, “Quick, into my room. Come on.”
And we did, just that fast, co-conspirators when a moment before we’d been worlds apart. In Doug’s room, Ali climbed onto the bed and waved me over. I sat beside her and she whispered, “Please look happy. At least for a little while.”
Doug slipped into his jeans and grabbed his bass off its stand, then sat in his chair, fumbled around. He pointed at Ali, then the boombox on his dresser. She leapt for it, thumped the Play button, and Ozzy’s voice filled the room.
A few moments later, a knock on Doug’s door. His mother’s head peeked inside. “Hey, I thought that was your car. Are you staying for dinner?”
I shook my head. “I’ll be leaving in a little while.”
“You’re always welcome.” She grinned and close
d the door.
Doug dropped the bass, the strings buzzing loud.
I said, “You could’ve at least told me.”
“How? So, I’m out of the band, right? I don’t fit in.”
“Shut up. I’d kick Todd out before you. Look at Queen, right?”
That got a grin.
My finger was in his face again. “No, don’t do that shit. Look, this is fucked. This is a total fucking surprise.”
“Oh, yeah, right. Have you ever seen me kiss a girl?”
“You’ve talked about it. We had prom dates.”
“And did you see me kiss her?”
I looked away. The posters on his wall, all our hero bands. All men, a lot of make-up, tight pants, Macho as hell but dressed like women. Jesus.
“You slow danced with her.”
“And you took your sister to the junior high dance, remember? Did you dance with her?” he said.
Ali squeezed my arm. “He’s a fag. Get over it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Doug stood up and leaned over me. “You know what amps your boners? You know how you’re wired? Wanting in my sister’s pants.”
“Shut up.”
“I like the long hair and the spandex, but not the same way you do.”
I put my arm around Ali and she melted into me. I asked, “How long has this been going on.”
“I told Ali last year, because I met this guy…”
“A year?”
Alison said, “All you have to do is just keep quiet. Nothing changes. He doesn’t want anyone to know. My folks don’t know about me and you, and they don’t know about Doug. Let’s keep it that way.”
I shook free of Ali, pushed myself off the mattress, and headed for the door.
“Please, man.” Doug got a little loud. “I’d do it for you.”
My hand on the doorknob. Everything I’d believed was flip-flopped. I thought of how people would treat me if this got out and everyone knew I was his best friend. Thought of the beatings he’d get, the sermons he’d get. I wouldn’t wish that on the only guy with whom I shared a decade’s worth of private jokes.
The Drummer Page 7
