by Lori L. Otto
“So may I inquire as to what the J. stands for?”
“Since you asked so politely, my pretentious brother, you may…” I tease him. “I decided I would keep my middle name an initial, so it’s not, you know, so obvious. But it stands for the name of the only guy I’ve ever looked up to.”
He’s quiet for a minute. “Well, damn it, Will.” I can hear him swallow. “You could have warned me.”
“What, that I can be sentimental and do things to honor my brother? I learned from you, man. You should expect it.”
“That means a lot to me,” he says, obviously choked up.
“Yeah, well, if you ever go back to being that dick you were last summer, I’ll say it stands for Jack, because he’s been a pretty stand up guy to me for most of my life, too. Leaving it an initial made it less obvious, but it also made it less permanent. So you better be nice to me.”
“I miss you, kid,” he says to me. “And I’m proud of you for keeping up your health insurance, by the way.”
“I’m bad with money, but I’m not an idiot.”
“Were bad with money. You were bad…” he corrects me.
“Yes, Dad.”
Chapter 21
We’re all exhausted by the time we make it to Denver. We’d hit five states in the last two weeks, and really, Texas is so fucking big, it’s like three states on its own. We had three shows there, and the cities were so different, they could all be on their own planet. College Station was complete insanity and aptly named, home of Texas A&M and some of the wildest college girls I’ve ever met in my life. Austin was chill. I don’t know what the fuck it’s doing in the middle of that conservative state, and I especially don’t know how it got to be the capital. Poor, weird, awesome Austin. I could see myself living there if I ever needed a little more space and less cold weather some day. And then Dallas. Wow. If ever a TV show misrepresented a city, that’d be the one. I didn’t see one oil derrick or cow while we were in the city. It was small compared to Manhattan, big compared to Austin, and lacking in personality compared to most other cities of the country. I left there with no real impression at all.
“What are we doing after dinner?” Damon asks, his speech muffled as his chin rests on his hand.
“Shea’s on her way in,” I say, energized by that thought alone.
“We gotta take Shea out. Show her a good time.”
“No, guys. We, uh... We’ll probably stay in tonight.” I smile and nod, taking a sip of my Coke.
“That’s right, you got a hotel room tonight. I forgot,” Peron says.
“Yeah. I got one every night this week for us. But don’t worry, I don’t plan to hide out with her. She knows I have work to do.”
“Good, because we’re on a roll,” he says, and we have been writing a lot of music lately. Not a lot of lyrics, but the music’s been flowing easily over the past few weeks.
“I won’t let any opportunities pass us by.” We bump fists across the table weakly.
“We need words,” Ben says.
Peron and I share an annoyed glare between each other directed toward Captain Obvious. I’ve done really well at biting my tongue and being nice to him lately, just trying to get through the last few months of the tour with him.
My phone vibrates in my pocket as I see our waiter approach with our orders.
- - I found your bus! You’re not here. :(
- We’re just a few miles away at a restaurant.
- Care to join us?
- - The last twenty miles were on fumes.
- - I’d rather someone come with me the next time I have to get out.
“Ben, I need to get back to the bus. Can I have the keys?”
“Why?”
“Shea got here early. I don’t want her waiting around there without us. It’s not a great part of town.”
“Let’s get our food to go... I’ll go with you.”
“I can handle it.”
“I’ve got some accounting shit to do anyway,” he says, getting the waiter’s attention and asking him to box up our meals.
- I’m getting a taxi back. I’ll be there shortly. Just wait in the car.
I quickly pay the cab driver as Ben gets out to unlock the bus. Shea meanders to my side, greeting me with a hug as soon as the taxi drives away.
“You made really good time,” I tell her, kissing her cheek.
“I expected more traffic.”
“It’s so good to see you.” She puts her hand on the back of my neck and pulls me to her, placing her lips against mine gently. I inhale her as we kiss, axons transmitting sheer excitement to every part of my being. I’m high on her, my body buzzing with her energy, invigorated with just that one kiss. I need her every day.
“Are you two coming in?” Ben asks from the doorway.
I answer him without breaking my gaze from hers. “Yeah.” I slide my hand down her arm and link my fingers with hers, walking her to the bus. “I brought dinner. Have you eaten?”
“I picked up some crackers earlier at a convenience store. I didn’t know what your meal schedule was like.” She picks up a plastic bag.
“Save that. I got Shrimp Fra Diavolo. I remember you said you liked it, and I wanted to try it.”
“Did you eat it yet?”
“No, we’d just ordered when you called, so Ben and I got ours to go.”
“You’re going to love it. Promise.”
“I trust you.”
“How are things, Shea?” Ben asks as he sits down to eat his dinner.
“Good. This whole not-having-a-job thing is pretty strange. Being able to pack up and drive a thousand miles to see Will on a whim is nice.”
“You’re going to be tagging along to all of our Colorado shows?”
“Yeah. I thought I’d live the groupie life for a week. See if that’s a career I want to go into.” She winks at him.
“I think Will would hire you.”
“Hey…” I say, giving him a disapproving look before I look back at Shea. “I would not hire you.”
“You wouldn’t have to.”
“I’m just kidding.”
“Don’t say shit like that,” I mumble to him, getting two plates out of the cabinet and setting them at the table next to him. “She’s my…” I shrug my shoulders, not sure how to finish the sentence. Girlfriend, I guess. It just sounds… immature and inadequate. But lover sounds too intimate for a casual conversation.
“Shea, do you want some wine?” Ben asks. It’s good that he did, because I probably wasn’t going to offer it. Just didn’t occur to me.
“Let’s see what you have.” He looks at me and points to the rack on top of the refrigerator.
“Red?” I ask. She shakes her head. “White.” She nods.
“In the fridge,” Ben announces. I pull the three bottles of white we have and set them on the counter.
“We’ll go Grigio,” she says, scooting one bottle to the side. I glance once more to Ben, who was watching me. He points to the drawer next to the sink. After I pull out the bottle opener, Shea takes it from me and opens the bottle herself.
“I could have done that.”
“I don’t like cork in my wine.”
“Okay, if I did that last time, then show me how to do it right next time.”
She looks through some cabinets until she finally turns around to look at Ben.
“We Solo cup everything here. No point in having stemware on a bus.”
“Makes sense,” she says, taking the cup I’m holding for her. After she pours her glass, she sits down at the table and looks up at me. “I’ll show you next time.”
“Thank you.” I grab a bottle of water and take the seat in between her and Ben.
“You know,” Shea says, “this is a great date meal… for, like, two people.”
“If you’re insinuating I’m a third wheel, too bad,” my manager says. “My bus.”
She laughs at his response. “How’s the tour going, Ben? I get Will’s opinion, but ho
w would you say it is, success-wise?” She knows about the tensions between me and our band manager. It’s admirable of her to engage him in conversation.
“It’s fantastic. Sell-outs every night. I’m having to reorder merchandise constantly. We’re burning through our on-the-road EPs. We’re setting dates in Europe. Still working on the astronaut, here...”
Shea looks confused and glances at me quickly.
“They still think I’m going to change my mind about NYU,” I say, raising my eyebrows and touching her hand with mine.
“Good luck with that,” she says with a strange, hopeful smile. “Let me know how that works for you. I have some vested interest in that.”
“So, Will,” Ben starts.
“Yeah?”
“What do you call her, really?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been talking to her for a few months now, right? Seen her multiple times. As far as I know, you haven’t seen anyone else. Is she your girlfriend? What?”
“I guess, yeah. I don’t know.”
“She have a nickname or something?”
“No,” I say with a laugh.
“How do you have her programmed in your phone?”
“What? She’s Shea.”
He picks up my phone. “Oh, come on. You’re more creative than that. You gotta have a nickname for her.”
“Give me my fucking phone back, man.”
“Is it really just Shea? Oh, I bet you put her under lover. I heard you writing lyrics the other day.”
“She’s not under lover. Give it back.” I hold out my hand, waiting.
“Loooooo… wait. Lola Sharp.” He swallows and I stop breathing, reaching for my phone more aggressively now. “What the fuck is Lola’s number doing in your phone?”
“Ben, give it to me.”
“What would happen if I called her from your phone right now?”
“Nothing. She doesn’t have my number. She’d have no clue who was calling her.”
“Well, why do you have her number?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Why, Will!?”
“It was before you met her, okay? I was out for a run in Chicago. In a park, and she was running, too. We crossed paths, and she gave me her number. That’s it, man. I’ve never used it. Now give it back.”
“Yeah.” He nods his head, staring me down. “Lola doesn’t run.”
I can literally feel the color drain from my face. I know Shea’s staring directly at me, but until I know how to handle this, I don’t want to look back at her.
Ben dials the number and gets up from the table. Hurriedly, I follow him, wishing I could warn Lola… tell her that he doesn’t know anything and that she doesn’t have to admit to him what she did. Tell her that I’ll never reveal what happened between us.
“Lola? What the fuck? It’s your boyfriend, Ben… you expecting someone else? Yeah? Who? Will? Will Rosser?”
“She doesn’t have my number!” I reiterate.
“Why is your number in his phone, Lola?” I can’t hear anything on her end. I just feel like the silence is suffocating me. “In case of an emergency? That’s the best you can do?”
Shit. That would have been a great answer.
“You and Will should have coordinated your stories, Lola. Don’t fucking lie to me. What happened between you two?” He waits about twenty seconds before dropping the hand holding my phone to his side and looking directly at me. “What happened between you two!?”
“Ben, it happened before you even met her.”
I hear the distinctive sound of Shea’s car engine rumble to a start, and then her tires peel out of the parking lot. I run to the door to see which way she turned.
“Fuck! You fucking asshole!” I shout back at him, worried about where she’s going to go and if she’ll even make it there on her empty tank of gas.
“Me?” I hear him yell as I make my way down the stairs to watch her car disappear in the distance. When she’s gone, I wait in the doorway until he gets off my phone so I can call a cab. His face gets redder and redder as he listens to whatever Lola is telling him on the other end. I can hope and wish all I want that she’s not telling him the truth, but I don’t think I’m going to be that lucky.
All of a sudden, he’s coming at me, his eyes filled with rage.
“My girlfriend gave you a blowjob!?” he yells, now outside of the bus with me.
“She wasn’t your girlfriend at the time. You hadn’t even met her yet!”
I duck to avoid my phone hitting me in the head and stumble walking backwards as he starts toward me. I hear Tavo, Damon and Peron yelling in the distance. As I turn to see them, I feel a fist connect with my eye and cheek, knocking me to the ground. My head is spinning, or else I’d get up and fight back–even though I know that’s the last thing Shea would want me to do. Shielding my face, he kicks me multiple times in the side, and then once more in the head. There’s blood on my hands. Everyone’s shouting. Peron’s checkered Converse sneakers blur into a muddled gray; then, everything goes dark.
Only one eye opens the next time I try–the right one–and the room is insanely bright. It makes me wish I hadn’t opened my eye in the first place. I can feel the stiffness in my side and the intense pain behind my eye and cheek. Lifting my left hand yields no soreness, so I touch my face. Fuck. There’s a bandage over my eye. When I pull my hand away, there’s dried blood caked between the creases of my skin.
“I’m here to clean that up,” a nurse says, coming into the room with me.
“How’s my eye?” I say with gritted teeth, my mouth’s movement restricted. My face must be swollen.
“The doctor will be back in just a second to talk to you.” My stomach sinks.
“No hints? Do I still have my left eye?” She puts on a pair of gloves and opens a sterile packet. “At least tell me how long I was unconscious. That should help me out a little.”
“Just a couple hours.”
“Medically induced, or because of the blow to my head?”
The nurse smiles, wiping my hands with the cool cloth. “Shhh… The doctor will be back in a moment.” She’s gentle when she takes my right arm in hers. I glance down carefully to see my bare torso.
“Broken ribs?” She grins again. “Doctor, right. I got it.”
“You’re going to be fine, sir,” she states, cleaning up the mess and throwing away the bloodied cloths as she leaves.
“Well, that’s a start.”
I carefully feel around for my phone, but it’s not in my front pockets. I just want to know that Shea made it somewhere–anywhere–safely. I’m sure she’s mad at me. I wish she’d waited around to hear my explanation. I hope she’ll give me a chance to tell it to her eventually, but right now, I want to know that she’s safe.
And Ben… what a fucked up situation. I’m not sure if I should have handled it differently. In hindsight, I still don’t think I would have told him about me and Lola. I just wish I’d never let her put her number in my phone.
I try to lean up to take a peek through the tiny opening of the curtain to see if I recognize anyone milling about, but it hurts too much to move my body.
Another nurse enters the room and pops a medium-sized plastic bag next to me. After he shakes it a few times, he drapes a gown over my ribs and lays the bag on top of it. I wince at the coldness of it. “Your x-rays look good. Just some bruising. Lots of bruising, actually, but this should help with the swelling.” He folds the gown on top of the icepack and sets my right arm next to it to hold it in place. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit?”
“We’re working on getting some pain killers,” he says with a chuckle, looking down at me sympathetically. “Have you had anything to drink tonight?”
“No.”
“Any drugs?”
“No.”
“Any known allergies to prescription drugs?”
“None.”
“Morphine it is. We’ll s
et up a drip for you.”
“How long do I have to be in here?”
“We’ll let the doctor discuss that with you,” he says as he starts to walk out.
Attempting to roll my eyes was a really stupid idea. “Hey, don’t knock me out before I can see him. Or her,” I tell him.
“He’s coming this way.”
My right ear begins to throb, forcing me to squeeze my right eye closed, which causes yet more excruciating pain to my left one. I stomp my left foot on the stretcher in frustration. The hospital must be two miles long, because the doctor doesn’t stop in until twenty minutes later. “Will Scott?”
“That’s me.”
“Got into a little scuffle tonight, huh?”
“I’d just say I got cold-cocked. There was no scuffle about it.”
“Mr. Scott, do you have insurance? Your friends weren’t sure.”
“Wallet,” I say. “Should be in my back right pocket, but there’s no way I can get to it right now.”
The doctor steps into the hallway. “MJ, I need some assistance.” The first nurse comes back into the room. “Mr. Scott’s wallet is in his back pocket. Can you very carefully remove it for him and help him find his insurance card?”
“Of course,” she says, her cheeks turning pink.
“I can’t lift up,” I tell her. “I tried a minute ago. If you find my phone…”
“I’ll make it quick.” She puts her hand under my ass, feeling around momentarily until she finds the pocket of my jeans and produces my wallet.
“It’s behind my license.”
“Should I check your other pocket for your phone?” she asks very spiritedly.
“Just take that to the front desk, MJ. Mr. Scott doesn’t need his phone at the moment.”
“I’ll bring this back in a jiffy… Will.”
“Thanks. So, doctor, these nurses are friendly and all, but I need to know what the damage is. My eyesight’s kind of important to me.”
“Your eyesight’s going to be fine. There’s a cut to your eyelid that’s toward your brow, and it’s far enough away from your eye, but we called in our resident ophthalmologist and had him examine it just in case. No scratches… and the cut on your lid shouldn’t affect tear production or muscle movement, so whoever hit you was either very strategic or very lucky.”
