by A. R. Rivera
Jake gave her the forever kind of memories, the kind she’d look back on and smile, long after they broke up—which was inevitable and unmentionable as far as my best friend was concerned. I didn’t want to take that connection away from my friend—but also I really didn’t want to look at Jake when he was looking at Angel.
Jake’s proposal surprised the hell out of her. He left her no choice, really. Angel would never humiliate Jake by turning him down in front of an audience. It seemed that Jake had no problem with putting her in that position, though. Did he ever ask her what she wanted? Did he care? Being Mrs. Haddon had never been part of Angels dreams. She would have talked about it with me, otherwise. Even though there were things that I did not tell Angel about my life, she told me everything. She loved Jake—that was obvious—but that love wasn’t supposed to lead to marriage. What a selfish asshole.
This was wrong, but I couldn’t jump into the fight and take over like I usually did. This was Jake. Angel had never been so entangled with someone else, aside from me. And she was such shit at protecting herself, which was why I had to do it for her.
I’d have to watch for her. I’d have to do my duty as her friend, and decipher how Angel really felt. If she needed me to step in I would, but if she didn’t I’d have to bide my time. Watch and wait. No pushing until the time was right.
I put on the happy face and left the bathroom. Made my way to the front and held her spot. I felt the conviction of my choice as I embraced her. Warmth flooded through me and into my eyes as I took in the burning smile on her face. She was floating, which told me that the weight of her decision had yet to sink in.
And then I disappeared to my place in front of Andrew. I watched the show—which was awesome. Gary may have looked too old, but had the energy of a young guy. He had the transitions down. He was really good. Played every song exactly like he was supposed to, took the stress off of Jake, too, and he sounded better than ever.
But then, after the show, Gary fucked up. He was giving out band stickers. I admired his tenacity, and knew he was right; it was good advertising. People were going to put those stickers on their bumpers or car windows or binders, and other people would see them and wonder, “Who is Analog Controller?”
I wanted to say something, but Andrew was eyeing me. He was always watching. He walked away from Gary and towards me. “I saw what you did. That was fucked up. And it wasn’t the first time.”
I set my lips as close to his ear as I could without touching. “Are you jealous?”
“I’m telling him.”
“Who, Jake? Go ahead.” I wasn’t sure what he was referring to but refused to ask. Jake had no claim on me and Andrew had no right. “I should care because . . . ?”
+++
We’d been back at the motel for a while. I was done swimming, but Angel hadn’t given me the signal that she was done with Jake—she was supposed to open the window—so I had to wait.
Damn, Angel had it so bad for him. It worried me because that girl worked herself up over everything. Perfect example: that first show at The Mystic Muse, when those two first hooked up. Jake showed some interest and a little kindness; Angel overreacted and slept with him. He asked for marriage and she couldn’t wait to drop her life and leave school.
I made mistakes, too. For one, I forgot to remember that Angel isn’t normal. That sounds bad. She was normal—yeah, Angel totally was. But also, well, she kind of wasn’t. Really, never has been. She’s always been kind of needy and dependant. Not that that’s a bad thing—so long as she’s careful about who she leans on. I didn’t say the right things when Angel told me Jake wanted to bang her. I pushed my friend into it, figuring a good rub down might do her some good. The way Jake carried himself I knew he’d be good. I stood in the background and watched Angel do her thing because I loved her more than anyone. I loved her too-tender heart and super-thin skin that sometimes seemed stretched over a vacuum. Angel was too vulnerable and it sucked people in. They sensed how ready and capable she was of loving so completely that she completely blinded herself to any of their faults. People like Jake were totally not worthy of her level of commitment. I didn’t deserve it either, but at least I was looking out for her best interests. Feeling responsible for her like I do made it necessary to take a step back when Angel was around Jake. I didn’t want to control her, but the more I thought over the naïve choices she was making, the more I realized I couldn’t just watch.
I needed to know what was going on inside that room. Did they talk? It seemed that Jake was acting strange since his surprise at the concert. Maybe Angel told him she’d changed her mind. Why else would they look so weighed down when they walked from the bands motel room back to the one I wanted to be inside of right now?
I sat by the pool in the dark, passing my fingers over the water, watching the ripples bend the moonlight, waiting for the window to open.
+ + +
37
—Angel
The morning came before sleep did. All night long I tossed and turned, arrested by Jake and remembering his words. He had such a way with them. I’ve read hundreds, maybe thousands, of books and none of the characters ever talked like Jake. None of them ever could because there was only one of him and he doesn’t live in this world anymore.
But I’m on my way to find him. Wherever he is, I will get to him. I will be with him again.
+++
I was thankful when the review committee sent for me early.
When I get back into the interview room, Tight Bun Tara and Quiet Darren are already there with my lawyer, as expected. I roll my eyes at the coincidence of all three wearing gray coats.
The three appear to be in conversation when I’m brought in, but stop whatever they’re saying and begin doling out the obligatory morning pleasantries. How did I sleep? Did I eat breakfast? Have I had my meds already?
“How do you feel?” My lawyer asks.
“Fine.” I mutter, even though every muscle in my body feels sore.
And then jump back in time . . . my soul aching as I speak the words. “Jakes bad feeling was contagious . . .”
+++
I awoke the next morning with a heaviness settled over my chest. It felt like a hangover, only I hadn’t been drinking. I slept, but could not recall falling asleep. I laid in bed for a few minutes, feeling the empty sheets beside me, wondering where Jake had gone and how long ago.
Aerosmith played from the radio as I washed in my tepid shower. Steven Tyler sang, “Tell me what it takes to let you go,” and I wanted to reach out for the radio and break the damn thing, but with my luck, I’d slip on the smooth bathroom floor and crack my head open.
As I ran the conditioner through my hair a pair of hands suddenly gripped my waist. The one thing that kept me from screeching was the sight of Jakes wet face when I whirled around. He was too good at sneaking up on me.
Breath whooshed into my lungs. “Jake! You scared me.”
His brows pulled together. “I’m checking on you. You were kicking so much I barely slept, so I know you couldn’t have.”
With that, he released me and adjusted the shower head so the water hit us both. He hummed, taking the bottle of shampoo and squirting a dollop on my head. The bottle made a gross noise and we both chuckled. I was already done washing, but let him rewash and condition my hair. My blood heated as he caressed me with his soapy hands. I wantonly pressed my back against his chest, but he didn’t take the next step. I turned to face him as he stared at me, water pouring down his face. He looked so sad.
“Are you alright?”
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” I wrapped my arms around him and set my head on his bare chest. The spray from the shower beat down on us.
“Let’s get out.”
Jake was pensive, sitting on the counter, watching me blow dry my hair. When I finished, I decided to make use of the silence. “Where did you go?”
“To get clean clothes.” He hopped from his post on the si
nk top and ran his fingers through my hair. “We’re pushing out.” He set a paper in my hand. “Motel address. Meet us there.”
“I hoped to be riding with you.”
He caressed my cheek with the back of his fingers. His reserved gaze held an air of something I could not identify. “There’s so much shit in the van, I’m riding with the guys from Proselytes. But I’ll see you when you get to the motel. We’ll bunk up tonight, too.”
I felt my face light up.
“I can’t stay away from your skin,” he ran his nose along my neck, caressing my jaw with his scruffy one. “Angel,” he groaned in a rough whisper that sent shivers through me. “I love you.”
“Jake, I want to ride with you.”
“Oh, I bet you would love that,” he teased, “but we have an interview to get to and you’re not ready.” He stepped away from me, holding both my hands as his eyes pointed to the towel I was still wrapped in. “It’s going to be a few hours before I get back to the motel, anyways. Take your time. I’ve got some meetings and promotion shit.”
Whatever had been bothering him the previous night was still an issue, I could feel it. I couldn’t think of a way to broach the subject, so my response came without words. Jakes’ eyes widened as I threw my towel on the floor.
“Well,” a wicked grin stretched his face. He ran a hand down my rib cage, making my skin tingle. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? There might’ve been time for foreplay.”
My fingers grasped for his hair that had been shorn away. “I demand foreplay.”
“I only got, like, five minutes.” Jake bit his bottom lip and then attacked me with greedy, lingering kisses and expert, groping hands. He played me like his favorite instrument; with familiarity and fervor.
It was over too quickly. From start to finish, he was on me in a heartbeat and then he was getting dressed again. Jake was never a quickie-type of lover. He liked to take his time, so the fast encounter, though satisfying, felt very wham-bam.
“I’m working on something.” Jake fussed with the buttons of his fly, pushing my hands away when I went behind him, trying to unbutton him. “A surprise.”
“Is it good?” I smiled, though I saw the stress behind his eyes.
“Baby, it’s me. Of course it’s good.” I rolled my eyes at the way he cockily tilted his head. Jake attacked me once again, pressing my lips apart with his, sucking and biting at my bottom lip in one fluid motion. I shamelessly moaned as one of his glorious hands clamped around my neck while the other smacked my backside.
And then, nothing. I opened my eyes to catch him running out the bathroom door.
His scent lingered, but I was alone. Empty without him. But I had to suck it up because this was the tour. It was his work, not a vacation and I was not going to get my way all the time. If things went like I wanted, Jake and I would have made love through the day, left for the gig when we felt like it, and that guitarist chick, that wannabe band chick, would have been lost in the desert, never to be heard from again.
I had to follow along, play the game. I wasn’t going to worry about how Jake seemed to be pushing me away on the day the band was meeting up with that girl. I was not going to wonder why Jake didn’t want to ride with me in our car. I would not let the presence of some random girl turn me into one of those petty, jealous bitches. It was my insecurities—my issues—that made it seem like there was a chasm growing between Jake and I. It wasn’t really there. At least, that’s what I told myself every time those words repeated: “Not yet.”
Brushing my hair, I couldn’t help but see his exit as running off and shuddered at those two cursed words. He doesn’t want her. Not yet . . . No. Jake has his reasons, I told myself. Those meetings he mentioned had to be very important.
Avery was just waking up when I opened the front blinds. The van was already gone. I started sifting through the room to pack.
“Didn’t go so good with Jake, huh?” Though she’d just woken up, her voice sounded smooth.
“It’s fine. I was going to let you sleep.”
“Who can sleep with Jakes loud mouth running? Jeez, he’s a performer—everything with him is so theatrical.” She sat up, stretching.
I stopped packing. “What do you mean, ‘theatrical’?”
“Dude. I totally heard him.” She stared unabashed, “I didn’t know you were into dirty talk.”
My face went tomato red.
“I had to sleep somewhere. Scratch that, try to sleep somewhere.” She hopped from the bed, fully clothed. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“Don’t you want to shower?”
“After we get there. First, we got to check-in and track down that chick that’s giving Jake so much trouble.”
“What is his deal?” I muttered, anxious to change the subject, but still bothered by Jake’s overt aversion to Band Chick. “Since when did I become the stable one in this relationship?”
Avery laughed. “Times, they are a-changing.”
Jake occupied most of my conversation on the short trip to Glendale. The late sun was beating on my arm in the passenger seat as I blathered on about how he was confusing me. Yes, he wanted to marry me, but that didn’t tell me his central concern; why was he allowing this chick in his band if it stressed him out so much? If he was so very sure it was a bad idea, why didn’t he just put his foot down? They would be with a label one way or another and could hire a studio musician, or hold more auditions in L.A. They didn’t need that chick or her San Diego style.
Avery just drove and listened, and barely spoke herself, except to offer the occasional sound of agreement. I waited in the car while she checked us in. The whole time, I was scanning the lot, looking for their van, but it was useless. They were heading straight to the Brick Lounge.
My mind was covered in a haze of concern. Was she with them already?
I barely noticed we ended up in a room at the back of the motel or that Avery nearly hit a motorcycle trying to park. I did notice how small and plain our room was. Most of the limited space was taken up by two full size beds. But it had a decent air conditioner and a good-size bathroom. The cool air of the dark room hit me and I plopped the bags onto the floor and folded myself onto the bed, totally exhausted.
Avery hooted that she’d found the coffee machine and started a pot.
“You nap. I’ll shower.”
“Wake me up before you go-go.” I mumbled and fell into rest.
+++
I woke up in front of the bathroom mirror, soaking wet, naked, and holding a lock of hair under my nose, as if to sniff. It smelled like soap. My breath came short and quick as I looked around the steamy bathroom.
“Avery!”
She opened the door enough to peek inside. A line of concern at my panicked tone crossed her forehead. “What’s wrong?”
I squeezed my eyes shut to clear away the pooling tears. “I w-woke up in here.” My hands felt numb and I gave them both a limp-wristed shake.
Her head tilted to one side. “No, Angel. I woke you up about twenty minutes ago and you walked in here. You don’t remember?”
I shook my head. “Did I say anything?”
“You yawned a lot, said you needed a hot shower. Don’t overreact. You just need coffee, that’s all. I’ll get some.” Her face disappeared from the half-open doorway.
“But I already had a shower.” I mumbled to the empty room.
Examining myself in the mirror, my gaze wandered down to the sink. My prescription bottles were set out. A small pile of pills lay on the counter. I grabbed the water glass from the sink and filled it, then swallowed down my meds. I should have taken them when I first woke up.
I’m fine. I’m fine. I repeated it until I believed it.
+++
I searched the crowd for Jake. The bands’ van was in the back lot, unattended and empty. The stage was full of equipment belonging to various bands. AC’s was among them. I would know Max’s drum set anywhere. Andrew’s stack amp stuck out from on one end of
a pile of amps. The Sonic Youth sticker on the side was a dead giveaway.
House music was pumping through the area, raising the voices of people in various conversations. Two guys who looked like roadies crossed the stage. Right behind them, a slender woman followed, carrying a fluorescent green guitar strap.
My stomach dropped. No one had to tell me. I knew it was her. The girl that wanted into the band, Angelica.
“She’s really pretty.” Avery stated the obvious. “Like, could-turn-a-chick-gay pretty.”
My eyes followed the woman with large, dark eyes framed by long black lashes and hair with perfectly placed purple streaks down each side. She was wearing all black—thigh-high laced Doc Martens over leggings, and a small vest in silken black, under that she wore a tight AC/DC tee with the sleeves chopped off. She took to the stage like she owned it, strutting towards a black and white Les Paul. She set the neon green strap over the guitar pegs and hooked it around her shoulders. After giving a long look at the near-empty club, at Avery and me, she took a pic from between her perfectly plump, burgundy lips and strummed.
Her chords were light and airy, bluesy almost. She gave a quick toe-tap at an enormous pedal board on the floor and the chords changed. It doubled the sound of each strum. She tapped another place on the board and the chords became heavy, distorted. Smooth tones ran rough. She tilted her head down, pressed her hips into the guitar and really started playing. We both stared at her fingers as they worked up and down the frets, lightning quick. She stopped to adjust the string tension and then began again.
“Max said she was badass.”
“Yeah.” She sounded freaking fantastic, like she had ten fingers on each hand. And she was only warming up.
Jake had merely said she was good. What an understatement! He told me she was pretty, but she was absolutely, freakishly stunning. He also said she was cool. But if everything he’d told me had been so downplayed . . . “I’m gonna find Jake.”
