by BJ Knapp
“Surely there’s a Marriot or a Westin,” Keith says, incredulous.
“This is preposterous!” Ben says. “We are all working damn hard on this new record. Why do we all have to suffer because of Keith?”
“Suffer?” I ask. I set down the glass of milk. “You’re kidding, right? Staying in a motel is suffering? Wow, you guys really have lost touch with reality. There are people out there who don’t have jobs, and you have the nerve to say you’re suffering? Big fucking deal—you have to sleep in a motel for a week. God, you guys really love being the spoiled rock stars, huh? You think that just because you put out a few albums in the ‘80s that everyone should bow down to you. You guys really are assholes. All of you.” I point my finger at every person sitting in the room then slide off the counter and storm out of the room.
From upstairs, I can hear them continue to argue. Ben and Keith protest loudly while Erik struggles to maintain his composure. I can distinctly hear Erik say, “I am so fucking sick of having to clean up your messes. It’s been nonstop for thirty years, and you guys just won’t fucking grow up.”
“Well, if that’s how you really feel about it then perhaps you ought to step down then!” I hear Keith shout downstairs.
“Do you have any idea what I do for you? Do you? Everything I do in my life is for you. Every fucking thing I do is to stroke your precious egos so you can feel like you can produce good music. You see that crowd of people out there? Paid for. Every last one of them is a paid actor hired to make you feel like rock and roll gods so you can produce a new album.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Ben asks.
“Trisha doesn’t give a shit about your lyrics, Keith. She’s only there to make you feel like your lyrics matter. But you know what? It’s all shit! This new album sucks, and you’re all going to go down. And I am not going to be there when it happens. I am through with the lot of you.”
Chapter 28
IT’S THURSDAY NIGHT, and I am scared to go straight home from work. I’ve stayed out of their way since the meeting on Tuesday night, while the crew has been hard at work packing. I can picture the storm of activity in my home, seeing as it’s the last night that Hydra will be there. What if they change their minds and decide they’re going to stay? I imagine Erik looking up from his iPhone long enough to tell me to go fuck myself. I try to get the image out of my mind, but I’m afraid it’s still a real possibility. I mean, at this point, what could I do if they decided they wanted to stay? I would have to call the police and get them out, I guess. What a mess that would be, on many levels.
To kill time, I pull into the parking lot at the movie theatre. Without giving it much thought, I go inside and buy a ticket for whatever is showing next. And the movie is absolute garbage. Pop-Tart Jamie Fire is the star, and she is the world’s worst actress. I read in the gossip mags that she was constantly drunk on set. I can’t even tell you what the plot was; I think the point of the movie was so Jamie could walk around in a hundred different bikinis and suggestively suck on lollipops throughout.
But still, going to a trashy movie by myself was actually kind of nice. I don’t know why I don’t do it more often. People always say it’s weird to go to the movies by yourself, but it’s not like you’re going to talk to the person that you go with, anyway. You’re both just sitting there, watching. So why don’t more people go alone? It’s nice to watch whatever I want to see and have a tub of popcorn to myself without Tim globbing it with that weird butter-oil stuff.
It’s dark when I leave the theater, and while the movie wasn’t exactly a cinematic masterpiece, at least I managed to kill some time when I wasn’t obsessing about whether or not Hydra had moved out of my house. I considered texting Toni to check on their status, but then talked myself out of it.
When I get home, the house is dark. I pause in the middle of the driveway and look over to the fan corral; it’s empty, and the yellow caution tape and stakes are gone. It makes sense, seeing as how they weren’t even real fans, but paid actors. I am amazed at the lengths Erik went to so that the band felt worshipped. No wonder they’re broke.
I press the button on the remote clipped to the visor; the garage is empty of Jeff’s drum set, and I easily pull in to my side. Tim’s side is still vacant, and it makes me a bit sad; I wonder when he’ll come home. I pause before opening the door into the kitchen from the garage; I am so afraid that they’ve trashed my house before leaving, and now I won’t have Angela to help me clean it up. My mind goes back to Erik throwing the candlestick through the window. I can just picture him and the band blasting some heavy metal on the stereo and stabbing the rest of the windows with their guitars then deciding it wasn’t enough and knifing my walls with Tim’s meat cleaver.
I feel for the light switch when I enter, but decide that, for the moment, I am better off not knowing. I call out to Vito and let him out the back door; again, I don’t turn on the lights, afraid to see what they’ve done to the lawn as they dismantled Tent City. My mind goes to them turning donuts in the grass, also with death metal blaring through the speakers of the minivans.
Vito starts yelping. I’m scared that he’s injured. What the hell did they leave on my lawn that hurt my dog? I flip on the outside lights and am relieved to see Vito chasing a rabbit into the woods. I never thought I’d ever be thankful to have him chase a rabbit. I am even more grateful when I see that all the tents are gone, and the crew hasn’t trashed the lawn. I am momentarily distracted by how great the back yard looks without all those tents, and I nearly forget about Vito. He’s probably hell and gone, deep into the woods. I call out to him from the deck, but he ignores me. He’s on the chase, and he’ll go as far as the rabbit takes him. Tim and I have heard stories about beagles going for miles after a bunny, and it’s always been a fear of mine that one day he won’t come back.
“Vito, no!” I call out after him. I run down the stairs and sprint across the back yard where Tent City used to be. By the time I get to the trail leading into the woods, he’s sniffing his way back to me; his prey likely dived into a rabbit hole. He looks up at me, as if to say, “What? I’m right here.”
With an air of nonchalance, he lopes beside me as we cross the yard toward the house. I can see where the grass is matted in the spots where each tent stood. The ground is still scorched from where they set that fire the first night. Vito sniffs around each tent’s ghostly footprint, and I wonder what he must think. He looks up at me and wags his tail. Looks like he’s happy they’re gone, too.
Back in the house, I muster the courage to turn on the lights. I wince when I flip the switch and see that the kitchen is surgically clean. In the fridge are the last of Angela’s leftovers; she labeled them and even stocked the freezer with single-serve containers of lasagna, her crock pot chicken, and the barbecue ribs she made on Monday. I will miss her cooking the most. In the entire time that Hydra was here, I didn’t touch a pot or pan. I scoop some kibble into Vito’s bowl and toss some leftover lasagna into the microwave. I plop down on the couch, turn on the TV, and watch some senseless reality show until I realize my plate is empty.
The house is quiet without Tim; I need to formulate a plan. My job is getting back on track, the band’s out of the house, and now I need to get him to move back in. I call Tim’s cell, but it goes right to voice mail. When will he ever call me? Doesn’t he want to come home? I think this is what bothers me the most: he hasn’t called me to tell me that he misses me and that he wants to come home. At this point, Tim still doesn’t even know that Hydra is gone, and I don’t know if he’s talked to his mom yet.
I try his cell again, and this time I leave a message. “Tim, they’re gone. Call me back. I love you.” It’s not exactly how I wanted to tell him, but it’s what I have to do.
I turn off the TV and feel the silence descend on me. Just one night earlier, my house was still basecamp for a once-great band trying to make their comeback. I got the chance to offer my opinion on one of their songs, and a song on the al
bum was written for me. I was part of something that will be important to millions of people, but it ended so abruptly, so badly. I think back to Tim telling me to let it go, the night that we’d first met Keith, and how I get obsessed with stupid shit. But it’s not stupid to me. This was important to me, and while I know that Hydra needed to leave for me to get my husband back, I am sad that they had to leave and that I am not a part of it anymore. I wish it all could have gone differently.
“Vito, I could have handled this so much better,” I say, sighing. He jumps onto the couch and thumps his tail against the cushion; I ignore the fact that Tim doesn’t want him on the furniture. He rests his head on my thigh and lets out one of his long “this too shall pass” sighs. “You’re right, it will pass,” I say, and then smile as I stroke his ears. Tears are still streaming down my cheeks, but I try to feel positive. Eventually, Tim’s gotta come home.
Before heading up to bed, I put my plate into the dishwasher, instead of the sink. It always bugged Tim when I’d leave dishes in the sink.
***
Friday morning at work, Amanda pops into my cube and hands me a cup of tea. “Well? It’s Friday. Has your problem been resolved?”
“Yes,” I smile. “All is well.”
“Great. Welcome back to the land of the living. I need to see the new mockups for the Baxter ads by the end of day.”
I spend the rest of the day putting the finishing touches on the drafts I put together a few days ago and review the mock ups that the graphic artist gave me. I welcome the distraction of work and am actually a bit bummed that the day flies by; before I know, it I am walking out of the office at five. Tim still hasn’t called. Hasn’t he heard the message I left him last night? You’d think he would have called back by now. I wonder if I should call him or not.
After Hydra invaded my home, I couldn’t stand to listen to the radio. It had become a minefield. I never knew when a DJ was going to mention the band or speculate about where in Rhode Island they were recording and sleeping. I never knew when I’d hear one of their songs. But now I don’t care. Bring it on! Now that I don’t have to live in fear of the public discovering that they were at my house, I don’t care anymore.
Still, the actors were pretty convincing: it was pretty terrifying pulling up to my house that day. I wonder if the band ever did have real fans camped out in front of their houses or if it had always been Erik’s doing. Toni said that they’d all gotten used to it; but I’m sure she’s relieved that there never was any real threat from a truly psychotic fan. Before I left for work this morning, I walked out to the fan corral area. There were rake tracks in the dirt. It’s nice that the actors cleaned up after themselves.
Tim’s truck is in the driveway when I pull in, and I park my car beside it. I can feel the adrenaline surge through my body as I run up the stairs to the deck. I stop halfway up when I realize that he could just be home to get clean clothes, and then he’ll be gone again. After all that has happened, maybe he doesn’t want to come home to me at all. I will myself to steady my breathing, and I’m relieved when I see him sitting on the deck with a beer. And there’s another one on the table beside his. I can’t help but smile, but I still don’t know what to say when I sit down beside him.
“It looks so much better without all those tents,” he says, gazing out across the back yard. “How’d you get them out?”
“I used the magic of public relations. But this time I used my powers for evil instead of good.” I tell him the story, and then I go and get the drafts of the press releases from inside. I figure having a visual aid will make more sense to him. When the mosquitos force us into the house, we sit at the kitchen table. He reads my work.
“You know, it’s funny,” he says. “I never fully understood your job. With mine, someone brings in a car that doesn’t work, and I fix it and give it back to them. With yours, it’s all information that you’re putting out. You never really know who’s reading it or what will happen, after they’ve read it.” He gestures to one of my media alerts. “But this definitely would have been read, and it would have caused a lot of trouble for them.”
“That’s what Erik was afraid of. We’re still getting all of our money.”
“Okay, you are doing all the negotiating the next time we buy a house. You got them out and managed to get all our money, too?”
“Yup.” I beam with pride. “Bribery is a powerful tool. Basically, we can’t talk to the media about why they left, and honestly, I don’t even care to talk about it.”
“So, was it all you thought it would be? Having rock stars in the house?”
“Some of it.” I take a swig of my beer while I reflect. “I mean, I did like the part where I got to offer my opinion about the new songs. That was very cool. But the other stuff sucked.”
“I know, Bren. It was fun to watch you get so excited about reading their new lyrics.”
“Really? Because you just seemed pissed off the whole time they were here. And that’s the part that sucked, Tim. It came between us in the worst way. Will you ever be able to forgive me for kissing Keith?”
He doesn’t answer my question, and I feel like he’s just slapped me in the face. Then he changes the subject. “So, do you know where they’re staying?”
“For the moment, they’re at the Motel 6 until their new house is ready.”
“The big rock stars are staying at the Motel 6?” He laughs.
“Yeah, you should have seen it. They were all, like, ‘surely there’s a Marriot or a Westin.’” I put on a posh Australian accent, and he laughs. “I guess Erik rented out the whole place so they wouldn’t have to deal with any other guests.” I laugh again. “There was a big argument about it, and I think they might have fired Erik.” I pause. “And guess what else? Those rabid fans out there? They were paid actors.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” he says. “But then, it kinda makes sense. Erik was pretty nonchalant about them being here.”
“But that’s a good thing. Imagine what could have happened if they’d been real rabid fans? It could have gotten very ugly.”
“True. You hungry? I see that Angela’s stocked the freezer. While I heat something up for you and me, will you please explain the press release about the fifteen-year-old prostitute, and why you never told me about it at the time?” He raises his eyebrows.
I sheepishly smile back at him.
“Goddam rock stars drank all the beer!” he calls out from the fridge a moment later.
“Of course they did,” I say and laugh. “What did you expect?”
Chapter 29
THAT NIGHT, TIM MOVED BACK IN. It was nice to feel his warmth on his side of the bed, and Vito stayed glued to him the first weekend he was home. After that night in the kitchen, we didn’t talk about the Hydra experience for a few days; I think we were both needed to deal with it on our own, first.
It’s been a month now, and we’re trying to get back to normal as best as we can. Tim’s been blowing off Portia’s Sunday night dinner invites. He told her that he’s not going to speak to her unless she apologizes to me. I have yet to get a call, and I’m not waiting by the phone.
To be completely honest, since Tim came home, it feels like we’re roommates who share a bed. Sex is still out of the question; I think Tim is still getting over the kiss. He doesn’t appear outwardly angry anymore, but he also doesn’t touch me or chase me around, like he used to. I figure I’ll let it go for a while, until he gets over it, but I can’t seem to figure out how to broach the topic. Like, do I start out with, “I know you saw me kiss Keith and all, but when are we going to get it on again?” Obviously, I need to come up with a better opener; the search continues.
We both get up every day and go to work; we come home and have dinner together in front of the TV. Then he works on election stuff while I read. We barely talk about anything, let alone all of the things that really matter to our marriage. Something has got to change, or we’ll never get back on track again.
&nbs
p; One Friday night in early October, while it is still warm out, I get home before he does and set out a picnic blanket under the oak tree in the back yard. I light some citronella candles; Tim likes the scent. I put together a few of his favorite things to eat: a fresh loaf of French bread, brie, fresh fruit, and some cold leftover chicken that I made from one of Angela’s recipes.
He joins me in the backyard; it’s nice to lounge on the blanket and eat. We don’t talk at first, until I finally say something. “Tim, I really want to get back on track here.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. We’re walking around here like we’re on our first date. It’s awkward. I want to get back to how we used to be.”
“Bren, I’m still having some trouble with that. I need some time to get over the fact that you kissed Keith.”
“Well, how much time will you need?”
“I don’t know.” He clenches his jaw. “I feel very betrayed by you. It’s like, when Hydra was here, you weren’t you anymore. You kept secrets from me, and you kissed Keith. I didn’t like the person that you became, Bren. And we’d already had our share of problems before they even entered the picture.”
“I agree. I feel like we weren’t connecting anymore.”
“We were on a treadmill to nowhere, Bren. That’s why I wanted to run for the Senate. I wanted to do something different. I was getting bored. Is that why you kissed Keith? Were you bored, too?”
The truth is I know exactly how he feels. I felt the same way. I wanted some excitement in our life. And his running for the Senate just made me even more bored with our marriage. This is why people cheat and get divorced: they need pizazz. I think back to how exciting it was to kiss Keith and how compelling it was to entertain the possibility of going on tour with him. If I’d been weaker, this could have ended very differently. “So, what do we do now?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t think I can just pick up where we left off.”
