by Liz Gavin
“College competitions.”
Noah scratched his head, then burst laughing. “Guess you didn’t think that bet through, boy? How the hell are you going to join my band if I don’t have one.”
“Well, you will when I help you campaign for it, right?” Aidan winked, but it took a moment for his meaning to sink in.
“Sneaky little bastard. I like you!”
6
Aidan - Fall – 2016
After winning the climbing competition, Aidan had hung out with Noah and Tristan at the evening concert and started to make good on his side of their bargain. He had come close to harassing Tristan into agreeing to rehearse with them every once in a while. A couple of months down the road, he sometimes doubted the campaign to start their band was moving at all. The way he saw it, it had stalled.
Aidan left his apartment building and climbed inside the ridesharing car he had arranged for on the phone app. As the driver swerved through the heavy southbound traffic, Aidan wondered for the millionth time if he had made the right decision. He had made a videocall to talk to his dad, making sure his mom wasn’t protecting him from the truth of his father’s real health condition. Still, he questioned the wisdom of choosing a fleeting chance at a career in showbiz over the harsh reality of his family’s needs back at home.
The driver pulled over in front of an office building for the other passenger to climb in the car. Aidan scooted over, but the man chose to seat on the front seat.
As the car merged back into traffic, he unlocked the screen on his phone and read the email. Again. Joan Gallagher had been straightforward in her message as she always was.
“Do not, under any circumstances, give up on your dreams. We’ve got this. You shouldn’t worry about us. We’re the parents here. We’ve done our part. We’ve sent you out into the world. Now it’s your time to shine.”
He got it. His parents wanted him to pursue his dreams. He was fine with that. But if Tristan didn’t come around and started taking the band more seriously, maybe it would be in Aidan’s best interest to take his own dreams elsewhere. He didn’t want to waste time, and Tristan could get stubborn. But the son of bitch was also a fucking guitar god.
I’ll stick around a little longer, he decided, as he entered the elevator to Noah and Tristan’s penthouse.
He rang the doorbell, and it didn’t take long to hear muffled footsteps approach the door. Noah’s wide grin welcomed him as the American opened the door wide. “As always, punctual like a British.”
“You’re trying to insult me, right off the bat?”
They fist-pumped as Noah motioned for Aidan to enter. Tristan and Noah’s apartment on Beira-Mar Norte Avenue offered a breathtaking view of the bay. The sun setting behind iconic Hercilio Luz Bridge set the metallic Golden Gate replica on fire against the autumn sky. Deep tones of purple, red and orange reflected on the calm dark waters. It wasn’t the first time Aidan visited, but he got caught up in the scenery and contemplated the sunset from the living room floor-to-ceiling glass windows, while Noah went to check the fridge.
The thick carpet buried his feet as he peered out of the window. Noah’s voice sounded behind him, as the open plan of that part of the apartment, allowed for an unobstructed connection between kitchen, dining room, and living room.
“Would you like some beer? There isn’t much more in here. I guess owning a restaurant has turned Tristan and I into lousy grocery shoppers.”
Aidan turned around to find out Noah had his head stuck inside the double door fridge. “We never bother going to the store for food anymore. We usually eat at the restaurant or bring take-outs home.”
Aidan caught the can of beer his band mate tossed at him. “Thanks.”
The acoustic insulation in the home studio didn’t allow Aidan to hear what happened inside it. “Did Tristan remember we had set a rehearsal today?” Noah nodded, but his shoulders drooped a couple of inches. Aidan didn’t miss the telltale. “What gives?”
Noah eyeballed him for a long time, and Aidan thought he would ignore the question, but he plopped himself on a stool by the kitchen counter and gestured for Aidan to do the same.
“I’ve told you why I came to live in Brazil, right?”
“Yeah. A girlfriend who really screwed up with you back in college, correct?” When Noah nodded and took a swig, Aidan added, “You’ve mentioned that about a million times.”
“Back then, Tristan and I were beginning to put our band together. Then, shit happened and crapped all over our plans.”
“You mentioned that as well. When Tristan refused to go on with the plans, you decided to come after the Brazilian girlfriend. You’ve never told me what kind of shit happened, though.”
“Because that’s Tristan’s crap, not mine. I don’t feel comfortable talking about his stuff, but part of it is public knowledge, so I guess that is all right to talk to you about. Have you ever heard of Izzie Anderson?”
“You’re fucking kidding me? She’s the reason I joined a band at fifteen. She was barely out of middle school when she landed her first record deal. I thought I could do the same. Yeah, that worked well for me.”
“I’ll get you there, Young Grasshopper. Don’t despair. The reason I ask is because Izzie Anderson is the crap that happened in Tristan’s life.”
“No shit!”
“Yes shit.”
Aidan lost his power of speech for a moment as thoughts raced one another inside his head. He shook it, still at a loss for words.
“I stunned you into silence. Quite an accomplishment when dealing with Irish people.” Noah snorted.
Aidan flipped the bird on him.
Regaining control of his thoughts, he asked, “You’re saying that our Tristan Knight is the same Tristan Knight who wrote her songs?” Noah nodded. “Oh, fuck! This is huge! I thought it was a neat coincidence. I also thought the lyricist was like super old by now.”
“Tristan is seventeen years older than you, though.”
Aidan had to laugh. “I guess that twenty-five seems like a million years when you’re eight.”
“You bet.”
Then, Aidan remembered the news articles he had read about Izzie, and Noah’s words made sense to him. “Oh, fuck! Now I get what you meant by saying shit made Tristan quit the music business. I don’t know what I would have done if I were in his shoes. I don’t blame him for not wanting back in.”
“Well, I do. I mean, I get that Izzie Anderson stomped over Tristan’s heart, breaking it in an irreparable million pieces. I get that she was once a sweet girl whose international rock stardom changed her forever. I even get that my friend Tristan mistrusts music biz people in general. He had his reasons. Good ones. But all that happened fucking fourteen years ago. It’s about time Tristan got his shit together and moved on.”
“I don’t have much to offer on the whole heart-breaking, heart-mending thing. Sorry.”
Noah snapped his head up from the beer can he had been rolling between his hands. His piercing green stare held Aidan’s before he spoke. “You’re not a virgin, are you? That wouldn’t fly for a rock star.”
Aidan’s chest shook with laughter. “Hell, no! I’m not a virgin. Only my heart is.”
“Whoa. Tristan might have a strong competitor for the title of lyricist in this band.”
“He’s got nothing to worry. Like most Irish, I’ve got the gift of gab. Blame it on the Blarney stone, if you will.”
Noah pushed himself off the stool and tossed his empty can in the trash. Aidan followed his example, and they strode to the studio, behind the last door on the right at the end of the corridor that led from the dining room to the bedrooms.
When Noah opened the door, and the two men entered the room, the powerful guitar riffs of U2’s Bullet the Blue Sky hit Aidan in the chest, and he was transported to that first time he watched the band play live at Slane Castle.
“I swear Tristan could give The Edge a run for his money any day of the week. He is a fucking genius,” Aidan w
hispered into Noah’s ear.
The guitar player didn’t notice them enter, so Noah got to his seat behind the drum set, while Aidan perched himself on the corner top of a tower of speakers. He had been storing his bass guitar in the studio, so he grabbed it from its metal stand and slung the strap over his shoulder. He held it loosely, not wanting to play along with Tristan. He’d rather watch him as he plowed through a particularly difficult set of riffs. Aidan got goosebumps and searched for Noah’s gaze. It was trained on his childhood friend, a wide smile playing on his lips. No doubt he shared Aidan’s amazement at their guitar player.
Noah and Tristan knew all about Aidan’s passion for U2’s music. He had shared with them details about his first concert, going to school with some of the band members’ kids, and the immense influence the band had had on his impressionable young self.
Still, he never missed a chance to make a joke. “Please, tell your buddy there’s more to Ireland than these guys,” Aidan pleaded with Noah, nodding towards Tristan, who seemed lost in the soulful sounds he was making with his guitar.
When he finished playing the piece and snapped his head up to look at the other two men, Tristan had a vacant expression as if transported to a place only he had access to. “What?”
Noah shrugged. “Aidan’s got a good point, man. You should play one of your own songs. We should be writing our own stuff. I mean, we’ve got our own Irish rock star. Why use another one’s material?”
“I can’t use my songs,” Tristan replied, then muttered under his breath, “You know that.”
“You wrote for more than only one fucking big star. We could totally use those other songs. I’m not talking about that, though. We could write our own new material. You’re a virtuoso guitarist with a beautiful singing voice, I play drums like a mad man, and Aidan here doesn’t totally suck with a bass in his hands.”
“Thanks, pal. I guess,” Aidan interjected. “We’ve got all we need. Let’s do this.”
Tristan stared at them both, his expression hard to read, except that he didn’t seem convinced. “We’ll see about that,” he finally offered, in a non-committal tone that made Aidan’s heart sunk to his stomach.
Fuck.
Today was not a good day to heap more doubt on top of the ones he had already been nursing. He needed to know he had made the right decision staying in Brazil instead of going home and giving his mom a hand looking after this dad.
Noah’s expression lost its usual lightness, and his tone got terse. “You always do this, man. You say we’ll talk about it at an undisclosed time in the future, which never comes to be. I’m kind of sick of it.”
“What do you want from me, Noah? I’ve got too much going on right now. The restaurant, my mom’s health, and some investments going south. We’re not twenty anymore, dude. We’ve got responsibilities. Well, at least, I’ve got them.”
“Where’s that coming from? Not my fault your life sucks more than mine.”
Tristan ran a hand over his face and neck as if to control his temper. Still, his nostrils flared when he spoke again, “My bad. You’re right. It’s just that I don’t need the extra pressure right now. Can we leave it at that? For now?”
Aidan spotted a vein throbbing on Noah’s temple. Not a good sign, but he deadpanned. “Just don’t take another ten years or so to make up your mind. As you said, we’re not twenty. I worry it might be too late for us.”
They locked stares and nodded curtly as if they had communicated telepathically. Aidan’s anxieties got the best of him, and he flipped. “Care to share? I swear the both of you freak me out sometimes with this silent talk thing you do.” Aidan glanced from Noah to Tristan and then back, as if the was sitting at a fucking tennis match.
“That’s a good one,” Noah chuckled and patted Aidan on the back, before turning to leave the room.
“Never heard that,” Tristan added with a broad, sincere smile as he gently set the guitar against its stand on a corner and followed Noah.
“Hate when they do that,” Aidan whispered to himself, but loud enough to be heard.
When they reached the living room, Aidan grabbed his coat to leave since it was clear they would not rehearse after all.
Noah frowned. “I thought you’d stay longer. Want a ride? Tristan’s about to leave for the restaurant.”
“About that,” Tristan started, but was interrupted by his cell phone. He answered it and informed whoever was on the other side. “I’ve got just a couple of hours before my shift at the restaurant. It takes half-an-hour to get there.” Tristan checked his watch as he walked around the room collecting wallet and car keys. A slow smile hitched the corner of his lips as he shrugged. His voice dropped to a low rumble when he added, “If you say so, gorgeous. Be there in a jiffy.”
“Seriously?” Noah’s high-pitched question pierced the air much like the stare Tristan trained on him.
“What now? You going to control my sex life as well?”
“That’s not it. See what you do? Two minutes ago, you said you didn’t have time for the band. Someone calls, and you’re out the door. I get it, sex is great. No-strings sex is even better, I’m all for it. The thing is the band’s nowhere on your radar. You just don’t care.”
Aidan hated to agree with Noah, but he did.
And that scared the shit out of him.
He had a feeling they were sitting on a goldmine. Tristan’s talent had little competition in the rock and roll scene, Noah played the drums like a madman, a fucking talented nut job at that. Aidan had had formal training, which took his natural talent to the next level. It was not uncommon for Aidan to hear people say they didn’t hear the bass in rock songs. People who said that had no idea what rock music was about. Drum and bass made for the heart and soul of a rock song. Guitars and vocals were just the pretty face of it.
Fearing what the future would bring for them, Aidan watched Tristan as he stood by the door, fisted hands on his hips, blue eyes turned darker. He opened his mouth then closed it again. Then, he finally spoke. “I don’t want to do this now. We’ll end up fighting. If you don’t get why I’m not ready, I don’t know how to explain it to you.”
“I get more than you think. Fucking half the town won’t make the pain go away,” Noah advised Tristan as the guitar player opened the door to leave. Freezing at the doorway, he didn’t look back or reply. Noah added, “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
A loud bang as he shut the door behind him was all Tristan offered.
Although Aidan had read about Tristan and Izzie’s ugly breakup, the details escaped him, so he could not gauge how much damage Noah’s words had the potential to cause. If Tristan’s expression and attitude were good indicators, he worried about the consequences. He didn’t want to think of them, though. He didn’t want to consider his dreams could be at risk.
So, Aidan stood in the middle of the room, stunned, his forgotten coat hanging from his hands.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get him around, even if it’s the last thing I do. Just stick around, and I’ll make a rock star out of you.” Noah promised.
7
Moira - Fall - 2016
Moira pulled the heavy wooden door by its loop-shaped metal handle and blessed the owners of Chez Nous with a silent prayer. Not all buildings in Brazil possessed climate control, but the quaint adobe structure that housed the trendy restaurant was a welcomed oasis after her long commute in a car without air conditioning. In a tropical island, the word autumn did not mean the same as in countries in the northern hemisphere. A person could sweat like a pig sitting in traffic during the months of Brazilian Fall.
That had been the case for Moira. The AC unit in her car had been a goner for a while, but paying for her kids’ school and health insurance came on top of her priorities. She could always roll down the window and get some ocean breeze.
“When the air isn’t fucking stifling as a sauna, that is,” she muttered to herself, as she dumped her backpack on the couch at the staff room.
<
br /> “That’s what you get for being stubborn, Moira Mathias,” a voice sounded behind Moira, startling her.
“Shit! You scared me half to death. I didn’t notice you were in here.” Moira offered her colleague as an explanation, when Karen Razzini’s voice made her jump and knock the carafe and spill water on a table set up with cookies, coffee and water for the staff. “And it’s Moira Romano now. It’s been so for a couple of years.”
“You’re more OCD than me with this cleaning stuff.” Karen handed Moira the paper towel roll and plopped herself on the couch.
Karen Razzini was Chez Nous’s bookkeeper. She was also Nelson Razzini’s sister. Nelson had partner with Tristan Knight and Noah Cartwright almost fifteen years ago to create the bistro. Their hard work had turned the restaurant into one of Floripa’s hottest gastronomic spots. Moira had been lucky Karen put in a good word with the owners when Bob vanished and secured Moira a job as bartender in the happy-hour shift, when the best tips stuffed the jars on the bar counter.
“What are you doing here? It’s not your regular bookkeeping day.”
Karen shrugged. “I had some papers for Nelson to sign, family stuff. Then, I decided to stay for happy hour. Who knows? I might meet someone interesting.”
Moira guffawed as she nodded toward the door, signaling for Karen to follow her. She needed to get the bar ready before opening it for customers. “More? Aren’t three boyfriends enough?”
“There’s always room for a little extra happiness in my life. How about you? I swear to God, when we were in high school, and you started dating Bob, he gave me the creeps. I told you that, remember?” Moira nodded, and Karen went on. “You went and married the guy right after we finished high school.”
Moira shrugged. “I didn’t realize he was a scumbag until many years later.”
“Speaking of which, is he still MIA, or has he grown some balls and started helping you take care of his children?”
