Lowdown and Lush

by Selena Laurence

  “Okay, well, since you’re next of kin, I’d like to go down the hall to my office and talk about the surgery and the recovery.”

  I take a deep breath. I’m strangely reluctant to leave my old man.

  As if sensing this, the nurse pats me on the arm and says, “I’ll stay right here with Richard. Is that okay?” she asks Dad.

  “Yes. Go ahead, son.”

  “Okay.” Before I can think it through too much, I lean down and give him a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll be right back, Dad.” I see a tear in his eye as he nods at me and squeezes my arm.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m back with more details on my dad’s medical condition than I could have ever imagined possible. The recovery is long, a minimum of six to twelve weeks, and he’ll be on medications for the rest of his life. I also know that the doctor plays guitar for a hobby and I’ve promised to sign his Stratocaster when he brings it by later in the week.

  “Hi, Dad,” I say as I come back into his room and sit next to his bed. The nurse smiles and waves as she leaves. “So, how you doing?”

  “Mike,” he answers quietly. “It’s good to see you, son.”

  I bow my head, unable to speak for a moment. “It’s good to see you too, Dad. I should have been here before now. I know that.”

  “It’s okay, Mike. I hope I didn’t interrupt the latest tour or recording session. You still playing with that country singer?”

  “Um, Jenny. Yeah. She’s not touring right now, but I’m producing an album for her.”

  “Good.” He coughs, and I watch him carefully, getting ready to yell for a nurse. He puts out his hand. “It’s okay. I’m all right. I love that recording you sent me of her concert. She has a beautiful voice, that girl.”

  “Yeah. She’s an angel for sure.”

  “Sounds like my kid might have a crush,” Dad jokes.

  “Hey, we’re not here to talk about me. What happened, Dad? I mean, did you know you were sick?”

  “Nah, I was just tired a lot. But you know, I don’t have too much to do these days. Just work and the house. Jeff can’t golf too often since his daughter moved home with her baby, so I haven’t been getting out all that much.”

  When I look at him, it washes over me that his life the last decade has been nearly as empty as mine. Sure, I travel the world and have a different woman every night, but I’ve blown up anything good I got near for years now. I hardly have a friend left, I’ve lost Jenny for good, and I gave up my apartment in Portland since I do whatever I can to stay away from here. Now, I look at my dad, and he has no family, no friends, no love. Just like me.

  I wonder as I watch his faded face in the midst of the beeping machines and tubes and sterile, white linens if this is our punishment for what happened. For what we did. Maybe this is the universe’s answer to our sins—empty lives. Then I think that, if Loretta could reach out from beyond the grave and hurt us, she would. She’d fuck up anything and everything she could. Maybe this is her fault. Just like everything else always has been. If there’s something bad or wrong or evil, it’s generally Loretta who caused it.

  “Mike?” Dad brings me back to the here and now.

  “Yeah?” I say, giving him a small smile.

  “You look tired, kid. Maybe you should go home and rest for a while. I’m just going to be lying around here, sleeping in between all their pokes and prods. You won’t miss anything.”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ll stay. You tired? You should take a nap. Why don’t I go downstairs for coffee and you can get some shuteye. I’ll be back in fifteen or twenty minutes. How’s that sound?”

  He nods, his eyes already closing. I watch him as his labored breathing settles down a bit when he stops talking.

  I remember when I was young, only eight or nine, and he used to take me on these day-long adventures. We’d go biking by the river or to see a baseball game and then a movie. We’d discover new parks, go on scavenger hunts at the zoo, eat only things that started with the letter M for an entire day. And I think I knew even then that it was all just to get me out of the house, away from Loretta because she having one of her many “days.”

  There was a small period of time when I was in elementary school where she was more stable. But all that ended by the time I hit third grade. It was long weekends with my dad and longer days after school trying to avoid her, waiting for Dad to come home—to rescue me from the monster that was my mother. And he did. Every time, including the very last time. He’s always been there for me, even if he didn’t always know exactly how to be. He never quit trying, so now, I need to be there for him. I need to make sure I don’t let him down ever again.

  VISITING HOURS are well past over when Joss shows up at my dad’s hospital room. But, in Portland anyway, if you’re Joss Jamison, you pretty much do what you want, rules be damned.

  “Hey,” he says as he walks in.

  “Hey, man,” I answer, standing so we can go out in the hallway. My dad’s been asleep most of the evening. Although we did have a good game of Gin Rummy when he was up to it at one point.

  We go to the hall and Joss gestures toward a nearby lounge area.

  After we’re seated, he asks, “So, Walsh gave me the basics. How is he?”

  “They say he’s going to be okay, but it’s a long recovery and he’s going to need help.”

  He nods. “You going to hire a nurse or someone to stay at the house?”

  It shouldn’t piss me off that the first thing he thinks is that I’ll throw money at it. It’s the pattern I’ve had going on for the last ten years. But I still feel a burst of anger. This is different, and somehow, it seems like Joss should realize that.

  “No,” I snap. “I’ll be taking care of him myself. He’s my dad, my responsibility, not some nurse’s.”

  Joss shifts in his chair, getting comfortable. “What about Jenny?” he asks.

  Shit. She’s been on my mind since I got on that plane this morning, and knowing the length of my dad’s recovery time, I also know I have a problem on my hands.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll have to hire a producer. It’s the last thing I want to do, but I imagine she’d be happier with that anyway.”

  Joss shakes his head before looking directly at me. “What the hell are you doing? You’re going to let this die? Not fight for it at all? She’s the best damn thing that’s happened to you since…well, ever that I can recall. You don’t just let something like that slip through your fingers.”

  I stand up, feeling more and more agitated by the minute. Fucking Joss ‘the perpetually blessed’ Jamison couldn’t possibly understand this whole thing.

  “Dude,” I deadpan. “No offense, but you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re going to tell me I imagined how jealous you were of JR that night? You going to tell me I didn’t see what I did on your face the morning after that fiasco you created when you rejected her for being a virgin?”

  “What the hell do you want me to say? I have a sick parent here, Joss. My only parent. You of all people ought to understand that. Besides, Jenny doesn’t want anything to do with me. She’s been seeing JR fucking DuBois. I can’t compete with that.” I collapse back into my chair, most of my anger burned off at the thought of her smiling up into JR’s face earlier today.

  “Dude, you’re kidding, right? You’re Mike Owens. You can’t seriously think JR DuBois has anything on you?”

  I rub my hands over my face. “Joss. You don’t know the whole story. There are things…things about me. I’m not the guy for Jenny. She deserves so much better.”

  “And you don’t seem to understand,” Joss says as he stands and looks down at me. “You’re capable of being so much better. You just have to decide you’re going to do it, Mike.” When he pauses, I can hear the clock on the wall above us ticking away. Kind of like my time to make these choices seems to be ticking away. “I’ll stop by tomorrow,” Joss continues, “but until then, think about what I’m saying. We all make mistakes
. I’ve made one of the worst a person could. The only way you climb out of them is by choosing to.”

  He walks away and I lean my head in my hands. I wonder if this is how my mother felt when she would spiral out of control, because I’m standing on the edge of a precipice and I’m not sure I have what it takes to keep from toppling over.

  Jenny

  IT’S THREE days after Michael leaves that Tammy calls and tells me what’s going on.

  “What?” I gasp into the phone.

  “He’s going to be fine, but Mike’s acting the part of the good son and taking care of him. Richard’s supposed to get the okay to check out of the hospital today, and Mike told Walsh that he’ll stay until his dad’s recovery is over.”

  “Of course,” I answer like a robot. My head is spinning with the myriad feelings skittering through, the urge to be with Michael being one of the strongest.

  “But I don’t want you to worry. I’m here to look after your interests and I’m not going to let Mike’s guilt that’s about ten years too late screw up your album. I always get a clause put in contracts for contingencies like this, and your contract with him was no different. My addendum says he has to either produce the album himself, find a producer that we agree to, or let you out of the contract. We’re going to get this handled. I had a letter delivered to his attorney yesterday giving him forty-eight hours to tell us his plans, so we’ll be hearing back soon.”

  My stomach aches. This can’t be happening. “Tammy,” I say, my voice sounding as weak as I feel. “Do you really think now is the time to play hardball with him? I mean, his father almost died. He doesn’t talk about his dad much, but when he does, I can tell he cares about him. I know I was upset when I told y’all he’d left town, but I had no idea this had happened.”

  I can almost hear Tammy’s head shaking and her eyes rolling as she answers me. “Jenny. Listen up now. You cannot let a guy like Mike have an inch. Not even when you feel sorry for him. He’s a big boy, and a mean one—or have you forgotten your evening with him a few weeks ago? There’s business and there’s personal, and while you two have them all mixed up—something I should have advised you not to do—you can’t let his personal issues screw with your professional future.”

  “I know Tammy, but it just seems so cruel to go after him at a time like this.”

  “There’s no ‘going after’ anyone here. We’re simply enforcing the terms of your contract. Events like this are why contracts were created. If everything was always hunky-dory, we wouldn’t need the damn contracts.”

  I sigh. “Okay. I guess. But can you…” I pause, my heart all achy inside. “Can you tell him I’m praying for his dad to make a full recovery?”

  “All right. Just don’t worry about this stuff though. Get those songs polished up and we’ll have an answer by the day after tomorrow. Then we can get that album of yours recorded. It’s going to be fantastic.”

  “Thanks,” I say before I end the call.

  After I set the phone down, I sit in the living room of my hotel suite and watch the clouds skitter across the late afternoon sky. I think about my parents and what they might be doing right now. If my dad had a heart attack tomorrow, what would I do? I’d go home of course. I’d go to his bedside and I’d apologize or beg or whatever it took so I could be with him. Because, in spite of all the terrible things he said, in spite of the fact that he has denied my very existence, he is my father and I want to be remembered.

  While sitting here, I realize that it’s not only my father I want to remember me. It’s Michael too. We both made a huge mistake, but before that night, he was my best friend. I haven’t had one of those since high school, and it felt good. I think I need that in my life, and so does Michael.

  Before I know it, I’m up, pulling my suitcase down from the shelf in the closet. It’s time to go remind Michael Owens that I’m here for him. Even when he doesn’t want me to be, because that’s what friends do.

  Deep inside, I know I’m fooling myself. I can never be just friends with Michael, but my need to check on him, make sure he’s okay, is too strong to ignore. I have to see him, and if playing the friend card is the only way to do that, then it’s what I’ll do.

  THE AIR in Portland is surprisingly dry and warm. As I make my way along the sidewalk outside the airport, I realize that I didn’t tell a soul I was doing this. I suppose I ought to update somebody on my whereabouts, so I text Tammy first:

  Have just landed in Portland. Heading to hospital. Will check in later.

  Next, I pull up JR’s number. I don’t feel like I owe him details about where I am, but he’s a really nice guy and I know he’d want me to keep him in the loop.

  Just found out Michael’s dad had a heart attack and surgery. I’ll be in Portland a few days working out contract details now that this has thrown a wrench in everything. Call you when I get back?

  JR’s message comes back immediately:

  I’ll be in Portland by Friday. Dinner?

  I should have known. He lives here after all. He comes home at least once every couple of weeks, and I’ve long suspected that he spends more time in Dallas than he needs to so that he can see me.

  Okay, I text back. Text me when you get in.

  Looking forward to it. ;)

  Tammy’s message isn’t quite as friendly.

  What? Please tell me I read that wrong and you’re in Portland, Maine.

  Nope. Right here in the Rose City. Any suggestions for a good hotel?

  Yes. My house. I’ll send you the address in a minute. How are you getting to the hospital?

  Cab?

  Fine. Meet you there in an hour.

  When I get to the hospital, I start to doubt my plans. What if it’s the wrong Michael I encounter? The one who was in my hotel room that night instead of the one who was my closest friend all summer long?

  Luckily, I find out at the main desk that it’s still visiting hours, something that didn’t even cross my mind. I take the elevator up to Mr. Owens’s floor. He’s been moved from the ICU to the regular cardiac unit, which I know is a good sign.

  The halls have good signage, so I quickly find room 207. I can hear Michael’s voice as I get closer to the door.

  “Dad, it’s okay. I got it. I spent two hours on the lawn yesterday and I’ve been to the grocery store. The fridge and pantry are all packed with food. We can go through the bills as soon as we get you home. I have all the mail piled up on the dining room table just waiting for you to come look through it. There’s nothing you need to worry about. I’ve got it handled.”

  I stop, just listening to the patient, warm tone of his voice. It’s a tone that isn’t heard all that often from Michael, but I’ve heard it when he talks to me, and when he talks about the guys in Lush. The implications of this aren’t lost on me, but I bat the thought away and listen for just a moment longer as I hear his father answer him.

  “I’m only worried about your work, son. I don’t want you to miss out on anything because you’re sitting around here with me. I’ll be fine. I just have to take it easy for few more weeks and take my meds. I’m going to be fine, Mike.”

  A nurse walking by gives me the evil eye for lurking, so I stand up straight, paste a smile on, and round the corner into the room, knocking lightly on the open door as I do.

  “Um, hi, Michael?”

  He’s slouching in a chair facing his dad’s bed. The man makes slouching look like an art form, every single thing about his posture oozing sex and good times. His dad is sitting upright, wearing regular sweats and a T-shirt instead of the obligatory hospital gown. I see a slow, knowing smile spread across his dad’s face as Michael jumps up out of his chair and turns to face me.

  His hand comes up to scrub through his hair nervously and his eyes grow wide for a minute.

  “Sunshi—” His voice cracks. “I mean Jenny. What are you doing here?”

  “I only heard about your dad yesterday. I felt like I should come. I mean, I was worried…about you�
�and so, um, yeah.” My voice fades under the intensity of his stare.

  His eyes are smoldering, and I’m immediately struck with the urge to turn around and leave—fast. This was a mistake. I just know it. I should have listened to Tammy and left well enough alone, kept things professional.

  “Mike?” His dad breaks the tension racing between the two of us.

  Michael takes a deep breath before he answers. “Yeah, sorry, Dad. This is Jenny Turner, the singer I’ve been working with. Jenny, this is my dad, Richard.”

  I stride to the bed, trying not to let my knees buckle as I pass within inches of Michael and feel the heat rolling off his tense body. “Hello, Mr. Owens. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

  He shakes my hand, grinning from ear to ear. “No, no. The pleasure’s all mine, Jenny. I’ve been listening to your music for weeks now.”

  I look at Michael, and I swear, if he weren’t covered in all that sexy scruff, I’d see him blushing.

  “You heard me sing?”

  “Yes. Mike always sends me recordings of his performances. I have two different ones from your tour this summer.”

  “Well, that is so sweet.” I can’t help but smile. I know he sent it so his dad could hear him play guitar, but I still feel somewhat flattered that he thought something I’d sung was worth sending to his dad.

  “Hmm,” his dad says, still grinning. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone refer to Mike that way since he was about five. Who knew you still had ‘sweet’ in you, son.”

  Mike makes a sound that can only be described as harrumphing. “That’s enough, Dad. Why don’t you watch Judge Judy or whatever the hell it is you’ve been glued to every afternoon this week and I’ll grab a cup of coffee with Jenny. We have some work things to discuss.”

  “Mmhmm,” his dad murmurs. “It was nice to meet you, Jenny. Please come visit us at the house. I get to go home tonight.”

  “I will, Mr. Owens. It was nice to meet you too, and I’m so glad to see you’re getting well.”