The Music of Love

by Sandine Tomas

  And honest-to-God shrieked when a roach scurried off the bristles and down the handle.

  He flung the toothbrush away and it ricocheted off the bathroom door, then bounced back to his feet. Julian leaped back—without his contacts he couldn’t see where the roach went—or if it had buddies—but his leap caused the bathroom rug to bunch up and trip him backward. The back of his knees hit the edge of the tub, and Julian fought to balance himself by using the shower curtain. But of course, the plastic drape stood no chance against his body weight, and it ripped from the rod—the ting of the metal hooks reverberating musically as Julian slammed ass-first into the tub.

  He lost his towel as the back of his head connected with the ceramic tile wall.

  Son of a bitch. Julian thought he’d cracked his head open. His upper back had smashed against the far rim of the tub, and he seriously didn’t think he could move.

  Fighting back tears of pain, he wanted Zachary to carefully help him up and kiss it and make it better….

  Gabe came through the motel door hollering Julian’s name. “Your ass better not still be in that bed—”

  Julian, still wedged in the tub, let out what he was afraid could only be called a whimper. But it must have been loud enough because Gabe knocked. “You in there, Jules? What the hell is taking you so long?”

  “Help!”

  Julian only had to shout it once for Gabe to swing the door open and react.

  “What the fuck? Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  Gabe stepped to the tub and looked down, puzzled as to what exactly to do.

  “What the hell happened?” Gabe took in the twisted shower curtain, which just barely provided some modesty.

  “It was a roach.”

  “A roach threw you in the bathtub? How fucking big was it?”

  “’M stuck. And I think I hurt myself.”

  “You did a number on that shower curtain, for sure. Okay, let me get in there and help.”

  While Gabe wasn’t Zachary, he still managed to support Julian’s weight until he was upright and leaning against the sink.

  “Here.” He handed Julian the towel that had been left behind in the tub.

  “Make sure there’s no roaches in it!” Julian flapped a hand, deflecting the towel until Gabe made a face and shook it out.

  “Lemme see your back. Does it hurt? What else did you damage?”

  “Yes. My back ’n’ head too. Pounding like the devil.”

  “Huh.” Gabe brushed his fingers across the back of Julian’s head.

  “Ow! Fuck!”

  “You actually split your head open. It’s bleeding.” Gabe wet a washcloth and gently pressed it against the throbbing spot. “Maybe I better take you to the ER, or one of those walk-in clinics, if this podunk town has one.”

  Julian knew Gabe had too much to do to nursemaid him. Tonight was the start of their tour, and it mattered to both Gabe and Nick, and Lenard too, he supposed. Not that it wasn’t important to Julian.

  “You gotta do setup and sound check, and I’m not going to be much help, so it’s going to take you longer. Go get some ice for my back, and I’ll just chill.” Julian got the twisted lip from Gabe that he was going for. “While the rest of you go on and do what you gotta.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” He was a big boy and was going to act like one.

  Which was how Julian found himself lying on top of the not-terribly-fresh-smelling bedspread on his stomach, still only wrapped in his towel, while melting ice saturated the motel towels draped across his shoulders and freezing water dripped into his armpits. And that exquisite sensation was enhanced by the rhythmic throbbing of his skull and the waves of dizziness whenever he moved.

  His cell chirped. As he stretched an arm out to reach it on the nightstand, the ensuing pain made him gasp and the ice fall in a slurp beside him. But he had the phone in his hand.

  “Urrggh.”

  “Jules? Julian, what’s wrong?”

  Zachary.

  “Nothing. I—nothing. Hey.”

  “You sound funny. Actually kinda awful. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Zachary’s voice oozed worry. Julian breathed through the pain. Under no circumstance would he worry his boyfriend barely twenty-four hours into his trip. “I’m fine. Just haven’t been up long.”

  There was a slight chuckle. “Ah, the weird hours of life on the road?”

  “Yeah. Right. Um. How are you?”

  “Good. Great. Um, I’m at work. Well, you know that. Or would know that. Or. Hell, Jules….”

  “I know. Me too.” They stayed silent a moment. “How’re the interviews going for the new manager?”

  “More coming in today. I think Brian said he’s narrowed it down. Hard to fill, but you know what Brian says….”

  “Nobody is irreplaceable.” Trying not to groan was proving too difficult. “Zach. I, uh, gotta go. The guys are waiting.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Of course. Cuh-call me when you can. All right?”

  “Will do.”

  “Good luck with the first show. But you don’t need it. You’ll be fantastic. I’m happy for you… I… I’m gonna go now. Later, Jules.”

  “Later, Zach.”

  He disconnected the call and nearly jumped when it started ringing again seconds later. He felt a rush like relief, like everything they didn’t say could get said this time. Like this feeling of empty could be filled even for a moment.

  “Zach, I—”

  “Ain’t lover boy, princess. Now c’mon get your lazy ass up and out already. I’ll be there in five. We need you here for the final sound check.”

  Julian swallowed hard and fought back a sudden unbidden sting of tears. “Gabe, I’m sorry. I’ll be ready. I promise.”

  Gabe’s voice softened. “How’re the bruises? Ice help?”

  “It’s fine.” If you didn’t count the ogre army currently tracking a course over his lower back. He pushed up on his arms and his head did a dreidel dance. Right. It’s all good. “See you soon,” he managed to eke out before hitting Disconnect again.

  He wanted this, he reminded himself.

  Something quick and dark crossed his vision. The roach scurried across the bedspread to disappear somewhere in the vicinity of the second bed pillow. He was either gonna cry or laugh. The charcoal blur of the creature’s path shifted again in an undulating wave.

  THE FIRST time Julian appeared on stage with The Last Cowboys, he vomited. It was the middle of their first song, and Julian turned, held his hand over his mouth, and just managed to hit a waste bucket backstage. They finished the song without him, and he was able to get himself together in time to join them on the second song. Had to be from hitting his head, right? Probably had a concussion or something.

  Grimly clutching his guitar neck, as if that would keep him upright, he planned the best way to fall if he passed out. Forward would be bad: he’d go headfirst off the stage. Backward, and he’d take out half the drum kit. Which would surely endear him more to Lenard…. If he went to either side, he was going to take out either Gabe or Nick. If it took out Gabe, at least Gabe could use Julian’s guitar if his got busted. So to the right it would be. Sorry, Gabe.

  Julian wasn’t even tempted by the beer and nachos offered to the band when they finished. He knew he was wimping out on his share of the equipment-hauling, but Gabe took one look at him and simply said, “Stay” when Nick had the van pulled up to the club’s back door.

  He wasn’t a big fan of trying to sleep in the front seat of the van, though honestly, he didn’t think he could have made himself walk back into that motel room. But Gabe had lined up a bunch of one-nighters to get the band rolling, so he better get used to passing out twisted like a pretzel.

  Probably would be easier when his head wasn’t doing its own version of Lenard’s drum solos and his back didn’t feel like he’d been worked over with a sledgehammer. It hurt too much to shift to try to get comfortable, so Julian just let his head res
t against the shoulder strap, closed his eyes, and pictured Zachary sprawled over their bed, hugging the pillow instead of Julian.

  How could this have seemed like a good idea?

  THEY PULLED up in front of the Blind Parrot in Owensboro, Kentucky, at one in the afternoon. Although they’d stopped for breakfast at an IHOP, Julian hadn’t been able to eat, queasy from his headache and the car ride and figuring he’d be better off hungry than puking on stage again.

  The plan was to unload and set up, then grab showers and food.

  “You look like death eating a cracker, Julie,” Gabe said when Julian went to grab one of the amps to wrestle it into the bar. “Go sit down.”

  Well, he wasn’t going to argue. Julian did feel a little guilty at the “what a slacker” look Lenard shot him, as the kid hoisted the third of his big drums onto the dolly and went to wheel it up the ramp.

  Unfortunately, the sound guys at the Parrot were clueless, and the sound check took three times as long as it should have. Nick was ready to murder the guy who had been doing the mix for his bass monitor, muttering “Asshole!” all the way to the motel.

  Please, no more roaches, Julian prayed as Gabe got the room keys, and apparently someone was listening. Compared to the previous night, this was the Ritz-Carlton. Okay, maybe not. Julian remembered the whirlpool tub big enough to hold Zachary and him with room to maneuver, which, thinking about got him half-hard, and he just couldn’t deal with that now.

  “You got one helluva bruise,” Gabe said when Julian came out of the bathroom and started dressing. “I’m surprised you made it through last night.”

  Julian smiled wanly. “I’m prepared now.” He pulled out an industrial can of Raid that he’d picked up on one of their pit stops.

  Gabe grinned sympathetically but then said, “By the time we’re done with this trip, you’ll be a lot tougher.”

  “It was on my toothbrush!”

  Gabe shrugged. “There’s worse places for ’em to be.”

  “I don’t even want to know!”

  The show was uneventful. Gabe made a point of announcing each time they did one of Julian’s originals. Midway through the second set, Gabe announced he wanted to mix it up with Elvis’s classic “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”

  Julian’s heart contracted. He had a habit of singing that song softly to Zachary when they showered together.

  He wished Zachary was here now.

  “You sing it tomorrow night,” Gabe said during the break between sets.

  Julian’s stomach did a little jig. “Not that one, Gabe.” Then to soften the rejection, he added, “I’ll sing the ones I wrote, okay?”

  “Didn’t know you wrote so much stuff.” That was probably the first time Lenard had addressed Julian since the awkward handshake. “You’re decent. Although you might want to consider putting more distortion in, since you know, not 2000 anymore.”

  “Thanks,” Julian said to be civil. Inside he was rolling his eyes. Mohawk Boy deemed his songs “decent.” Kid wouldn’t know a good song if it hit him on that ridiculous ’do.

  Maybe he should write a song about snotty young drummers with ludicrous hair who were only lucky enough to join their band because the last drummer had been a homophobic asshole?

  Or maybe he should just take more Tylenol and get on with this night.

  The next day’s show was only forty-five minutes away in Indiana. Gabe assured them it was a fluke and they shouldn’t expect it to happen again. It wasn’t a bar, either. It was in an honest-to-God concert hall, The Victory. It’d been built back in the early 1900s, come close to being trashed, but then some local businessmen got together and raised the money to rescue and restore it. The Last Cowboys were booked as an afternoon show as part of the month-long grand reopening.

  Still moving gingerly, Julian walked to the back of the auditorium while the guys unloaded and looked around the old theater. Even without lights the stage practically glowed behind the gleaming gold proscenium arch framing it. Gold fluted pilasters lined the sides. He inhaled the history and thanked whoever had thought enough of these old walls to save this enchanting place.

  He had a pang to share this with Zachary, to see his eyes reflect the goldenrod glow and shine back a similar appreciation for the presence of the space. The fruits and vegetables decorating the arch shimmered as if they’d been caught by sunlight and frozen in time. Notes spun in their shadows, twisting slowly off the structure to float effortlessly across the stage in a tipsy dance.

  “Julian. Jules….”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Shut up. He’s working.”

  “Doing what? Practicing for a zombie marathon?”

  Julian blinked into Lenard’s twisted face, trying to understand what he was talking about but failing. Gabe moved to place himself physically between them. He held on to Julian’s arm as he swayed out of the song. “Julie?” Gabe leaned in and ensured as much privacy as he could.

  He stared into Gabe’s bemused blue eyes. “This place is so beautiful.”

  “Yeah.” Gabe’s gaze was soft. “Sure is. We gotta rehearse. You ready, cowboy?”

  Julian met Gabe’s joy with a huge grin of his own. “As I’ll ever be.”

  He had to admit it was a big adrenaline rush when the lights came up on an audience sitting in seats waiting for them to start and ready to give their undivided attention, instead of feeling like the band was background noise for the bar patrons. Gabe did the first three songs and then turned it over to Julian.

  The energy was so very different, with the crowd 100 percent focused on the stage. And Julian wanted them all to see what he saw in the music. He forgot to be nervous as he fell into the feedback loop of energy surging between the band and the audience.

  The second-to-last song before the break was “One Name,” the song that Julian had conceived at the Vietnam Memorial, and as the last chord rolled into the theater, there was a moment of complete silence. The hair on the back of Julian’s neck stood up as his song was absorbed by a thousand people at once. Then wild applause swept through the seats, with some in the closest rows wiping their tears.

  Gabe had put “Can’t Help Falling in Love” in as the last one of the show.

  As Gabe wrapped the song around the audience, Julian envisioned Zachary, hard muscles rippling as shower water traced down like rain on a mountain and couldn’t help but sing along softly. During the moment of silent reaction when the song ended, tears dripped from his chin to the side of his guitar. He let them fall, didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

  There was a line of people at the merchandise table to buy The Last Cowboys self-made CD, and someone at the start of the line asked if the band would autograph it. So everyone else decided they had to have their copy signed as well, and it was close to two hours until the crowd melted away.

  “Da-yum! Now that was fucking hellacious!” Gabe’s excitement filled them all.

  Even the normally subdued Lenard was beaming. “Brenda just won’t believe it.”

  “Brenda?” Julian asked.

  “My fiancée.” The accolades from the fans had done wonders for Lenard’s disposition. “This is her.” Lenard scrolled through his cell phone and held the screen up.

  Even from the small picture Julian could see she was pretty, with an abundance of dark ringlets framing a sweet face.

  “How long you been engaged?”

  “Near on three years.”

  “That’s a long engagement.”

  “Don’t wanta rush things, you know? Plenty of time.”

  “Yeah.” Plenty of time. Only two months and twenty-seven days more on the road, then there’d be lots of time together.

  “So… she doesn’t mind, um, waiting?”

  Lenard fidgeted. “Nah. It’s not exactly like that….”

  Gabe shoved some equipment in Lenard’s hands, and whatever he was going to say was lost.

  Julian had been really disappointed that he hadn’t been able to rea
ch Zachary after the show. But eventually as the miles went comfortingly on, he’d relaxed into Bessie’s seat and closed his eyes. The details of the theater arch mixed with the connection he’d felt with the crowd, and he didn’t realize he was humming until Gabe spoke.

  “Seeing a song?” Gabe glanced over before returning his attention to the road.

  Julian grinned. He felt a surge of affection for his oldest friend. He’d never understand how Gabe had put up with him all these years, but Julian knew Gabe held an irreplaceable spot in Julian’s life. One of the constants in the universe.

  “Yeah. Snippets. I… wish we had time to just. Stop. You know?”

  “I know. But gotta keep goin’ to the next gig. You know how it is.”

  Behind him Julian heard the gentle snoring of his passed-out bandmates. Gabe tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “You love this,” he told Gabe.

  Gabe never asked what he meant. “Well, yeah.” It was quiet a moment. “Don’t you?”

  The high from The Victory still simmered in his veins.

  “Sure,” he answered, just as a jolt in the road shook the interior and knocked the last flecks of the melody out of Julian’s head. The road stretched long and black in front of him.

  It was only 10:00 p.m. when they reached Indianapolis, positively early by musician standards, so when Nick proposed hitting a bar, it seemed perfectly reasonable.

  Julian tried very hard not to crack up when Lenard got carded, although the twisted annoyance on his face was pretty hard to resist. However, for all that Lenard was the baby of The Last Cowboys, he clearly was gunning for the title of the hardest drinker, downing shots faster than even Gabe could keep up with.

  And alcohol made him talkative.

  Mostly about his girl.

  “She’s too good for me, ya know?” Lenard had put her picture back up on his phone and was waving it at Gabe and Nick. “We been sweethearts for five fuckin’ years, since high school. Asked her to marry me on Valentine’s Day, couldn’t believe she said yes. Brenda coulda been a movie star, she’s so beautiful. An’ lotsa guys were always after her. D’ya know what it’s like to have the most amazing person in the world in love with you, and deep down you know she’s too good for you?”