by Amy Faye
“So what, then?”
“He probably thinks you’re some kind of distraction is my guess. Which is why, even though I was expressly promised a break, he’s got me working again.”
“What about that new album everyone’s whispering about?”
“Whispering? They’re practically shouting it from the rafters.”
“Well, you know. You say tomato, I say tomato.”
“There was supposed to be one, eventually, maybe. But now we’re working on it four, five months ahead of schedule, because Tommy’s got to be a bright boy.”
“And where to I fit into that?”
“He wants to skip town, and I’m tempted to let him.”
“And you’d be going with him?”
“I would.”
“So… what’s that mean for us?”
“I’d like you to come down with me. It doesn’t have to be anything long-term. But it’ll get you out of this cold.”
“It’s not that cold.”
“I know, I know. You’ve been through a thousand blizzards and it’s not cold until your eyeballs freeze on the walk to the car, and so on and so forth.”
“What am I supposed to do with Pete?”
“Bring him along too. Make a vacation out of it.”
She leaned her head against his chest and let out a long, slow breath.
“What’s the problem?”
“I just don’t know.”
“Don’t know what? What’s there to know?”
“It seems like a mistake.”
“Come on, you must have wanted to come to California at some point. I’ve got a great place down there, you’ll probably love it.”
“‘Probably’?”
“Well,” Roman said, laying his head back against the pillow. “I mean, I don’t know. It’s not like I love it, either.”
“So you’re saying that neither one of us loves it, but we should definitely go down?”
“That’s precisely what I’m saying.”
“Won’t your manager, Tommy or whatever…”
“Be pissed? You bet your sweet little ass he’ll be pissed.”
“And that’s… good?”
Roman smiled down at her. “That’s the best thing that I’m going to be doing all year, far as I’m concerned. He’s earned the chance to be pissed off by me, the way he’s been acting lately. He’s lucky I don’t do something even worse.”
Mary’s eyes dropped and she laid her head down on him again. Whatever she was thinking, she was keeping it to herself. Roman didn’t bother to ask her about it. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to.
“Remind me never to piss you off,” she said. And then she kissed his chest, and shifted her weight until she was leaning over him. Her breasts were bigger than he’d remembered them. Full and soft and topped with large, delightful nipples. He couldn’t stop himself reaching up to palm one of them. It felt heavy in his hand.
“What’re you doing?”
She raised an eyebrow, leaned down to kiss a little higher on his chest, and then looked back up at him.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
Seventeen
The first thing that occurred to Mary as she got off the plane was that Pete wasn’t complaining about holding her hand. It was a new habit that he’d picked up at some point. Apparently something about being in a strange place had him nervous. Mary’s chest swelled. He was such a good boy.
“Come on, we’ve got to go get our luggage,” she said. He looked up at her from where he’d been standing, fixed, looking over at a shelf of magazines.
“Oh.” Then he followed along. He still looked at them. There must have been something on them that caught his attention. But she couldn’t identify what it was, even as her eyes scanned.
“Was there something you wanted?”
“No,” he said. He was lying, and he wasn’t yet to the point where he knew how to hide it very well.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Then we won’t.” Mary squeezed his hand. He pulled in closer to her hip and walked faster to keep himself there.
The man waiting for them, with a sign that said Mary Ayers in an attractive typed print, was a surprise of its own. Mary stepped up before she even went looking for the bags. None seemed to be forthcoming, so she had a minute or two. Pete stuck hard to her hip.
“I’m Mary.”
“Do you want me to get your luggage for you, ma’am?”
She shrugged. “Is that part of the deal? I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“No imposition, ma’am.”
“That would be very kind of you, then. If you wouldn’t mind doing it.”
She walked back over to a convincing vantage point and waited. The man beside her waited, as well, patiently watching the bags go by in a startling approximation of someone who knew what they were looking for.
She saw something convincing coming around the turnstile and stepped forward without thinking, pulled the bag off, and checked the label. Sure enough, hers. She picked it up before she even saw the tall thin fellow reaching for it. His face was stony and stiff. And then he hooked a finger under the carrying strap and took the weight.
“Oh, right.”
“Not a problem.”
He walked as if he were telling the truth, and there was no problem at all. The bag might have been forty pounds but he carried it like he was carrying a woman’s purse for her. It was a strange sight. Then again, presumably, people who did this sort of thing for a living got used to doing it quickly and efficiently. That was what she figured, anyways.
He took her forward. Took her out of the airport. It was a long drive into Mr. Townsend’s place, he said. If they wanted to rest in the back, then they were welcome to. And Peter, sweet boy, immediately took him up on that offer. Which suited Mary fine, particularly considering that she’d never been in California, either. It was a new place for her, too.
She wasn’t nervous. Not like Pete was, anyways. It was kind of invigorating. And of course… there was an idea in the back of her mind, that she knew someone out here. Two someones. If things went sideways with Roman, she could always crash for a couple of days with Cara. That wouldn’t be too much trouble for Mary and Pete, and probably not too much for Cara, either.
Whether it was being in a new place, or thinking that she might be able to run into Cara, but she watched every face. Each turn, each new crowd, seemed as if it was going to be the one that she found her old sponsor in. And yet, she didn’t.
Not on Trimble or Zanker or 1st. Tasman went on for a long time. But even there, she didn’t see anyone.
Then they turned left and another long stretch of driving went on. Her heart stopped in her chest.
“Stop the car,” she said.
The man in the driver’s seat didn’t reply. He tapped the turn signal, eased the car off to the side.
“Problem, ma’am?”
“I have to come back in a little bit. I’ll just be a minute, okay? Watch my son.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
She slid out of the car, and stepped into an oven. She was vaguely aware that there was a difference between the weather in Michigan and in California, but the idea that it could feel like a mild summer day had seemed impossible. But that was where she was.
Mary walked hard back. They’d gone a few hundred feet before pulling over. But she didn’t need to run, because Cara wasn’t moving too much. She leaned against a building, smoking a cigarette. Nothing against cigarettes. Plenty of NA people smoke them. They’ll kill you, but if you’re going to be addicted to something, at least cigarettes don’t usually make people violent and prone to stealing from their families to get a fix.
“Cara!”
Mary didn’t call out until she was close. Cara turned and saw her, and for an instant, she looked flighty. Like she was about to get the heck out of Dodge. Then she seemed to measure the distance in her head,
and decided to drop her face instead.
“What are you doing out here?” There was an accusatory tone in her voice.
“I just happened to be in town.”
“Just happened, huh?”
“You seem kinda…”
“Yeah, well, whatever.”
“Cara?”
“Don’t give me that look.”
“What look?”
“The one you’re giving me right now. Knock it off, will you?”
Mary’s lips pressed together. And then she took a deep breath in, and a deep breath out, and she pretty much knew.
“You’re using again, aren’t you?”
“It’s none of your business,” Cara said. “It’s not your job to save everyone.”
As much as Mary hated to admit it, as much as she wanted to deny it, Cara was right. It wasn’t her job, and she wasn’t equipped.
So she did what she had to do: she walked away. She said she’d only be a few minutes, and the more help she could have turning Cara back around, the better. Luckily, Mary happened to know someone suited.
Eighteen
Roman sat. It was supposed to be quite a nice couch. It was attractive, the arms were just the right height. The cushions sat only an inch or two high, and with time, they would beat down to a very comfortable position. If there was one criticism, it was that the seat was tight, so there wasn’t any convenient and easy way to clean it other than simply vacuuming. Which wasn’t simple or convenient at all.
The problem, which was all his own doing, between himself and Tommy, was that it was too stiff. He’d owned the couch for three years now, and the only thing that had been on it for more than a matter of hours was a cloth to keep the dust off.
That was a shame. It should have been such a nice couch. It looked so pleasant, and as soon as everything broke in, he guessed that it would be. But it wasn’t there yet, and because it wasn’t very comfortable or pleasant, because nothing was broken in, he didn’t use it, which only perpetuated the problem.
He checked his phone again. They should have arrived ten minutes ago. He’d gotten a text from the driver that they’d be a few minutes, but it wasn’t near enough time. Tommy tapped his thumb on his leg irritably. Everything he did seemed to be irritated, like that was the only thing that he was particularly capable of feeling.
Whatever had crawled up his butt, it was starting to get on Roman’s nerves. He sucked in a breath and stood up from the couch. It involved reaching down to the floor just slightly, which just reminded him why he didn’t sit on that couch again.
“Where are they?”
“You know, maybe they’re just… taking their time, or something,” Tommy said. He didn’t sound particularly worried. If anything, he was pleased, which sounded right for him because he seemed to think that the preferred solution was dropping Mary off in a ditch somewhere. “Maybe she met up with someone. You know how the groupie types are. Flightly.”
“Well, Tom, maybe you could just keep your thoughts on the subject to yourself a little.”
“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it.”
“Shut up, they’re here.” He could see the car pulling up through the blinds. And he could see Mary step out, walk around the back of the car, and pick her son up. Pete, he thought. Peter? Roman made his way to the front door and opened it up, his stomach churning nervously. He stepped onto the porch.
The driver walked around to the trunk and opened it up silently as Mary started towards the house.
“How was the drive in? Not too bad? Driver alright, car alright, flight alright?”
She held up a finger and nodded towards the boy. He was asleep. Roman nodded and beckoned for her to follow. He guided her through the house, up the stairs, and into a guest room. It was as tastefully furnished as anything he had. Which was to say that it wasn’t much. Nothing in the house really said anything about him, except the recording room. Which said that he had a recording room, and had a few spare guitars stocked on the walls in case there was some reason he couldn’t have the Strat with him.
They closed the door behind and walked out.
“Everything alright?”
She shrugged and looked at Roman. He wasn’t sure it was supposed to communicate anything. There was nothing clear in the gesture, but he took it as something that he wasn’t going to like, and when they finally did get down the stairs, in a place where they could talk without worrying about her son hearing, he discovered he was right.
“I’ve got trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“Not me, personally, I guess. A friend.”
“Oh?”
“I think she’s using again.”
“You think?”
“I mean, she didn’t say ‘Mary, help me stop doing drugs’ or anything, so yeah. Think. She had the look, and she was wearing long sleeves and still covered herself up when I saw her, so I’d say the signs were all pretty much there.”
Roman stuffed his hands into his pockets and thought for a minute. That wasn’t the kind of romantic getaway he’d hoped for. But then again, it begged the question. What had he hoped for? Had he hoped to ignore whatever had Mary worried?
“This friend of yours. You’re worried about her, yeah?”
“She was my sponsor. I’ve known her since… I dunno, a little while after I met you.”
“The first time, you mean? So that’s… what, ten years?”
“Something like that.”
“And she’s off the wagon?”
“You were so good back in Detroit. I don’t know how you do it, but you were just… you knew what to say, okay? I’m not asking you to heal her with your magic hands. I just need someone there with me. Another set of eyes. I need to talk her into rehab or something.”
“I don’t know how much help I can be. I don’t really know what it is she’s going through.”
“No? After how you were?”
“I don’t know how many times I need to tell you, Mary. I’m not an addict.”
She gave him a dubious look.
“I’m not. I don’t touch the stuff. And I’m glad that you don’t any more, either.”
“You knew, though. Like, you knew what to do. Cold.”
“I have some experience with that kinda stuff. I’m not an addict, and I never was. But I was in Al-anon. My dad…”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. They don’t publish that kinda stuff in the official guidebook.”
“No, I guess they wouldn’t.”
“So… I saw your guy was struggling, and I tried to help. Same as anybody. I just couldn’t stand the thought, you know, he goes home and gets all strung out, and whatever. Beats his wife or something.”
“Well I was glad when you did it.”
“Thanks.”
“And I just want you to try to do it again. Please. For me.”
“I don’t know what I can do.”
Another voice joined them. Tommy stood in the doorway. How long he’d been standing there, Roman wasn’t sure. “You could let your ex-junkie friend’s junkie friend deal with her own problems.”
Roman was impressed at the strength of will it took not to flatten his nose. And more impressed that Mary found it, too.
Nineteen
Mary’s head hurt from a thousand different things. Just fuck him and get it over with seemed like bad advice. Bad advice that worked better than expected. Bad advice because it came from a place of almost total ignorance, and then just by sheer coincidence worked out.
And of course, if she was high at the time, it made perfect sense for Cara to be giving out the kind of advice that most people discarded as the worst possible suggestion.
And of course, to be perfectly fair, Mary had gone and done exactly that, in spite of her better instincts, because she never did anything her better instincts told her to do first, and because it was a mistake that she wanted to make in the first place second.
And of course, there was a lot other that made her h
ead hurt. She hadn’t had a cup of coffee in thirty-six hours, and in that time, she’d slept maybe three hours. She was almost tempted to take one of Cara’s cigarettes, even though she wasn’t a smoker, as long as it would keep her going.
But she wasn’t going to start herself off on another addictive behavior. She had everything pretty-well worked out at that point, and she wasn’t going to start digging another hole that she’d have to work her way out of when she realized how bad a mistake that she’d made. She was already deep enough in Roman Townsend that she was in over her head.
So when someone called her a junkie, normally, she might have been able to handle it. Ex-junkie isn’t even an insult at that point. It’s just the reality of the situation. She was an ex-junkie.
What made it frustrating was that she’d been working for ten years to get clean, and seven of those years to get other people clean. This was her life. It was something that she worked hard on. And Cara, of all people, was important to her. Important to her sobriety and important to her life. And it was a symbol.
She tightened up her fist, and felt her body getting good and ready to bloody his nose. Her mind was something else, though, and she had already decided that nobody wins hearts and minds by getting themselves into fist fights. Not even with people who deserved it.
“I didn’t ask your opinion,” she said instead. “I don’t seem to recall anyone asking your opinion.”
“Yeah, well, whatever you say, sweet cheeks. Why don’t you go for a walk and find someone else to suck the money out of?”
Mary’s blood pressure rose by half again, and her body started to surge with adrenaline. Fight or flight, indeed.
“Tom, shut your mouth before you say something stupider than usual.”
“You’re really going to just let this harpy stick around and suck you bone dry, huh, big guy?”
“Go cool off, Tommy.”
“I’m cool as can be.”
“Then go find something else to do. I don’t need you here making my decisions for me.”
“No?” The man, Tommy, she guessed was Roman’s manager. They had a bad relationship. And he said the word, no, like he was pretty sure that the answer was yes and he was daring Roman to double down on the big mistake he was going to be making by refusing.
