Friday, October 28
(Kate)
"Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, dear Bright Side! Happy Birthday to you!"
You haven't lived until you've heard Gustov Hawthorne sing you "Happy Birthday" over the phone. He does it every year...at full volume, every note over-the-top enthusiasm. "Damn, this is quite a wake-up call, Gus."
"Shit. Did I wake you, Bright Side? It's six o'clock there, right? I thought you'd be up." His sentences are running into each other.
"It's okay, dude, I'm up." I've been up since 4:45 am and have already gone for a run on the treadmill at the campus exercise facility across the street from the dorms. Just running a mile is a struggle these days. But I'm up, showered, and walking down Main toward Grounds for my morning coffee.
"Oh, good." He sounds relieved and, now that he's slowed back down to normal Gus paced speech, a little drunk.
"Dude, you sound wasted. Where are you?"
"Um," he says sleepily, then raises his voice, "Hey Robbie, where are we again, dude?" I hear Robbie's answer and then Gus echoes, "Indianapolis. We're in Indianapolis, Bright Side."
He's shitfaced. I can't remember the last time I've heard Gus this drunk. There's a lot of background noise so I'm pretty sure he's not on the tour bus. "How was the show last night?"
"Fucking sick!" That was way too excited, even for Gus.
"Sweet." Time to bring him back down to Earth. "Question. Gus, I know you're in Indianapolis right now, but where in Indianapolis?"
He pauses a few seconds, and I picture him looking around for clues to help him with the answer. "Don't know. Looks like a hotel room. The whole band's here!" He pauses and then shouts, "What's up, Robbie?!" as if he's just noticed him for the first time all night and doesn't remember talking to him twenty seconds ago.
"Gus, dude, thanks for the birthday wishes. I'm gonna let you go now. Do me a favor and find someone sober who can tell you where you are. I'm pretty sure you guys play in Chicago tonight." I've been trying to keep an eye on his schedule. It helps me feel connected to him since we don't get to talk every day anymore. "You're probably supposed to be on the road right now."
I hear the realization sink in. "Shit," he says into the phone, before yelling, "Shit, you guys," toward the rest of the room. "We play Chicago tonight. We need to get out of here."
"Good man, Gus. You'll be fine. Go down to the front desk and ask them to call you a taxi to take you guys back to the venue you played last night. And call your tour manager; he's probably going apeshit right now."
"Right. Thanks." He sounds marginally more sober now.
"I love you, Gus."
"Love you, too, Bright Side. Happy birthday."
"Thanks. Bye."
"Bye."
I'm weird about my birthday. I don't tell people about it because I've never really enjoyed celebrating it. My mother was the type that loved to shower Grace and me with gifts on our birthdays when we were very young. We didn't get her time, so we got stuff. It was a substitute that even a five-year-old can see through. As we got older and she became more unstable, she stopped...no more gifts...and still no time. It was part of her decline.
At least I know the "Happy Birthdays" are out of the way when I hang up with Gus because no one here knows. Or at least I don't think anyone knows until I get a text from Shelly around six thirty that night. I'm at the library.
SHELLY: Happy Birthday!
ME: Thanks? How'd you know??
SHELLY: Driver's license. Employee file.
ME: Breach of confidentiality?
SHELLY: Maybe. Pizza. 7:00. Pick you up at the dorms.
ME: OK
You can't argue with Shelly, so I run back to the dorms and am just changing out of my sweats and into some jeans and a clean shirt when I get a text. It's 6:45 pm.
SHELLY: What's your room#?
ME: 210
Less than a minute later there's a knock on my door. I open up to find Shelly wearing a deep purple pea coat. Her nose and cheeks are pink from the chill.
I glance at my watch. "What the hell? I still have fifteen or twenty minutes."
She smiles and walks inside, then throws herself down on my bed. "I know. Keller's driving. He's always early...like you're always late. He's neurotic about it. Sorry."
I pull the band out of my ponytail and brush my fingers through my hair. "Keller's coming?"
She's looking at the photos on my desk. "Yeah, I told him this morning it was your birthday. It was his idea. You know, for birthday dinner."
"I'm getting more mileage out of this birthday than all nineteen before it."
She points to the photos. "So, what's the story with these people, Kate?"
I'm pretty private. I don't talk about family or Gus to anyone. Only Clay and Pete know about Gus, and that was out of necessity. And Sugar knows names, but beyond that she couldn't give a shit. "That's my sister, Grace, and my best friend, Gus."
She runs her finger across Grace's face, it's loving. "I didn't know you had a sister."
"The best." That's where it ends. I'm thankful when she moves on to Gus's photo.
She picks it up and holds it in both hands. "Damn, Kate, he's fucking delicious."
"That's a pretty big declaration given that half of his face is hidden behind his hair." I'm grateful she didn't recognize him as Gustov Hawthorne. He looks a lot different with long hair.
She looks at me with those big, wide, dark eyes. "But he is, isn't he? I mean, in person the guy's got to be blindingly good-looking?"
"He's pretty easy on the eyes, yeah."
She shakes her head and sets the frame back on my desk. "Damn," is all she can say.
I grab my wool coat and hat, and we're out the door at 6:55. This may be a personal best—five minutes early.
Shelly opens the back door of the Green Machine that's parked at the curb in front of the dorms. "We rock-paper-scissored earlier. Boys got front seat, so we're stuck in the back. My deepest apologies."
"No problem," I answer until I notice that there is one small problem with the backseat.
There isn't one. No backseat, just three beanbag chairs.
"Jesus Christ, Keller. Beanbags?"
Beanbags.
Keller smiles. "Hey, birthday girl. Sorry about the lack of traditional seating."
"Oh, hell." I climb in and plop down in one of the beanbags.
Shelly jokingly introduces Duncan to me. Duncan apologizes for our first meeting the night of the Back to Grant Bash when we exchanged a few words and he promptly passed out drunk. "Not my finest moment," he says.
The beanbags are actually pretty comfortable, and by the time we pull into Red Lion Road's parking lot, I've been converted. "Why don't all cars have beanbags?" I ask Shelly.
Duncan turns around and agrees, "Right?"
Shelly rolls her eyes. "You mean aside from the fact that certain death is guaranteed upon impact? Gee, I don't know, Kate."
I nod and smile. "Yeah, aside from that morbid little detail. I'll stew on that on the ride home. Thanks for ruining my Shangri-La moment, Shelly." We hop out and walk toward the restaurant together.
Shelly slides into the booth next to Duncan, which leaves Keller to slide in next to me. The booth is small. I try to allow a few inches between us, but our elbows are brushing.
Keller nudges me, his voice quiet. "I should've asked first, but you like pizza, right?"
I nod. "Sure."
Shelly looks at all of us. "Two large pepperoni?"
"One pepperoni, one cheese. Katie's vegetarian," Keller says knowingly.
Shelly's forehead wrinkles. "You're a vegetarian?"
I nod.
She looks unconvinced, like Keller and I are trying to pull one over on her. "Really?"
Keller answers for me. "Really, Shel," he says, and tosses a ten dollar bill on the table. It's funny how proud of himself he is to know this about me.
Shelly and Duncan each toss a ten on the table and Shelly says, "Huh, you learn something new every day."
I dig through my pocket and lay a five and five ones on the table. Keller picks it up and hands it back to me. "Your money's no good here, birthday girl."
I pick it up and look at it front and back. "Why do you always have a problem with my money? It hasn't been through the washer or anything. If you don't let me start paying for stuff soon, I'm going to start feeling like a freeloader."
He curls my fingers around the bills with his hand. "This is your birthday dinner. You're not paying. We are. Besides, I bartend here a few nights a week, so I get a discount on the pizza."
"You work two jobs?" I know he's always busy, but I didn't realize he worked two jobs.
He shrugs. "Have to. The tips are great."
Duncan smirks. "The tips are great because sober women like Keller...but drunk women love him."
"I'm a good bartender," Keller defends. It's cute how serious he is.
Duncan looks at me and smiles. "Kate, Keller thinks he makes good tips because of his skills behind the bar." He looks at Keller sincerely. "You are a damn good bartender."
Keller nods. "Thank you."
Duncan butts in. "What my boy fails to recognize is that half the women in here on any given Tuesday or Thursday night are here for one reason. And that reason is to check out Keller Banks. It's pretty funny, actually."
Sometimes I feel like I go to Grounds just to look at him. He's gorgeous. I can relate.
As if on cue, a cute redhead walks by and smiles at Keller. "Hi, Keller," she says flirtatiously.
He raises his hand. It's a half-wave to acknowledge her. It's polite but slightly confused.
"You know her?" It's Duncan. He's smirking again.
Keller shakes his head. "No idea."
Duncan laughs good-naturedly. "See. Oblivious. It's not your bartending, man."
Keller's blushing, and it's Shelly that saves him. She leans forward over the table and motions between the two of us. "I hate to rewind this conversation, but you mean to tell me that Keller Banks, the tight wad, bought something for you...with his own money?"
I shrug as Keller slides out of the booth, money in hand, to go place our order at the bar.
Shelly's smile widens as he walks away. "Interesting."
Twenty minutes later, a pitcher of beer and a pepperoni pizza are delivered to our table followed by a cheese pizza with twenty blazing candles. Shelly, Keller, and Duncan immediately break into a pretty good rendition of "Happy Birthday." I don't like being the center of attention, but it feels good to know I have such thoughtful friends.