“Seriously, dude? Fuck, that blows.” I had made my way through the list of people I needed to call; Nick had asked if I wanted him to pick me up, if I was safe where I was. When I told him I was at Mary’s, he asked if he should bring me condoms.
“Yeah. Who won the betting pool?” I was—finally—able to see the humor in the situation by the time I called Mark.
“Officially, there’s no betting pool,” Mark said, and I could hear him grinning. “Unofficially, Dan totally has booze money for the entire fucking weekend.”
I laughed. “Who’d I outlast?”
Mark chuckled. “Nick, Jules, and Ron.” I rolled my eyes; of course Ron, our manager, had joined in the pool. “I wagered you’d last at least a full three weeks, Dan thought you’d finish the program.” I smiled to myself; Dan was the optimist of the band, as far as anyone could really be. He believed that people were mostly good, he believed intentions counted. He’d been through a lot of shit that I would not have been able to deal with, and come out on the other side of it with some of his innocence intact; how, I don’t think I would ever understand.
“So, we need to come up with a plan,” I said finally, changing the subject. “Obviously, it’s going to be hard to get me into any kind of rehab place, and Big J is—last time I checked—still looking to fuck my shit up. What do you think?”
“I dunno, man. What does Jules say?”
Jules and I shared the position of “brains” of the band in a certain respect. Whenever there was a need for a plan, whenever we needed direction, it was either Jules or me who came up with the ideas. Nick was a smartass, but he was better at picking apart ideas than in coming up with them. Dan and Mark were good at refining a basic concept, but they didn’t put themselves forward much.
“Jules said stay put and get in touch with Ron, see what the label says.”
I sighed. “There’s the problem of me getting Mary fired over this, too.”
“That’s some bullshit,” Mark said; I heard him sigh. “Can we come over? I mean—obviously, none of us is going to bring you drugs or anything like that. But this is probably the kind of thing we all need to be present for.”
“Hold on,” I said. I took the phone away from my ear. “Mary!” I heard one of the doors in the hall open.
“Yeah?” I wondered if she had just been waiting for me to get her attention.
“Can the band come over? They promise they won’t bring me any goodies.” I heard the creak of the floorboards as Mary strode through the hallway to the living room. She gave me a skeptical look.
“As long as they understand that if I tell them to leave, they’ve got ten minutes to get the hell out,” Mary said finally.
“Got that, Mark?” I heard him laughing.
“Yeah, I’ve got it. No worries there.”
I grinned at Mary. “How’s unemployment filing going?”
Mary’s face twisted into a disgruntled frown. “It’s going,” she said bleakly. “I’ll be glad when I’m finished with it and just have to wait and see if Recovery Now challenges it.”
“Dude, you should have Ron hire her as your personal addiction counselor. Problem solved!” I stared at my phone as if it were Mark himself.
“Yeah, no, bad idea,” I said.
“What’s a bad idea?” Mary asked me. I waved a hand to tell her I wasn’t going to mention it. “Fuck, I need to go to the store if people are coming over.”
I stared at Mary in confusion. “Why?”
“Because I am not having people in my house with nothing to serve them,” Mary said tartly. “I don’t even care if it’s not formal or whatever. My mom might be a fucking drunk, but she raised me with standards.”
I shook my head, torn between amusement and amazement. “I told you she’s a head case,” I told Mark as Mary went back down the hall. “She’s going to the store to buy refreshments for you and the guys.”
“Hey, sounds like a classy woman to me,” Mark said agreeably. “Give me the address and I’ll get everyone together and over there.”
Mary came back out of the hallway, her makeup touched up, shoes on her feet, and her purse in hand; I got her address and gave it to Mark. “Can I come with you?”
Mary considered it for a moment. “Probably better for you not to,” she said finally, looking at me levelly. “I’ll get in and out of the store faster on my own. Just relax for a bit, I’m just going around the block.” I’d seen a Publix, and assumed that was probably where she was planning to go.
“Okay,” I said. I knew better than to try and argue with her right at that moment. She had a look on her face that I recognized with a little inner twinge; the look my mom got when she was determined to get her way on something. “Mind if I play with your guitar?”
Mary’s face softened, and she smiled. “You do realize that sounds incredibly dirty in a certain way,” she said, shifting her weight onto one leg.
I laughed. “Well, now that we’ve been kicked out of that place for fucking, no reason not to keep doing it now, is there?” Mary held my gaze for a long moment, and I wondered—briefly—if she was reconsidering inviting me, or allowing me to invite my band mates over.
“We’ll see,” Mary said, and turned to leave. “You can play the guitar if you want.”