Seven
Mary had made plenty of bad decisions in the past. There was the first time that she ever did a line, for example. Every time that she made a bad decision, two things happened. First, before she ever did anything, she knew in her gut that it was a bad decision.
Second, and more worrying, was that her bad decisions weren’t the sort that you regretted immediately. Nobody does a line of coke then immediately thinks ‘I’m sorry I did that.’
Oh, they think it later. Hours later. But the first thought that she had when she did her first line was something like ‘I’m pretty sure I can survive a gunshot wound’ followed by ‘I can clean my whole room in ten minutes’ which was about as believable looking back.
She had been lucky about the gunshot thing. She’d never been in a position to test it. But the room cleaning? It was unbelievable, but the clock backed her up. She felt like Superman and that was what every single person who had shown up at NA had a story like that. There’s more to the drug than the addiction that brings people back.
It’s not until everything else starts falling apart that you start realizing how big a mistake you’ve made. And by then, you’re stuck tight in the trap because you didn’t bother trying to get out of it when you had the chance. You didn’t think it was a trap, no matter how many PSAs you saw.
Going out to see Roman was a mistake. Staying under her real name and staying in Detroit was the mistake, but that was a long time ago, and nobody could really believe that some rock star was going to come looking for her. It beggared belief.
It had happened. Which meant that it was a mistake not to tell him to leave and never come back. That NA meeting was an in for him. The coffee after was a mistake. It was an in for him. Calling him when she saw the television was a mistake. It was an in for him.
This was about to be a mistake. The only thing that made her feel even a little bit better about it was the fact that no matter how big a mistake it was, it wasn’t the biggest mistake she’d ever made in her life, because this was a record time for feeling regret about her bad decisions.
Which either meant that it was the worst one by far, like touching a hot stove is a Bad Idea that is so bad people learn the first time… or that it wasn’t quite the worst thing she’d ever done, because it wasn’t a trap like the others were.
But then again, there was a trap in it, and she knew there was. It was the most insidious trap of all. A trap that was labeled ‘trap’ right on it. She felt like she was in control of the whole thing. And that meant that she felt prepared for it, and when she felt prepared, in a sense, she was at her most vulnerable. In spite of the supposed protection offered by knowing what she was walking into.
She took a deep breath and then rapped her knuckles on the door. It was thick and heavy, like real wood, rather than a cheap torsion box like her doors at home. She heard the knob turning on the other side. The one on her side, though, stayed steady. Then the door opened, and Roman was standing in front of her.
He’d showered, and just recently. His long hair looked like he’d shoved it back with his hands rather than using a brush. It was a better look for him than she was prepared to admit to his face.
“Hey, you made it. Did you have trouble finding the place?”
“The building is visible from my bedroom,” Mary said. She intended it to sound like it’s easy to find, but when the words came out of her mouth she realized that the bedroom connotations came out thicker than she meant.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“That’s what I meant by it,” Mary said. She could feel the blush on her face. “Well? Where are we going?”
“For a little while, anyways, I thought we’d stay in.”
“I thought you said no funny stuff?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“You weren’t a boy-scout,” Mary said matter-of-factly.
“You think.”
“I know. I was the president of the Michigan branch of your fan club for five years.”
“Wow. So you’re quite qualified.”
“I should hope so.”
“Then you ought to know, just between us, that the PR information we put out—it’s bull. I’m a commodity, Mary. Same as any of my songs. I am who I have to be.”
“Then why not just play it up that you’re a good boy turned bad?”
“Who says I’m not?”
“You just said—”
“I told you. I am what I have to be. They didn’t want that, so I’m a bad boy turned bad.”
He stepped away from the door. Mary’s gut told her to leave. Following him inside was a Bad Idea. She followed him in. The door closing behind her felt like it was sealing her fate.
“Okay then, bad boy. What have you got for me?”
“You have to promise not to laugh, miss President of the Fan Club.”
“Just the Michigan chapter. Regional manager, really.”
“So there’s someone out there who outranked you?”
“Josie Parker,” Mary said. “She’s got a lisp.”
“Josie Parker with a lisp, huh? Maybe I ought to call her up and get her in here, too. Maybe she would sass less.”
“You’d be surprised. From the few phone calls I had with her, she sounded like she had sass enough for two.”
“Which makes the two of you even, by my count,” he said. “Now, do you promise, or are we going to go buy some buffalo wings and spend the night on trivia?”
“I can’t promise anything,” Mary said. “But I won’t laugh if I can help it.”
“Okay,” he said. And then he settled down into his sofa with a long breath.
“Okay what?”
“Give me a minute.” The words weren’t quite snapped, but he sounded irritated by the question. She wasn’t sure she could blame him, per se. She’d been teasing, but she could see the anxiety on his face.
Roman tapped his feet. And then he reached down by the couch and pulled something out. It looked something vaguely like an acoustic guitar. But there were enough differences that she couldn’t possibly have confused the two. For one thing, it had twice as many strings. For another, it was fat and short. It looked like, if he stretched, Roman could almost reach his fingers from the nut to the body in one span.
“I’m still a little new with this thing. I’ve only had it a few months, but it’s been a toy to play with. When I’m feeling a little stressed. It keeps my fingers fresh.”
“What is it?”
“Hold your questions ‘til the end. I didn’t, uh… spend too much time on this, but I composed something.
“For me?”
“Well, I mean. I don’t want to sound cheesy or whatever.”
“Then let’s hear it. Then, when I’m done laughing—”
He lifted it back out of his lap. “Look, the beer and wings and trivia offer is still open.”
“I’m just kidding. Go on. I won’t laugh.”
He settled it back into his lap. “Alright. Now I want you to appreciate, traditional music for this has names like I Long For Thy Virginity so you’ll excuse me on the title front—I’ve been toying with it for a day or two now, I’m not in a position to title it, and I happen to know that I Long For Thy Virginity 2 isn’t going to work for several reasons. That said…”
And then, softly, he started to play. And she remembered what she’d always liked about Roman Townsend as a girl. The boy could play.