Mason
I can’t believe I’m back here, in this shit hole! At least I’m not staying with my mom. She’s been shacking up with a new guy, some rich asshole she met at the big car auction that comes to town.
He’s hung around longer than most. I think it’s been a few months, not that I pay attention to the pointless stories she tells me over the phone.
She hasn’t given up the apartment, which is good. She did that the last time she met the guy that was going to be the one. She had to move all our crap into storage and back out again a month later. She lost the two-bedroom, too. Just one more reason to be glad I’m not staying with her while I figure things out—I hate sleeping on the fucking couch.
Calling Ray Abbot was really my only option when the label dropped the band. Ray’s taken me in most of my life. He taught me my first chord and gave me my first Gibson for my sixteenth birthday. He’s the reason I love rock & roll and the blues. Ray put me—scared shitless—on a stage in front of a mic and a drunk-ass crowd of locals when I was ten, maybe eleven. Changed my life.
I still remember climbing up to sit on the stools in the back of his bar after school while my mom finished her shift. When I called, Ray told me she quit again after she started dating the new guy. But her locker’s still there, along with all her shirts and her apron. He even made a joke about how he doesn’t peel off the “Barb” sticker from her nametag anymore because he knows he’ll just be printing a new one out in a few months.
Thank God for Ray Abbot. I swear, with the amount of times Barb Street walked off the job during a shift, if it weren’t for that man and his forgiving nature, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have had food on my plate when I was a kid.
I didn’t tell my mom I was coming home. She would baby me, tell me it was the band’s fault, and that I needed to find someone new. I’ve been with the guys for years, and she still doesn’t know their names. I’ll call her in a few days, when I have something to say—when I can tell her I’m hitting the road again and getting the hell out of Arizona.
Ray’s bar looks exactly the same. You would never believe the talent that’s passed through this joint by looking at it from the gravel parking lot out front. The metal sign that reads Dusty’s is banged up and crooked, and the spotlight that shines on the marquee is dim. I don’t even know why Ray bothers to put up the names and show times—there’s no way a car passing by out here in the desert would be able to read it. Hell, I’m standing seven feet out, and I can’t make out a goddamned word!
The people come anyway. Ray could post on that sign out front that the world was ending, and he’d still have a full house by 8 p.m. on a Friday. It’s because the music is that good, and you can count on it. It’s simple—if you’re a hack, Ray won’t put you on.
There’s a new band jamming tonight. I scope them out when I walk in and slide through the crowd lining the tables in the back. They’re pretty tight. A country band…a little bluegrass maybe? I like their sound.
“Well, are you just going to stand there, numbnuts?” I hear the gruff voice say from behind me. Ray bumps into my arm with his elbow, hard enough to knock me off balance.
“Hey, old man, just cuz my ma quit, don’t go thinking I’m picking up her shifts. You can bus your own tables,” I joke back, following him into the kitchen.
Ray dumps the bin of dirty glasses into the sink, and nods to a couple of the guys working in the back before drying off his hands on the towel tossed over his shoulder. He settles his gaze on me with a tough-guy sigh, but I know he’s just giving me shit. He lets it go on for a couple of seconds before he starts laughing and pulling me in for a hug.
“Damn, Mason. How long’s it been?” he asks.
“Five years, Ray. Five years,” I say, both sad that I haven’t come to visit, and dejected that I’m right back where I started.
“Wow, man. That long, huh?” Ray says, nudging me to follow him to the back office. Just like the rest of the bar, Ray’s office looks like time stood still. The layer of dust on all of the framed photos is thick, and I zero in on the one of him with me right away.
Five years—five years ago I took a picture with Ray on that stage, celebrating my big break. Some fuckin’ break. The boys and me have played nothing but shit-small towns and tiny venues without as much as a month or two off in between, and I don’t even have an album to show for it—at least, nothing anyone’s playing.
“So, label bailed, huh?” Ray says, kicking his feet up onto his desk and gesturing for me to take a seat on the old sofa.
“Yeah, it was time, though. They weren’t doing anything for us,” I say, falling deep into the worn cushions.
“Hmmmm,” Ray says, chewing at the inside of his cheek, and twisting at the end of his graying mustache.
“Oh, come on, Ray…you know we’re good. You know it!” I start to protest, leaning forward, ready to stand on my feet. Fuck this, I didn’t come here to get a lecture. I called Ray because I thought he would understand. He’s the one who pushed me to fight for this, and he’s half the reason I want it so damned bad. If he’s going to tell me I can’t make it now…
“Sit your ass down, hot head,” he halts me. I roll my eyes at him, but I sit back, giving him the respect he deserves. However, I’m not opposed to walking right out of here and slamming his door in his face if he starts to get high and mighty.
Ray leans forward and reaches into his desk drawer, digging through piles of notebooks and papers before finally coming up with a giant envelop full of clippings. He unfolds the top and dumps six or seven newspaper articles on his desk, spreading them out like a winning poker hand. I keep my eyes on him the entire time—I don’t dare look down at the papers, because I know what they are, and I hate that he’s read them.
“Let’s just take a look, shall we?” he says, pulling his glasses from his front pocket just to be melodramatic. This is going to be way more painful than I thought. I should have known—Ray doesn’t lecture. He doesn’t need to. He can put you in your place in an instant just by pulling at the threads of your skeletons and weaknesses.
“This one’s from two months ago. Says here Mason Street and his band left a crowd of nearly 3,000 ticket holders waiting until almost 11 p.m. before finally taking the stage in Oklahoma City,” Ray says, flicking his eyes to mine for a brief second, just long enough to burn in his disappointment. “Oh, wait…there’s more. It goes on to say that when the band finally took the stage, they only made it through one song before the drummer passed out. And then…wow, really? And then Street broke his guitar over his knee and punched his bass player, starting a brawl that police had to break up.”
“Yeah, yeah…I get it,” I say, but Ray’s quick to cut me off.
“No, Mason. I don’t think you do. Let’s take a look at this one,” he says, unfolding the one that’s going to hurt to hear. I’m not going to get out of here without letting him say his piece—so I sit back again and get comfortable. I still won’t look at him, though, so instead I stare at the wall of photos.
“The Mason Street Band was arrested for disorderly conduct after trashing—trashing!—a Reno hotel suite. Damage was estimated at $250,000 and included two windows,” Ray pulls his glasses off and rubs at his forehead. He doesn’t need to finish. “Damn it, Mason. You really don’t know why the label dropped you? You and those…those…those clowns that you call a band. Jesus, boy! It’s a good thing you’ve come home, but I don’t know—”
I turn to him now. If he’s about to say what I think he’s going to say, I want to look into his eyes while he crushes me. “What, Ray? What don’t you know?” I ask, throwing my shoulders up in defeat.
Ray’s slow to respond, spending his time folding up the sad scrapbook he’s kept on me. The worst part…I don’t think there’s a positive article in the mix, and I wouldn’t know where the hell to find one. He slides the folder back into his drawer and leans forward on his elbows, cracking his knuckles while he studies me.
“Kid, you sure made a mess of things. You’re the most talented thing I’ve ever put up on that stage. But your goddamned head is thick, you know that?” he says, mouth tight, and showing only half a smile. “I don’t know if you can fix this, that’s all. But we’ll try, okay? We’ll sure try.”
Ray stands up and walks over to reach for my hand to pull me up to my feet. He pats my back as he guides me back out to the bar. I just shake my head, because I really don’t have any answers. I get how Ray sees things, but he also doesn’t understand what it was like to play, night after night, in some of those joints. Every month there was promise of a bigger ticket, of coming in for an album, recording something new. But then another month would pass, and nothing. The guys quit believing about a year ago, and I just couldn’t keep it going anymore. I quit writing, too.
“Hey, Ray,” called the waitress from behind the bar, “we’re getting hammered out here already. What are we doing about Barb?”
“Avery’s coming in early. She’ll be here in a few,” Ray says back.
I can’t help but chuckle at the thought of Avery working the bar. Ray’s daughter has always been mousy. We all called her Birdie when we were younger, because when she talked it sounded like chirping.
“Avery actually works here?” I half laugh to Ray as I join him behind the bar. Out of instinct, I start grabbing glasses and drying them. I did a lot of dishes at Dusty’s before I hit the road, and if Ray’s going to put me up for the next few weeks, the least I can do is help out until Birdie shows up.
“Yeah, she works the night shifts. She’s going to school, too. Girl works her ass off,” Ray says, either not picking up on the humor I see about Avery in a bar, or just ignoring it. “Hey, will you take these to the back and bring in the clean ones?” Ray asks, handing me a bin full of dirty glasses.
“Sure,” I say, lugging them with me to the back. Sal and Manny are working the kitchen today, so I spend a few minutes with them. Those two have been working here almost as long as my mom has, and they’re like uncles to me. Hell, Sal taught me how to throw a punch when I was getting picked on in fifth grade. And Manny taught me how to take one in high school. My mom was pissed when he punched me in the face, but when she found out it was because I was dating his daughter, she never brought it up again.
Ray yells through the swinging door. “Hey, Mason! Avery’s here, so why don’t you take my keys on over to the house and get settled?”
“Ah right, boys. I’ll catch ya later. I’m going to see if I can talk the old man into letting me play a night or two,” I wink. I dry my hands, and then shake theirs before heading back into the busy bar, where the crowd is starting to build. Ray’s manning the tap; it’s at least two-people deep, and most of the tables are full. I recognize a lot of the familiar faces, but there’s always a batch of new ones, too—tourists and college kids looking to party.
“You sure Ray? I can stay, help out?” I offer, but Ray just pulls out his keys and tosses them to me.
“Nah, this is nothing. Just another Thursday night!” he says, topping off a beer and going right in to fill the next one.
I grip the keys in my right hand, nod thanks to him and turn around, but before I make it a full step, I slam into one of the waitresses. Trying to stop myself, I accidentally grab her tit with my free hand.
“Ugh, asshole!” she pushes me to the side as she flies by and whips through the swinging door into the back. All I see is her long, straight, strawberry-blond hair as she disappears. I’m probably going to see this girl for the next few weeks, so I follow her back past Sal and Manny into the small locker room, chuckling a little and looking at my left hand with fondness.
“Hey, wait…hey, I’m totally sorry. I really didn’t mean to grab…shit; I mean…I didn’t mean to do that. Damn, I’m sorry,” I say, lightly laughing and waiting for the girl to turn around.
“Whatever,” she says, clearly unimpressed with me. She pulls one leg up to tie her shoe on the bench, and then tucks her hair behind her ear. I’m about to give up and go when I realize just how bad this is.
“Birdie?” I say, my mouth moving toward a big grin. She tosses her head up when I say her name, and the fire in her green eyes pretty much knocks me on my fucking ass! This is not the Avery Abbot I knew in high school. I know I’m walking on thin ice, but I can’t help but let my eyes wander down from her soft face and pink lips to what might just be the tightest goddamned body I’ve ever seen. I can see every inch outlining her bra under the thin, white Dusty’s T-shirt; the black shorts hug her hips so well, I’m wishing like hell she’d turn around and drop something just so I could watch her pick it up.
“Mason,” she says, forcing my gaze back up to her eyes. She isn’t smiling when she looks at me. Shit, I need to fix this. I can’t have Ray’s daughter this pissed at me.
“I’m so sorry, Birdie. I wasn’t looking, and I totally didn’t know that was you,” I say, trying to make my tongue work in my mouth, while I search for something else to add, something smart. I’ve got nothing, so instead I just lean to the side and watch her push past me again. I breathe deeply when she walks by, and the girl actually smells like vanilla—like a fucking dessert!
I stumble back out to the bar and look at the keys in my hand, then back up to Avery as she ties the green apron around her tiny waist and pulls her hair back into a ponytail. She always wore her hair like that, but I don’t know—it’s somehow very different now. The tiny freckles on her neck have me in a bit of a trance when Ray bumps into me.
“You headin’ out?” he asks. I feel the teeth of the keys against my fingers. There’s no way I’m leaving, no matter how bad of an idea it is to flirt with Ray’s daughter. I know the line, but I won’t be able to get my mind straight if I don’t just straddle it a little tonight—get inside her head.
“In a bit. Let me just help out for a while, so I know you’ve got this handled. It’d make me feel better since you’re putting me up and all,” I smile at him, and hand him back his keys.
“Alright then, you can start mixing,” he says, pushing the keys in his pocket and going back to work. I pull a ticket and start mixing on the other end of the bar, but I keep my attention divided on Avery the entire time, just waiting for her to come over. She keeps heading to the corner of the restaurant area—probably to avoid me.
She’s almost in front of me when she locks onto my gaze, and spins around on her heels toward her dad. I’m not gonna lie, I take a good look when she leans over the bar to talk to Ray, and I’m half-tempted to race around to the other side of the bar to check out the view from behind. But something she says catches me off guard.
“Dad, you know he can’t stay with us! Max isn’t going to like it,” she protests, crossing her arms. Her dad waves his hand telling her to calm down, and she spins around and walks back to the corner. Who the hell is in that corner? And who’s Max? Shit, is she married?
Avery doesn’t return to this side of the bar for the next 20 minutes. I saw her hand her orders to another waitress to bring them over a few times, and she actually had her dad bring out some of the plates, just to avoid passing by me on her way to the kitchen. What the hell? It was just a boob grab, and it was a damned accident. If this girl was going to get that bent out of shape, then I don’t need to waste my time with fantasies.
“Pain in the ass,” I mumble under my breath, focusing once again on the drink orders.
“Hey, Cole. That’s Mason, go on in and relieve him,” Ray hollers, nodding in my direction. A big burly dude heads my way, pushing the sleeves up on his one-size-too-small black shirt. He must be the new bouncer. Hell, he’s big—with my luck, he’s Avery’s husband, or boyfriend or…whatever.
“Hey, man. Mason, nice to meet you,” I reach over to shake his hand, hoping like hell he doesn’t crush my fingers.
“Oh yeah, you, too. It’s funny, I feel kinda like I know you, the way Ray talks about you around here,” he smiles, shaking my hand and holding back—thank God!—then taking over on the next drink order. I’m a little surprised by his words, though I don’t know why. I know how Ray feels about me—like I’m his own son. There’s just something about hearing someone else say it.
The crowds are getting thick now, getting ready for the headliner. Back when I was in high school, Ray started pushing Thursday nights, and when I turned eighteen, I was one of his first performers. He fought like hell with the town council over his liquor license requirements when he put me on stage. But Ray’s got a lot of friends in high places in Cave Creek.
I can’t help but look over at Avery’s corner a few more times before I leave. Maybe it’s the challenge, but I just want her to give in once, to come over here before I leave. That way, I can ask her what crawled up her ass and why she cares if I stay at Ray’s house. Or maybe not, maybe she’ll just motivate me to hit the road sooner.
“You know her?” Cole says, leaning into me.
“What, Avery? Yeah…we went to high school together. She hung around the bar a lot when I was here, too,” I say, my eyes glued to her like a stupid tracking beam. I’m so weak.
Cole bends down to get something out of the mini fridge, and comes up with a small glass of chocolate milk. He puts it on a tray with a napkin and two straws and pushes it toward me.
“Thanks, man, but I’m not thirsty,” I laugh. Does he seriously think I’m lame enough to offer to split chocolate milk with some girl? I could go down the street right now to the next bar, and leave a half hour later with three chicks ready to ride me until I kick them out in the morning—and they wouldn’t care that I didn’t know their names. They never do.
Cole nudges me again and nods back in Avery’s direction. “Nah, man. It’s her order. Take it,” he winks.
Well, damn. I’ve been waiting for an in all night, and now that I’ve got one, my hands have turned to jelly, and my heart rate is keeping time with the band—pulsing out of my head.
Cole nods one more time, so I take the tray in my hand and head to the back corner. Only, when I get there, Avery is gone. I roll my eyes at my own luck, and head to the corner booth. There’s a kid with curly blond hair sitting in the farthest corner. He looks about five, and his legs are pulled up underneath him, his attention completely focused on the iPad in front of him. Looks like some sort of space game or something.
“Whatcha playin’ there, buddy?” I ask, but the kid doesn’t break his concentration. He just keeps playing his game, like he didn’t even hear me. Maybe he didn’t.
“One chocolate milk,” I say, putting the napkin down and then placing the glass on top. I wait for a few seconds, but he doesn’t say anything. I was never a video-game nerd—I just don’t get the appeal. I roll my eyes, and start to turn when a strange voice stops me.
“Straws,” he says, the one syllable word somehow sounding as if it has two or three, the way he pronounces every individual letter.
“Oh, yeah. Sure,” I say, pulling one off the tray and tossing it next to his glass.
“No,” he says, before I can leave. “That’s not right. That’s not right. That’s not right. Two straws. Two straws. Two straws.”
I look back at the tray, notice the second straw, and immediately put it down by the other one. His eyes are wide, but still focused solely on his video game. I wait for a few seconds, and he finally puts the tablet down, his fingers very methodical as they place it perfectly in line with the rest of the table. He then reaches for his glass, and moves it closer, looking into the milk a few solid seconds like he’s inspecting it, before reaching for the straws and unwrapping them slowly. He puts them both in at the same time. Sipping long and deep through them both together, his eyes focus on the small bubbles in the milk, oblivious to the clanking of glasses and loud noise of the crowd of two hundred or so people building just a few yards away from him.
“So…anything else?” I ask, wondering if this kid even realizes I’m still here. He doesn’t say a word, and he doesn’t stop drinking. I’m background to him—irrelevant.
“Okay, then…” I say, shaking my head and blinking as I turn to walk away. “Weird fucking kid.”
“Hey!” Avery says, charging closer to me. “What’d you give him? Leave him the hell alone!”
She’s almost to me, looking past me, when I reach out and grab her wrist. “Hey, calm down. I just delivered your order. Relax, would ya? Cole gave it to me,” I explain, suddenly wishing I just went to Ray’s an hour ago, like he told me to, instead of acting stupid over a pretty girl.
Avery’s posture slumps, and she lets out a heavy breath. She snaps her eyes to my hand, which is still on her wrist, and then quickly shirks it away. I’m almost offended, but she doesn’t give me time before she’s grilling me. “You’re sure? Cole gave that to you? He made it?” she says, almost manic.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can remember simple things like who gave me milk,” I shrug.
She brings her hands to her face, rubbing her temples, and I take a minute to scope out her left hand. No ring. Damn, she’s been nothing but a big pain in my ass, and I’m still making sure she’s not married. What the hell is wrong with me? Suddenly, she stops, and her eyes soften when they land on mine, and then she actually smiles. Oh hell, that’s some smile.
“Thank you,” she says, leaving her gaze on me long enough for me to memorize every fleck of gold within the green of her eyes.
“No problem. Least I can do. That kid’s a real weirdo,” I say, tilting my head in his direction. Without warning, her smile is gone, and her hand hits my cheek with such force, I fear I may have actually swallowed a tooth.
“What the fu—” I’m about to question her, but it’s too late. She’s gone. I don’t even know which direction she walked, so I just rub my face and make my way back to Cole, no longer sure if I want to thank him or punch him.
“What the hell? I give that kid milk, and she slaps me,” I say to him as I reach into the ice bin and fill the center of one of Ray’s towels. “Shit! That stings! I think I have a shiner.”
Cole chuckles a little to himself, and starts shaking a martini. “Sorry, man. I really was trying to help you out. I didn’t see how that could go wrong,” he looks back at the corner where Avery is standing once again. I’m thinking about walking over to her and calling her on her bullshit, but then she slides into the booth and points to something on the kid’s iPad.
“That’s her son,” Cole says—short and sweet. Fuck, I’m an asshole.
My face must clue him in at how shocked I am, so he turns around and leans on the back of the bar to give me his full attention for a few minutes.
“I thought she wasn’t married? Is she divorced?” I ask, moving the ice a little lower and wincing.
“Something like that. The dude married her, and then bailed right away. Some guy from your high school, I think. Some Adam or something?” Cole says, and I know immediately.
“Adam Price. He was our student body president. He and Avery were into all that honors class shit,” I say, remembering what a smug asshole Adam was back then.
“Yeah, that’s it. Adam. He left when Max was one. Ave’s been doing a damn good job with that kid on her own, though,” Cole says, turning back to his work, and not realizing how much he’s kicking my ass with every single word. Shit! I just mocked the kid of a hard-working single mom because he didn’t thank me for bringing him chocolate milk.
“Oh, this is bad. I should apologize. I was kind of a prick to her,” I say, looking over at the booth where she’s sitting next to her son, my stomach turning over and over with guilt and shame. Who the hell am I? I’m just some loser musician who got dropped from his label, thrown out of a club in Tulsa for drinking too much, and sent home to lick his wounds.
“She’ll get over it,” Cole says.
He says that now, but I think if Cole knew half the shit I’ve done, he’d take it back. In fact, he’d probably have a good long talk with Avery warning her to stay away from men like me. And he’d be right.