CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I heard my phone buzzing, but I didn’t even look at it. It was either one of the guys in the band, Ron, or Allie--and I didn’t want to talk to any of them. It had been a day since I’d left the studio, since I’d seen Alex and Allie practically making out next to Alex’s car right outside of the building. I hadn’t gone back to the studio after the lunch break; instead I’d gone straight home and found the bottle of Jack on top of the fridge and crawled into it.
I’d forgotten to forget about Allie’s stuff in my car; I knew it was there and there was a part of me that insisted that if nothing else I needed to do the mature thing and get it back to her, but I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready for anything but more booze when I got up the next day. My head had been throbbing as if there was a fucking hurricane spinning inside of it, my mouth had tasted like garbage water, and my stomach had felt like it would crawl right out of me if it got half a chance.
I walked away from the buzzing phone near my bed and through the living room into the kitchen. Part of me wanted to just start drinking again; but I needed to take care of my hangover first. I slumped into the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cabinet, pressing it against the lever on the water dispenser on my fridge while I yawned and scrubbed at my face. I pressed the on button for the Keurig machine--my mom had gotten it for me a year before, and it sat right next to the normal coffee pot, as an “in between” for times when I didn’t want to make a full batch of coffee--and waited for it to heat up. I drank down the water, burped, and filled the glass again.
By the time I had a cup of coffee in my hand and I was walking into the living room again, trying to decide what to do with myself--the studio was fucking out--I heard a knock at the door. “Fuck that noise,” I muttered, sipping my coffee. I didn’t even care who it was: Jehovah’s Witness, building manager, one of the other guys in the band, Allie, my own brother. I didn’t want to talk to anyone; I didn’t want to see anyone. I’ll fucking mail her the gear, I thought, remembering Allie’s stuff in my car again.
The knocking started up again, louder. “Mark! Come on.” It sounded like one of the guys, but through the door I couldn’t tell specifically who. Knocking again, and I drank down about a third of my coffee, not even really caring that it was too hot for that kind of gulping. “Mark!”
“Come on, asshole, open the door!” I glanced in the direction of the door and glared.
“Go the fuck away!” I set down my cup of coffee and combed my fingers through my hair. The situation with Allie was settled--more or less. I needed to figure out what the hell I was going to do about the band. Fuck ‘em. Alex, at least, I could obviously do without. That asshole was dead to me. But Dan, Jules, Nick? Did they deserve for the band to go up in flames? Why would it be my fault the band goes up in flames because of something Alex fucking did? It wouldn’t be fair but I knew that that would be the way that Alex would try and spin it. Even if the rest of the band knew better, everyone in the scene would blame me. Fucking shithead.
“Mark, if you don’t let us in, we’re going to tell the building manager you threatened to kill yourself.” At that point I knew it was at least two people: Nick and Dan. I sighed; there were rules about shit like that, laws and regulations. If they told the building manager I’d threatened to kill myself, he’d have to let them into my unit--maybe even call the cops.
I got up and walked to the door. I unlocked the deadbolt, then the knob lock, and opened the door and walked back to the couch, not even looking to see if either of my two friends and band mates came into the apartment. Of course, they did, and as soon as I sat down and picked up my coffee, they were closing the door behind them and making themselves comfortable.
“So, what the fuck happened?” Dan held my gaze.
“Alex won’t say anything, Allie was in tears but we couldn’t get anything coherent out of her, and you won’t answer your fucking phone,” Nick said.
“What happened is that I walked out of the studio to see Alex making out with Allie by his car,” I told them. “I decided that going the fuck home was better than getting arrested for murder.” Nick and Dan looked at each other and then at me again.
“Are you serious?” I nodded.
“Dead fucking serious,” I said.
“About the murder thing or about finding them together?” I rolled my eyes.
“Both,” I told Nick.
“What the fuck is going on?” Dan shook his head. “Does Mary know?”
“I texted her last night,” I said, remembering that detail. I cringed as I remembered what I’d specifically texted her the night before. Since your boyfriend likes making out with my girlfriend, why don’t we up the ante and fuck each other? In fairness to me, I’d had about a third of a bottle of Jack at that point.
“And there’s no way you could have been mistaken, right?” I shook my head.
“No fucking way,” I told Dan. “He was kissing her.” My two best friends in the band looked at each other again.
“Fucking asshole,” Dan said, shaking his head. “He’s all about not risking ruining the band and pulls some shit like this?”
“Ron’s going to pop a fucking aneurism,” Nick suggested, half-smiling. “Man.” He scrubbed at his face.
“Alex wouldn’t say anything about anything,” Dan told me. “He walked out of the studio. Allie was crying her eyes out.”
“I don’t care about that,” I said, trying not to picture it in my head.
“She seems to think that there was some kind of misunderstanding,” Nick told me. “Though I can’t imagine how that’s even possible.”
“I drove her home,” Dan continued. “Anyway, Alex wouldn’t say anything, and then you weren’t answering your fucking phone, so Nick and I decided that since you obviously weren’t coming in today, we’d come to you.” I couldn’t help but smile a little bit. It was different from the last time that I’d bailed on them; this time they were actually trying to get me back. But this time it was way more serious than Dan picking up some girl that I’d wanted to date.
“I don’t want to be to blame for the band fucking up,” I told them. “It’s not my fucking fault--we can agree on that, right?” Dan and Nick looked at each other and then at me again.
“Let’s not talk about that right now,” Nick suggested. “You look like you downed a bottle of Jack.”
“Two-thirds of a bottle,” I corrected him.
“Let’s get some coffee in you and get you to Tucker Duke’s,” Dan said. I thought about it; it actually sounded like a damn good idea. My stomach twisted inside of me and I hoped that food would at least take care of that shit. Everything else was going to take longer, but at least I might feel a little bit better with some food in me.
“Let me change,” I said, picking up my cup of coffee and drinking down the rest of it.
“I won like $40 off of Alex in a bet,” Nick said, smirking. “I’ll use it to buy your lunch. It’ll be like Alex is paying for it unwillingly.”
“You’re all heart,” I told him. I took the coffee cup into the kitchen and put it in the empty sink, scrubbing at my face again. I knew Nick and Dan were going to try and figure out how to make shit work in the band; I didn’t know if I was on board with going along with it. There was no way that anything would ever excuse either Allie or Alex, right? I shook my head, dismissing the idea. There was no fucking way.
I didn’t say anything to either Dan or Nick as I went into my bedroom. I needed to eat, and I wasn’t about to turn down a free meal, especially a Tucker Duke’s meal. I started stripping off my stinking, alcohol-reeking clothes and thought about maybe taking a quick shower, at least to wash off some of the BO I knew I was drenched in. But instead I slapped on some deodorant, stepped into my bathroom and splashed some water on my face, through my hair. I sprayed just a little bit of cologne on and put on some fresh clothes. I looked like hell, but I was pretty sure that if anyone in the band was entitled to look like shit right then, it was me.
“Okay,” I said, coming out of my bedroom. Nick and Dan were busy texting--I could guess pretty readily who. They put their phones away, and had the good grace not to look the least bit self-conscious as they got up.
“Let’s get a burger in you and some cheese fritters and figure out what to do with the rest of the day,” Dan suggested, picking out two of the things he knew I liked best from the restaurant.
“Let’s see how those go down, and then we’ll figure it out,” I countered. I wanted to put off talking about the band, about Allie, about the whole bullshit situation, as long as possible.