Bottleneck

by Henry, Max

  “Do you not get enough as it is?”

  “Babe,” she coos. “I spent so much of it buying you those pick me ups.”

  I need to have a talk to the woman about her dealer, because I know I could have bought the same shit three times over with what she gets every week. “What for?”

  “There’s this cute set that I need if I’m going to look professional.”

  Professional at being a piece of ass. Fuck my life—what is the world coming to? “I meant, why did you spend the last of your money on shit for me if you’d have nothing left?” The penny drops. “Wait. You got paid yesterday.”

  “I already had some items set aside.”

  “Like what?” Mosaic lifts his head at my tone.

  “Are you going to help me?” She drops the cutesy, high-pitched cadence to her voice.

  “If I say no?”

  “Then I’ll ask Jackson.”

  “Who the fuck is Jackson?”

  She sighs, clearly exasperated. “The guy whose function we attended. How wasted did you get?”

  Not wasted enough. I lose it, laughing like a fucking maniac. “Oh, you mean Jack-Jack.” Of course. “I don’t have time for this today, Dee. I need to get Mosaic home.”

  “Good. I’ll see you soon, then.” She seems way too satisfied. “I’m waiting for you.”

  Fuck. I wonder if my dog wants a super-long detour past McDonald's for some post-surgery nuggets.

  “You can camp out in my place all you want,” I say instead. “But the answer will be the same.”

  “I guess I’ll just call Jackson now then.”

  “Like fuck, you’ll do that,” I roar.

  Mosaic whines.

  I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’ll be there soon.”

  “Thanks, baby.” She sing-songs the words as though it’s a given that I’ll fold and transfer the money.

  Who the fuck am I kidding? Of course, I will. Probably do it while her mouth is wrapped around my dick, too. That woman is my goddamn kryptonite, and no matter how sick I know she makes me, I keep. Going. Back.

  Thoughts of how to get out of this fucked up union occupy the drive back to my parents’, as well as wondering how the fuck I’m going to carry my dumb dog upstairs without popping a disc.

  I make a quick stop-off and pick up two fresh bottles of bourbon to be on the safe side. I have a hunch the night will call for it, even more so when I pull up the driveway to find Toby leaned back against the front of the garage.

  Could this cunt of a day get any worse?

  “She won’t let me up there,” he explains when I get close enough.

  “No surprises.” The two of them hate each other with a vengeance.

  Toby tips his head toward my sulking fur-child. “What happened?”

  “He dislocated his hip.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah.” I push past my bandmate. “Not good. I need to get him upstairs before my fucking arms give out, though.” I frown at the closed door.

  “Here.”

  I nod in thanks when Toby reaches out to take Mosaic from me so I can dig out my key. I’d hammer at the door with my boot, but money is on Deanna ignoring both of us.

  “What the hell do you feed this guy?” Toby asks as I slide the key in the slot.

  His arms are lean, but they’re also deceivingly strong. Hours behind a kit hammering away at the skins every day will do that for your stamina.

  “He gets most of what I eat.”

  “Figures,” Toby huffs. “Too much protein, right?”

  I chuckle. “Wait until he starts farting.” The weight of who waits for me rips away any short-lived joy I’d found in my bandmate’s presence. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to see you until we meet up next month,” I ask, hand on the lever.

  He shrugs—a feat with Mosaic still balanced in his embrace. “I made another visit to drop some shit off for Rey, so I figured I might as well check in on both my problem children.”

  I shunt the door open, rolling my eyes. Deanna pops up from the sofa like a Jack-in-the-box, eyes wide, and one questioning eyebrow raised. I take in her barely dressed form before turning to find Toby behind me, making a point of staring up at the ceiling.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Dee?” I cross the room to plump up Mosaic’s bed. “Forget to get dressed today?”

  “So funny.” She scowls at Toby. “Why is he here?”

  “Not to fuck him for favors like you are,” Toby mumbles.

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.” He sets Mosaic on the cushion and then fixes his glare on my girlfriend.

  My girlfriend. Why the hell do I keep calling her that?

  “Do we have to do this now?” I ask Deanna. “We can catch up later once I’ve got Mosaic settled.”

  “You and your fucking dog.” She marches across the living area to collect her coat. “Three hundred.”

  “Three hundred, what?” Toby asks.

  “By tomorrow,” she carries on, unperturbed. “Or I go elsewhere.” Her lithe fingers wrap around the liquor bottle she left me with last night. “You didn’t drink much.”

  “Didn’t realize there was a quota.” Like clockwork every goddamn night, she’s here to make sure I don’t go without.

  Quickly flicking her gaze across to Toby, she leans a little closer to me. “You want another nightcap?” Dark eyes rove my own. “I could stop by later.”

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s making an addict out of me. Oh, wait, I already am. “Thought you were out of money?”

  Deanna straightens with a scowl. I can see the reply tumbling around behind her eyes and wait like the good boy I am for the insult that’s sure to come.

  To my surprise, she opts to stay mute, backing away with a shake of her head.

  “Good riddance,” Toby mumbles as she heads for the door.

  I sigh, hands braced either side of my head. “Dee, wait.”

  She pauses, back to us both. I don’t need to see her face to know she smiles.

  “I’ll walk you out, and we can discuss it.” Something lurked inside just then, and I get the feeling it’ll turn out very, very bad if I let her go without getting a heads up.

  Deanna turns with a triumphant smile. Toby’s ass hits the sofa as he groans.

  “I won’t be long, man.”

  “You shouldn’t be long at all,” he gripes. “She’s not worth it.”

  “She is still here,” Deanna bites, clapping Toby on the back of his head.

  He lunges from the seat, yet I hold him at bay with one hand to the center of his chest. “Let me deal with it.”

  “One of these days, you’ll let us take care of it,” he grumbles, re-taking his seat. “Properly. With a body bag and a concrete block.”

  I usher Deanna toward the stairs and shove her onto the landing before slamming the door behind me. “I am not a goddamn bank.” My fingers dig into the opposite wrist. “If you need more than what I give you, get a job.”

  “I’m trying,” she whines with a roll of her eyes as though I’m stupid. “That’s what I need the outfit for.”

  “What exactly does he offer?” I cross my arms, burying my itching fists. “Do you get a retainer? Commission? What’s the structure?”

  She leans against the railing, legs crossed at the ankle, and back arched as she thrusts her chest toward me. “Exposure.”

  I snort, noting the depth of her visible cleavage. “You do that fine on your own.”

  Deanna’s eyes narrow. “You never support me.”

  “What the fuck do you call your allowance?” I bellow.

  “In my choices,” she elaborates. “Why can’t you be happy for me going after what I want?”

  “Because I can’t decide if what you want is a career or some other guy’s dick,” I snap.

  “So insecure,” she mumbles, looking away. “It’s not cute, you know.”

  “What isn’t?” I take a step forward.

&nbs
p; “Your babyish need. You’re like a fucking child, crying all the time when you don’t get enough cuddles.”

  I drop a sarcastic laugh, shaking my head. “Cuddles? Is that your new nickname for narcotics?”

  “It hurts me, you know. Every time I give you more drugs,” she states. “But I do it because seeing you in withdrawals is worse.” Deanna looks away, one limp hand before her mouth.

  Something doesn’t sit right about what she says, and yet the tears brimming in her eyes are one hundred percent real. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m just on edge after Mosaic hurting himself, and I feel like shit. I need to have a proper meal and get some sleep.”

  “Baby, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Her palm caresses the side of my face. “Tell Toby to leave so you can rest, okay?”

  “Yeah.” I nod, despite the fact I’m happy he’s here. “Okay.”

  “I’ll see you tonight.” Cold lips press against mine.

  Her hand slides from my face, and she moves a hell of a lot lighter down the stairs than somebody weighed with guilt from enabling my addictions.

  “She gone?” Toby sits before Mosaic; legs bent either side of my dog’s bed while he scratches the mutt’s head.

  I close the door behind me and promptly sag against it. “Yeah.”

  “Good. Make sure it stays that way.” Hard eyes find mine. “She’s no good for you, Em.”

  “I know.”

  And still, I can’t stop myself from checking the time to count down the hours until she’s back with my next fix.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Alice

  “Pressure” - Muse

  Bottle of wine between us, I set two empty glasses on the coffee table and take my position. Shanae watches with a slight frown, already seated with her legs folded on the opposite side from me.

  “There’s no easy way to break this,” I say on a sigh as I reach for the uncorked bottle. “We can’t afford to stay here.”

  The only sound between us is the gentle glug of denial filling our glasses.

  We’ve taken more steps backward this past year than we have forward. Fria’s absence tonight is about as hard as the evidence can get.

  “How long do we have to wait before we can get out?” Shanae quietly asks while reaching for her drink.

  “The clause on our lease says we need to give a month’s notice.” I down half my pour.

  “Can we afford that?”

  I open up the laptop and navigate to our social media pages. “I borrowed enough to see us through the next two weeks. That’s all.”

  She slumps back against the front of the armchair behind her with a sigh. “This fucking sucks.”

  Yeah. It does. Especially when I sit here and sift through the miles of notifications that we have, which make it seem as though we should be rolling in the Hollywood Hills with a segment on Cribs.

  “There has to be a way to turn this around,” I muse out loud.

  “Do we really need a car?”

  I pause in my typing to peer across at Shanae. She keeps her head tilted back, ignoring me as she continues.

  “If we find somewhere cheaper on the outskirts, then surely, we can get a place that’s within walking distance to a mini-mart.”

  “What are you thinking?” I take a sip of red.

  “I’m thinking.” She drops her head forward to meet my eye. “That we sell the Lincoln while it still runs and then use the money to sue Mary Anne.”

  Wine dribbles out my nose on a snort. “Shit.” Dabbing at the drip with the back of my hand, I ask, “Pardon?”

  “Look.” Shanae scoots forward, elbows on knees. “We never went after her initially because none of us wanted to risk what we have.” Her hands fly into the air. “What do we have left, Alice? What harm could it do now?”

  Shit. In her eyes, this is probably a cut and dried case. But when what little I have I covet with my heart and soul to continue to pay for my pain meds and treatments, I can’t afford to fail in court—even if it were for the sake of a few dollars.

  “We’d have to discuss it with Fria. She’s a part of this too,” I point out.

  “Yeah. I know.” I watch Shanae fidget with the stem of her glass for a while before it registers. “Oh. You want me to call her?”

  “Well, she won’t talk to me anymore.”

  Shanae gives me a flat “whatever” stare.

  “Are you sure about this?” I ask. “What about the clause in our contracts that forbids us from discussing the details?”

  “Fuck that.” Shanae swings her glass in front of her, red liquid perilously close to the edge. “I’m sure lawyers can find a way around it. We don’t have to disclose figures publicly to get back what we’re owed. Surely.”

  I shrug, entirely out of my depth when it comes to legal terms and the standard way to conduct business like that.

  “Any answer from those clubs downtown?”

  “Mm.” I finish my drink before answering. “The first is booked solid for the next four months, and the other wants a six-hundred dollar down payment to secure the place.”

  “Six hundred?” Shanae chokes. “What the fuck?”

  “They say that most bands get at least two grand from door charges for the night.”

  “Most bands,” she echoes dryly.

  I nod. “Exactly.”

  “And what do the others earn, I wonder?”

  I snort, refilling our glasses. “Probably six hundred.”

  She grins, eyes downcast on the laptop before me. “Thousands of followers, and we can’t get ourselves out of this rut we’re in. What the hell are we doing wrong, Alice?”

  “Nothing,” I assure her, not feeling so confident myself. “Our luck will turn around. It has to.”

  “I guess.” The rim of the glass teases her bottom lip while she thinks. “I wonder if the restaurant on fifth is still looking for casuals.”

  “Don’t.”

  Her eyes lift to mine.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “Talk as though you’re giving up on this.” I slump back against the front of our TV cabinet.

  She observes me. “I’m looking at this objectively,” Shanae argues. “We have a great thing going in our music—hell yeah. But we have stagnant followers and a live circuit that refuses to take off. We can’t afford to produce a new album without backing from a label.” She sighs out her nose. “We’re kind of fucked.”

  “Only if we believe we are.”

  She rolls her eyes, rising to her feet. “Don’t start in on that woo-woo shit with me.”

  “What?” I lift my brow, knowing she’s aware where I’ll go next. “You can’t deny it worked.”

  “So, we found a new drummer in record time.” She shrugs, heading for the window. “That proves nothing.”

  “We found a drummer, an incredibly talented one, literally on our doorstep. No auditions, and within a week of losing our last. You can’t deny there was some spooky shit in play on that one.”

  Shanae lifts an eyebrow, peering over her shoulder at me. “You saying you did some whacky seance in your room the night before and didn’t invite me?”

  I fling the wine cork at her. “Don’t be a dick. We asked, and the world provided.”

  “Then wish for millions, Scrooge McDuck, because that’s about all that’ll help us now.”

  “You’re such a pessimist.” I lean forward to dive back into answering fan mail.

  “I’m a realist.” Setting her half-drunk glass on the windowsill, she turns and heads for the metal dish beside our door to retrieve her purse. “I’m shooting down to the newsagent before they shut for the day.”

  “What for?”

  “Classifieds.”

  I pause my typing and stare at her over the top of my screen. “Babe. People advertise online now.”

  “Yeah.” She checks her hair in the oval mirror. “People like us who are too broke for a real ad. The people with money to burn on legitimate artists st
ill advertise in the back of the guitar mags to weed out the tire-kickers, hon.”

  “Fine. Waste your money,” I tease. “But don’t cry to me when the columns are full of people hocking off secondhand Stratocasters or looking for an agent.”

  “They’re exactly the people I’m after.” She grins, fingers caressing on the door handle.

  “Why?” I shut the laptop and give her my full attention.

  “Bands don’t find record deals by posting those ads. The agents they hire find them. I want to see who the people advertising end up signing with and where it takes them.” She taps the side of her nose. “Market research.”

  “You want to pay attention to what agent helps a band get signed?”

  Shanae nods. “Uh-huh. And then I want to harass the fuck out of that agent until they do the same for us.”

  “You’re delusional.” I flip the lid open and wake the screen. “And crazy.”

  “I’m desperate,” she counters with a groan.

  My feed refreshes, showing pictures of Kris spotlighting with Lords of London. My eye tracks to the first name in the reactions: Emery.

  “Don’t deny that you aren’t as well,” Shanae calls before shutting the door behind her.

  I click on the bold text, well aware that I am.

  Just not for the same thing she is.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Emery

  “Hammer” – Point North

  I save the edit and flick the recording off to Kris to listen to—when he bothers to check-in. I woke up halfway through the night with an epic idea for a bassline that he could come in on and couldn’t rest until I’d fleshed it out and fine-tuned the flat areas.

  I’ve maybe slept a total of three hours and fuck me dead do I feel it.

  The only guy looking sorrier than me is my damn dog while he tries and fails numerous times to get comfortable.

  The entry door opens, and my blood ices. I know who it is before I catch the first click of her heeled boots against my hardwood floor.

  “Didn’t expect to see you until later.” I lift my Fender off the sofa and cross over to the wall rack to fit it in the empty slot.

  “I have my first job for Jackson tonight, remember.” Deanna sighs. “I messaged you about it yesterday. I thought I’d stop in and check you have what you need on my way there.”