Catherine

by April Lindner

  Nina.

  After that I knew what I had to do: figure out where she lived and track her down. From what little I’d seen of her, I could bet she’d made it her business to know exactly where Hence was and what he was doing. And if she wouldn’t tell me, I would have to follow her night and day until she led me to him.

  As much as I despised her, I needed her help.

  That night, after Jackie went home, the guys and I split up, hitting club after club, trying to track down Nina. At the first few places I tried the bouncers and bartenders, thinking maybe they’d seen the girl with the fuchsia hair. Some of them had (because who could miss Nina?), but none of them knew her full name or where she lived. Finally, in a little hole-in-the-wall club on Warren Street, I found someone who actually knew her. Jerry, the rumpled bouncer, gave me the name of a guy who used to be Nina’s boyfriend: Dane Slater, the drummer for Pineapple Crush. He wasn’t hard to track down; by some fluke, his phone number was listed in the white pages.

  So I stayed up all night, calling every half hour, letting it ring off the hook, but he didn’t pick up until the next day at a quarter to noon. His voice was husky, like maybe I’d woken him up. “Why should I give you Nina’s number?” He sounded suspicious over the phone. I couldn’t tell whether he was being protective of Nina or if he disliked her so much that he resented even having to hear her name.

  It turned out to be the latter. When I explained that my boyfriend had gone missing and that he’d last been seen talking to Nina, Dane laughed derisively. “Your boyfriend’s in a band? And Nina is sniffing around him? And you say he’s been missing for a week?”

  I didn’t like the implications. “It’s not like that,” I said, because I thought it couldn’t possibly be. “I have to find him. Please help me.”

  For what felt like an eternity, the line was silent. “What do I care?” he said finally. “She’s not my problem anymore.” And he gave me her last name and her phone number. “She lives on Avenue B, over a pet-supply store. That’s all I can remember.” And he hung up without so much as saying good-bye or wishing me luck.

  Not that it mattered. I had a phone number! So I called, but the line was disconnected. Good thing I had an approximate address. I ran the whole way to Avenue B. I knew Nina wouldn’t be thrilled to share Hence’s whereabouts with me, but now that I knew he was alive and close by, I would find a way to convince her to help me. We were both women, and we both cared about Hence; shouldn’t we be able to put our heads together?

  I walked block after block, until I found the pet-supply store; sure enough, Nina’s last name was taped under a doorbell in the entryway. I took a deep breath and rang it. No answer. I counted to ten and rang it again.

  “Yeah?” It was her voice all right, even through the static.

  “Can I talk with you? Please?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Catherine Eversole.” And though I had a feeling she would recognize my name, I continued. “Hence’s girlfriend.”

  To my surprise, she buzzed me in. I climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and found her waiting for me in the doorway, dressed in a sheer black lace slip. It seemed like a strange way to answer the door, but, hey, it was Nina, so why should I be surprised? Her fuchsia hair was mussed, and she smelled like stale Obsession.

  She beckoned me in, an inexplicable smile on her lips. I had time to register the décor in her living room—lamps covered with fringed scarves, a large painting of a fleshy, redheaded nude that could have been Nina herself, and framed, signed posters of Hüsker Dü and The Cult. The remnants of a meal—beer cans and pizza crusts—were strewn across the table. Under a jumble of laundry, a red velvet sofa was barely visible.

  I stood there for a moment, stupidly expecting her to act civilized—to maybe sweep aside the laundry and offer me a seat, to ask me why I was there and how she could help. Instead, she stood with her hands on her hips, looking me disapprovingly up and down, as if I were the half-naked one. Her eyes on mine, like one feral dog challenging another, she called to someone in the other room: “You’ve got company.”

  In the silence that followed, I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

  “In there.” With a long purple fingernail she pointed to a closed door and I knew all at once that I’d found Hence. Not only was he alive, he was one room away, and in a second I would throw my arms around him. I’d explain everything and get him to come home with me, and our life would be even better than before because he would know about Harvard and would forgive me anyway. But even as these thoughts flooded my head, my feet refused to budge. I guess they understood before the rest of me that something was terribly wrong with this picture.

  When I didn’t move, Nina moved for me. She threw open the door to her darkened bedroom. At first I couldn’t see who or what was in there.

  “Come on.” She grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me into a room so small it was almost all bed, a dark, airless den that stank of sweat and perfume. She flipped the light switch and I felt the air leave my lungs. There, amid a jumble of blankets, lay Hence, naked, covered by nothing but a sheet.

  Had I expected him to be happy to see me? He wasn’t. His eyes were cold and full of distrust. They bored straight into mine, and I had a crazy thought that maybe this wasn’t Hence after all, maybe this was just some angry stranger who happened to look exactly like him. Someone who hated me without even knowing me, who had made up his mind to never listen to a word I had to say.

  We stayed frozen like that, staring at each other, until his beautiful lips twisted into a smirk and he lifted his hand and crooked a finger, beckoning at something over my shoulder. For a moment I thought he was inviting me to lie down, and I started to move toward him, but Nina breezed past me in her flimsy slip and climbed into the empty space beside this stranger who was Hence. She looked at me and laughed, as if my presence in her bedroom was hilarious, and he joined in laughing with her. As if I weren’t even there, she leaned over and started noisily kissing him, and he let her, their tongues down each other’s throats, by the looks of it; like they were putting on a show for me. Or worse—they didn’t even care that I was there, watching.

  The kiss went on for what felt like a million years, and though I knew I should leave, I couldn’t seem to move. Her purple taloned hands grasped his shoulders, and then ran over his chest, but his hands weren’t on her; they were beside him on the bed, each making a fist, clutching the sheet like it was something he wanted to crush.

  And then Nina pulled back to murmur something in his ear. He nodded, his eyes still closed, and she began to nibble his neck. And over her pink hair, he opened his eyes to make sure I was still there, his gaze hard. As Nina kissed her way down his throat, pausing to nuzzle his chest, he stared past her at me. A challenge.

  When she dipped lower, to his stomach, he was still staring defiantly into my eyes.

  I knew without a doubt they would have kept going like that, her head moving lower and lower, his eyes on my face going colder and harder, for as long as I stayed there watching. But finally, thank God, I found my feet. I tore away, leaving the apartment door swinging open behind me, down four flights of stairs to the street below, and even as I ran I thought Hence might come after me to say that it was all a joke, he didn’t really mean it, he was just trying to show me how much I’d hurt him, he could never love Nina the way he loved me—could never love anyone the way he loved me. That this whole terrible thing had been a mistake.

  Like an idiot, I waited, trembling, out on the street, but he didn’t come after me. Cars passed, a bicycle messenger swerved to miss me and sped off, an old woman pushing a shopping cart slowed to look me over with eyes that broadcast curiosity and pity. None of it meant anything. Finally, I tore myself away, heading for the only place I had left: Jackie’s house. I huddled on her front stoop, cold and miserable, waiting for her to get home from wherever she’d gone, though I had no idea what I would say to her, how I would give voice to what I’d learned about He
nce. I certainly couldn’t go back to the apartment and tell the guys; I couldn’t stand the pitying looks they would give me. They would try to be nice, I was sure of it. They would say something comforting about what a dick Hence was being, but I knew their loyalty lay with him and not me. There was no way I could stay in the apartment with them for even a minute longer. I hoped I could move into Jackie’s house until I could breathe again.

  While I waited on Jackie’s steps, night fell and the streetlights switched on, their cold blue light falling on the sidewalk. Hurry home, Jackie, I kept thinking. I need you.

  Chelsea

  I sipped a papaya-mango smoothie at the juice bar café while I read my mother’s journal. From my table, I could lean forward and peek out the window for a view of The Underground, but for a long time there was no sign of Coop. Finally, a van pulled up and Rat Behavior piled out onto the sidewalk; I recognized them from pictures I’d seen online. The tall one with pale skin, black hair, and a long nose that looked like it had been broken once or twice was Stan Hodicek, Riptide’s former drummer. He ran to Hence and the two of them executed one of those manly hugs, clapping each other on the back. After that, they talked for a long time. I mostly leaned back so Hence couldn’t catch sight of me, but every sixty seconds or so I’d sneak another peek. Talking with his old bandmate, Hence looked more animated and less sullen than I’d ever seen him. After a while, he and Stan strode off somewhere together. Figuring the coast was clear, I hurried across the street and slipped in the front door.

  Cooper was directing a swarm of roadies. He didn’t exactly look happy to see me. “Didn’t I tell you to wait at the juice bar?”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I saw Hence leave.”

  “He could come back at any second.”

  “I don’t think so. He and Stan looked like they were headed somewhere to catch up.”

  “You could tell that just by looking at them?” Coop had a black smudge on his cheek. I wanted to reach over and wipe it away, but I was pretty sure that would have annoyed him even further. “Get across the street. I’ll come find you when I’ve got a free second,” he said, brushing past me on his way back out to the truck.

  I should probably have done as he said, but instead I found myself wandering deeper into the club’s dark interior. It looked like Cooper and the staff had been busy cleaning all morning; the kitchen sink was free of dirty glasses, and the bar had been thoroughly stocked with cocktail napkins and those little plastic stirrers. So I pressed on, and found the door to Hence’s office ajar. Though it maybe wasn’t so wise, I couldn’t help myself; I slipped in and switched on the light. The hole he’d punched in the wall had been patched, and the room had been tidied up.

  I wandered over to the wall of eight-by-ten glossies of musicians from the seventies to the present, like a time line of bands, some I recognized and a whole lot of others I didn’t. Looking at them made me wish I hadn’t been exiled from The Underground, with all its noise, neon, and excitement. How would I ever return to my ordinary life in the suburbs?

  “If Hence comes back and finds you staking out his office…” Cooper’s voice from behind me brought my musings to a screeching halt.

  “I didn’t touch anything.” I held out my palms to show they were empty. “I wasn’t snooping.”

  “Then what are you doing in here?” Cooper massaged his temples, like I was giving him a headache.

  I gestured toward the glossies. “Looking at the bands. Wishing I knew more about music. Wishing I hadn’t been exiled to Brooklyn.”

  He dug his hands in his pockets and looked intently at me through the shag of his bangs, waiting for me to say more, but I wasn’t in the mood.

  “I’ll go,” I said. “I know this is a big day, and you’re busy. In fact, I’ll go back to Jackie’s. You can call me later… or just text.”

  “Stop,” Coop said. “Listen. I didn’t drag you all the way here so we could pick a time to meet up tomorrow.”

  “Why, then?”

  “There’s a place where you can watch tonight’s show without being seen,” he said. “From the mixing room. It has a smoked-glass window. Nobody will be able to see you. Hence sometimes watches from there, but he won’t tonight.”

  “You want to sneak me in during a show?”

  “You need to be here tonight. Hence is going to join the band onstage. He hasn’t played since the last time Rat Behavior came through town, and he’ll try to beg out of it, but Stan will insist. You’ve got to see him. Onstage. The way he used to be.”

  “But what if Hence finds out?”

  Coop lowered his voice. “I’m starting to like living dangerously.” Despite the sly look in his blue-green eyes, I couldn’t help thinking that maybe he wasn’t completely kidding.

  “Seriously. You could lose your job.”

  “Only if you get caught. Stay out of sight, and come around to the back just before the show starts.” Now he was walking me toward the door, looking both ways before ushering me out. “I’ll be busy, but I’ll keep checking for you, so don’t leave.”

  That night, Coop sneaked me into the mixing room, a chamber so dark, musty, and tangled with wires it seemed like the kind of place rats might burrow in. I took a seat on the heavy table beside all the equipment, cross-legged to keep myself safely out of reach of vermin. I was excited—not only was I going to see another show, I was doing it on the sly. Plus, I’d get to spy on Hence.

  I could see and hear really well from my little nest—I could even feel the buzz of excitement from the growing crowd, to the point where it was hard to sit still for the warm-up bands and the roadies shuffling instruments and equipment in between sets. It would have been so nice to have someone tucked in the dark beside me, to share my sense that something exciting was coming.

  The main room filled up slowly. Just when I couldn’t sit still a minute longer, Rat Behavior took the stage, and the buzz of the audience escalated to a roar. There were four of them—two pale, wiry, near-identical guitarists; the stocky, bearded bassist; and Stan Hodicek, tall and lean, his black hair mussed and spiky, who waved here and there at faces in the crowd before settling in behind his drum kit. Stan shouted, “One, two, three, four!” and the band launched into its first song, a blast of sound—grungy guitars and a booming bass that sent the crowd bouncing up and down to the beat. Forgetting about the actual rats I’d feared might be running around the room, I slipped down from the table and danced a little in place as I listened.

  The next song was as good as the first. As I lost myself in the noise and the beat, I still paid special attention to Stan. After all, he’d known my mother. He seemed good-natured and goofy, grinning as he slammed away at his drums, and I mused about how if only my mother had fallen in love with him instead of Hence, maybe things would have gone better for her, and she’d have had her happy ending. Maybe she’d be here now, waiting backstage with a smile on her face.

  But of course I never would have been born.

  Before long, the show drove all other thoughts out of my head. Rat Behavior was more than just good, and I resolved to download all of their music when I got home. Maybe I’d slip Coop some money to buy me a T-shirt from the merchandise table. When I saw Larissa again, I could act all nonchalant about how I’d seen Rat Behavior at the legendary Underground. Oh, and, incidentally, that I was descended from rock-and-roll royalty.

  The band played full throttle for so long that even I was starting to feel wrung out. Just when I was wondering if maybe Cooper had been wrong about Hence joining the band onstage, Stan slipped out from behind his drum set to address the audience.

  “Tonight…” He repeated the word a few times, waiting for the crowd to simmer down before continuing. “Tonight a special guest will be joining us for a few songs—one of the greatest musicians I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. No. Scratch that. One of the greatest musicians in rock and roll. Period. He gave it all up to play host to hundreds of up-and-coming bands, to give them a leg up and al
l of us a venue for hearing the best music out there. He doesn’t get up onstage much anymore, so anytime he does, it’s an event.”

  Throughout the night, there had been a low-level buzz of conversation between songs, but now Stan’s words echoed in the sudden stillness. “So please welcome my old friend… and yours… Hence.”

  The applause was so loud it startled me. I pressed my forehead to the glass window, trying for a clearer view, wishing I could be right in front of the stage. From where I was sitting, I could see the look on Hence’s face as he strapped on his guitar—solemn, as though this were church and not a nightclub. If I’d expected him to change into black leather or silver studs, I’d have been disappointed—he was his usual self, in a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled partway up and an ordinary pair of black pants. He looked out over the crowd like he was taking inventory and smiled. Had I ever even seen him smile before? Certainly not like this, a flash of teeth like the beam of a lighthouse cutting through fog.

  “Stan overstates my case.” Hence waved a hand at the crowd, signaling them to stop clapping, but the noise only got louder. As he stepped to the mike, I held my breath, thinking of how much my mother had loved his singing. Could he really be as wonderful as she’d believed? Given all the buildup, I thought his voice would have to be a disappointment.

  But it wasn’t. It was bigger and deeper than I’d have guessed, with a range I couldn’t have imagined. I recognized Riptide’s big hit, with its lyrics about being lost and homesick and finding love, only to lose it again. I knew the song better than I had realized and could sing along with the chorus, except I didn’t want to miss anything, so I didn’t. The song was upbeat but the lyrics were sad, and as Hence sang, an openness—a sweetness—stole over his face. Launching into a complicated guitar solo, Hence looked almost surprised, as if he hadn’t been sure he’d still be able to play with such ferocity. Stan took a drum solo, and Hence stood, arms crossed, watching with evident pride. Was this what he’d been like before he’d gotten so bitter?