by Cat Bruno
Finally, I responded. Welcome to Columbus, Mr. Kline.
I immediately regretted how inane it sounded and groaned out loud.
Come see me.
His answer was nearly instantaneous. From my other phone, I sent Todd a message letting him know that I was trying to get some photos of the band. The building was smaller than the one in Cincinnati, and it did not take me long to find the green room. Two security guards leaned against the wall and waved me through without any questions once they saw my Gazette credentials. After walking behind the stage and down a narrow hallway, I found an area that had been outfitted with two couches and several fake-leather chairs. A large mirror hung on the wall and had been bordered with more band stickers than I could count. The room itself, however, was empty.
From behind me, a voice chirped, “They’re having a smoke.”
She was young. Barely college-aged if I had to guess. Her voice pitched high and made her seem younger. Her t-shirt had been ripped intentionally along the neckline and fell open before tightening into a knot at the girl’s back. She did not offer me her name or any more information as she sipped at a bottle of beer.
I am not here for this, I thought as I looked for the exit.
The mirror, patched with many names that I did not recognize, caught my eye again, and I lifted my camera. I quite liked how the emptiness of the room was reflected in the center of the mirror. It is not all stage lights and booming beats; sometimes it’s solitude and isolation behind the curtain.
My lens still covered half of my face when Mickey crossed behind me and added breath to the lonely scene. Before I could move, I snapped a series of images.
He neared me with an intimacy that caused me to shiver, and, with his chin hovering just above my shoulder, said, “Let me see what you see.”
Shifting to the left opened enough room for him to peek through the eyepiece. For a moment, Mickey and I saw as one. There were no whispering songs hummed from angel’s lips or the gentle strumming of harp strings from the nine muses accompanying the moment. It was simply a recovering junkie and a wannabe killer gazing upon the fading beauty of a hidden room. With him beside me, I noticed how the paint peeled from a water leak in the upper left corner. A burgundy rug frayed at its edges, causing the swirling flowers to escape their boundaries as if in flight.
Runaway Roses, I mused to myself, naming the photograph.
In the corner of the room sat a rusting refrigerator, miniature by design and rhythmically vibrating. With the humming melody as his background vocals, Mickey sang into my ear.
“Come with me for a moment. It is my turn to show you what I see.”
He tugged at my hand, and I blindly followed after him, my camera heavy against my neck. The sound of a snare drum pulsed in harmony with my heart, loudening as we neared the stage until the roaring thumps made my teeth clank into one another in protest. When he finally stopped, the two of us stood beside the main stage, out of sight but near enough to stare upon the dancing crowd. Their movements were maddening as their bodies pounded against one another with no regard to beat or sound. It was a thing of beauty, for those gathered had come free from restraint or duty or memory.
Closing my eyes, I leaned against Mickey and thought of the Amphitheater of Pompeii. Its stone design once buried in ash now rises in full glory, having long been protected by Vesuvius’s veil. Inside, rows of stone benches arch around its core. Overgrown grass covers the rear rows, where the commoners once might have sat. Games of sport and theatrics long entertained the Pompeiians, until a deadly brawl inside the amphitheater resulted in a ten-year ban on such activities. But the ban did not last once a great earthquake roared across the city, leaving much of it in ruins.
The lands are ours to rule and reign, the gods had reminded the Pompeiians. Our justice is mighty and inescapable. We are the true kings.
“Take a picture of us,” Mickey pleaded so close to me that my neck warmed with his breath.
I was back in Columbus, far from the ancient world and with a man who I had met too late at my side. So far I had been careful to play my role and keep all else a secret. Yet I could not resist his request.
It is that picture, the one of the two of us surrounded by the sounds of a band whose name I never knew that I cherish most. Yet, there have been moments when I wish that I had not taken it. Later, you will understand why.
To fit us both in, I angled my arm to the side after setting a quick timer.
“We have to hold the pose for five seconds,” I had warned Mickey.
With each second that ticked by, he had moved closer, until his lips pressed against my cheek and his arm wrapped around my waist. It was as if a spell had been cast over me, and, despite my sobriety, my vision thickened and my head spun. Afterward, an hour later perhaps, I remember wondering if anybody had seen us. That thought had come too late.
“Are you staying for the show?”
“I’m here to cover the show,” I laughed.
“What crime has been committed?” he asked playfully.
Should I have told him then of my plans? Of the diamond ring that I had hidden in my car before I walked to the concert? Most times, it is only after time’s passing that we realize our errors. But I knew then that I should confess my sins as if he wore a priestly shroud instead of tight jeans. Had Todd not arrived moments later, I might have.
The gods did not will it so, and it is they who control the wheel of time; we only follow their commands.
I could not hear what he asked, so I hurriedly separated from Mickey and beckoned for Todd to follow me off the stage.
“Have you out-scooped me?” he asked with no heat or annoyance.
Sighing, I said, “Hardly. But I do think that Mr. Kline will give you an interview. He knew of my work and even suggested I photograph him at my side. Maybe he is drunk or high, but I would advise you to seize this chance.”
By then, I had known that Todd witnessed our photograph and decided it best to address my carelessness directly.
With a rare smile, he said, “The hands of fate work in my favor.”
Todd bowed dramatically to me, a kingly curtsy that told me he didn’t entirely believe my explanation. But he rushed to speak with Mickey, and I trailed after them as they made their way back to the green room. There were warnings that I longed to whisper to Mickey, but I dared not risk being overheard. Yet, in those moments, my fantasy and reality collided, as if a meteor streaked toward Columbus, a gray, craterous rock ready to crush me beneath its flaming impact. My breath would not settle, I suddenly realized as I choked with a gasping exhale.
As they settled in to talk, I excused myself and ran to find a bathroom. Behind the second closed door, I nearly crashed against a trio of girls falling onto themselves as they wiped at their noses and exited a private room. Cocaine, I guessed, but I kept my camera docile by my side.
For the next five minutes, I stood in the bathroom, uncertain and anxious. It was almost as if I feared that Todd had some supernatural power to hear my thoughts, yet I reasoned with myself that such was impossible. He was no Coeus, the Titan god of old who could see beyond the obvious and admitted. Todd, whom I had known for years, was mortal; I had seen him age with his now-graying hair and lines around his eyes. The worst-case scenario was that he had eyed the closeness between Mickey and me and assumed that there might be more happening or some shared history. Even that moment could be explained away as a photo opportunity with a rising star, similar to the ones that hundreds had taken with him over the years. Why I was so scattered and panicky made little sense, yet my lungs still expanded at a rapid pace and burned with exertion.
A knock at the door made me jump so suddenly that the side of my head slammed into a light sconce. Shaking fingers checked to make sure that I was not bleeding before I opened the door. The young woman from earlier stood there flush-faced and sweating, and I mumbled an apology before hurrying off.
On my walk back to the green room, I closed my eyes and tho
ught of Nemesis. And not only of her, but of the other goddesses, too. In all the tales, myths, and histories that I had read, I could not recall thinking that any of them felt fear.
“I must embody such a mantle,” I reminded myself in whispers.
Not long after and from ten feet away, I snapped several pictures of Todd interviewing the Moon Kings. The other members, whose names I knew only from my research, had joined them and seemed to be answering questions as well. Even with their increasing sales, the Moon Kings had not yet reached a level where they could decline local press. None of the other members acknowledged me, despite the easy truth that they must have recognized me from the clinic’s parking lot.
Just then, I realized with a loosening sense of relief that it was Mickey’s addiction that protected me from further exposure. His bandmates would pretend as if they did not know me in order to keep his visit a secret. To any of them, I did not exist. Nothing could have eased my mind more than such a thought, and I smiled as I photographed the Moon Kings clumped together on the narrow couch in the center of the green room. That knowledge spread a warm blanket over me, allowing me to enjoy the moment.
Once the interview had been completed, I followed Todd away from the stage. I had said nothing to Mickey as he rushed to ready himself for their set.
“That was actually pleasant,” Todd mentioned as we waited off to the side and away from the rest of the crowd. “Having a pretty girl at my side opens doors that would otherwise remain closed.”
For a brief moment, I nearly objected to his characterization. “Will you try to get me away from my life of crime?” I laughed, at peace.
“Not at all. There is no real art coming from photographing celebrities and performers. And, really, your name will always be forgotten next to the subject captured. You do not seem like someone seeking fame, Dandelion.”
“Hardly.”
“Will you continue to work once you are married?” a reluctant Todd asked with apparent embarrassment.
Making sure that I did not hesitate, despite my contentment having been shattered, I told him, “William understands how important my job is to me and would never ask me to quit. It won’t surprise you that he plans on running for office someday, but even then he would not expect me to abandon my passions.”
“You are lucky then to have a partner that accepts that. Most politicians are not so flexible.”
Like nearly everyone else, Todd believed the image that William had created and that I had just reinforced. But I could not blame him. William was better than most at the game, and his public persona had been chiseled into a flawless, marble statue for people to admire and honor. I let them all believe the lies.
Regardless, there was no time to respond as the Moon Kings crept onto stage under darkened lights.
“What is fate to the gods?” the dusky voice of Mickey asked the crowd as shadows danced across him.
My words. My inquiry. His challenge.
No one else would understand as I had.
The lights around him sizzled yellow, as if lightning bolts struck at his sides. Behind him the thunderous drum snare called. Unlike in Cincinnati, the Moon Kings opened with their hit song, “Glory,” and the fans around us threw their limbs into frenzied worship.
This time, however, I listened closely. As I suspected, Mickey sang altered lyrics.
Glory to those who let the new gods die.
The After Party
Once the house lights switched on with a sober brightness, I asked Todd what he thought of the show.
“Better than I expected. They remind me of a young U2. I thought I would be venturing into that surreal world of jam bands, but the Moon Kings seem far too jaded to travel that circuit. I can see why so many college kids like them; they speak on a higher plane than many pop rock bands. That intellectual edge is a hard sell. However, I can’t complain that they have found success with it.”
“I’ll send you some images that match that description,” I told him as we walked toward a side exit.
He nodded and said, “I’d offer to stay for a drink, but Mel wasn’t feeling well when I left so I need to head home.”
“Of course. Tell her I say hello.”
Once Todd was far enough away, I pulled my burner phone from an outside pocket of my camera bag. In the corner, a small light blinked, reminding me that I had a message.
The Red Oak Hotel. Room 365. I’ll be there in 30.
On my personal phone, William had left a voicemail telling me that he’d be home late since a group was meeting up at a cigar bar. Something in his tone sounded strained, and even though I had expected him to be drunk, his voice pitched high. Enough so that I half-ran to my car. Elizabeth’s house was nearby, and I drove the half-mile slowly, reckless and uncaring that I had not taken the bus. It was nearly midnight when I parked at the end of her block behind an oversized SUV. As I lifted my camera to my face, I sighed out loud in some sort of acceptance. I knew what I would see as I zoomed closer. There, in her driveway, was William’s Mercedes. My camera slid to the passenger seat without me ever having taken a picture. It no longer mattered, as I’ve mentioned before.
Even so, I still did not sleep with Mickey that night. We chatted for hours about our childhoods and teen years. Unsurprisingly, Mickey’s parents knew little of what he did when they were not home.
“Most of my free time was spent learning how to play the guitar. I did well in school, and that was enough for them. It wasn’t until my college years that I started to get into opiates. There was no real reason or tragedy that led me to that road, I hate to admit. I just liked the fucking way the drugs made me feel.”
“I was too broke in college to buy anything beyond happy hour specials,” I merrily admitted.
It was not until the sun’s early orange rays pulled above the horizon that Mickey asked me about William.
“You did some research,” I stated evenly. A denial seemed unfair.
“We don’t have to speak about him, if that is what you prefer. I’ve been dating a woman for a few months myself. It’s not going anywhere, but I’d rather you know.”
Without looking at him, I said, “I’m getting married in September.”
“Even now?”
His words, brief and mumbled apologetically, cuffed me across the face with their simple accusation.
“The less you know, the safer you will be,” I finally offered, with a vagueness necessary to shield Mickey from what would come.
“Get the hell out of here with that shit!” Mickey grumbled as he gently pushed me off the bed.
What was the point of saying more? I had known him for less than a week; to trust him would have been foolishly insane. In my own way, I sought to protect him, although I doubt you readers would see it that way. Clinging to his offered hand as if I had fallen overboard, Mickey pulled me back onto the bed.
Sitting next to him, his leg thrown loosely on top of mine, I admitted, “I met you days ago, Mickey. You can’t expect me to change my whole life over a chance encounter.”
“Actually I do.”
“Mickey,” I moaned as I fell backward across the bed.
The skies lightened, and I already had no idea how I would explain my absence. Yet each time I had readied to leave, I listened to one more story. At the time, I suspected that I would never see Mickey again and dared William’s wrath to learn more of the enigmatic, recovering rocker. Later, after William had thrown a plate at my face, I thought of Mickey’s off-centered smile. As I toweled off the blood that snaked down my cheek from a gash slicing through my eyebrow, I smiled at the memory. It had been worth it.
He only kissed me once, for any more than that and I would have tempted the gods’ fury. His lips never touched mine; instead, they moved from my neck to my ear and across my forehead before traveling down my cheek.
“I half-love you already,” he paused to whisper.
Resting my head on his chest, I begged for some time.
“Give me half a y
ear. Please. Live as if you never met me until then.”
My request sounded easier than it would ever be to execute. But I asked anyway, a demand unspoken.
“Is this where you remind me that absence makes the heart grow fonder?” he asked as I stood outside the door.
Quietly, I shook my head. There was nothing more I could say. We had had two nights together, chaste ones, as if this lifetime was a distant one.
“Don’t lose my number, Dandelion. Call or text every hour if you like. If you need anything, I will be at your side.”
That is how we parted. His words loud in my head as I walked down the leaf-lined red carpet of the hotel. By the time I arrived at my car, I had decided to visit the office. Once there, I would upload the images and sort through them to send the best ones to Todd. His review would be in the Sunday edition, but I figured I could tell William that I had a tight deadline and had spent the night at the office. With that thought in mind, I called him from my desk a short time later.
He was not awake, so I texted him a picture of me sitting at my desk and staring at my computer.
“Still here,” I wrote. “Home soon, I hope.”
By the time I opened the door to our house, he was awake. Hungover, too, by the looks and smells of it.
Seated on the couch with a plate of pancakes in his lap, William called out, “Long night.”
“Entertainment reporting is a different type of work,” I answered. “I guess I should be glad that I mostly cover crime and car wrecks.”
“How was the dinner?” I asked as I poured a cup of coffee.
“It was what you would expect. The Governor was there and made a point to talk with me for quite some time, so I think that bodes well.”
After dropping into a blue-lined chair across from him, I asked if he had spoken with Toby.
“No I haven’t, Dani. And I find it strange that you can speak of our wedding after having been gone all night.”
“I was working.”