The Art of Falling
Page 16
He turned into the school parking lot and stopped beside the Corvair.
“Thank you,” she said, sliding off the bike after he cut the motor. “I needed this.”
“Me too.” He took back the helmet she offered him and attached to the seat.
In the space of five heartbeats – Bria counted each one – she stared into his eyes and he stared back. Then, in silent agreement, she met him halfway and kissed him, his soft curls twisting around her fingers, entangling her.
She slid away enough to speak, foreheads still pressed together. “See you tomorrow?”
“Bright and early.”
With a grin she tried to hold back by biting down on her lower lip, she backed away toward her car. A victorious gleam sparkled in Raf’s eyes and he winked at her before slamming his foot down on the clutch and peeling out of the parking lot.
Bria shook her head and bent to unlock the door of the Corvair. A flash of dark green tugged at the corner of her eye and she turned, sucking her in her breath at Ben’s haunted face, staring, still staring, at where Rafael’s motorcycle stood moments before. As if she’d conjured him into the parking lot with her wandering, deceitful thoughts.
“Hey.” He stared at her, stock still and emotionless, save for the tension in his jaw.
“Hi.” She shifted her keys from hand to hand. “What are you doing here?”
He pointed back toward the high school. “I just finished a workout.”
“Oh. Right.”
“So you and him.” His words held a bite she’d never heard before.
Her stomach twisted and lurched like she’d set a live wire to it. “We went for a ride.” Her voice dropped on the last word.
He shook his head. “You are something else, Bria Hale.”
She almost believed the hurt behind his eyes. “What doesn’t that mean?”
“What do you think?”
“I have no idea. You, of all people, don’t get a say in this.”
He’d moved closer, imperceptibly, until he stood beside the car. “I don’t know how I was so wrong about you.”
“Funny. I’m wondering the exact same thing about you.” She climbed into the car, slamming the door shut, and then backed away as fast as she could without hitting him.
Not that the idea hadn’t occurred to her.
And then Mom’s insufferable eyes glared back and she just wanted to crawl into a hole and never interact with another human being again. Ever.
Because it wasn’t her fault.
Ben kissed Alyson.
She had nothing to feel guilty about.
She did nothing wrong.
Ben. Kissed. Alyson.
The end.
Bria pulled into her driveway and stared at the house. The oversized front door loomed in front of her, cast into shadow by the overhang. Dad hadn’t turned on the outside lights even though he knew she’d be late.
It wasn’t unusual. It wasn’t because he didn’t care either. He just didn’t know he should care.
She ached from the absence of a mother waiting for her on the other side of the door, for arms to run into and a shoulder to cry against. Another woman to help her sort out what she was feeling.
Because she sure as hell couldn’t do it herself.
She unlocked the door and pushed it open, the emptiness beyond luring her inside. Near the end of the hall, the light from Dad’s office cast a yellow pathway through the darkness.
She hitched Rafael’s jacket up around her shoulders and headed for the stairs. The echoing thud of her boots on the tile entry must have alerted Dad to her presence, but he didn’t stir from his office.
She flung herself down on her bed, pulling the duvet free from where Consuela had tucked it in around the mattress. Rolling onto her side, she reached into her bedside table and withdrew the photo from the pier.
The boy kissing her cheek looked genuine. He looked honest and wholesome and like the kind of boy you’d let meet your dad. There was no way that same boy could do what he’d done.
So why, why had she done the same thing?
“Pumpkin Pie?” Dad rapped his knuckles against the door in a familiar rhythm. Rap. Tap, tap, tap.
“It’s unlocked.” She shoved the photo back into the drawer.
“I didn’t hear you come home.” He sank into the easy chair across from her bed.
“I just got in. I went out with Raf.”
“Right. Consuela told me that. That’s like your second date with him, right?”
She covered her face with her hands. “Third.”
“Oh. Whoa.”
“We’re not talking about this, Dad.”
“Oh. Kay.” He shifted in the chair. “Are you alright?”
A sigh slipped out. “Nope. But not because of him. He’s great.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
He shifted in his chair, rearranging his glasses. “Do you need Aunt Becky?”
She laughed. “No. It’s stupid. Just another boy.”
“Should I send one of my guys after him? Because I have guys.”
She turned her head to smile at him. “It’ll be fine. And we are so not talking about this any more.”
“Good.”
A yawn slipped out and she rubbed away the moisture it brought to her eyes. “Did you need something?”
“Right!” He grinned. “I just got off the phone. Criminal Casino is playing the Viper Room next week and I pulled some strings to get you on the guest list.”
Bria shot up from the bed. “No way.”
He shrugged. “Call it an early graduation gift. You and two friends.”
“You don’t want to go? Take a date?”
He pushed up from the chair. “I’m too old for shows at the Viper Room. Beside, the only date I’d want to take hasn’t been to a concert in six years.”
“Abby and Dolores are going to flip.”
“Good. They’re a lot of fun live.”
“You are the best.”
“’Night, Pumpkin Pie.”
Bria sank back into her pillows. One upside to things imploding with Ben: she wouldn’t have to pick between her friends.
She grabbed her phone to text Abby and Dolores, remembering Rafael at the last moment. She paused, thumb poised over the send button.
Chapter Twenty-seven
“That took forever,” Abby said, trudging up San Vicente Boulevard after Bria.
“We found free street parking in Hollywood on a Saturday night,” Dolores said. “I count that as a miracle. That plus a spot on the guest list for Criminal Casino? I say we canonize Bria.”
“Thank my dad for the tickets.”
“And she did pick us over her boyfriend,” Abby said.
“We’re only sort of dating. He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Yet.”
Dolores shot her a sideways look. “Noncommittal much?”
“Nothing wrong with keeping your options open.” Abby said.
“Yeah. And how long was your longest relationship?”
Abby scrunched up her face, pretending to count on her fingers. “I’ve been with Eli for like two months. And that’s still longer than any of yours.”
Dolores shrugged. “I have yet to meet a boy worth dating. Besides, I’m just happy Mom hasn’t shipped me off to a convent yet.”
They turned up Sunset Boulevard, slightly winded from the climb. A crowd hovered on the corner, blocking the entrance of the neighboring liquor store.
For once Bria and her friends looked tame. Amid the body piercing and facial tattoos, rainbow colored hair and fishnets didn’t even register.
Bria pushed through the crowd and straight to the bouncer guarding the door.
“Hale,” she said nodding at the list.
His eyes swept over them before he lifted the first sheet on his clipboard.
“You know it is 21 and over, right?”
“Yep.” She fidgeted with the driver’s license in t
he pocket of her hoodie.
“IDs?”
Bria grabbed her friends’ from their out stretched hands and offered them to the bouncer. With a perfunctory glance, he handed them back and waved for her to stick out her wrist for the entrance stamp.
“Enjoy the show, ma’am.”
“He didn’t buy that, did he?” Abby said as they moved into the long, narrow hallway leading to the main room of the club.
“Not even a little,” Bria said.
“So why’d he let us in?” Dolores asked.
“He saw my dad’s name.”
“I totally forget he’s some kind of rock star.”
“Only in certain circles.” Bria smiled. “This is one of them.”
The inside of the Viper Room was darker than the outside, with floors, walls and ceiling all painted matte black. A tiny stage cut diagonally across one corner and six or seven booths lined the walls jutting out from behind the curtains. A glass-topped bar lit with green neons occupied a third wall, leaving the fourth blank. There was hardly enough room to breathe, much less move.
“Maximum 250?” Abby yelled, pointing at the occupancy sign. “Yeah, right.”
“My dad would freak,” Bria yelled back. “The promoter most not have read the contract close enough.”
The room smelled of damp breath and sweat. On stage, the singer held his microphone toward the swirling crowd and twenty people lunged toward the stage, clamoring to scream along with the band. Body slammed against body in a violent dance. Lights from the stage illuminated faces contorted with anger, framed by hair manipulated into fantastic colors and shapes. Boots beat the floor and fists pumped the air.
“Come on,” Bria said, grabbing her friends by their wrists and pulling them forward. The crowd closed around them, sucking her into the vortex. She threw her hands up and let the momentum carry her away.
~
Bria’s ears rang and her eyes throbbed from the strobes. Criminal Casino finished their set with an encore and the noise level dropped as the sound guy switched over to a record while the band tore down and the club emptied.
“Awesome, right?” she said, her voice hoarse from screaming along.
“Oh my God,” Abby said. “I love you forever for getting us in here.”
“So worth lying to my mom,” Dolores said.
“Bria’s dad reps the band,” Abby said. “Which is practically the same thing as hanging out at her house. So it’s not really a lie at all.”
“Do you hear yourself when you say these things?” Bria asked.
“Hey.” The lead singer from the band hopped down from the stage and reached his hand out to Bria. “You’re Archie’s daughter, right?”
“Bria.”
“You look just like him.”
She smiled and pulled her star-struck friends forward. “This is Abby and Dolores.”
“Tyler,” he said, shaking hands all around, pausing when he reached Dolores.
“Lor. Dolores. Herrera. Hi.”
“Me and the guys are heading across the street for some food. You guys want to come?” He finally let go of Dolores’s hand and looked at Bria again. “As a thank you to your dad.”
Bria opened her mouth to protest, but Dolores spoke first.
“Sure. Of course. Right, Bri?”
“Why not?”
Tyler grinned. With his jagged, longish hair and guyliner, he looked every bit a pretty boy rock star, but a sheepish smile brought him back to earth. “Sweet. I just gotta finish up. We don’t get roadies yet.”
“We can totally help,” Dolores said. “Right?”
Abby and Bria exchanged a look.
“Yeah?” Tyler said, moving closer to Dolores.
“Right behind you,” Abby said as they walked away. She turned to Bria. “Okay. Run down. Is he okay? Do we need to intervene? This is Dolores we’re talking about.”
“My dad says they’re good kids. They work really hard. Always show up for gigs.”
“You know her mom is going to kill you for introducing her to a rock star.”
“You are just as much at fault as me.”
“Dios mío.” Abby winked at her and skipped across the room.
Bria hopped onto the stage and picked up a cable.
“Your dad teach you that?” the bassist asked, pointing at the way she’d wrapped the cable.
“I don’t even remember.” She grinned. “I think I was born wrapping cables. One of the hazards of a stage family.”
“Don’t tell me you’re dating a guy in a band.”
“How’d you guess?”
“Too obvious.” He sighed. “What does he play?”
“Bass. And he’s their primary songwriter. They do this metal/hardcore thing. Kind of like early Boy Sets Fire, but with more of a Metallica sound in the guitar.” She handed off the cable and picked up another.
“They’re that good?”
“Oh, no. No way. But they don’t totally suck.”
He grinned. “So supportive.”
“Dad taught me too well.”
“I’m surprised you’re not rebelling and hooking up with a jock. I’d get sick of being around this all the time.”
She laughed a little too loud. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“My wife is nurse. She likes techno pop. It’s awesome.”
Bria’s took in his tattooed arms, scruffy beard and calloused hands. “Wife?”
“I’m the old man of the group, but she’s my high school sweetheart. Got married at right after graduation.”
“So my friend isn’t jailbait?”
“Nah. Ty’s a good kid. Finally turned 21 this summer. Makes it easier to do gigs like this. How’d you guys get in anyway?”
“The usual. Fake IDs.”
He shook his head. “Maybe I should be looking out for Ty.”
“Dolores is about as much trouble as a puppy.”
“So she’ll pee on the floor of the van?”
She laughed. “Sure. I’m Bria by the way.”
“Tim.”
“Ready, guys?” Tyler said, passing his guitar case into the trailer pulled up on the sidewalk outside the club.
The worn, middle-aged waitress at the diner across the street heaved a sigh when they came through the door. She seated them in a corner booth, taking orders for coffee, pancakes, burgers, nachos and onion rings. It was a gastronomical nightmare.
“Hey, Bria,” Tyler called from the end of the table. Dolores sat next to him. Or rather, almost on top of him. “Most underrated album of all time?”
“War by U2,” she said. “Everyone talks about Joshua Tree, but War is solid all the way through.”
“No way War is better,” Tim said around a bit of French toast. “Where the Streets Have No Name? Or With or Without You?”
“Bullet the Blue Sky,” Tyler said.
“Right!”
“Joshua Tree has better songs, but War is a better album,” Bria said.
“Not this again,” Abby groaned. “Great songs make a great album.”
“There’s a difference,” Bria said.
“Okay.” Tim nodded. “I get that. An album as a whole is a different thing than a single.”
“Right. Everyone just buys singles and thinks they can judge a whole album by that, but that’s like judging a book by a single sentence.”
“‘Call me Ishmael,’” Abby said. “Boring. Just like the rest of Moby Dick.”
“Take that back,” Tyler said, holding his hand to his heart. “Don’t you get the symbolism? The nature of good and evil? The very existence of God?”
“There’s a chapter about the color white,” Abby said.
“Okay, you want to talk overrated books?” Tyler said. “On the Road.”
“You did not just dis Jack Kerouac,” Tim said.
Bria laughed. “Are we about to break up the band over classic literature?”
“I have to argue this stuff with someone,” Tim said. “The wife isn’t much of a reader.”
“Not according to Tim’s Theory of Relationships,” Tyler said.
“Right.” He swallowed the rest of a chicken wing. “You should always marry your complete opposite. It keeps things interesting.”
“Just because you’re the only person at this table with a real relationship doesn’t mean you’re an expert,” Tyler said.
“No, but my parents are both therapists. That has to count for something.”
“They must be so proud,” Abby said.
“My brother is this close to his PhD. He took all the pressure off me.”
“Aren’t brothers great for that?”
“Not all of us are so lucky,” Tyler said.
“Yeah, he’s the responsible one in our family,” the drummer said.
Bria grinned, recognizing the family resemblance.
Tyler threw a French fry at his brother and he tossed an insult back. Laughter erupted around the table.
Bria settled against the back of the booth, letting the conversation swirl around her. The warm coffee and spirited talk lulled her into a comfortable haze and stress of the last weeks bled off her. The clock ticked past midnight, one, two, until she almost forgot about Ben.
Almost.
Chapter Twenty-eight
From her usual spot on the Mesa/Boogie, Bria nodded along to Jackie’s steady beat, backed up by Rafael’s relentless bass. Matt soared into a bridge, shifting his singing voice into a scream while the others came in on the harmonies.
“Shit.” Matt yanked his hand away from the guitar, holding up a bloodied palm. “Broke my high E again.”
“Dude.” Jackie set down his sticks. “That is gnarly.”
“I’ve got some strings inside,” Rafael said. He dropped his bass onto the stand beside Bria. “Be nice to my girl while I’m gone.”
She rolled her eyes. “I think I can handle these two.”
"I meant the StingRay." He planted a quick kiss on her lips and disappeared into the house.