Where to leave the money? Maybe I should spread it out on the bed so he and the Mrs. can enjoy a tasty romp. Better yet, Bobby always did love a good laugh.
Inside the sun-filled kitchen I create a piece of art. The money gets spread into a circle before I squish a tomato on top, and then finish it with a hunk of cheese. "You can't make pizza without dough, mate. Hope you don't try to bake it."
My core gets tugged from the inside. Niles must have finished with Mrs. Stoddard. Time's ticking away.
Bernie, our keyboard player, passed on a few years back, but his wife is still kicking. Inside a flat somewhere outside of London, a senior-aged woman in a waitress uniform puts on her jacket and tosses her purse over her shoulder before heading to the mantle. With a kiss to her fingertips she touches them to an urn and smiles despite her sad eyes. "Bye, honey. I'll be home in a few hours. Love you." In my mind she turns into a senior version of the Jane that could have been. Life can be so wrong. Everyone deserves someone to stand by their side so they don't have to shed their tears alone.
While standing at attention before the mantle, pain resides heavily in my heart as I salute and solemnly utter, "See you on the other side soon, mate."
My humorous spirit now seems lost, yet I move forward with placing his third of the cash in the produce drawer of the refrigerator. I force a smile and hope his wife will remember how Bern used to refer to money as cabbage.
Now, why does Bobby have Johnny's platinum record?
My thoughts take me to the other side of London. I land in a seedy alley you only ever want to see in films and you certainly don't want to smell. Piss and puke bake in the sun along with sweat from derelicts. Every other time I have tried to come to a person, no matter how odd the path has been, I've been guided in the proper direction. This does not bode well for my old friend.
Trudging onward, my feet seem to step into mud. On the pavement lies an old man, curled on the ground, asleep, and wearing a tattered, old, wool trench coat. His hand barely holds a needle. My friend is nearly unrecognizable, not merely from age and self-abuse, but also from a hearty coating of swill. "Johnny, old boy." I do my best to rattle him awake. "Hey, Johnny. Wake up, it's Pete."
He scarcely moves.
"Hey, Johnny, come on. It's Peter. Peter Lane. Remember me?" Johnny starts to come to. His mouth parts as if in awe of seeing an angel.
"Pe … Pete?" His voice sounds paved with gravel.
"Yeah, Johnny Boy. It's me."
"I didn't think you'd be the one to greet me in Hell." He groans and rolls back into a fetal position.
Again I rattle him. "Johnny, you're not dead. You need help."
"I'm not?" He sounds disappointed at the fortune of living to see the day.
"Why does Bobby have your award?"
Johnny's brow crinkles as if he hasn't a clue what I'm saying. He then shakes his head and smacks his lips like there's a bad taste in his mouth. "He won't let me have it. What's it really worth to us anyway?"
Why was everything so hard for us? We didn't get what we deserved and nobody wanted to talk about it—not anyone in the industry and certainly none of the authorities. That computer thing Rosalyn has tells people claim the only problem with that last album was it was ahead of its time. What rubbish. Releasing something the world's not ready for only shows everybody else is behind. Sadly, you can't make society catch up to where you are.
Somewhere in there the real lesson lies. My life fell apart because others weren't ready to hear what I had to say, whether it was musically or regarding the industry's shady ways. People don't want to step outside the comfort of their homes and put themselves on the line by saying anything in the defense of others because the world shuns those who are different. Every now and again someone manages to slip through the cracks of normalcy in a way that gets them heralded as a genius, which generally happens after they've died. Not respecting someone while they are alive is a perverse way of showing respect for the dead. What's so wrong with respect for the living? The lessons we teach our children are abominable.
My generation thought we were destined to change the world. Instead this world hasn't changed a dammed bit. If anything, it's gotten worse. There are ridiculous wars that nobody wants, widespread hunger, and laws still prohibit people from marrying whomever they want. It's damn disgusting, and somehow I need to be a part of change.
The tug toward Niles deepens as my time to act shortens. "Come on, Johnny. Let's get you to the bus. I'm taking you to a friend."
"No." His voice is barely audible. "The only friend I want to see is our father."
"Johnny, come on. Get up and follow me." I try to shake him awake, but I'm fading. I have to get this cash to Bobby along with a note to help Johnny before it's too late.
When I arrive, Bobby stands in the kitchen musing over the pizza. "Bobby? Bobby can you hear me?" Bobby's eyes glance around the room and find nothing unusual. He rattles his noggin. "Bobby, it's Pete. I left the money."
Again he eyes the room in wonder. "Great. Now I'm hearing things. Decades later, all that acid has finally caught up to me."
"Bobby, Johnny really needs you."
"Well," he says, sounding resigned. "At least the voices are friendly. I miss you, Pete."
"Bobby, try to listen. Johnny needs help."
He scoffs. "The Johnny I have thrown into rehab twice to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars? The Johnny who won't come clean? The Johnny whose platinum record I have because I basically stole it from him so that he couldn't sell it for drugs." Shackles seem to weigh his voice. "We were given this great honor, and we all should've been there. Instead it was just me and Stoddard. Now I'm hearing voices. Humph. It figures. Nothing ever added up with the four of us."
Bobby's feet stomp as he walks out the back door. Outside the kitchen window the flicker of his lighter's flame brings me a shudder, and my eyes slam closed. He's right. We should have all been there. Worse, Johnny could have been, if he cared enough about himself. What can you do when someone doesn't want to be helped? You can only put yourself out there so many times before …
After tossing another handful of cash on the counter, I pop back to Bernie's house and leave the remainder of the money next to his urn. "One more for the road, mate." With the scribble of a note on a scrap off of an old magazine I head back to Niles—home where I belong.
Today Your Love, Tomorrow The World
My Camaro races up the hill, its tires screeching with urgency at every turn. My knees jittered the entire flight home, causing me to spend a small fortune on little bottles of alcohol just to keep my sanity. I should have insisted Peter pop in on Rosalyn and tell her I'm on my way with big news. What if I'm too late? What if I never really had a chance? I may have a nice car, beautiful home, and high salary, but when it comes right down to it, Shane has so much more to offer.
But not for much longer.
Tires squeal as I swerve, barely missing a squirrel. After being stuck in L.A. freeway traffic residential streets feel liberating. Finally her house stands before me.
The click, clomp of my boots hitting the pavement matches the pounding of my heart as I run to her door. Please be home. Don't be out doing something stupid with Shane.
No, this is Rosalyn. She's not that kind of girl. There's nothing to worry about. Right?
Bam! Bam! Bam! My fist hits the door. If anyone's home, they're going to kill me for running up like the block is about to combust. Footsteps race up to the other side of the barrier that flies open to reveal Jacqueline. "Niles? What the hell?"
"I need to see Rosalyn."
Jacqueline shakes her head like I'm a hopeless case that won't go away. "She's out."
Damn it. Where would Shane take her? They are probably at the movies, but how many theaters are there in Los Angeles? My fingers snap. "The movies … I was supposed to take Rosalyn to that film festival ending tonight. That's where they went."
Jacqueline's voice halts me as I reach the bottom porch step. "Niles,
please don't try to track her down. Why don't you give her a call in the morning?"
Don't give up. Keep running.
No. Jacqueline's her best friend. Win her over.
But how? This isn't a jury. Juries require professional decorum laced with anything resembling compassion, but women need the real deal.
I'm screwed. I've no Rosalyn, no Peter, and no magical transformation into a prince. I return to the porch and lean against the post so it can take the burden of my weight. Peter said I could only process about five percent of a normal person's capacity to love. Right now that five percent is giving me chest pains. "I know I screwed up, but I'm about to fix myself, and I want her to be there when it happens."
Jacqueline's brows scrunch. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Rosalyn belongs with me, and I need to stop her before … What if she actually loves being with him and I've already lost my chance?"
My head bounces back against the post. It hardly knocks sense into me. "Screw it, I'm finding her."
"Niles, wait. I don't understand a word you are saying, but … Rox is in her room. She's been having a rough time, so please watch what you say to her."
In a flash, I'm through the door and nearly mowing over Jacqueline. My feet rumble up the steps like the lead-in to an earthquake. I touch the cool knob then jerk back my hand. Remember, Niles, people like privacy. Don't screw this up before you even plead your case.
Knock. Beat. Knock. Beat. Knock.
Breathe.
"Hey, that new dress may—" Rosalyn's door flies open. Her pale skin peeks out under a black bra and panty set. She's delicious, beautiful, and sexy as hell as she shocks me.
Gasp! She slams the door. "Just a minute!"
This is nothing. She probably always dresses this way. It has nothing to do with her dating Shane.
The hell she does! Damn it, Peter, where the crap are you?
Slowly the door reopens. Rosalyn keeps her chin to her chest with her eyes barely peering at me. Her flesh is covered in a soft pink satin robe that accents rosy cheeks. She looks so damn beautiful. "Hi."
"Hi. Have uh—Have you seen Peter?" And what the hell is up with the take-me-now outfit?
She draws the robe tightly across her, looking totally embarrassed and absolutely adorable. "Not since Wednesday. Everything okay?"
"No. Nothing is okay. Rosalyn, I can't retract my words, but please know I had the best of intentions when I related to the situation the only way I knew how. I will never, ever forgive myself, and I don't expect you to either. Please, stay here with me tonight. Give me one last chance to try to make everything better. I can't promise you the romance you deserve, but I can promise to stand by you no matter where life takes you."
Rosalyn's eyes go to the ground. She has that look people get when they are about to say something that will bring forth pain. How can I stop her from dumping me again? Girls like Rosalyn deserve better than to give people who hurt them another chance. I'm too late.
Her mouth begins to open, and my eyes close her off. With the grab of a breath I brace myself for the inevitable.
"Niles, how can I not give you a chance when there is so much about you to love?"
Slowly my eyes open to her soft and gentle features that are braving an awkward glow. What I can only describe as an ache of hope drifts across my face, filling my breath and gripping my throat. She's taking a chance. She's taking a chance on me! Me, the Niles of old. The Niles who wronged her. Not the person I hope to become, but the person I've always been. The one called unlovable by almost everyone. No matter what lies ahead for Peter and I, the Niles of the last thirty-one years just found life.
Tears fall from my eyes. They are not streams of loneliness but rivers of hope. I did it. I found acceptance. For the first time I am real to someone other than me.
Rosalyn gives me an eager nod that tells me I've found someone who will stand by me through the madness of my world. She steps into my arms, and all I want to do is hold her for as long as she will allow.
"So why were you asking about Peter?" Rox asks, still wrapped in my embrace. "He's been suspiciously absent. Is everything all right?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I expected to see him when I got off the plane. It couldn't have happened already. I don't feel any different. Something's wrong."
Wait. I've been running around like a madman. Did I immediately start pulling Peter in once I gave Mrs. Stoddard the drive? If not and this turns out to be one of those things where the magic was already inside me and I just needed to find the catalyst, I'm gonna be pissed! I hate that crap!
Rosalyn pulls back. "The plane?"
"We did it, Rox. We took care of Stoddard. It's just a matter of time until I am fixed." My hands fly in the air like I'm in an episode of Bewitched and have turned into Darren, screaming for Samantha to appear. Actually, with Peter it's more like waiting for Endora. I walk into the middle of Rox's room and scream, "Damn it, Peter, where are you?"
Rosalyn pushes me toward the door. "What do you mean, you took care of Stoddard? You need to leave." She thinks I killed him like a remorseless sociopath would.
"No, Peter had it all wrong. We got Stoddard to confess to Peter and Jane's and murders. We also got the wife enough information so that she can invalidate the prenup she signed fifty years ago and finally have a real life."
Jacqueline cracks open the door and slips inside. "Rox, are you all right?"
"Stoddard is still alive? You didn't have to—" Her look of fear becomes one of hope. "So, you're waiting on Peter to—"
A bloodcurdling shriek comes from Jacqueline. Finally Peter has appeared, looking very ghostly and nearly drooped over in a weakened state. "Where the hell have you been?"
He rights himself with a deep breath that seems to pull in energy instead of air, making him appear whole again. "If you were about to disappear for eternity, what would you be doing? I had some important business to tend to. Trust me, I've been feeling your pesky pull. Now hold on. I've one more dying wish."
I approach the glorious woman with whom I have traveled through the ages for more centuries than man has recorded. She is, and always shall be, the love of all of my lives. My fading hand cups her silken cheek, and I keep willing with all I have left to be seen, to be felt, so that the lips of Peter Lane can touch hers one final time. I never got to say goodbye to Jane, and now God has blessed me with the chance. "Please promise you will always remember me. Without you holding on to what we've had I'll be lost. Everything I've done has always been for you."
My eyes take in the world and land on Rosalyn's replica of Jane's sketch. We never die. We just change.
As I step toward Niles I slip a note into his hand, and the magic of our soul sealing sizzles through us. Good-bye, world—for now.
Afterglow (Of Your Love)
Sweat builds under my collar. I'm crazy to allow this without understanding more of what I am getting into. Peter has always driven me a little nuts. Does this mean that I'll drive myself batty? Oh, God. I'm going to be like Gollum from Lord of the Rings and get what I seek only to fall victim to a horrifying death.
Peter slips me a piece of paper. The touch nearly paralyzes me as his hand fades into mine. What if he is stealing my body like in Skeleton Key where the ghost runs off in another body—a young lawyer's body!
I'm screwed.
Peter steps forward. Pressure builds in my throat as my tongue pushes against the roof of my mouth, absorbing my emotional stress that is amplified by the electronic hum growing in my ears. Something silent and without physical sensation sizzles inside me. Suddenly the chaos comes to a grinding halt.
And then …
All of my life I have felt as if I were drowning—struggling toward an unreachable surface for a gasp of fresh air. I'm no longer deep in a vicious ocean. Instead I feel the peace of standing in a warm pool with the water stopping just below my neck.
My eyes slowly open to deep sable locks cascading in a frame of swirls around the fac
e of an angel. Her eyes are of copper and gold, the colors of autumn's glitter. I want to get lost in those eyes.
My fingers glide through the glorious threads of silk upon her head. Her lips are so plump and pink, baited with moisture and calling me to taste them. She smells of berries and flowers on a warm, spring day. This is my Rosalyn. Could I be worthy of someone so lovely?
My lips touch hers, and my body enlivens as every cell becomes rejuvenated. However, it's the soaring of my heart that causes me to take pause. Dear God, this feeling, this all-consuming euphoria, this is what I was missing.
With a tender touch of his lips to mine, my heart longs to surrender. My grip around him tightens in fear that once we stop kissing the feeling will forever fade, yet I'm tempted to temporarily break away so I can enjoy the sensation of our lips meeting again. This is what I always wanted, and I wanted it with Niles. My hope for us someday finding it kept me from letting him go.
Niles pulls back, but the tingle still sparks on my lips. His eyes—now so alive and bursting with emotions that refuse to be tamed—joyously scream his life just changed in a heartbeat. Never before have I noticed their glimmer of emerald.
A sound of happiness, like a hint of a laugh, passes through his lips. He yanks me to his chest, and his lips again grace mine. The tingle returns.
"Rox?" Jacqueline sounds shell shocked. "Rox, what is going on? Is—Is everything okay?"
No, everything is far beyond the realm of okay. I pull back and look at Niles again, utterly spellbound. "It's wonderful, Jacqueline. Wonderful beyond dreams."
"Rox, what just happened?"
My dumbstruck best friend is forced to wait as the need for Niles's lips on mine again overwhelms me. The poor girl. I have a whole lot of explaining to do.
Scary Modsters... and Creepy Freaks: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection) Page 21