by Sherry Wood
“Do you know who that is?” John asked, with a giddy smile that made him look about ten years old. Vanessa looked again.
“He sort of looks like my uncle…” Vanessa cracked. She really wished John would laugh at her jokes, just once.
“That’s St. Germain.” John looked at her, expecting her face to express joy, but
she only looked confused.
“No,” she looked back. “That guy you’re always goin' on about?” she
looked away when said rock star placed his weary yet intense eyes on her.
“Yes,” John said, astounded.
“He’s old,” Vanessa said, surprised.
“Of course! He toured with Ramons, Iggy, Motley Crue,” John started naming off bands on his fingers. “I don’t…if Morey was here he’d be on the floor having a conniption fit. I can’t…I have to go say hello.” John tried to keep calm. “How do you approach someone you admire so much?”
“Well, at the end of the day he craps and goes to bed like the rest of us.”
“Vanessa!” John was a bit surprised and somewhat grossed out. “Okay,” John looked back over at him, preparing himself. “I’m going to say hello.”
“Then can I have your taco? Mine’s like made of lava or something.”
“Sure,” John said, slowly standing up as Vanessa reached over and grabbed his soggy taco and took a huge bite of it.
John hovered over St. Germain awkwardly for a minute, like a balloon losing its air. St. Germain picked his sad basset hound eyes up and looked at him.
“Oh wow,” John gushed. “See I wasn’t sure – but it is you. I’m…” John placed his hand on his chest and tried to gather himself. “I don’t know how to quite say this – what your music means, has meant to me over the years – you’re livin' the dream man, playing with all those bands…traveling…rocking…” John was at a loss.
“Okay dude,” St. Germain shook with charming laughter. “Thank you.” He waved at the empty booth facing him. “Sit.”
“Yeah?” John asked. “Would that be cool?”
“Yes.” John sat down across from him as Vanessa peered over her shoulder at the two of them. “I’m in a band – based out of Chicago – Meat Hook, I don’t know if you ever…?”
St. Germain kept a subtle smile on his face. He was used to people sort of losing it over him.
“I’m sorry, doesn’t ring a bell,” St. Germain said, his eyes wide and sincere as he reached for a crispy cinnamon ring.
“We’re not that well-known.”
“Don’t ever say that,” St. Germain warned. He sounded dire. “I don’t know you,” he sat up. “You could be anyone, and already you say to me that no one knows who you are. You could have said, ‘Oh, really? Because we’re very popular in Chicago.’”
“I…I just have a habit of being honest.”
St. Germain let out a wicked laugh. “Then you shouldn’t be in the music business.”
John was very quiet. St. Germain pointed at Vanessa and asked, before taking another bite of his taco, “Is that your friend?”
“Who?” John was completely flustered.
“The lovely woman sitting alone?” St. Germain nodded at Vanessa.
“Oh, no, she’s my girlfriend.”
St. Germain laughed, because he thought it was funny that John thought the two
were extremely different.
“Why don’t you invite her over,” he suggested. John whistled nervously in
Vanessa’s direction, creating quite a look from both Vanessa and St. Germain. Vanessa reluctantly walked over to them.
“You know it's funny, but I did the exact same thing to Izzy this morning,” she told John.
“Who’s Izzy?” St. Germain asked.
“Our dog.”
“He’s not our dog – we house swapped,” John said. “We’re spending the summer here. The people we swapped with left her behind.”
“That’s interesting,” St. Germain said, intrigued. “That house swap thing – does it weird you out? To have strangers in your house? Or did you already know them?”
John couldn’t get over that he was sitting here now having a full-on conversation with St. Germain, a very relaxed, down-to-earth guy.
“No…no…” John answered, a bit distressed.
“One’s a soap opera star and the other’s a model,” Vanessa said, very comfortable talking to St. Germain, who really did just remind her of a lonely relative she hadn’t seen in a while. If anything, she sensed he wanted to talk to them more than they wanted to talk to him.
St. Germain nodded. “So you’re taking care of their dog?” he asked, his eyes softening as he talked to her.
“Yes,” Vanessa smiled. “I’ve always wanted a dog, but we have a loft in Chicago, and it doesn’t feel so right keeping a dog in there.”
“I know what you mean – they need space, places to roam, a lot like men,” St. Germain spoke, moving his booted foot around a little as he talked. Vanessa laughed at what he said.
St. Germain shook his head as he wiped his mouth. “That’s a lot of trust,” he said, dropping his napkin into the red and white checkered tray. “Leaving your dog to complete strangers?”
“Yeah, so…look do you still produce music?” John asked. He had obviously been waiting to say that, the words spilled from his mouth in an awkward rush.
“Oh, sure,” St. Germain took his time answering. “I do a little of that, little of everything.” He smiled and winked at the same time. Vanessa found him very likable. “You know what I’m really into these days?” he said, almost like he was about to make some naughty confession.
“What?” John asked, hanging on to his every word.
“Making scores,” he said. John and Vanessa stared at him, not sure what he meant – drugs? Sex? “You know, for horror films,” he finished.
“Oh,” Vanessa flashed a bright smile and he noticed.
“Are you an actress?” St. Germain asked.
“No sir.” She never used that word, he just drew it out of her. “Writer.”
“Ah, that’s it,” he snapped his fingers. “I knew you were something special.” She smiled even bigger, very flattered.
“So anyways, I’ll go ahead and formally introduce myself, formerly, I’m Rick Germain,” he held his hand up for Vanessa.
“Vanessa Charles.”
He nodded. “Nice to meet you, Vanessa.”
She stared at all of his gold rings as he held his hand out at John.
“Oh, John,” he said, so flustered. “John Kaven.”
“So you two aren’t married,” Rick assumed.
“No…” John said. Vanessa looked away, somewhat uncomfortable.
Rick flashed a huge smile. “Careful my friend,” he pointed at John. “Eventually you have to go one way or the other,” he held his hands up as if he were proclaiming his innocence. “I didn’t make the rules. There’s an undeniable fork in this road, my friend. You either marry this gorgeous vixen,” he held his hands out to Vanessa, “Or you end up an old wrinkled ball at a taco place at three in the afternoon by your sad self,” he pointed to himself.
“But you’re a rock star,” John pointed out. Vanessa gave John quite a look. Was that what John wanted? Was that more important?
“And how many people still give a crap?” Rick pointed out, with a laugh that wasn’t bitter. He seemed very content with who he was. “They don’t want my music,” he threw his hands up. “They want…” he stared over at the door, gathering his words. “Auto-tune, they want…the summer song…little girls singing about holidays on youtube – oh well,” he tossed his head back. “What are you gonna do? It’s like trying to hug a tornado – it’s out of your control.” He held his hands behind his head and locked them.
“But you wrote Road Warriors!” John said, amped up. “I used to play it – it's one of the first things I learned on guitar.”
“Listen, that’s great, I lived my life, I picked something, and like anything else, it has its plus
ses and minuses. Its plus? I get to have this conversation with you while having this nice view next to me,” he winked at Vanessa again. “And the minus is I go home tonight to a gorgeous house of absolute, spellbinding silence. My guitarist is dead, my parents are dead. I get, you know, people calling me up wanting to use some of my songs for background stuff – that’s about it. I’m sampled. I go to The Grove and some young kid comes up to me to say he recognizes me, and his mom, scared out of her wits, pulls him away because she thinks I’m a pedophile. That’s it.”
“But you’re…a rock…” John was quiet. He was dismayed.
“Hey, I don’t mean to smash your dream. I’m just…I had a woman waiting for me once…Sally. They don’t wait forever. Not like guitars. You can’t put them over in a corner of the room and pick them up later on. You’re gonna turn around, and they won’t be there. Hey, we all make a choice.”
John stared at the table, feeling like he just took a beating.
“Look, I have to go. My dog’s at the vet,” Germain announced. “It was very nice meeting you both.” John watched as Rick Germain took his tray over to the trashcan to empty it. He couldn’t just let it end this way. This was his one chance. He couldn’t imagine telling Morey he met him and didn’t pass their CD along.
“Hey,” John ran over to him. “Maybe we do what we feel we’re driven to do, you know?”
“Oh sure,” Rick ran his fingers down the corners of his mouth where prickly stubble framed. “I know it,s not easy – juggling the woman you love and what you love.”
“But I think I do a good job,” John said, thinking he was being smooth when he waved the CD around.
“Ah, the CD. These things are like a hooker trying to make small talk with her customer – sooner or later, it gets pulled out and it gets awkward.”
John looked devastated. “Hey man,” Germain laughed and slapped him on the arm.
“I’m just joking around – you gotta have a sense of humor about these things, you know?”
“Sure.” John smiled, still holding his CD out. A crazy relief passed through him when he watched Germain’s hand, in all its gold ring glory, take the CD.
“I’ll give it a listen,” he assured.
“Oh that would be fantastic!” John exclaimed. “Our singer has this Brigitte Bardot thing going on – she’s gorgeous,” John bragged, loudly so Vanessa heard him say that. She had been waiting by the car this whole time. Just waiting, and being ignored. Meanwhile, Germain wanted John to know not to expect anything just yet.
“Now listen,” he said, holding his hands up, waiting for John to simmer down. “I’ll listen to it, but you know – and you may be great, but I’ve gotten some terrible things passed on to me too, so bad I thought they were a joke – cruel joke. Like they were mad at me and wanting me to hear their tormented screams and chainsaws and dying dogs-sounding music. But I’ll give this a try.”
“Okay, man, thank you. But we sound better than dying dogs.” John waited, hoping to get another friendly smile from Germain, but Germain’s eyes were on the parking lot.
“You might wanna go…” he said, nodding towards John’s car. John turned and saw Vanessa had walked off and was walking, rather quickly, along the beach.
CHAPTER 15
Brian slowly and patiently helped his mom out to the back porch. She gazed up at the stars before coughing into a tissue in her hand. Her face was a bit flushed.
“Oh, I haven’t…been out here for even a minute.” She looked around. The backyard was rather a mess. It needed to be mowed. The huge tree was still there, and the garage with its roof that was sunken in a bit but was still hanging in there.
Brian carefully eased his mother down in her chair before sitting across from her. He watched her protectively as a rough Chicago wind caused the huge oak tree to shake. He eyed it a bit worriedly. That garage looked like it would collapse with one little slap from one of its branches.
He looked back at his mother. He recalled the day he got a call from her neighbor telling him that she had fallen down the stairs. She hadn’t been feeling well and thought it might be the flu, but it turned out that she had pneumonia and passed out. She fell down the stairs and twisted her ankle. That was the day he had a talk with Saphire and she, rather lamely, agreed to house swap so Brian could look after his mother for the summer. She didn’t want to come, and Brian had told her he would go without her. He hadn’t told his mother that yet.
He looked at the old recliner he was sitting in.
“Didn’t these used to be in the living room?” he asked. He knew the answer because he remembered spending a Thanksgiving in it as the family sat around and watched football. His parents were still together then, Brian was only sixteen. He was known for his “shy smile and ferocious kick at soccer.” Almost everyone described him that way.
“Yes,” Rosie said, matter-of-fact. “That was your favorite,” she pointed with a tired smile but a gleam in her eyes.
“Yeah…reminded me of…your father, so I put them out here. Not because I was mad, I just…missed him. Seein’ ‘em made me miss him more,” she waved a hand. “The first night I put them out here it rained so hard…like he was mad at me. Even from the grave, he’s trying to have his way.” She laughed and followed Brian’s eyes to the backyard. “You remember playing out here as a boy?”
“Vaguely.” Brian was too wrapped up in his emotions to add any more words.
“Oh come off it!” she waved, sassy. “You’re still so young. You surely remember when you were ten or eleven, and you were obsessed with turtles. You brought a turtle home once and set it right on the kitchen table,” she said, slapping her hand against the wooden armrest. “I was so upset!” Brian just laughed, showing off that sensual smile of his. “And your father – oh what a wacky one,” she waved her hand. “He tried to convince you that turtles were an alien species!” Brian laughed hard, it was cute how he laughed. He looked up at the sky and his mouth was wide open and laughter just spilled out. It was a joy to hear.
“I remember!” he waved a hand, becoming very excited. “I remember that.”
“I say to him, our boy’s not stupid, Charles. He knows turtles are not aliens! He would tell these long stories about how aliens dropped turtles off to spy on you! And then because of him you got into all that creepy sci-fi stuff. Remember that book you were obsessed with?”
“Liquid Floor,” he said. “I’m still obsessed with it.”
“Well…” her voice trailed off as she shook her head. A few minutes later, another rough bout of coughs occurred.
“Mom?” he stood up, worried. “You want me to get you a fresh tissue?” he offered.
“No,” she waved her hand around. “I’m fine.”
He nodded, feeling his phone vibrate in the back pocket of his jeans. Rosie stared out into the yard.
“Oh it’s too quiet,” she complained. Brian read the text from Saphire.
I keep hearing strange noises, can you come home please?
“Anyway, you went out there,” his mother went on, pointing towards the garage. “And made the turtle a little home and everything, but then you came home one day and said, mama, I think the turtle would be happier down by the creek. So…”
“You drove me there, and we set it free,” Brian said, glancing up at her from his phone.
“See? You remember. You’re not fooling anyone,” she smiled. He smiled back.
“I just need to call Saphire,” he said, apologetically.
“Well why didn’t you just bring her?” Louise asked.
“She’s been feeling under the weather.”
“Oh goodness,” she responded, almost too quickly. Brian wondered if she believed him. Brian brought up Saphire’s number and called her.
“Hey,” she answered on the second ring. “Please tell me you’re on your way home.” She sounded completely freaked out.
“Yes, well I will be – I’m still at my mother’s.”
“Someone is here,” s
he cut in.
“What? What do you mean? Call the police.”
Louise looked at him, panicked. “Oh hon, what is it?”
Brian held his hand up, not wanting Rosie to worry. He walked down the walkway towards the old garage. It was very dark at the end of the walkway, and the crickets seemed aggressively loud.
“There’s... not someone…I mean I just keep hearing things. I was upstairs and thought I heard someone come in – I searched the whole place but I didn’t see anyone – please come home, Brian! I’m scared.”
“Okay, I’ll leave now and get there as soon as I can. Just make sure the door’s locked and keep your phone close by.”
“Okay,” Saphire said. Brian could hear her voice shake.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you.” He hung up. He walked back up to his mother.
“I gotta go, mama.”
“Is everything alright?” she asked, trying to stand up. Brian helped her, taking her hand and walking her to the door.
“Yeah, I think she’s just paranoid – new place and all.”
“Well, you never know – always take these things seriously,” she said, before coughing again. This time the cough sounded deep. Brian looked at her, worried.
“I wanted to stay the night,” he said.
“Go, doll, I’ll be fine,” she waved him off.
“Okay.” Brian watched her until she was in the house and then walked off to his rental car.
CHAPTER 16
“Saphire?” he called her name out the second he entered the apartment. Everything looked fine. He glanced over at the stairs and saw Saphire coming down in one of his shirts. She had nothing else on. It was just baggy enough to almost cover her little bottom.
“What…” he just stared at her, dismayed. She seemed fine – everything seemed just fine.
“I’m sorry,” she waved her dainty wrist. “False alarm, I guess.” She grinned up at him flirtatiously. “You miss me?”
“Did I miss you?” he was very put off. “I sped to get home, I thought someone was trying to break in.”