by W E DeVore
“’Sup, junior?” she asked. She held up one finger and pulled out her phone, dialing the Dark Harm frontman’s number. “What’s your name?”
“Jasper,” he replied.
Ben nudged her and she grinned at her husband while waiting for Derek Sharp to answer his phone. His distinctive, low nasal voice came through the speaker, “Hello, angel. To what do I owe the pleasure.”
“Say ‘hey’ to my friend, Jasper, will you? His mom…?” she guessed, looking for confirmation.
Jasper nodded and replied, “And aunts.”
“…his mom and aunties are dragging him across New Orleans and he doesn’t look like he’s having a lick of fun. Thought a chat with you might cheer him up. You’re on speaker. Be charming.”
Derek sounded irritated. “Hello, Jasper. Do me a favor, will you?”
Jasper nodded and eked out, “Sure, Derek… Mr. Sharp… Derek, whatever you like.”
“Tell that beautiful woman in front of you to fuck off for me, will you? Also, tell her she’s expected to get her ass to the studio tonight whether her feet are swollen or not. We have a fucking album to finish.”
Jasper looked helplessly at Q. “He says to tell you to…”
Q held up her hand, “Yeah, I heard him, kid. That’s how speakers work.”
She winked at him again and said to the phone, “I’m hanging up now, Cincinnati. You’d better turn that mood around before tonight.”
“Now that you mention it, I do have some thoughts on how you could cheer me up.”
Q started to laugh until she saw the expression on Ben’s face.
“What?” she mouthed.
Ben took the phone from her and said, “You want to stop hitting on my wife, Derek.”
“Not really,” he replied. “But I will, now that I know that you’re sitting next to her.”
A chuckled forced itself from Ben’s mouth and he handed Q her phone. Derek confirmed the time for their studio session and the line went dead immediately. Q sat back to rest against Ben. Looking at the boy, she said, “There, now when you get home, you’ll have a better story to tell about your first streetcar ride.”
They visited with Jasper and his family until their streetcar stop, with Jasper’s mother doing most of the talking, and Q and Ben doing most of the listening. By the time they’d arrived at their stop, they’d learned that Jasper was a straight A student, in the robotics club, was a huge fan of Dark Harm and had a poster of Q dressed as her alter ego, the Archangel, over his bed back home in Phoenix. Q took several photos from the shoulders up with the boy and made her exit with her husband.
“It’s a sign,” Ben said as they stepped onto the neutral ground, surrounded by the busy St. Charles traffic.
Q blew an errant curl out of her face, willing the sweltering June heat to dehumidify and finding any perceived powers over the weather to be absent. “A sign of what?”
He put his hand on her stomach and grinned from ear-to-ear. “What if it’s a boy? I mean we pick that name and then meet a kid who loves Dark Harm and you…”
“You mean, he masturbates while looking at a picture of me. That poster’s over his bed. You got that part, right?” She lifted her heavy, dark curls away from her neck, longing for the protective shade that lay on the other side of the busy street.
Ben ignored her and repeated, “I’m telling you. It’s a sign. We’re going to have a son.”
“You are way too excited about that idea,” she said. “Healthy and happy. Gender doesn’t matter. Focus.”
They crossed St. Charles and walked through the quiet Uptown neighborhood towards their destination on Magazine Street. Q grunted as she stepped onto a tall curb, heaving her new weight and rounded figure up onto the sidewalk.
A cool breeze blew across the shadows of the live oaks and she sighed as the air hit her damp skin. She finally gave into her discomfort and pulled off the hair band she’d put on her wrist, twisting her hair into a sloppy bun at the back of her head.
When they arrived at Manny’s Mexican on Magazine Street, they found Aaron Sanger and his new girlfriend sitting outside at a metal table spray-painted a violent hue of metallic orange and only partially protected by the minimal shade offered by the ragged awning overhead. Q sat down with a heavy exhale. “You couldn’t find a seat inside? It’s hot as balls out here.”
Sanger passed her his glass of iced water. “It’s hotter inside. A/C’s out.” He studied her closely as she drained half the water and tugged at her bright green maternity blouse that was clinging to her skin. “I can’t get used to you in color. I think I miss the metal bands.”
Ben sat next to his wife. “You miss them, brother? I don’t.”
Q glared at her husband. Prior to her expanding belly outgrowing her normal-sized clothes, she’d been happy to wear a daily uniform of Converse, jeans, and a t-shirt with [insert death metal band logo here] emblazoned on the front of it. Now that she had to select actual feminine clothing and color coordinate, she found the exercise demeaning and an utter waste of time.
“Don’t get used to it, Bordelon. ‘As I Lay Dying’ gets pulled out of retirement the minute Little Bit moves out.” She looked at Sanger’s companion and said, “Agent Jeffries. Good to see you again. I was just talking to Derek.”
Sanger gave Q an annoyed scowl. “Don’t start, Clementine.”
Q reached for a handful of chips from the basket in the center of the table and ate one, crunching loudly. She drained the rest of her water. “Settle down. It wasn’t my idea for you start boning his ex.”
“This is why you don’t get to meet my girlfriends; you know that, right?”
She grinned at him and relaxed back as the water and tortilla chips stopped the Braxton Hicks contractions that were making the skin on her stomach uncomfortably tight. She picked up Ben’s hand and brought it to her lips to kiss before settling it in on her belly where either a fetal foot or elbow was pressing its way out to get some attention.
“How is Derek?” Jeffries asked, turning Sanger’s irritation on herself.
Q popped two more chips into her mouth and said around her bite, “A pain in the ass. I don’t know if he’s going to survive this record. He tells me I’m singing off-key one more time and I’m going to punch him in the nuts.”
“Are you?” Sanger asked.
“Am I what, cowboy?”
“Singing out of tune…”
She pursed her lips and scowled. “Two words, Sanger.”
He grinned at Ben. “She is, isn’t she?”
Q arched her back to relieve the tension that was radiating around her torso and grimaced. “You try holding your pitch with a foot in your cervix.”
Jeffries stood up and kissed Sanger on his cheek. “You walked right into that one, sweets. I’m going to go get Q some more water before she goes into premature labor. Be nice.”
Sanger’s eyes followed his girlfriend as she walked inside and Q kicked his foot under the table. “Looks good on you, cowboy.”
He smiled broadly. “God, I love that woman.”
Q picked up Ben’s hand and moved it to her low back to press on the tensing muscles. “You still talking about moving in together?”
Sanger nodded, but his smile faded as he tilted his head to look past Q. His gaze intensified, following a black Camaro driving slowly down Magazine. She glanced at the car.
“You should get yourself one,” she said.
“What’s wrong with my truck?” he asked.
Ben reached for a handful of tortilla chips. “It’s ugly, brother.”
“And loud, brother,” Q continued, imitating her husband’s gravelly Metairie drawl.
“And practical,” Sanger completed. “There’s nothing wrong with my truck.”
“Nothing wrong with a black Camaro either.” Q winked at him.
“Except the car note.”
Jeffries pushed open the door and set a large glass of lemonade in front of Q. “Margaritas are on the way. You feeling alrigh
t?”
Q shrugged. “I’ll live. This Braxton Hicks shit is serious business.”
“How’s our friendly neighborhood stalker?” she asked.
As if on command, Little Bit’s foot jolted into Q’s ribs at the same moment as her abdominal muscles seized. She massaged out the tension and grimaced. “Eerily quiet,” she explained. “I don’t like it, but Derek’s manager thinks they’ve finally given up interest.”
Sanger grunted disapprovingly. “Somehow I doubt it. They always escalate after they go away for a while. Y’all better keep the blinds drawn.”
Q shot him a dirty look. “The blinds were drawn, asshole.”
Almost as soon as Q had begun collaborating with Derek Sharp, an aggressive Dark Harm fan had taken it into their head that Derek Sharp and Q Toledano should be wedded in marital bliss and living on the outer reaches of a gloomy suburb near an attractive vampire clan from some young adult saga or another. Two years earlier, while Q had been in rehearsals with Dark Harm for their U.S. tour, their stalker had taken photographs of Q and her real husband being married in their bed with some poetic threats scrawled on the back, just to drive their point home.
“Just be careful. You don’t need them coming back around, especially now.” Jeffries retied her short, red hair into a spiky ponytail at the back of her head, before settling next to Sanger, who diligently rested his arm across the back of her chair.
Q watched her friend with his new companion and felt a twinge of longing. Sanger was a serious workaholic, and she’d liked what being in a relationship with Ben’s younger sister had done to lift him up. While she appreciated everything Elaine Jeffries had done to get her stalker to take a break from the death threats, she couldn’t help but wonder if being with someone so much like himself was the healthiest thing for her best friend.
The waiter arrived with a pitcher of margaritas and a fresh basket of chips. Q eyed the alcoholic beverages with envy and sipped her lemonade. After they placed their order, Sanger caught Q staring at the glass in her husband’s hand. He gestured to it and said, “We could get you a virgin.”
She scowled at him. “Cocktails without alcohol is like sex with your clothes on.”
He gave her an amused grin and replied, “And how’s that, Clementine?”
“There isn’t much of a point since you’re not going to get off.” She sipped her lemonade and her companions laughed. Little Bit’s foot abruptly jolted into her lowest rib and Q grimaced, pushing it back down. Sanger’s eyes locked on her hand smoothing over her rounded belly and she grabbed his wrist, placing his palm on the source of her discomfort.
Little Bit kicked again and Sanger jumped.
“It’s strong,” he said. “Gonna be a warrior, like its mother.”
Q blushed at the compliment and squeezed his hand. When she’d discovered she was pregnant the first time, she’d been terrified about her ability to be a good mother. Sanger had told her that she was a lioness and, having been raised by a similar type of woman, in his view, it was the best kind of mother to have. Now that she was a few weeks out from finding out what kind of mother she would be, she hoped she could live up to his expectations.
◆◆◆
After lunch, as Q and Ben walked together towards the streetcar line, Ben finally admitted, “I like her. Elaine, I mean.”
“She’s good people,” Q agreed. “A homicide detective and an ATF agent fit like…”
He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. “A nightclub owner and a musician?”
She grinned up at him. “Nobody fits together like us, Bordelon.”
The sun drifted lower on the horizon as they rode the streetcar back towards home and Q’s eyes drifted lower against her will. The bigger her belly grew, the less energy she seemed to have; and over the recent weeks, she’d finally given into her fatigue. She yawned and rested against Ben, letting the gentle rocking of the streetcar lull her into a state, somewhere between dreams and consciousness.
When they came to their stop, Ben gently nudged her awake and helped her to stand. They crossed Carrollton and Q noticed another black Camaro as it passed. “If this record hits, I’m buying Sanger one.”
Ben followed her eyes. “Now, that I’d like to see.”
By the time they got to their home, Q could no longer stifle her yawns.
“I’m taking a nap,” she said.
“Good,” Ben replied as he unlocked the front gate, closing it behind him. Q slowly climbed the steps to their porch and dug into her pocket for her keys. Her tired eyes squinted at the seven keys in her hand, and she suddenly couldn’t remember which one fit with which lock.
She held her keychain out to Ben and said, “Pregnancy brain. I can’t remember what key unlocks our door.”
Ben glanced over his shoulder and a strange expression darkened his face as he moved her towards the door. “Let’s get in the house, darlin’.”
“What is it?” she asked.
He pushed her forward, reaching past her to fit the key into the lock. A firecracker went off behind them.
“Jesus Christ, it’s like three weeks until the Fourth, can’t people wait to…” Q began, turning towards the sound.
He shoved her into the locked door as another firecracker exploded and he collapsed in front of her, pulling her down until she lost her balance. “Ben, what are you…?”
Another firecracker popped and her shoulder felt like it caught fire. She glanced down to see if she’d been stung by a bee and found a stream of steady crimson dripping down her arm.
Looking out into the street, she saw a black Camaro parked in front of her house and the barrels of two guns pointed at her. She shook her head as another shot rang out and her right leg stopped bearing her weight. Q struggled to move behind the large brick post for some cover. Another shot fired and forced her to the ground. She fell hard onto her wounded shoulder as a contraction seized her entire body. She clutched her stomach and held up her hand in horror at the red pumping up from her pregnant belly, a red flower bloomed across the bright green of her shirt.
Tires screeched against the pavement as the car and its occupants sped away. An odd gurgling noise caught her ear and she tried to find the source. Ben’s body was twitching as he choked, gagging and struggling to breathe, a sticky scarlet pool swelled up from underneath his body.
Q crawled to him as another contraction hit her and she doubled over with it, bearing down hard, making blood pump faster from her stomach. Panicked voices rattled the gate at the front of the house and screamed at her to speak to them. She tried to open her mouth, but nothing came out.
A frantic stranger’s voice drifted from the sidewalk in front of their house, “They’re both hit. I can’t see if they’re moving. She’s pregnant. Oh, god, she’s pregnant… please hurry.”
Another contraction seized her and she folded in on herself. Her fingers searched the wet cement around her and she found Ben’s hand.
Hold on, Ben. Hold on, Ben. Hold on, Ben. She repeated it over and over as the world blurred and she slipped away.
◆◆◆
A shrieking metallic clatter jolted Q awake and she struggled to focus her eyes. Looking up at the white ceiling of the porch, she wondered how long she’d been laying there. The pain that had wracked her body when she’d lost consciousness was now a constant inundating pressure. Her body was a frozen wasteland with a burning core in her abdomen.
Rushing footsteps approached and a bright light flashed in her eyes.
“She’s alive,” a woman called out.
Within a moment, a blurring rush of color assaulted her senses as a hive of humanity surrounded her in a swarm of frenetic activity. Voices yelling at other voices formed an endless cacophony she couldn’t comprehend. She tried to form a word in her mind and said, “Ben.”
Her voice sounded muffled and she raised her hand to her face, touching a mask of hard plastic that covered her mouth. “Ben.”
Sliding her fingers to the edge, sh
e lifted the mask off her face and managed to shout, “Ben!”
As soon as she did, a two-hundred-pound invisible weight pressed down on her chest and she gasped, struggling to breathe. A sharp pain struck below the steady burning in her left shoulder and her entire body erupted in fresh agony. A strange scream caught her ear and Sanger’s face appeared above her.
“No…no…no…no…” he repeated over and over. She watched him speak to someone, but she couldn’t hear his voice over the rushing in her ears as she fought to breathe. Her eyes blacked over and other voices rose in volume. She inhaled a jagged breath, unable to fill her lungs through her closing windpipe. Pain and dizziness overcame her, and she slipped into unconsciousness and peace.