by Mercy Brown
“Come on, kitten,” Cole says as he sets me back on my feet. “I’ve got something else to show you.”
Cole holds his hand out and Joey tosses him a set of keys. We all walk out onto the porch, and there in our driveway is a black vintage convertible Mustang.
“Just gave her a proper wax job before I drove her down,” Joey says. “She’s going to look swanky as hell pulling up at the Hopewell Golf Club.”
“Tell your pops I owe him one,” Cole says.
“Hell yeah you do. I promised him you’d come install the sink upgrades in the addition on the showroom,” Joey says.
“Done deal,” Cole says.
We drive down to Hopewell with the top up so my hair doesn’t get wrecked. Maybe we’ll put it down later tonight, and maybe I really will ask him to drive us to the shore afterwards so we can score a cheap hotel room. Actually, I’m not opposed to fucking him in the back of this Mustang, either.
“Are you nervous?” I ask him.
“I don’t get stage fright,” he says with a wink. “Don’t worry.”
I smile and look out the window. I try to ignore the sweaty palms I have but it’s hard when Cole takes my hand in his. I’m so worried he’s going see this other side of my life, the one I’ve tried to run from, and wonder what the hell kind of shit he stepped into with my parents and the rest of my stuffy, judgmental family around. I’m worried about him feeling put out for not having a father with an Ivy League degree. Or you know, just a father. All I want is for him not to be uncomfortable, but how can I expect that when I’m so damned uncomfortable around these people myself?
“You’re so quiet,” he says. “Are you really that worried?”
“No,” I lie.
“It’ll be fun,” he says.
“Fun?” I say. “I’m not so sure it’ll be fun. I think at best, it won’t be torture. But please don’t bet on it.”
“Come on, Sunshine,” he says. “We’ll have a good time. We’re experts at having a good time, aren’t we? It’s all in the attitude.”
Well, who would have thought he’d be right?
Since the first person we run into is my dad in the parking lot sneaking a cigar, I think this is a stroke of luck because I can introduce him to Dad first, before my mother sizes him up and decides he’s too blue collar to hang out with the Grant family. Dad seems to be in a good mood, and although he purposely will not look directly at my tattoo or my hair, he seems nostalgic to see Mom’s old dress again. He gives me a big hug and a kiss and extends his hand to Cole.
Cole shakes his hand, calls him “sir,” and thanks him for having him. I’ve never been through this routine where you introduce your boyfriend to your father, but I guess Cole has, because he seems totally comfortable and polite and like he knows what to say and do. Then Dad and Cole talk about Mr. Santi’s Mustang. Cole hands Dad the keys and invites him to check it out, and Dad puts out his cigar and gets in behind the wheel, admiring it. Then Dad suggests, a little warily, that it’s time to go inside, because Mom is eager to meet Cole. My stomach knots, but Cole just smiles. The perfect gentleman, he takes me by the hand, opens the door for me, pulls my chair out for me. When my mother comes to the table I feel my bones turn to ice, even though my stomach feels like it’s on fire.
“Sonia,” she says, a sharpness to her voice that I know very well. She can’t hide her scowl as her eyes settle on the blue streaks in my hair.
“Hello, Mom,” I say.
I see the corner of her mouth twitch. I raise my eyebrows, because I know she won’t make a scene here with all these people around, and I almost want to dare her to say something.
“I didn’t realize you still had that dress,” she says, looking me over.
“Yes,” I say, and then I stand up and twirl around so she can see me in it. “Seemed like a good occasion to wear it.”
“It looks lovely on you,” she says, with an appreciative nod.
“Thanks,” I say, almost in shock. It’s a long, calm pause between us as I let her words hang there. Cole squeezes my hand before I remember to introduce him, and he gets to his feet to shake her hand and to tell her how nice it is to meet her. I do my best not to glare or say something bitchy when Mom thoroughly checks him out, looking for something, anything to be wrong with him. She waits for him to be rude, to be uncultured. I can see her wince as she hears his north Jersey accent and figures out that Cole isn’t someone who went to private school. But he offers to pull her chair out for her, and I must say, even though I’m waiting for it, she doesn’t actually say anything to make him feel like he doesn’t belong.
“So, Sonia tells us you’re in the band,” my dad says. “Bass player?”
“Yes, sir,” Cole says.
“Did you play bass in orchestra?” my mother asks.
“No, ma’am,” Cole says. “I was in the boys’ choir at Saint Joe’s, but otherwise I’ve had no traditional training.”
“Wait, you were a choirboy?” I ask. “How did I not know this?”
“It was a long time ago,” he says.
“You know, Sonia is a very talented cellist.”
“Yes, I know,” Cole says. “I hope to convince her to play cello for me. She filled in for me when I was called home from the tour for an emergency, and everyone was impressed with her talent.”
“Sonia got on a stage?” My mother’s eyes widen in surprise. “And she didn’t vomit?”
“Well, it was an emergency situation,” Cole says with an apologetic smile in my direction. “She was a real pro.”
My parents both study me for a moment and I almost feel like I owe them an explanation or something, but nah. The truth is, I’m not the same girl I was three years ago, the girl they think they still know. Hell, I’m not the same girl I was three weeks ago, either.
“So what’s your field of study at Rutgers?” my father finally asks Cole. “Or did you already graduate?”
My mother cocks her head in curiosity and I feel like I should jump in, but then Cole answers.
“I’m not in school, sir,” he says, no big deal. “I’m working towards membership in the pipefitters union. I’m in the middle of my apprenticeship now. I work up in Lodi for my uncle, who’s an independent plumbing and heating contractor.”
“Family business?” Dad says. I can’t look at my mother because I’m certain her expression, learning that Cole isn’t in college, is one that will make me rage.
“Yes,” Cole answers. “Gives me the flexibility I need right now, and he’s got no kids of his own, so he’ll make me a partner in five years if I decide to commit full-time. It’s not glamorous, but you know, it pays. And I enjoy working with my hands.”
Dad leans back in his seat, like he’s sizing Cole up in the witness stand from the fucking courtroom floor. Please, Dad, I silently beg. I know we’ve never done this before with me bringing a guy to meet you, but please, please don’t judge him.
Dad nods thoughtfully. Then he picks up his highball and takes a sip. “You know,” he says. “If you ask me, not enough young men look seriously into the trades these days. You work your tail off, sure. But there’s a lot of financial security to be had going that route.”
“Well, that’s my thinking,” Cole says.
I slip my hand onto Cole’s knee under the table and give it the slightest squeeze of encouragement. He puts his hand over mine and squeezes it back, letting me know he’s got this. He compliments my mother for how lovely the party is, and how he can see where I get my flair for organizing events. He tells my parents how I was able to pull crowds into the clubs and even got a record label to start talking contracts with the band. My father is so impressed to hear this that he insists I tell him more. When we tell him about Matador, he tells me to call his office on Monday because he’s got an entertainment lawyer who’ll take a look at any contract for us. By the time dessert come
s, my mother is telling Cole that we have to come to Sunday dinner next week so they can spend some time getting to know him better.
“I’d love that,” he says, and I think he might even mean it.
When the coffee is served, the string quartet takes leave, so we’re done with the classical dinner music. Now a five-piece jazz combo sets up on the stage and does a little “Moonlight Serenade,” and it’s cheesy, but it’s also pretty nice. Dad gets up to give a toast to my mother for being such a wonderful wife and mother (I even manage to keep a straight face). He leads Mom out onto the dance floor, and I have to say, for twenty-five years they still look pretty good together.
Cole lets out a long exhale when they’ve finally left the table, and I can’t help but laugh at the depth of his relief. He takes his napkin and dabs his brow with it, even though I can’t see any sweat there. Then he looks at me and smiles.
“Hey,” he says, taking my hand in his.
“Hmm?”
“Dance with me.”
Not sure why that surprises me, but it does in a very sweet way. I wonder if instead I should just nail him in the coat check closet. I haven’t done a lot of slow dancing, and I’m probably not going to be very good at this. But what the hell, how hard can it be?
By the time we get to the middle of the dance floor, the soft, romantic notes of some old jazz standard and Cole’s arms are all I need to figure out how to hover over the floor like an Arthur Murray graduate. I can think of a lot of times Cole and I have danced at a rock show, but I never imagined how it would feel slow dancing to these old standards with him. It’s like the heart is a timeless thing. Like we are the future and we are history, all at the same time.
From the corner of my eye, I see my father dancing with my mother. She turns to look in our direction, her eyes softening as she sees me dancing with Cole. She says something to Dad, and for just a minute, I think maybe she looks happy with me. And I might be aggravated that it would take me finding a boyfriend like Cole to please her, because come on, that is really aggravating. But the truth is, look at him here, with his smiling eyes and his easy, sure steps on the dance floor. Who wouldn’t be happy looking at that?
Cole hums to the music as he glides us along, and I have to say he looks pretty happy, too.
“Hey, this is ‘Till There Was You,’” he says, his face lighting up. “I almost didn’t recognize it slowed down like this.”
“You know this song?”
“Yeah, the Beatles did it.”
“Damn, that reminds me—do you want to make a run for it to go see Ween in our fancy duds? If we leave now, we can probably still make it.”
Cole’s eyes sweep the room and linger on the glass doors for a beat before returning to mine.
“I think I’d rather stay,” he says. “Is that all right?”
I nod. Surprisingly, it’s a lot better than all right.
We move slowly in time with the soft, slow high hat, the strolling upright bass, and I try not to swoon to the damn floor when Cole pulls me close, his lips against my ear as he starts to softly sing, “There was love all around, but I never heard it singing . . .” I smile so hard I have to hide my face against his chest. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this happy in public before. I don’t want to scare my parents.
As we dance, I rest my head against his shoulder so he can’t see my eyes all misty. We stay here all night, dancing like this. Maybe I’ll let him dance me right into tomorrow, too, and into next summer and the year after that when I really don’t know what’s coming. As much as I have big dreams and big plans, maybe I’ll let this dance last until the end of time. I admit that scares the hell out of me. It’s like one minute, I think I know exactly how I want my future to look, and the next, maybe I’m not so sure. Dreams come and they go, and I guess they can change, too. I know not all dreams last forever. But you never really know. Maybe some do.
“Break” by Stars on the Floor
This is how it happens
We stay out until we break
From Hoboken to Athens
Every road we take
Leads to where we’re going
And I don’t care where it is
All I care about is knowing
That you’ll be there to hear this
Every basement
Every backyard
Every sofa on the way
Is another bed to fuck you in
Another stage to play
And we play until we make it
We stay until we break
We won’t be home for Christmas
Skip the wedding and the wake
Won’t be there through the years
Even if the fates allow
I don’t need to see the future
Because you’re my here and now
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my agent, Brooks Sherman, thank you again for your hard work in getting the Hub City Romance series out into the world and for helping to make sure this book did the Hub City proud. I’d be lost without you. You are worth your weight in black jelly beans and licorice pipes.
To the team at InterMix, thanks to my editor, Kristine Swartz, for jumping in and taking on this series and helping STAY UNTIL WE BREAK be the best it could be. Thanks to Ryanne Probst for all of the hard work promoting Hub City Romance.
An extra special thanks to Nina Bocci, for tirelessly working to build buzz for the Hub City Romance series. You’re an Italian ninja, Nina, with a heart of gold. I’ll always be in your debt. Thanks also to Heather Carrier for all the amazing digital artwork that makes the whole project so very rock and roll.
To Debbie, Tonya, and Lo, thanks for reading and re-reading and re-reading again as this book progressed through its various stages. Don’t know what I’d do without your eyes and insight and advice and infinite well of patience. And to Caren, thank you for telling it like it is, even when it’s hard. That means more to me than all the praise you could ever give (as much as I love that) because that’s how I can fix problems I can’t see by myself. Extra hugs to Cynnie, for giving this book a fresh look and loving all over it when I really needed it.
Thank you to all the readers and bloggers and Twitter/Facebook/Instagram folks who read LOUD IS HOW I LOVE YOU! Nothing makes me happier than knowing you felt like you were in the band. You ARE in the band now. You’re one of us. Thanks for getting in the van and being a part of the scene. I hope you enjoy this trip with Cole and Sonia!
Jen, thank you for having an awesome dead bird tattoo and cool glasses and an amazing supply of cute dresses in addition to razor-sharp wit and a big ole heart. You inspire me in many ways, every day. To Meg, Katherine, and Stacy, thank you for your love and support and enthusiasm and friendship. Our ridiculous text chains help me stay sane (okay that’s a lie) less insane. Maybe. They definitely make me feel less alone in my insanity. Safety in numbers.
To Dahlia Adler, who gave me some last minute perspective on LOUD IS HOW I LOVE YOU, but was so last minute, didn’t make it to the acknowledgements there. Thank you so much for your ear and common sense and hand holding, too. Hope you enjoy this one.
To my dear pal Jeff Zentner, thank you for reading this for me when I desperately needed fresh eyes, and had no right to impose. You are a rare gem, my friend. And thanks again for the Sharon Van Etten story. I know I keep bringing that up, but it’s especially pertinent to this book. Speaking of the mighty SVE . . .
To Sharon Van Etten, thank you for letting us sleep on your floor in Murfreesboro when you were very young and we were strangers from Jersey out on tour. While I’m at it, thanks to Alice Cooper, whom we did run into in golf pants in Myrtle Beach, and to John Waters, whose appearance in this book had to be cut, with many tears on my part, but whom we also saw when he was at the bar during our set at the Sidebar in Baltimore. These memories and the many big and small adventures
we had on that tour are what make this book live and breathe.
All my love to Tish and to Mike and Tommy, my fellow mechanics, who lived a version of this tour with me and Alex, that in some ways was more twisted than the fictional representation. Especially since, as far as I know, nobody was getting any the way the kids in Soft get it on this tour. And the chances for actual death when we toured, I think, were way higher. The memories I got to relive while writing this made me realize how special a time that was and how many of the greatest stories of my life originated in those weeks. Can’t think of any better road warriors to have taken that journey with.
Thank you and big hugs to Plug Spark Sanjay, Joe, John, Ernie, and Michael—I love you all like brothers. Thank you for taking us on the road with you that fall, and for all the hazing, the fireworks, the love and the laughs. Thanks to the Karloffs, Cave Sluts, Monkey Claus, The Can Utility, Our Flesh Party, Kristy and Judd, and those kids in Montevallo who managed to pull a ton of people out to a pizza place on a Monday night to watch two unheard of bands from Jersey. Then threw us a party. Thanks to that guy with the cabin up the road apiece for not murdering us in our sleep (you have no idea how seriously and not ironically I mean this). Thank you to Landspeed Record and the Scott Farkus Affair and the Sidebar. I miss you guys and have such fond memories of all the great shows we played together in Baltimore and everywhere else.
To Jim Testa of Jersey Beat, who read LOUD IS HOW I LOVE YOU even though it was awkward as hell, thank you forever for the many, many years of love, support of my work in its various forms, and for decades of friendship. And for the kickass review of LOUD IS HOW I LOVE YOU b/w STEADY BETH that appears here. You are simply the coolest. And thanks to Johnny Puke for booking us in Charleston and letting us stay on Kiawah Island! No, we didn’t do it in the bathroom. We were too exhausted. Sad, I know.
Thanks to my Hub City band family, always, for being the inspiration and for bringing your talent and enthusiasm to this project. Special props to Boss Jim Gettys, the original creators of Hub City’s best Metal Medley (please Google that and watch it on YouTube if you don’t know what it is). To Nudeswirl, who get a shout out in this book. Please, please have a reunion this year. Please. To Bionic Rhoda, Three to Six Inches, the Urchins, Buzzkill, Aviso Hara, the Stuntcocks, Bryan Bruden and Jared Migden and Overnight Sensations, extra special thanks to Anthony and Brett for flying to Jersey to play the Hub City Romance launch and to Karen and Dave for driving into town from upstate New York! Thanks to Maxwell’s in Hoboken, specifically to Andy Peters and Todd Abramson, who always treated us like we mattered. Some of our very favorite shows were on your stage.