by Dean Mayes
Andy paused and turned around. Beck noted that he was bathed in sweat and a trickle of blood from his nostril had dried on his upper lip.
Beck nodded, gesturing wordlessly at Andy’s face. Andy wiped his nose with his hand and looked down at the flakes of dried blood on his skin.
“What gives, man? You turn gay all of a sudden?”
Andy smiled wanly, dropped the scrubbing brush into the toilet bowl, and collapsed back against the wall. Beck suddenly realized that Andy’s stringy, greasy hair was gone. Andy had shaved it all off - crudely though. He now sported a crew cut similar to Beck’s, only not quite as short. Beck noticed several nicks and cuts in Andy’s scalp, some of which showed dried and crusted blood.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Andy wheezed. The fumes of the bathroom cleaner had infiltrated his nostrils. “Kept having bad dreams. I couldn’t look at this fucking pigsty anymore.”
Andy paused, pointing limply at the shower recess. The curtain was gone.
“I’ll replace that. I’d hate to think how much scuzz was growing in that old one.”
Beck nodded slowly.
“Fair enough, man. Whatever you think is best. Are you feelin’ OK?”
Andy looked up at Beck and shook his head slowly.
“No. I’ve got the shakes. Got ‘em real bad.”
A long moment of silence settled between them. Beck had watched Andy fight his addiction before, knowing that he usually succumbed to temptation. Andy squeezed his eyes shut then opened them again, refocusing on Beck.
“I’ll be OK. I just need to clean. I - uh - rearranged your DVDs. I hope, you know, that was OK.”
Beck brushed it aside with a nod.
“No problem at all. You did an awesome job. I should’ve got off my ass long ago and done this myself.”
Andy chuckled bitterly and he peeled off the rubber gloves he was wearing. His eyes drifted up to the ceiling.
“I can’t go on like this,” he said solemnly.
Beck sensed what Andy was getting at. He was struck by Andy’s candor. He leaned his head against the door frame appraising his troubled housemate.
“Hmm,” Beck replied simply. “You know - I’ve never judged, you man, because you pay your rent and bills. But - you’re on a really shitty path. Those cocksuckers who hang off you, they’re wrong for you, Dev. They aren’t you. You can do a lot better.”
Andy nodded and wiped his brow.
“I gotta get some sleep, man,” Beck said, and he backed away from the doorway, about to turn towards his bedroom when he hesitated. He leaned back into the doorway of the bathroom and gestured with a nod at Andy’s head.
“By the way - nice buzz cut, dude.”
***
The following morning Andy arrived early at the Conservatory and went to his pigeonhole in the faculty office, where he found an envelope waiting for him. Sitting in the student lounge, Andy held the sheet of paper and stared at it. He was neither elated nor disappointed, just relieved. He had passed the exam - barely. The mark wasn’t great, but it was a pass. For the time being, at least, Andy was still in the school.
Slowly he stood and put the piece of paper in his backpack. He turned to leave the lounge and his eyes fell across a large student notice board that hung from the wall nearby. It was filled with notices, student fliers, and posters advertising various musical events. Andy wandered over, drawn to one particular poster that hung in the bottom right-hand corner, set away from the others.
He leaned in close, scanning the poster.
Melbourne International
Festival of the Guitar
Victoria, Australia, 15th - 21st February.
Featuring internationally renowned artists including Slava and Leonard Grigoryan,
Doug de Vries, Andrew York and Paul Kelly.
the week-long festival to be held in
Melbourne’s beautiful Fitzroy Gardens
offers the opportunity for
emerging artists to
perform alongside the masters
of classical guitar.
A yellow rectangle of paper had been taped to the bottom corner.
Applications invited for representatives of the Conservatory to attend as delegates in the emerging talent concert series.
Closing soon!
Andy shook his head. This was the pinnacle event for students attending the Conservatory. To play at a prestigious international gathering and be recognized was the chance of a lifetime. One that he would have once aspired to, wholeheartedly. He knew he had no chance of being selected. His pattern of behavior had garnered him a reputation that made him the butt of jokes and the target of a faculty that wanted him gone. It was a lost cause - and he hadn’t even applied. Finally, he turned away from the poster and left the building, unaware that a set of eyes had been watching him from the opposite corner of the lounge area. Veldtman watched Andy go, then shut the door to her office.
Andy attended all his classes that day and the next, only skipping a Friday afternoon lecture because he needed to get to The Pub for his shift. No one at The Pub mentioned his starkly different appearance. Andy just got in and worked hard, maintaining the momentum that had taken everyone by surprise a few days earlier.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket during the afternoon and Andy slipped behind the bar and answered, crouching in the cubbyhole where he’d hung his bag. It was Vasq.
“I’m just checking in to make sure you’re still good for the Warehouse job tomorrow night, Dev.”
Andy hesitated, remembering that he had indeed committed to another job for Vasq.
“Yeah. I remember.”
“I’ll look forward to seeing you then. I gotta good feeling about this one, Dev. You’re gonna make us a lot of money this time.”
The way Vasq said that last sentence made Andy feel cold. Usually the mention of money was more than enough of a motivator for him. But he felt as though he was an instrument that belonged to Vasq - a willing one, at that. Andy brushed the feelings aside as he ended the call and resumed his work.
***
Andy sat quietly at the end of the bar reading a text book during his break later that evening. Samantha brought a meal from the kitchen out to him.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, and he turned the book over so as not to lose his place.
Samantha watched him curiously as he began eating, and after several seconds he looked up at her, making her shift her eyes away quickly.
“What?” he asked.
“N-nothing,” she stammered. “It’s just not like you to thank anyone for anything.”
Andy eyed her briefly as he took a mouthful of food.
“I, uhh - your haircut looks good,” Samantha offered. “You actually look pretty decent without all that crap hanging down over your face. I see you’ve dropped the nail polish, too.”
Andy brushed his hand over his hair.
“It’s OK,” he said through a mouthful of mashed potato.
Samantha sensed she wasn’t going to get anything more out of Andy, so she turned back to her work.
“This is probably the best meal I’ve eaten in months,” he said suddenly. “If I’d known this was one benefit of actually working, I would’ve got my ass into gear long ago.”
Samantha smiled at the comment and turned back towards him.
This was unusual, she thought.
“Well, if you keep this up you’re gonna discover a lot more benefits in actually working here.” She gestured with a nod behind her. “They’re talking, you know. About you, trying to figure you out.”
Andy shrugged.
“Nothing to figure out,” he said.
Samantha eyed him skeptically.
“Something happened to you, didn’t...,” her voice trailed off as something caught her eye behind him. Her mouth opened in surprise.
Andy turned in his seat as a tall figure entered the bar. It was a man dressed in jeans, a thick, woolen tartan jacket and a grubby-looking trucker’s cap bearing
a Golden Breed logo. A match protruded from the corner of his mouth.
Bruce DeVries, Andy’s father, regarded his surroundings dourly. His dark eyes fixed upon Andy for a moment, and Andy returned his father’s gaze with a look of awkward hope.
Abruptly, Bruce turned sideways and walked through the bar, disappearing through the bistro entrance, completely ignoring his son.
Samantha felt a sharp twinge of embarrassment. Andy, clearly crestfallen, turned back to his meal and ate a few mouthfuls silently. She could see that his appetite had already left him and eventually he abandoned the dinner plate altogether. He got up from the bar and disappeared into the nearby men’s room.
***
Bruce DeVries and Gideon Allan’s friendship went back 20 years to the time of the first Gulf War. They had served together. Their friendship was an enduring constant in both their lives despite the failures of other, arguably more significant relationships.
Bruce had been drinking at The Public House for as long as anyone could remember. He often dropped by before heading out on the highway on his long-haul runs. He’d catch up with Gideon, have a bite to eat and then begin his run to the West Coast.
Rarely, if ever, did Bruce DeVries talk with his son. In fact, Bruce hadn’t expected Andy to be here this evening. Had he known, he probably wouldn’t have come. Their relationship hadn’t been strong, not since Bruce had returned home from Iraq and the horrors of his tour there - horrors he had never spoken of. Once Andy’s mother left, things became worse. Bruce withdrew further and had it not been for Bruce’s mother stepping in to take on the care of Andy and his older sister, their circumstances might have been a lot worse. Bruce DeVries had taken little interest in his children. In recent years, he had patched up his relationship with his daughter - Andy’s sister - who was living in San Francisco with her Army Officer husband. Bruce often stopped by there while he was in town. Andy and Bruce’s relationship, however, was far more fractured. When Andy’s talent for the guitar began to shine, Bruce dismissed it as a waste of time. Once Andy began living on his own and got mixed up with Vasq, the alienation between father and son became more acute.
So it was significant that Bruce DeVries reappeared at the bar a little over an hour and a half later, just as Andy was finishing up his last few jobs. Samantha nudged Andy as he unloaded a tray from the glass washer and nodded.
Andy set the tray down and wiped his hands with a towel. He looked up at his father: the square jaw with a five o’clock shadow, the dark thinning hair that was graying at the temples, dark eyes that avoided looking at his son directly.
Neither seemed able to open the dialogue. Samantha watched them from the other end of the bar, where she was serving.
Finally Bruce DeVries spoke:
“I’m heading to San Francisco tonight.” His voice was gravelly and deep. “Be away maybe four, five days.”
After a long moment, Andy nodded.
“Your sister called.” Bruce continued. “She mentioned the hospital. They contacted her when you were brought in. Next of kin apparently.”
“Yeah ... well,” Andy rubbed his forehead and fidgeted nervously with his foot at a spot on the floor. “It was nothin’.”
Bruce fingered his watch. Then he drew up his jacket zipper. The scowl that tugged at the corners of his lips was withering.
“Wake up to yourself. You’re a fucking disgrace.”
Bruce turned abruptly, strode from the bar and was gone.
Andy stood there, as expressionless as his father had been. His jaw tightened imperceptibly.
He felt crushed.
CHAPTER 7
The Warehouse stood in an industrial sector that was slowly being taken over by residential development - the kind that appealed to upwardly mobile career professionals looking for a cheap path into that chic, trendy inner-city lifestyle. The area was in a state of transition right now, though. Development was sporadic, untidy. The Warehouse sat well away from any of the new buildings. It was already owned by a developer, someone Emilio Vasq knew, so the trance parties that were routinely held there had been given an unofficial blessing. Also, there was significant money to be made. Vasq had cut the developer in on a significant piece of the action.
On Saturday nights this dilapidated building came to life. The Warehouse was fairly pumping right now. A dance floor occupied the center of the floor space, presided over by a raised stage upon which a DJ bounced around like some enraptured priest as he manned a massive soundboard and music station. The music was urban, primal, erotic. The dance floor was packed to capacity with steamy young revelers, hypnotized by the music’s throbbing intensity. It was hot and stifling but overhead, a bank of sprinklers - part of the warehouse’s original fire safety system - turned on and off intermittently spraying the party goers with cooling water, wetting them down. Clothing stuck to the skin. Clothing came off. The energy was arousing.
Elsewhere, a makeshift bar served beer, wine and spirits next to a group of lounges that sat in the remnants of an old office space and formed a kind of retreat where people relaxed, drank, smoked, took pills and took each other.
Andy, Cassie and a trio of Cassie’s girl friends - all armed with long-neck beers - made their way through the throng of people awaiting service at the bar.
As he had done so many times before, Andy had spent the night working the venue for Vasq, selling product, collecting revenue, cultivating new buyers. He knew the regulars and the uninitiated who were yet to try. Andy knew how to sell. He was influential in his style without being pushy. He used his physicality, his eyes, his smile and sometimes his sexuality to procure a buyer regardless of their gender. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it. His gift was a potent one. His prowess was known to most of the partygoers here. Andy was admired, envied and desired.
Tonight, though, Andy didn’t feel the rush he normally got when dealing. The call from Vasq had unsettled him. He was nervous, constantly looking over his shoulder, suspicious that he was being watched. He worried that the police who had seen him in the hospital might have somehow worked out who he was and decided to tail him.
But there was something else.
Somewhere deep inside him, he felt an alien disgust at what he was doing. He was dealing in drugs, dangerous drugs; it was wrong. Never before had he questioned what he was doing. He just did it, asked no questions and took his cut. As he dealt here and now, he found himself questioning them. He had no idea what this shit contained. For all he knew it could have been battery acid. It was destructive. It was lethal. He had his own experiences to vouch for that. Tonight, he regarded his clients with contempt. They were fools, just as he was a fool. He wrestled with a potent hatred for them and for himself.
But where were these thoughts coming from?
Andy felt that strange presence right now, moving with him through the room and silently taunting him, spurring his sense of disgust.
His remembered his father’s words.
“Wake up to yourself. You’re a fucking disgrace.”
As they walked towards the lounge area he felt relieved that the job was over. All that was left was to liaise with Vasq, settle his account and have a few drinks. They stepped through what had once been a wall into the lounge area.
Cassie had been angry at Andy all evening. She wanted to know why he hadn’t returned any of her calls and why he hadn’t wanted to see her since they’d had sex earlier in the week. It wasn’t enough for her to accept that he had fallen behind with his studies and that he’d had to work - even though he had apologized for not calling. The kicker tonight, however, was something far more petty. Cassie was angry with him for having cut off his hair. He no longer looked cool. She had bickered with him and taunted him; putting him in a foul mood.
They spotted Vasq’s crew, who occupied a group of ripped and tattered leather couches in the center of the room and made their way over.
Vasq watched Andy as they approached. For a second there seemed to be a potent tension i
n his demeanor, but then he stood with arms outstretched.
“Dev! My man,” he embraced Andy in a crude Latino imitation of Denzel Washington. “It’s a testament to your spirit that you would return so soon after your ordeal.”
Vasq pointed at each of the men sitting around him before gesturing at Andy.
“Learn from this guy. He should serve as an example!”
Vasq’s crew glared at Andy while they made room so that he and Cassie could sit. Two of the girls paired up with men from Vasq’s crew. The third girl, Alyson, a nubile young blonde, sat down beside Cassie and wriggled in close to her.
“I am glad you came, Dev. I hope I didn’t cause any problems at your place of gainful employment.”
Andy couldn’t work out whether Vasq was being serious or not, so he just nodded.
“It’s OK ... just don’t do it again.”
Vasq smiled, lowering his voice just enough to emphasize that he was talking to Andy rather than the others.
“I have to say, friend: it would seem this experience has changed you some, though. You seem a lot bolder in the way you present yourself.”
Andy fidgeted with his beer and made an overly exaggerated attempted to relax back on the couch.
“Well - facing death will do things to you. It messes with your head.”
“Hmmm,” Vasq took a long swig from his beer then nodded outwards into the crowd. “We are doing very well tonight, my friend.”
“There’s more product out there than I’ve seen in a while,” Andy replied. “The quality is good.”
Vasq draped an arm over Andy’s shoulders.
“I was thinking more in terms of your particular skills. Dev. Your ability to distribute. It is truly a gift.”
Andy hesitantly reached into his jacket and took out a thick wad of cash. He handed it discreetly to Vasq, who grinned with satisfaction. He unrolled it, checked the amount then thumbed out several notes and handed them back to Andy.