“Tea and crumpets sound lovely,” he said, shoving Mitch aside and stepping through the door.
Mitch followed him into the foyer and called out, “Darlin’, why don’t you put some water on to boil for our English gentleman here?”
They walked into a living room, which, again, was a surprise. No lavish chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, no obnoxious posters of Mitch or framed gold records lining the walls. It was a plain old living room with some lived-in furniture and a television.
“My, how the mighty have fallen,” Julian mumbled.
“What’d you say there, pal?”
“Nothing. And I’m not your pal.”
“Have a seat,” Mitch said, pointing to a worn beige couch.
A disgusting mass of hair with four legs thought Mitch was talking to it and jumped on the couch before Julian had a chance to sit. Mitch frowned. “Scoot over, Costello. We have a guest.”
Costello didn’t budge, and Julian sat next to it, trying to take up as little space as possible. The mutt let out a moan and stretched, shoving Julian’s thigh with its hind legs.
Mitch sat in a chair and ignored the dog’s ill manners. Wearing an orange University of Texas sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, he was a man at ease. Not a worry in the world.
“I reckon you came with a couple of messages for me, Lazros. First and foremost, you want me to stay away from your sister. And second, I’m betting you’re about to tell me that this state isn’t big enough for the both of us. But honestly, brother, we both know I was here first.”
Bloody hell, he hated how Mitch exaggerated that ridiculous drawl. “You’re not hiding a six-shooter beneath that dreadful sweatshirt, are you, Mitch? I feel like I’m at the O.K. Corral.”
Mitch laughed. “Who got the better of you?”
“What?”
Mitch pointed to his eye and lip. “Who beat you up? A boyfriend, a husband, or a dealer?”
Julian gingerly touched his swollen eye, where Cleo’s forehead had made contact, and ran his tongue over his healing lip. “Believe it or not, I was tied up and beaten senseless by a woman.”
Mitch laughed heartily. “What’d you do to deserve that?”
“We’re off the subject, Landrum. You were right, of course. I want you to stay away from Addie.”
The girl came in carrying a small box. “All I could find was chai. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine, darlin’,” Mitch said, grinning stupidly as the girl walked back to the kitchen. What a pervert.
“A little young, I’d say. Even for you.”
The grin slipped from Mitch’s face. He’d hit a nerve.
“That’s my daughter, you sorry asshole. She’s barely sixteen.”
The piss-yellow cloud disappeared. Mitch’s voice had turned into a darkening thunderstorm of black and gray. He stood, and Julian, too stunned to defend himself, waited for a fist. But it never came. Mitch just stood there, waiting for what? An apology?
“Sorry, I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
The girl came back in the room, trying not to spill the two cups of tea she carried. Mitch’s face melted back into its former pleasant expression.
“Rachel, this is Julian Lazros. Julian, this is my daughter.” His emphasis on the word “daughter” was unnecessary. Julian already felt like slime.
“Nice to meet you,” he said. The girl flashed a shy smile as Mitch took the cups. Her neck had developed telltale red splotches. Mitch, recognizing the signs of a teenage girl falling under the influence of a rock star, sighed and guided her back to the kitchen.
Mitch was a father? He hadn’t had a kid when Julian knew him. Now he had a sixteen-year-old?
Mitch ambled back into the room. “So where was your daughter back when I knew you? I don’t remember any toddlers running amok in your dressing room.”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Mitch said, frantically dipping his horrible American tea bag in his cup, “but I adopted her when I married her mother.”
So, he’d gotten married. “You’re quite the guy. I guess you’re divorced, then? I only ask because you’re shagging my sister.”
Mitch set his mug down on the coffee table and massaged his temples. “No, I’m not divorced.”
“Brilliant. You’ve seen the last of Addie, then. And me. This was fun, but I can see myself out.” He headed for the door with Mitch on his heels.
“Would you believe I was actually happy to see you?” Mitch said. “I thought we could hash some things out, talk like men. But you’re deranged, as usual. Just as crazy as you ever were.”
“Maybe I’m crazy, but you’re disgusting. I feel sorry for your wife and kid.”
“For your information, my wife is dead. Now get out of my house before I blacken your other eye, you stupid prick.”
Julian stood at the pump, wrinkling his nose at the gas fumes—snot green—and trying to sort through his feelings. How was he supposed to have known Mitch was a widower? Now he felt like a real prick, which only increased his aggravation.
The pump handle clicked off. Julian pulled it out of his tank and replaced the gas cap. This had been a miserable fucking day, and he couldn’t wait to get home—although he wasn’t looking forward to a run-in with Cleo. Maybe he’d head to Rooster’s for a mindless jam session instead.
He settled into the El Camino and started it up, already thinking of a backup plan in case Rooster was busy. The Dolls had a gig tonight. He could probably sit in with them. Just as he was about to pull onto IH-35 and head south toward San Antonio, a little blue coupe that looked suspiciously like Addie’s darted past—heading north—toward Austin. Well, bloody hell. He was going to put an end to this once and for all. He turned right instead of left and took off after his sister.
Addie darted in and out of traffic, but Julian managed to keep her in sight. The exit for Mitch’s neighborhood was coming up on the right, and sure enough, she took it. Julian followed her through the winding hills, back to Mitch’s house. By the time he climbed out of his car, Addie waited for him, leaning against her trunk.
“I saw you in my rearview mirror,” she said.
“We need to talk.”
“No, actually, we don’t. I’m an adult, and I’m in a relationship. I’m sorry if it upsets you, but it is what it is. If you’d like to come in and behave like a civilized human, I’m certain Mitch would be happy to have you.”
“I’ve already had a chat with Mitch this morning, and I don’t think he’d be happy to have me.”
Addie’s mouth dropped open. “Is that what happened to your face?”
Mitch’s voice came out of nowhere. “He mistook my daughter for a groupie and made some crude accusations that are par for the course with him, but I assure you I didn’t hit the little fucker.” He walked barefoot toward them across the driveway.
Julian rolled his eyes. “Addie, you think you know this man, but you don’t. He doesn’t love you—he loves making me miserable. And he has a history of destroying the lives of young, innocent girls in order to do so.”
“God, Julian,” Addie said. “Everything is not always about you, no matter how hard you work at it. And I am not a young, innocent girl. Stop confusing this situation with whatever crazy idea you have in your head about Mitch and Gina.”
Seriously? She’d brought up Gina? Well, since she had…
“Who was the last person to see Gina alive? Ask Mitch that! And for that matter, who was the last person to see his wife alive?”
Addie gasped and covered her mouth. Mitch took a step toward him but then stopped. “Are you under the care of a shrink right now, dude? Because you are batshit crazy.”
“Don’t say that, Mitch,” Addie snapped.
“Listen to him and tell me he doesn’t sound crazy. And if we’re going to continue with the murder accusations, I’d prefer we do it inside. I’ve got a nice thing going with most of the neighbors, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Where are the kids?” A
ddie asked.
“In the house,” Mitch said, never taking his eyes off Julian.
Mitch had more than one kid? Bloody hell. Julian had a definite image of Mitch, and it would be lovely if he’d try to fit it better.
“Addie,” Mitch added, “why don’t you go inside and check on Emily? She was running a fever this morning.”
“She’s not staying here long enough to check on your sick kid,” Julian said. “Come on, Addie, let’s go.” He reached for her hand, but she yanked it away and walked up the driveway.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Mitch got straight to the point. “I never slept with Gina, much less killed her, you stupid, stupid shit. She was a minor, and no matter what you believe, I’m not a sick fuck.”
“So sorry,” Julian said. “Rock stars never have sex with underage girls. How silly of me.”
“Lazros, I’ve about had my fill. You know I stayed away from the young ones. Shit, I sent them to you.”
If this was Landrum’s idea of an apology, it was fucked-up. “Thanks for the castoffs,” he said. “But if it was wet, you stuck your dick in it. I don’t remember you being all that discriminating.”
“How do you remember anything at all from those years? You were a pathetic junkie. If anyone was breaking any laws with minors or otherwise, it was you.”
“I was a fucking minor.”
When Julian had joined Slice, he’d worshipped Mitch, just like everyone else. And Mitch had wasted no time in taking him under his wing, introducing him to every vice the industry had to offer, including drugs and women.
The skirts that had followed Slice across the country and beyond worshipped and served two gods: Mitch, who had the predictable singer’s black hole for an ego, and Julian, his newly acquired protégé. But unlike Mitch, Julian hadn’t wanted the attention of the fans. He’d wanted the approval of Mitch, who he’d freakishly decided was a father figure.
As if Landrum could read his mind, he said, “You were just a kid. A punk who deserved someone way better than me as a role model. I regret the part I played in your life, and I’m sincerely sorry for it. But you gotta let it go, pardner.”
“Save it.” Julian started walking. Time to get his sister.
“I don’t know everything that happened that night with Gina,” Mitch called after him, “but I can tell you what I remember.”
Julian stopped in his tracks and turned to face Landrum, his pulse pounding in his head. “I know what happened. Gina and I had a fight—she wanted me to stop drugging—which of course, I couldn’t.” He gave a sarcastic salute to Mitch and added, “Thanks for that, by the way. So I took off for a couple of hours to cool down, and when I came back, Gina was gone. Ran straight to you, didn’t she? And you took her in.”
“I hardly set her up in the guest room. She showed up at my party, and I told her to leave. She was too young, and I didn’t feel like keeping an eye on her.”
“Fuck you, Mitch. It was right after ‘Walk You Home,’ wasn’t it? You and your overinflated ego were full of envy. And you want to hear the pathetic truth? I hated that stupid song. It wasn’t even good—granted, you wrote it, so that was a given—and I have no idea how it went to the top of the charts. It sucked, and I never would have been the one to sing it if Lance hadn’t made me.”
“It went to the top because of you, buddy. And you’re right, I hated your guts,” Mitch said. “I’d worked my ass off in that band for years, and nobody noticed us until you showed up. I should have been grateful, and I should have looked out for you. But I wasn’t capable of either of those things. I felt old and washed-up, and I blamed it on you, but Julian, I never thought of getting back at you through that little girl.”
Mitch’s voice was like a chameleon. It just kept sliding up and down the color spectrum, changing from word to word. Could he trust anything Mitch was saying?
“I’d say you most certainly got back at me through that little girl.”
“I tried to save her. Do you want to hear the whole story or not?”
Part of him wanted to hear the story of what happened the night Gina died. But the other bit, the bit that fed on rage to keep the self-loathing away, wanted to hear nothing more about it. But that bit was paralyzed with fear and unable to speak.
Mitch started talking. “She made a spoiled rich girl scene when I told her to go home, but I thought she’d left. I really did.”
“She was not a spoiled rich girl. You don’t know the first thing about her.”
“You’re right,” Mitch said. “I’m sorry.”
Gina had been a tragic little waif, although Julian hadn’t known it because he’d been a tragic little waif, too. Her dad was rich and absent. Her mom spent her days shopping on Rodeo Drive. And Gina spent her days trying to catch somebody’s attention. She’d caught his at an L.A. show at the Roxy.
Hair spiked up in punk style, eyeliner as thick as her sullen expression, but behind it all was a quiet desperation Julian’s heart recognized immediately. He’d kept his eye on Gina all through the show and nodded in her direction when he exited the stage. The roadie knew what to do.
He couldn’t claim her right away. There was a pecking order, and nobody grabbed a girl until Mitch had chosen his own entertainment for the evening. Gina, along with all the other girls, followed Mitch around while he took his sweet time. Julian hated to admit it, but Mitch didn’t ever party with the young ones. He’d known Mitch would pass her up, and she’d be his.
As the band boarded the bus that would take them from Los Angeles to Pasadena, a handful of groupies got on with them. The ones who hadn’t been chosen by Mitch stood outside, hoping to appeal to one of the other band members, road crew, or the backup band, anyone who could get them on the bus. Gina was among them, and Julian held out his hand. She’d hesitated, but then she’d grabbed it and followed him up the steps.
On board, the party had been in full swing. Cocaine and pills were laid out like candy on Halloween. Two women were making out while Mitch watched, and Lenny, the bassist, was well on his way to receiving a blow job right there in the middle of the bus. Gina had looked around with huge eyes before grabbing Julian’s arm and plastering herself against him. He’d felt her trembling. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Pasadena.”
She’d looked truly alarmed. “I have school tomorrow.”
Julian had extolled the virtues of playing hooky in pursuit of other passions, but when her eyes filled with tears, he arranged for the driver to drop her off at the nearest gas station. Afraid to leave her there, he’d stayed while she waited for a cab. Then he’d gone home with her.
The two teens had made love surrounded by stuffed animals and posters of Mitch, as if Julian needed any reminders that he was a consolation prize. Then he’d sneaked off before dawn, hitching a ride to meet up with his furious bandmates in Pasadena—just in time for a live on-air interview.
As soon as the short tour was over and Julian was back in L.A., they became inseparable. Gina was his first and only girlfriend, and he’d been truly and horrifically in love. But he’d had another love then as well.
Heroin had started out as a seductive temptress, but once it caught him, it had turned into a mean, jealous bitch that wanted to own him completely.
He walked back to Mitch and leaned against his car, overwhelmed by memories and remorse. “Tell me how it happened,” he whispered.
He’d never heard the details. He only knew she’d overdosed, although he still couldn’t believe it. She’d hated drugs.
“I’d sent her packing and gone back to partying. I figured she’d call you, y’all would make up, and that would be it. I wasn’t worried about her doing anything crazy—I didn’t think she used. My worry had been that she’d try to make you jealous by hitting on the wrong asshole, and things would go too far. I watched her stomping across my front lawn and thought that was the end of it.”
“But it wasn’t,” Julian said.
“No, unfortunately, it
wasn’t.” Mitch ran a hand over his face and sighed. He took a step closer to Julian, until they were almost toe to toe. “An hour or so later, I heard a commotion in the billiards room. As I headed down the hall, I about got knocked over by scumbags fleeing the scene. I knew it meant one of two things: either the cops were raiding the party or someone had gone blue. I ran smack into that dealer, Doug Addison. He and his crowd of losers used to crash our parties.”
Julian nodded. He remembered. But he hadn’t known Doug had been there that night.
“He looked scared shitless,” Mitch said. “Told me somebody was sick and then ran. I hurried into the room and couldn’t believe it was Gina. I tried to tell myself she’d fainted, but there was no mistaking what I saw. I knelt down; I was going to sit her up and try to get her walking, but then I saw she still had a fucking needle in her arm. A needle. I hit her in the chest—”
“That’s enough,” Julian said. “I can’t hear any more.”
Mitch hesitated. “I never stopped trying to save her. I kept it up until the paramedics got there.”
“I said shut up.” Julian didn’t want any more details. “Fuck, it was such a waste,” he mumbled.
He wanted to keep hating Mitch, an asshole who’d stood at the crossroads of every wrong turn he’d ever taken, pointing the way each time. He looked at him, ready to pounce, but all he saw was a man in a stained sweatshirt, wiping at tears on his cheeks.
“Fucking Doug,” Mitch said, dabbing at his dripping nose. “He should have known better than to push that China shit on her. She was just a little girl.”
Julian’s knees quivered, and he leaned harder against his car so they wouldn’t give out entirely. “Are you saying it was Doug’s stuff? How do you know that?”
“Everybody knew it. He was arrested for it.”
Julian hadn’t known. After that night, he’d begun a three-year spiral into the depths of self-destruction that finally ended in a bathtub full of bloody water. He’d never paid his respects to her family or talked to any of their friends. He didn’t even know where she was buried. He’d spent all these years hating Mitch because it made it easier to avoid the elephant in the room—the question of where Gina had gotten the heroin.
Color Me Crazy Page 16