Reft

by Libby Austin

  “Here’s the first batch of sandwiches, and can you guys make your bitch session quick? Brandon and I have plans tonight, and we’re behind schedule,” Layna said as she placed a plate of sandwiches on the counter and leaned there, patiently waiting for one of us to answer her.

  Bow jumped up and cleared the distance between the couch and the counter in three leaps and shoved half a sandwich down his throat before the other guys made it to the counter.

  “What’s on your big agenda for tonight?” Ruff asked around the sandwich he was quickly consuming. I swear, it was like they never ate.

  “Which one are you again?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I’m Ruff.”

  “Ruff? Interesting. Well, Ruff, would you like me to make Patsy her own sandwich?”

  “No,” he shook his head, “but she could use a bowl of water, if you don’t mind.”

  “Jackass,” I said, “she has a broken foot. You know where shit is; get your own water.”

  In unison, as if they’d practiced, they all leaned over the counter to check out Layna’s foot, like they needed to confirm I was telling the truth.

  “Huh, how’d we miss that?” Bow asked no one in particular.

  “Probably because it’s not attached to my boobs,” Layna deadpanned.

  They all nodded their heads, and Bow said, “True.” At least he was an honest male chauvinistic asshole.

  “Speaking of that, you need to sit down. You’ve been standing on your foot way too long.” I stood up to take my plate into the kitchen and push her out of it if necessary.

  “It’s fine,” she argued. “I’ll be sitting while we play, so I’ll get plenty of rest.”

  “What are y’all playing? I’m always up for a game.” Bow’s knack for making himself welcome wherever he went was a practice we were all used to, but I wasn’t sure how Layna would take his assertion.

  “Well, I’m playin’ the drums, and Brandon plays the guitar.” Then she added, “Left-handed.”

  “Wait, you’re playing instruments?” Bow was always swift on the uptake. “Like musical instruments?” I swear it was like they were synchronized when they all turned to stare at me. “You thinking of going out on your own? Is that what avoiding us is all about?”

  “What? No. She’s talking about playing Band Jam—the video game—you morons.”

  “Oh, the video game …”

  “Are all of your periods in sync, too?” It came out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I shoved my hands through my hair and pulled while I prayed for patience. “Go sit down,” I addressed Layna. “I’ll clean up in here. I’m sure the guys need to get going, so I’ll get everything set up when I’m done in here. Go.” I handed Layna her crutches and pointed to the living room.

  After she headed toward the living room, grumbling under her breath about me being a pushy bastard, I looked at the guys. “Okay, y’all are assured I’m alive and well and I’m not leaving the band, so you can leave me in peace. Isn’t this what taking this break was supposed to be? Us getting out of each other’s hair?”

  “No, this break was about not sleeping in a different place every night and having some down time so we don’t get burned out,” Touch argued. “But I think we’re gonna hang out and play some Band Jam. What do you guys think?”

  “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

  “I got nothing waiting at home as long as the in-laws are there.”

  “We’re all in, so we’ll get set up while you clean the kitchen, Martha.” Touch made the statement, and the other three nodded their heads in agreement.

  Fuck! How did I not see this happening?

  “HOW LONG DO YOU THINK it will take him to pass out from air loss or alcohol consumption?” Layna asked Ruff, gesturing to Bow, who was screeching the lyrics to “Somebody to Love” as Layna and Ruff played the drums.

  Ruff and Layna had decided to split drummer duties. Ruff played the right half and Layna played the left. Once they’d settled into a pattern, it was as if they were in perfect harmony. Unlike Bow, who’d argued with Touch over who was going to be the singer, and sounded like a cat in heat.

  “Never, much to everyone’s dismay. The blowhard is full of more air than the Goodyear Blimp, and he has an unrivaled ability to consume alcohol and still function. We have bets going on when we’ll find him pickled.” Ruff’s description of Bow was dead-on. Bow could drink and argue anyone into the ground—simultaneously—without breaking a sweat or even thinking very hard. Most people had no idea Bow had been pre-law and had graduated summa cum laude. Our theory was he’d been born with twice as many brain cells as a normal human, so at some point, he would begin to react like the rest of us.

  “Pity,” was her response. Bow was too wrapped up in his ‘performance’ to care about the conversations going on around him. “You think if I hit him over the head with my crutch, y’all could truss him up and stuff him in the closet until were done?”

  “We could, but fair warning: he holds a grudge like no other.”

  “Is he the spawn of Satan?”

  “It’s possible, but he must have been switched at birth because the rest of his family are really nice, calm people.”

  As Bow threw his head back, in his usual spectacle of theatrics, to hit a high note, his phone went off, playing “Bitch,” and he immediately threw down the microphone to answer it. The rest of us started yelling at him. Touch saw his opportunity to claim the mic and took it.

  “I’m afraid to ask who he would assign that ringtone to,” Layna observed, causing Ruff to laugh.

  “That’s his wife’s ringtone. She picked it for herself. Said it was a reminder to him that as bad as Bow thinks he is, she is much worse. I tend to agree with her,” Ruff explained, never missing a beat.

  “He’s married?”

  “Stranger things have happened—not many, but a few,” Joker threw in for good measure.

  The song wrapped up, and Layna informed everyone she needed a restroom break, then hobbled down the hallway. I took the opportunity to get another bottle of water. “Anybody need anything from the kitchen?” I offered.

  “Nah, man. Pretty sure when Bow gets off the phone, we’ll be getting out of here,” Touch said with a yawn.

  “What’s Kaitlyn up to?” I asked in hopes of eliminating any necessity to fill up the silence with a conversation I wanted to avoid.

  “She has a deadline coming up for an article in a couple of days, so it’s basically work, eat every once in a while, and sleep minimally. Conversations mostly consist of grunts and growls as answers to questions I ask. I’ve learned it’s best to keep out of her way when she’s like this.” He yawned before getting up to help Joker put away the instruments. Kaitlyn was a freelance entertainment journalist. That was how she and Touch met, actually. She’d written a rather unflattering review of one of our albums and called us sellouts, along with a few more less than stellar descriptions. Touch had written her and pointed out that she admitted to never having seen our live show, so she had no basis for most of the stuff she asserted in the article. Kaitlyn came to a show, and the rest, as they say, was history.

  Ruff had Patsy in his arms again. Her eyes still looked a little blurry with sleep from her nap. “I’m taking Patsy downstairs for a walk. I’ll meet y’all down at the car. See ya later, Brandy. We’ll have to do this again. Tell Layna she can be my partner anytime.”

  “What the hell? You never let me touch your drums,” Joker yelled as he came out of a spare bedroom.

  Ruff rolled his eyes at Joker’s griping. It was a familiar refrain. Ruff didn’t let anyone touch his drums. Not even the road crew was allowed to assemble and disassemble them. The only thing Ruff was more particular about was Patsy. Damn dog. “You get to touch everything else I own. Some boundaries are a good thing and keep a relationship in balance. Now, I’m going to take Patsy out—unless you want to?”

  Joker huffed. “Be gone with you and take the Devil’s Bride with ya, Patsy.”

  “Patsy loves y
ou, too,” Ruff taunted Joker as he walked out the door.

  Wisely, I kept my mouth shut. It didn’t matter which one of them you agreed with, they’d still get pissed at you for arguing with the other. They could bitch about each other to no end, but God help the soul who thought to do the same.

  “See what I put up with?” Joker asked Touch and me.

  “So what’s going on, man?” Touch cornered me.

  I shrugged and said, “Nothing much, just hanging out, resting and writing. Like you said, using the time to regroup.”

  “That’s it?” Touch looked around the condo. “Nothing going on with you and Layna?”

  At that I laughed. “What’s wrong with me hanging out with Layna?” Joker and Touch shared a look. “What’s that look supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve just never been known for having girlfriend—or friends who were girls,” Joker answered.

  “Whatever. I’ve been friends with Danelle for years.”

  “No, you were friendly with Danelle, not friends. There’s a difference, Brand,” Touch argued.

  “Look, Layna’s the daughter of one of my Mom’s friends. She broke her foot last week. I’m just being nice and helping her out because she doesn’t know anyone here.” Anything else, I didn’t want to think about. Thankfully, he let the subject drop when Bow came into the kitchen.

  “We about ready to head out? Ellie’s on her way back to the house, so I want to meet her there.”

  “Why are you in such a rush to get home? Weren’t you just bitching about your in-laws cramping your style?” Touch reminded him.

  An evil grin formed on Bow’s lips. “The in-laws decided to drive up the coast to see some friends for a couple of days, and I don’t plan on letting a minute go to waste.”

  “Won’t do you much good when I tell her you called her Ellie,” Touch threatened. “You know, as payback for stealing my job as the lead singer of the band?”

  “I didn’t steal shit; it was a fair call. You get to hog the spotlight on stage all the time—”

  “Are y’all leaving already?” Layna asked as she came clunking back into the room.

  “Yeah, we have to get home. Plus, Ruff is downstairs with Patsy waiting on us, so we better get going. But we didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye,” Touch explained as he stepped over to give her a hug. “You’ll have to come over to our house and shoot some pool with us.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Layna said as she returned his hug before she sat on one of the bar stools.

  The guys all said their good-byes and made their way out the door.

  “Well, they’re an interesting cast of characters.”

  “That they are,” I agreed with her assessment.

  “But nice.”

  “They’re that, too.” I didn’t want to get into the inner workings of my band’s relationship.

  “What’s up with all the nicknames?”

  “Like most good stories, it happened one night in college when we were drunk and stupid and mistakenly thought we were clever.”

  Layna stared at me, as if waiting for more, and she didn’t wait long to ask. “There’s got to be more to it than that.”

  “You hungry? All that playing must have worked up an appetite.”

  “I’m a little hungry. What were you thinking?” She looked at me expectantly, which I guess was fair since she cooked the last meal.

  “How about the Awful Waffle?”

  “You want to eat at a place with the word awful in the name?” Layna countered.

  “You’ve never eaten at the Waffle House?” I found this hard to believe; everybody has eaten at the Waffle House. It’s a rite of passage for every drunken buffoon and college student.

  “Well, yeah, but we just call it the Waffle House. Why do you call it the Awful Waffle?”

  “Because it’s the place where drunk people end up, and when you wake up in the morning you blame the food, rather than the alcohol you consumed, for how awful you feel.” Then I amended the statement, “Well, most college kids, anyway. So, you up for it?”

  “Sounds good. Let’s go.” She got up and started heading for the door. “Let me grab my purse, and I’ll meet you in the hall.”

  “Be right there. I need to grab my wallet.”

  Five minutes later, we were on our way to my favorite place to snag a bite to eat late at night.

  WE DROVE THE FEW BLOCKS to the restaurant I preferred. It was off the beaten path, and the pace was slow and laid back. I could come here and be around people without worrying about them wanting to talk to me or asking questions I didn’t want to think about let alone give answers to.

  “Well, hey there, stranger! It’s been a while since we’ve seen you,” Barb called as we walked through the front door.

  I pointed to the last booth on the left and told Layna that was my favorite booth.

  “Come here a lot, do you?” Layna said.

  I shrugged. “Not a lot, but when I’m in town, it’s one of my go-to places. Usually it’s pretty quiet, and Barb and Deb are the two best waitresses in the entire world.” I smiled up at Barb as she stood on the kitchen side of the wall.

  “Flattery will get you nowhere with me, young man, so save that shtick for Debbie.” She scowled at me, but within a second, the smile had returned to her face. “You want your usual, hun?”

  Nodding my head yes. I gestured toward Layna and said, “Yeah, but Layna might need a minute to decide what she wants.”

  Barb smiled at Layna. “That’s no problem. You know what you want to drink while you’re decidin’?”

  “Umm, I’ll have a large chocolate milk.”

  “Aww, two of a kind.”

  It appeared Barb had the mistaken impression Layna and I were on a date. That couldn’t be further from the truth, so I explained how we knew each other. “Oh, by the way, Layna’s my new neighbor. She’s moved here from out of state. I’m showing her the best places in the neighborhood.”

  “Right,” she said, stretching out the ‘i’ in the way that insinuated she didn’t believe me. “I’ll be right back with those drinks.” Barb walked away after that parting shot.

  Why didn’t anybody believe I could hang out with Layna as friends? I’m a nice and friendly guy, aren’t I? I mean, the guys used to come here with me back before they had girlfriends and wives and other obligations.

  “If you frown any harder, your lips are going to droop off your chin, and then I’ll be forced to call you Droopy Drawers. It’ll be ‘Droopy Drawers this’ and ‘Droopy Drawers that.’ I’m pretty sure even the guys would pick up on calling you Droopy Drawers, since it seems like you’re the only one without a unique moniker. Why is that, by the way?”

  “Why is what? I’m still trying to figure out the name Droopy Drawers.”

  “Your mom never called you Droopy Drawers when you were pouting as a kid?” Then she made this exaggerated frowny face that sort of resembled the mask from the movie Scream.

  “No, my mom just threatened that our faces would stick like that. Barrett and I used to try to hold the craziest faces we could to see how long it would take for them to stick, but it never happened.”

  Barb walked up and placed our large chocolate milks on the table. “You ready to order, sweetie?”

  “Oh, I forgot to look. Just a second.” Layna studied the menu then said, “I’ll have a waffle.”

  “Anything with that?”

  “No, that will be plenty. Thanks.” Sliding the menu back into the little holder, Layna turned her focus back to me. “So, why don’t you have a nickname like the other guys?”

  I fiddled nervously with the straw wrapper, running it back and forth between my fingers. “Well, I do. They just don’t use it as much anymore.” My eyes bounced all around, landing on everything but her. I knew if I made eye contact, she would expect me to say it, and I really didn’t want to say it. So I kept avoiding, even though I knew it was useless, and hoped our food would show up soon. If I could whistle, I wou
ld have. As it was, it felt like someone was humming the theme to Jeopardy in the background.

  Then it happened. I looked at her. I made eye contact with those wide, guileless brown eyes, and I caved like a cheap tent in a stiff breeze.

  “You have to promise not to laugh and not to repeat it—ever.”

  I watched her lips curve around the thin straw. Heat shot through me, and I began silently scolding my dick to stop getting ideas. Ideas were useless because there wouldn’t be any follow-through—ever. Remember you aren’t getting any of … well, that … so down, boy, down. After a few too many seconds of me staring as I mentally talked my dick down, Layna raised her eyebrows, prompting me to confide in her.

  “Handy Brandy.”

  “That’s not so bad. You must be really good at fixing stuff,” she surmised inaccurately.

  “Not so much.” The straw wrapper was now shredded, so I began to fiddle with a napkin.

  “Then why do they call you Handy?” she asked before talking another sip of her drink.

  “It alludes to my lack of a dating life.”

  She took a momentary break from tormenting me with that straw to ask, “What does your dating life have to do with being handy?” Then she resumed sipping.

  I simply stared at her. Did I have to draw her a picture? Not only did I really not want to discuss my sex life with anyone, I really didn’t want to discuss that until I walked out into the hall to find her bent over in a pair of shorts that left very little to the imagination, I hadn’t been interested in anyone in a very long time.

  The moment the answer came to her, Layna’s eyes widened even more and she sucked in a breath to laugh. Unfortunately, she forgot to stop drinking first and ended up choking on a mouthful of chocolate milk, which then came squirting out of her nose in the most unattractive way. Layna grasped for napkins as she cupped one hand over her nose. But she couldn’t stop laughing, laughing to the point where she was almost hyperventilating and had tears running down her face. I didn’t think it was that damn funny.

  Once she managed to get herself under control enough to talk, her words came out as word, laugh-snort, word, “I,” laugh-snort, “snor—,” laugh, “snorted,” gasp-snort, “milk,” laugh-snort-laugh, “out,” laugh, “my,” snort, “nose.” Then she started laughing again.