by Ivy M. Jones
"I'm older than you. Shouldn't I get the big screen?" he mumbles, logging in.
"Are you saying you're so old, you need all the help you can get?" He's four friggin months older than me.
Cy takes out two guys before answering. "Apparently not. Eat that."
"Then don't bitch, Dad."
We're both quiet, working our way through the tunnels. Then he says, "You bailed the other day."
"Yeah, Dad, I did. Ground me," I say, huffing in frustration at the incoming team's idiocy.
"Not your dad."
"Act like it sometimes," I point out.
"Just worry."
"Like a dad."
"Yeah. But not your dad. I heard you say once he was an asshole." Cy manages to strafe to avoid a hole in his head as he talks to me, something I still haven't mastered. I can barely talk about in-game stuff and survive, and here he is carrying on a whole conversation while mutilating the other team.
"True. You're not an asshole. Most of the time," I offer. "Sorry I bailed. I hope Juliana wasn't too mad." I know I don't sound very contrite. Or very concerned about Juliana's ire.
I see him smirk out of the corner of my eye.
And just like that, he lets the conversation drop. We sit in almost-silence, the quiet broken only in short cuss-filled spurts and warnings. We drink our soda, up our rankings, and pass the time until we need to get ready for the show at Kermit's.
I swear, Sarah was here. There's a pair of red panties on my keyboard frame by the end of a song, and Griffin and I do our little show before he stashes them in his pocket. But right then, I look up and I swear I see that same flash of red ponytail.
I know I'm losing my mind, so I don't even bother trying to party with the guys. It doesn't matter anyway. Andy is freaking out because the pops managed to catch her rubbing her tummy and she believes the end of the world has come in the form of The Hollywood Word. So Justin won't be partying either.
After loading our gear into Justin's SUV and my truck, Cy ducks mysteriously into the back of a cab with a wink. Cy, who never goes home with groupies, just disappears without a word. I wasn't up to partying, but now, I don't even have my roommate to hang out with and I feel a little lost.
I drive myself home, still seeing that flash of ponytail in my mind's eye, sure I saw her tonight. Which is just crazy since the City is so fucking huge and there's no way she could accidentally find the band more than once just by walking past a club. There's just no way.
But still... I bring a picture from my stash with me to Ferdinand's. I show it to the rather well dressed bouncer at the door and tell him that if he sees the girl, he's to hold onto her and bring her to me after the show. I'm such an asshole; I even tell the guy - who's wearing wingtips, of all things - that she's my future baby momma and I have the right to see my kid, but she's been giving me shit.
The guy nods and murmurs something about good men sticking around for their kids.
I nod, but I don't explain that I'm actually the bad guy in all this. I just lied about knocking her up so I can make sure I'm not hallucinating. If he sees her, I'll know, which means no red ponytails flashing in the audience will distract me tonight.
I finish out my conversation with Wingtips when I see Cy walk in. I haven't seen him since he winked at me the night before. He's scruffy, like he hasn't shaved since yesterday morning, and his Three Days Grace t-shirt is a little creased. But hell, the guy could walk in wearing sweatpants and a wifebeater and the girls would still fall all over him. As it is, he has a kind of rehabbed bad boy thing going that makes Carlos, one of the club owners, check him out from behind. I watch him tap Ferdinand on the shoulder and point. Ferdinand takes a nice long look, too, and I have to wonder if the couple plans to proposition my roommate tonight.
Cy walks over to where Justin's practically having sex with Andy against a table. I watch Cy lean over and yell Justin's name right into his ear. It's funny as shit watching Justin and Andy skitter apart like they hadn't realized where they were. Justin takes a few deep breaths and finally hops back onto the stage with the rest of us.
Griffin finishes setting his kit correctly and chuckles. "Glad you're marrying the poor girl. Hopefully after a two-week honeymoon, you two will be able to stand in the same room together and not climb down each other's throats."
Cy and Griffin continue to harass Justin pretty much until the curtains open, and I spend the time wishing I could have just a tiny taste of life working out like that for me.
"You know," Justin says, just as we're getting ready to start, "someday, all you fuckers are gonna find your own Pussycats. And I'm going to laugh when it happens and give you all the same shit you're giving me."
Honestly? He can give me all the shit he wants when it happens. But the chances of me bringing a girl home anytime soon are looking pretty slim.
We rock our asses off, play a great set, and then Cy calls autographs early. Andy doesn't know why, but we all do. Justin's planning to propose to her tonight at the after-party.
I let out the breath I've been holding. Wingtips never came to see me, hauling a redhead behind him, so she never came. I didn't spend the time looking into the audience for her and I feel a hell of a lot more relaxed as a result.
Or, at least, I do until we get to the part of the evening Justin's been sweating over for days.
He asked if he could borrow my house, which I was totally fine with, so now that the show's over, we're all driving the hour plus to get upstate. I have three different videogame consoles in my trunk, along with three dozen games to play once we get there. I had someone go in earlier and make sure the place was stocked with basic groceries. I always have a full pantry - a byproduct of not knowing where your next meal's coming from - but I generally don't leave a gallon of milk around to spoil while I'm living in the City.
We've been here awhile, and it's so late, Andy's dozing off. I check the clock; it's nearly twelve thirty, and Griffin and I have been trying to hunt down one last little rat from the opposing team since eleven forty-five. Fucker keeps camping our spawn points and then bugging out right after he makes the hit, making us chase him around the whole map. I can see the bodies of his buddies still lying where we mowed them down earlier. So of course I'm pissed when Justin just shuts the TV off. Griffin gets it back on long enough for us to see we're both dead and we both verbally threaten him.
"You pull that shit again dude, that one kid's all your gonna have," Griffin says, then proceeds to boo at Justin until the guy drops to one knee in front of Andy.
"Oh, shit man. Was that tonight?" Griffin says, then slaps his hand over his mouth.
Andy's confused, obviously. But not for long. The baby outfit is cute and all of us guys start looking around to make sure we're not alone in our cooing. Justin breaks out the ring and Andy dissolves into tears. This time, we all look away.
There are cheers and happy smiles as Andy agrees to marry Justin in less than a week.
I have to go sit down.
I open a bottle of something a hell of a lot stronger than root beer and start in, hoping it will make me feel better. One of my best friends is going to get married to a woman he's crazy in love with and I can't get over how I hate him just a little for it.
I don't want to, but a part of me hates Justin's happiness.
I don't want to, but a part of me hates how I can still feel such anger at my father- a man who's been dead for years. I hate the man so much... He took all this away from me. If it weren't for him, Sarah and I might have been standing together tonight, celebrating our own wedding date being set.
I don't want to, but I hate how everyone around me is so happy. I hate how, if I could go back and change what happened that night, it would mean giving up Dark Fire- if I hadn't come to New York to disappear, I never would have ended up in the band; I could have one or the other, but not both. Dark Fire or Sarah.
Maybe Random might have blown up for us, but I doubt it. None of us had enough talent individually to make
magic together. Years of busking and practicing got me to the level I was at when I met Cy.
I smile at people and interact when required, but I'm feeling worse and worse until I hear Andy loudly say, "This is such a great night! Everyone's so happy... I thought it was time to let you guys be happy, too. No use hiding it anymore, right?"
I watch Justin grip Griffin's arm and then take a swing. They're on the floor in seconds, but I can see Griffin - who I know could take Justin down in a heartbeat - isn't doing anything besides defending himself. Dude will have bruises up and down his arms and a few on his face...
Oops. I guess he'll also need to get his lip re-pierced at some point, but he's not doing everything to stop Justin-
Oh, shit.
Pregnant Andy throws herself into the fray and the air in my lungs evaporates.
"Justin! Stop! It was a mistake! Please, let him go!" She tries to pull Justin away, but there's a zig when someone should have zagged, and the next thing I know, Justin takes one to the chin and goes lax over Griffin on the floor.
"Shit! I didn't mean to knock him out. I was just trying to stop him. I- I..."
Andy sobs through some sort of explanation only to run away and a minute later, we all hear a car take off.
At Nicki's request, Cy and I carry Justin back to one of the four spare rooms and pull off his shoes, leaving him in bed and covered. He's knocked out, but it was a chin hit, so I'm not too concerned. He's breathing fine. Later, I learn we probably should have taken him to the ER to check for a concussion anyway, but really, between the party alcohol and the late hour, no one is thinking clearly.
I make my way to my room, the master suite, which I actually hate. If I ever end up spending more time here, I'm having the place redone. I hate the decor, but it came free with the house so I didn't care at the time, too grateful have a permanent guaranteed home forever. I have money I'm not using, however, and if this is my fallback home, I should probably make it somewhere homey.
If you asked the guys, the first thing they'd guess was that I'd fill in the pool because I hate looking at it. I would never do that, though. First, this place is as much for the rest of the band as it is for me, and they like the pool. Second, it's not that I hate the pool; it just reminds me of the lake. With Sarah. Looking out over the cool water, all I can think of are those times when we parked in the dirt lot at the lake's edge in the evening, looking out over the water while listening to the radio and dreaming of how our lives would be.
Dates were expensive. Talking - and parking - was free.
We didn't want to stay in Lakemont. Too small for us and our big dreams. Random could hit it big, but even if it didn't, we would still leave. Sarah wanted to do something with computers; I wanted to do something with books- maybe editing or writing? For being my father's son, I wasn't a dumbass. I got amazing grades. Could easily go into technical writing...
One of the first nights I spent alone here, I went for a walk around the grounds. I could hear spring peepers here, too, and when my gaze flicked across the pool, I remembered those evenings with Sarah and broke down.
No, the pool stays despite being such a bittersweet memory... And despite the fact that I get to stare at that memory through the French doors that exit directly to the pool from my bedroom.
I pull the door from the hallway closed at my back and begin emptying my pockets. When I put my hand on my phone, I do what I always do and check the screen for any missed calls.
One waiting text from Ben Crest.
L and S already looking. Directing them to you.
Sarah
Somehow, I've made it through the weekend. I'm back to work, happy to have something else to put my mind on.
Lucy helps. She's been looking for new apartments in a better neighborhood since Saturday. I sit Monday morning with a stack of material that she apparently had couriered over for me to look through. I'm looking over my assignments for the day while absently flipping through the brochures and flyers.
They're all amazing, the glossy pictures making me wonder why we had to get such a piece of shit to start out with, though logically, I know why. Lucy was living with roommates while she lived in New Jersey and one of them was on the lease, not her. Neither of us have usable credit history- which I happily would have changed with my special skills, but it didn't feel right starting my new life on a credit history lie.
I shuffle through the stack once more on my lunch break, making calls for walkthroughs. I manage to get my lunch extended so I can go on a walkthrough in exchange for working a little overtime. Ms. Patrice Haas, the woman I talk to, is accommodating of my schedule and very solicitous. It's almost creepy. Not once do I get anything short of cheerfully polite.
Which is damned strange in New York City. Even on the cab ride there, the driver won't even look at me, much less crack a smile.
Now that's normal.
I'm sold on the place in seconds. It's huge, gorgeous, and well placed for work for both Lucy and me. It's also bigger than I expected and includes perks I never imagined. And for what we'd be getting, the rent is ridiculously low, which I don't understand at all, but the woman showing me around explains that they're running a special or something. It's a lot of technical rental stuff I don't understand, so I just nod and shake her hand. I sign the Intent to Lease and on my way out the door, I'm on the phone with Lucy.
"I found it! We're moving."
"Found what? Where are we moving?"
"I went to a walkthrough. I'm just leaving. I swear, these guys are on crack with what they're charging for rent for this place. I signed an Intent to Lease."
"Shit, no! Please tell me you didn't!"
"Why?" I nearly cross the street in front of an oncoming car, but some good Samaritan grabs my jacket and hauls me back.
"Thanks," I murmur to the crowd behind me.
"Insanely low rent for a spectacular place has to be a scam, Sare. Did they tell you why it was so low?" I can hear Lucy's hand rubbing her forehead over the phone line.
"They're offering this great deal to celebrate something... It's like a special."
"A special," Lucy mumbles.
"What? What's that tone of voice for?"
"Someone was probably murdered there, Sarah."
I stop in place and people bump into me from behind, shuffling me along despite the fact that I'm not walking.
"Uh, well... I guess we might have a slightly pissed-off roommate then, but at least the ghost won't eat our food or call in phony pizza orders or screw on the couch in the middle of the day for you to walk in on."
"Oh geez, please don't bring that up." Lucy sounds like she's whimpering.
I'm back at our current hellhole, so I beg her to reconsider our good luck, despite the possibility of someone else's bad luck. "We're really not going to get a better deal than this," I plead.
"I can take a look after work and then I'll bring dinner home."
"Eesh. Home," I say, looking up at the crumbling brick.
Less than thirty seconds after she's gone through the door, Lucy asks to sign the lease. Ghost or no ghost, she's not about to pass up the stupid-amazing deal I've stumbled upon.
Later that evening, I get a call from Ms. Haas. "Miss Jennings?"
"Yes? Oh, god. Is there a problem? We can still move in tomorrow afternoon, right? We've already given notice..."
"Oh, no problem, Miss Jennings. I'm calling because you mentioned you didn't have much furniture when we did the walkthrough. I have another tenant who left over the weekend, but he had to leave the country and left his furniture behind. Would you like it?"
I swallow, hard. This is too weird.
"It's not, like, gross?" Seriously, who am I to ask that? We have a loveseat and TV in our living room, two beds, and two ratty dressers. We don't even have table.
"No. From what I gather, it's pretty new."
"Oh. I probably can't afford what he'll ask for an apartment full of furniture that's brand new." My shoulders slump.
"Holy shit, yes!" I yell into the phone. "Sorry," I squeak.
Ms. Haas chuckles. "No problem. I'll just have everything in his apartment cleaned tomorrow morning and you can move into that unit."
I hang up a moment later, after effusive thanks, barely restraining myself from offering my firstborn.
Then I frown. This is getting really fucking weird.
I take a cab home from work the next day, lugging three empty copy paper boxes with me. Lucy does the same, but she's filled hers with papers from the recycling bin at work so we can wrap our dishes. We pack up everything in less time than it takes me to ride the subway to work, which feels pathetic.
I would be sad, but I'm too excited to sleep.
"You wanna go right now and see what furniture we have in our new place?" Ms. Haas had the keys delivered while we I was at work and I dangle them in front of Lucy. She squeals and we grab a couple of duffels of clothes to take with us.
When we stand in the open doorway of our new apartment, our jaws hit the floor.
"Are we in the right apartment?" Lucy asks.
I hold up my key. The one I just used to unlock the door to our apartment. The one with the A68 on it, which is the apartment number Ms. Haas gave me.
When I unlocked the door, I didn't have to jiggle the knob. There was also only one deadbolt and it opened with the same key.
We stare at the fully furnished apartment. The bookcase along the wall has a few miscellaneous coffee table books on it. The matching coffee table and end tables are dark solid wood but not too masculine. The couch is clearly real leather and looks like it's never been sat on.
On a hunch, I open a cabinet in the kitchen and find it fully stocked with wine glasses, the next one with glassware. The next one is dishes. Lucy comes up beside me and opens one of the pull-out drawers at her knees. It's full of pots and pans.