Priscilla pushed the nearly empty martini glass away, appalled at having two cocktail glasses in front of her. What had she been thinking, drinking with abandon in a place like this, with all the other wretched souls, friendless and pathetic? What made her think she would end up any better than the people around her? Did she have friends and family to see her through her old age? Did she have prospects for a normal life, with a husband, kids and a golden retriever?
Hell no. Normal was definitely not in her future. This is what she had to look forward to, wasting her time and money in anonymous watering holes for pitiful misfits. Why, she hadn’t even managed to get a song down on paper. The whole episode had been a complete waste of time. She should’ve gone back to her hotel room and laid low for the night.
But no, she couldn’t stand the thought of sitting in her room, all alone, watching time creep by. If she had gotten to the stage in her life where she couldn’t bear the thought of her own company for one lousy night, she was in big trouble.
Rather than further depress herself with visions of similarly dismal evenings in the Florida Keys, Priscilla stashed her belongings and pulled two tens out of her purse and laid them on the bar. The bartender appeared, suspicious look on his face.
“That’ll be twenty-six dollars for the two call Manhattans,” he said, his body language making her for a deadbeat stiff. Priscilla started at the outrage of charging uptown prices in such a shabby hole. Reluctantly, she reached into her wallet and pulled out another ten and pushed it across the bar.
“Thanks,” he said, in a less than cordial tone, as he removed her untouched drink and tossed the contents unceremoniously into the sink. Priscilla slung her bag over her shoulder and slid off the barstool.
She was in the middle of sending a wave of bad vibes to the surly bartender when she nearly collided with her latest admirer. Up close, he was even less appealing than she had first suspected. He laughed in a casual, off-hand manner, treating her to crooked yellow teeth and foul breath.
“You’re not leaving?” he asked in a tone that was meant to be seductive.
“Yeah,” Priscilla replied, stepping sideways to dodge his powerful halitosis.
“But the night’s still young. Besides, we haven’t been properly introduced yet,” the man went on, oblivious to Priscilla’s repulsion. “Albert Stubbens,” he said, offering his hand, which she glared at until it finally retreated from sight.
“Why don’t we have a seat over there where we can talk? I’ll buy you another drink and maybe you’ll tell me your name and why a beautiful girl like you is sitting all alone in a place like this.”
She stared in mild disbelief. She had not given him a single word of encouragement, yet he seemed completely undaunted by her lack of enthusiasm. It was as if he were a wind up doll, programmed to spout an endless stream of barroom pickup lines. She was surprised he hadn’t asked her what her sign was.
“I have to go,” she said.
He deftly stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “You’re not being fair to yourself here. All I want is a chance for us to talk and get to know each other.” Priscilla regarded him warily, wondering if there was a backdoor she could run out. “Can’t you at least tell me your name? Surely you owe me that much,” he said with an offended huff.
“Look, I’m not interested in getting to know you. So please just get out of my way,” she said, starring him down. He stiffened and took a half step backward. Priscilla sighed with relief and pushed past him. Shocked by the grope she received, she swung her bag at him reflexively. If she had taken the time to aim, she would’ve taken his head off.
“Jesus Christ!” the man wailed indignantly, taking the blow with his shoulder. “What’d you do that for?” he yelped.
“Don’t you ever lay your miserable hand on me again, you understand?” Priscilla warned through clenched teeth. By now, the commotion had attracted the attention of everyone one around them.
“What’s the problem here?” the bartender asked.
“This lady hauled off and slugged me for no reason,” bad breath said, feigning complete innocence. Priscilla started to protest, but immediately saw the futility of debating bad conduct in front of a jury of his peers. She glared at him hotly for a second before turning toward the door.
“Hold on a minute, lady—I think you owe the man an apology,” the bartender called out, his voice high with righteous indignation.
“I don’t believe this,” Priscilla said, turning around to face the maligning men.
“All I was trying to do was be friendly to a stranger,” corduroy jacket said for the benefit of his compadres.
“You hit a guy ‘cause he buys you a drink?” the bartender asked scornfully, instantly winning the support of the professional barflies.
“The drink was one thing. The hand on the ass was quite another,” Priscilla said coldly, her eyes boring a hole into her accuser.
“I didn’t touch her, I swear,” the man simpered pathetically. It was enough to turn Priscilla cold sober. Without listening to another word, she marched out the door, not slowing her pace until she was halfway down the block.
“Don’t come back till you learn some manners!”
Priscilla spun around in time to watch the cowardly groper slink back into his hole, probably out of fear she was going to come after him and finish the job she had started. She answered his insult with a harsh laugh.
She couldn’t wait to get out of this lunatic asylum of a town. No matter what kind of loafers and ne’er-do-well’s she encountered down south, she was sure she wouldn’t be met with such squirrelly arrogance. She’d had enough of this city and its inhabitants to last her a lifetime.
Her only regret was she couldn’t board a train and leave town that minute. She wasn’t even hell-bent on Florida anymore. It could be anyplace, as long as it was far away from New York City. She was now glad she had stayed one more night, for it had been the cure. She was finished with this place, absolutely and for good.
Twenty-Seven
Tobias reached over and picked up his watch. 8:45. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, but he was too restless to lie still anymore. He threw back the sheet and sat up. He had slept in his clothes on the sofa all night; for he preferred it to the three king-size beds at his disposal.
In many respects, living in a hotel suited him perfectly, but it hadn’t really begun to feel like home yet. Sleeping regularly in one of the beds would somehow signify a permanence he wasn’t ready to accept, regardless of what his home life was like these days.
Thinking of the last scene with Monique made him cringe. It seemed they had reached a point in their relationship where it was impossible to keep score anymore. He had arrogantly and incorrectly assumed he could do as he pleased and Monique would just have to take it.
It had never crossed his mind she would be unfaithful to him, though why it hadn’t was a mystery to him now. He supposed he’d always taken her love and fidelity for granted, as a sort of guaranteed payment for all her unfettered spending. They were both supposedly getting what they wanted, weren’t they? She took care of him, he took care of her. It was a bargain they had embraced, but now he wondered why they had been willing to settle for so little.
But maybe Monique hadn’t. She had been all too willing to play guardian to his celebrity, regulating his life, keeping it safe and uncomplicated. She was clever enough to pass herself off as Brody’s ally during their courtship, but she turned herself into a human wedge between the partners once the ring was slipped on her finger. If it hadn’t been for her, where would he be today? He’d like to think he’d be further along musically than he was now, yet it was just as likely he’d have ended up in drug rehab or a pine box.
He consoled himself with the idea that life was a series of phases. He had his phase of stardom and unabashed indulgence, then his phase of careful yet brainless living. Now it was time for the next phase to begin. But what exactly did he want that phase to be?
He couldn’t
bring himself to go backwards, but that’s exactly what Brody and Monique wanted him to do. Knock out a few new tunes, cut an album and go on tour, regardless of the quality of what they were putting out. Just get the money machine cranked up and running again, before the well ran dry.
Brody had his own reasons for wanting to get back in the game, ostensibly for the creative outlet it provided. But even low-profile Brody had an ego to support. Monique’s motives were entirely selfish. She was only willing to let Tobias’s leash out a little in order to reel him back once he had refreshed his bank accounts and her status as wife to one of the most awesome rock talents alive.
Ironically, Monique had been the one who convinced him to break up the band in the first place, citing how destructive the business could be to body and soul. As soon as he and Brody split, she began campaigning for him to go solo. That experiment had been an eye-opening disaster, one that made Tobias gratefully retreat to Monique’s protective asylum.
But that was the past. He was in charge of his life again. At least that fact had been established. However things played out with his marriage, he would not cower in oblivion like before. He would not shun his gifts out of fear of the toll the rock ‘n roll lifestyle could take on his soul. He was a big boy now. He could keep himself on the straight and narrow, if he wanted to.
For Tobias, the least appealing aspect of their reunion was regressing backwards in time. Absent Among Us had its day in the sun. They struck gold, reveled in their glory and made a pile of money, enough to last them the rest of their lives, if they didn’t do anything stupid. Tobias hadn’t exactly been careful, with his expensive taste in young ladies and Monique’s gift for spending money.
But now Tobias found himself questioning his need for financial security. If he were to change the way he lived, if he were to devote himself entirely to music, how much money did he actually need? He could certainly do without a three-bedroom suite. And he surely didn’t have to live in a hotel.
Tobias pushed himself up off the sofa and went to the window. As he distractedly took in the sights of the city in its workaday mode, he wondered if he could really shed his glamorous habits and live a more modest lifestyle.
Could he live in a nasty little hole like Priscilla’s? His expression soured. Change was a good idea, but there was no need to go to extremes. He couldn’t picture himself living on the Lower Eastside, but there certainly wasn’t anything wrong with living in Soho or Tribeca.
The bigger question was whether he could give up his dependence on beautiful young things. In the cold light of day, this seemed an easy enough habit to break, but he knew himself better than that. It didn’t take much to stimulate his need for soft, smooth flesh, the flawless bodies of those young enough to still be compliant and eager to please. It was solely a physical addiction; he got nothing out of their company other than sex and a pretty face to look at.
Tobias turned away from the window and gravitated slowly toward the piano. There was a bigger void in his life than music alone could fill. His earlier relationship with Brody had satisfied him intellectually, and to a lesser degree, so had his marriage to Monique, but their interaction was more akin to mental jousting.
He’d had only one mistress who had challenged him mentally, but their breakup had been so excruciating, Tobias wised up and set his sights on less developed minds. And that’s what he got: an indistinguishable line of Simones, each one stunning, but shallow as a saucer.
Tobias lifted the lid and tapped on a key. While still standing, he played the opening bar of Priscilla’s song. He heard the words in his mind while he played, but neither words nor melody moved him the way they had before. He felt far too melancholy to appreciate the lusty lyrics and seductive rhythms.
He closed the lid and headed to the closest shower, where he doused himself for a long while. Afterwards, he dressed in his usual attire and went out into the day.
Twenty-Eight
Priscilla paid her hotel bill and toted her single bag out onto the street. She had awoken with a clear head and a determined attitude. A change had taken place inside her while sleeping, and she now saw the world and her place in it with new eyes. She was a free as a bird. She had no ties to any person, place or thing. She had conveniently moved Phil to a place in her mind where he no longer had the power to distract her: the past.
All she saw before her now was the present, and at that precise moment, the present was a partly cloudy day, a pocket full of money and a train ride south. She couldn’t imagine a more thrilling scenario. Here she was, poised to begin a new life. She could wipe her slate clean and replace the disappointing reality of her time in New York with a deceptively slim accounting.
She could tell whoever she met down in Florida she had spent the last twelve years in the Big Apple, where she had various jobs and boyfriends, until city life finally got to her, not to mention the horrible winters. End of story. There would be no reason to own up to anything more than that. Poof, just like that, the mistakes and misjudgments of a dozen years would vanish into thin, sun-filled air.
With the prospect of creating a new persona happily fermenting in her head, Priscilla decided some serious shopping was in order. A thirty-something turning her back on New York City because it did not suit her standards, would nonetheless take advantage of the abundance of retail stores before making her departure. Having lived so long in that fashion-conscious city, this savvy female would arm herself with the latest spring fashions before embarking on her new adventure.
In stark contrast to her former frugality, Priscilla was becoming giddy with the thought of buying all new everything: from lingerie to strappy sandals, maybe even a proper suitcase to hold it all. As she hurried down the street, visions of the new Priscilla Vanderpool flashed across her mind’s eye—relaxed, confident, hopeful, as she stepped off the train in Miami, wearing a brightly colored sundress, pulling her new suitcase behind her…
“Priscilla!” The shouting of her name sounded like an alarm, harshly yanking her out of her daydream, filling her instantly with a sense of impending doom. She stopped short and listened. “Priscilla!” the voice called again.
She turned, scanning the busy sidewalks and streets, afraid of finding out who was so desperate to get her attention. Not recognizing any of the faces turned her way, she started forward, deciding it was unwise to linger. After all, she couldn’t think of a single soul in that town she wished to speak to.
“Priscilla…wait!”
Her head swung around reflexively, and her feet stuttered to a halt, despite her commands to tune out the voice and keep moving. She backed away from the coursing foot traffic while her eyes sifted through the stream of oncoming pedestrians. She wracked her brain trying to place the voice.
“Priscilla,” Tobias said, short of breath, as he suddenly appeared before her. Priscilla’s mouth fell open, but no words came out.
“I can’t believe I found you,” he said, as he clutched her arm and laughed with relief. “Your landlady told me you moved to Florida,” he said.
Priscilla stared at him in disbelief. This could not really be happening. It was inconceivable she could’ve made such an impression on Tobias Jordan as to cause him to seek her out not once, but twice.
She had waited on him a handful of times, yet he was acting like her lifelong friend, risking exposure to the public by shouting her name on a busy street. There had to be something seriously wrong with the guy. Surely he had better ways to occupy his time than hunting down former waitresses.
“I don’t blame you for moving out of that hole,” Tobias was saying, clearly oblivious to her shock. “When she told me you moved to Florida, I totally fell for it. I guess you just said that as excuse for leaving.”
“I am moving to Florida.”
“What? Why?”
“Why do you care?” Even though her tone was plainly antagonistic, Tobias was more aggrieved by the fact that she was leaving the city than her chilly reception. Priscilla’s eyes wandered t
o the faces of passersby while she struggled to make sense of what was happening.
“You actually talked to Mrs. Kay?” she asked, fixing Tobias with a dubious stare.
“Yeah, I went back there the day after you left.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to talk to you about your lyrics.” Finally the light dawned. Priscilla took a step backwards as she braced herself for what was coming. He had belatedly come to his senses and wanted his money back. Fifteen thousand dollars is a lot of dough, even for a rock star. And to think she had almost made a clean getaway.
“All I have in cash is about twenty-five hundred. The rest is in Traveler’s Checks,” she said, already digging in her bag in a rather distracted fashion. “We should probably do this at your bank, don’t you think?” Tobias watched in confusion as Priscilla pulled out a wad of bills.
“What are you talking about?” he asked as she tried to hand him the loot.
“I have all your money, but most of it’s in travelers checks.”
“I don’t want the money back,” he said, slightly offended by the misunderstanding.
“You don’t?”
“No. Not at all,” he said, pushing her loaded fist back at her. “Put that back before you get mugged,” he said, suddenly self-conscious. Priscilla’s hand slowly retreated into her bag, stashing the money back in its secure place, feeling weak from relief.
“If you don’t want the money back…what do you want to talk about?” For the first time, Tobias looked unsure of himself.
“I just thought we could discuss your work,” he said, shifting his feet nervously. “It’s surprisingly good…some of it…pretty darn remarkable, actually.”
It was Priscilla’s turn to squirm. “Are you kidding me?” she said, eyes bugging in amazement.
“No, no…some of your writing is really incredible. It’s all yours, right, your original work?”
Alligators in the Trees Page 35