by Jesse Jordan
“Why? It's over, Chad. I told you that weeks and weeks ago. And your gift was fucking disgusting,” I fume. “Sending sex gifts to my work? Really, you fucking jerk?”
Chad's smile disappears,. “I was just having a little fun, Andrea. You used to like it.”
“I never liked it, I laughed once because I was embarrassed, asshole!” I holler back. Chad clenches his fists, and looks up, taking a deep breath as he tries to calm himself. “What?”
“I came to ask for another chance,” Chad grumbles, pouting. “I was trying to say sorry, Andrea.”
“Well, you are sorry. A sorry POS, and no, you don't get another chance,” I fume, sliding my bag off my shoulder but keeping it in my hand for self-defense. I'd rather have a broken smartphone than a broken jaw.
“Why? Why won't you give me another chance?” Chad half yells, slamming a fist against the panel next to the elevator. I back up a step, but I don't run, not yet. I don't think I can make it to my car before Chad chases me down if I take off running.
Besides, I'm pissed off. “Why?” I scream, flabbergasted. “Well, let's see. Should we start with any of the six girls I caught you cheating on me with? You know, the ones you were sexting with and boning on the side? And those were just the ones I caught you with!”
“Those bitches were crazy!” Chad yells, hitting the wall again, louder this time as he loses control of his emotions. “I told you that!”
“Then if that weren't enough,” I continue, not caring about his arguments, “was the fact that every time I told you no.... you tried to get me wasted. You think I didn't notice. 'Oh Andi, I know you just said no to a threesome with my frat brother, but here, have another Jell-O shot...' like that shit was some magic cure-all for a woman saying no.”
“You did plenty with me lots of other times,” Chad accuses me, and he's got me there. A few times, when I did get drunk and fucking him seemed like a good idea, we got up to some pretty freaky shit. So yeah, I've got an inner wild child... but that doesn't mean I always want to do it that way. Just with the right person, when I feel safe about it.
“And?” I shoot back. “Is that what you told the girl at the frat house? You'd done plenty with her other times too? Or maybe she just forgot to say no when you offered her one too many shots.”
Chad raises his hands, and I can tell I've pushed him a step too far. Still, I've got my keys in my hand, and if he comes any closer I can go for his eyes, or his...
“What the hell's going on down here?” asks someone coming out the door to the stairwell. “I'm upstairs trying to watch the goddamn game, and I hear you two yelling and screaming, beating on the fucking walls.”
“Nothing,” I reply, forcing myself to lower my voice. “Chad was just leaving, weren't you Chad?”
“I'm not....” Chad starts before he sees my neighbor pull out their cell phone. “I guess we'll continue this conversation later.”
“There is no later, Chad. I keep telling you that,” I reply, circling around the outside of the lobby to give Chad a path to the door. He shoves at the door and stalks off across the parking lot, narrowly avoiding getting into an accident as he leaves. I watch him go, then let go of the breath I've been holding, my hand aching where my keys have been digging into my palm.
“Hey... you okay?” my neighbor, suddenly a lot less hostile, asks. I turn around and see that he's still got his phone out, but he's quieter, less ready to throw down. “You want me to call the cops or not?”
I shake my head, wiping at my eyes where it seems I'm leaking. Damn dusty lounges, always making me tear up at the worst times. Allergies, it's got to be allergies, right? I mean, I can't be afraid of a guy like Chad, I just can't be. “No... no, I'm all right. He didn't touch me, and besides, his father's a lawyer. Named partner in a downtown firm.”
My neighbor nods, and puts his phone away. “Okay. But if he comes down here causing any more shit, I'm calling the police, I don't care if the complaint sticks or not.”
“Thanks,” I say tiredly, heading for the elevator. I try to think of something else to say, I feel like I should, but nothing comes to mind. “Uh... just thanks.”
“No problem. Have a good night,” my neighbor says, opening the door to the stairwell just as the elevator opens and I go up to my place. The fifteen feet from the elevator to my door feels like a mile, but by the time I get changed into some shorts, my fear and frustration is being replaced by anger.
How dare he? How dare he come to my home, when I've told him at least a dozen times that it was over? How dare he threaten me, and make me feel unsafe in my own home? I'm shaking in anger, my fists clenched, and I realize I should work this off. I look over at to my rowing machine, Dad bought for my birthday when I mentioned I needed to workout more. But the damn thing is noisy, with an air fan providing all the resistance.
“What the hell, why not?” I half laugh, feeling good about the laughter. I open my iTunes list and load a little mix I put together of the Fragments’ latest two albums.
I start the mix, plugging my laptop into my home stereo and letting the Dolby surround sound power me through thirty minutes on the rower, a good workout that leaves me sweat-soaked and the last of my anger gone. When I'm done, I stretch, because I know what my lower back is going to feel like tomorrow if I don't, and as Four Letters comes on, I find myself humming along. It's a great song, and when listening, I don't think that anything could make it any better. I know everyone gives Rocky Blake credit for his singing. I'll admit, he pours his heart out into every word... but Joey's guitar carries just as much weight, giving him the framework to put his words on.
Joey. I might as well. I go over to my desk, where the slip of paper with Joey's phone number is tacked to my corkboard. I pull it off, programming it into my phone then I hit the dial button. I'm still sweating, and I'm twisting a lock of my hair around a finger as I wait, nervous. It's pretty late, after ten o'clock, and he might not answer. When he answers though, I can't help it, I grin. “Hello, Andrea?”
“You programmed my number into your phone,” I half laugh, going over to my couch and hopping over the back, landing in a floomph of cushion and a stuffed animal that I got at a fair a month ago. “I'm touched.”
“When a beautiful woman says she might give me a call, I pay attention,” Joey says, and I feel myself blushing. “What can I do for you tonight? Re-think that idea about coffee?”
“Actually, coffee's still a no-go, but before I tell you my idea, how about you tell me about your Monday? I've had an epically sucky day, and I could use some good news.”
“Well, let's see... you inspired me,” Joey says, and my heart catches in my throat. “After we talked, over the weekend, I spoke with Cora while I was helping Rocky put together that swing set at their house. By the way, Bella Clearwater's going to have the world's most awesome backyard play set after this next weekend, Rocky, Ian and I got almost all the big work done, and we'll be working on it on and off this week to finish it up. This thing rocks!”
“Good for her, every kid should have a big backyard to play in,” I cheer. “Not sure how that inspired you, though.”
Joey laughs, and I swear my heartbeat goes up a few notches. “Oh, sorry, got off on a side road there, didn't I? No, I was talking with the guys about an idea I had. You know, Ian's resting up, Rocky's focusing on getting married and all, but we've still got a lot of extra time on our hands. So, I was telling them about some of the riffs I've been working on, and Cora just pipes up, saying that I should record them. This crazy woman actually offered to go down to the studio later this week and record them with me. Like, she's got a wedding coming up, she's pregnant, and still... anyway, I couldn't say no.”
“Why couldn't you?” I ask, and Joey laughs again.
“Because Ian had the garden hose pointed at me. If I had said no, I'd have been driving back to Thousand Oaks soaked to the bone. So, what made your day so bad?”
I'm tempted to tell Joey about Chad, but that's no way to talk to
a guy that I just met. “Tough day at work, really. I kept trying to write up our interview and... I kept getting distracted. Has anyone ever told you you've got a great voice?”
“Nobody who's listened to me sing,” Joey jokes, and I laugh again. “Face it, Rocky's got the pipes.”
“I'm not so sure, I just got done doing a half hour on a rowing machine listening to you guys, and you do pretty good backup vocals.”
Joey hums, and I can hear him lower his voice. “Half hour, huh? You must be tired.”
“Soaked in sweat all the way to the skin,” I tease, shocked at my forwardness. Am I really giving this guy double entendre naughty talk on our first phone call? “Which is why I'm calling.”
“I don't know your address, but I'm pretty sure I can be there with a towel by the time the sweat dries,” Joey jokes, and I laugh again, turned on. He knows how to be playfully flirty without crossing the line, he's good at that.
But I want to move on. If I delay much longer I'm going to lose my nerve for why I called. “Actually, how about we look at this Thursday? I've off from work since I just worked this weekend, Thursday's supposed to be a great fall day, weather-wise. So... how about lunch in the park?”
“The park, huh?” Joey asks, and I suddenly get worried that he's going to think that I'm being too playful, or maybe that I'm trying to friend zone him, or maybe... “You know what? That sounds great. Just one thing.”
“What's that?” I ask, and Joey chuckles.
“I'm going to need your address if I'm going to pick you up. I mean, I doubt you live around here in Thousand Oaks.”
I let out a sigh of relief that turns into a laugh, nodding to myself that I've found a good guy. “Okay. You don't mind coming out to Santa Monica?”
“Not a problem. You're worth a little trip on the 101,” Joey replies. “So, where should I pick you up?”
“How about I text you my address?” I ask, and Joey agrees happily. “Great, I'll send it as soon as we hang up then.”
“Great. How about I pick you up at noon?” Joey asks. “I mean, that's like a normal lunch time, right?”
“Last time I heard. But you're a rock star, and I'm a newspaper reporter, noon might be breakfast for you and who knows what meal for me. But yeah, noon would be great.”
Joey chuckles and I feel a little quiver in my belly. “Okay. So, yeah, I'll see you Thursday then. Thanks for calling, Andrea.”
“Thanks for letting me ask you out, Joey. So... good night.”
“Yeah, good night.”
I hang up first, not wanting to, but after I do, I feel much better. Yeah, I got exactly zero work done today. Yeah, Chad was an asshat who made me feel like shit, and the way he upped his aggressiveness worries me.
But I got a decent workout in, and then I was able to work up the guts to call and get a date Thursday afternoon with Joey Rivera. I think that's a great way to end the day.
Joey
“Okay Joey, let's go ahead and take it from the top,” Cora says over the mic. “Just like you showed me yesterday.”
I start with the first chord of what I've been working on, not quite the same riff that I played for Andrea, but something that I was thinking would make a good backing track for something. It's bluesy, with just a little bit of a naughty hanky-panky.
“Shit!” I yell, letting go of my guitar after screwing up a transition, clapping my hands together in anger and wanting to punch the soundproofing of the recording booth. It's really useful that way, the padding takes a good punch without damaging your knuckles.
“Whoa, slow down, bud,” James, our new publicist says from the booth where he's sitting next to Cora, watching the whole session. “I just stop by to see what you two are up to, and I come in to see you about ready to wreck a perfectly good Stratocaster.”
“Sorry, James. I guess I'm a little...” I start, before stopping. James is all of four feet tall, and I'm still not sure how to approach short comments around him. “Sorry.”
“About what? Being a little... short-tempered?” James wisecracks, making Cora laugh. James really is a good guy, a former producer who cracked up under the pressure of working with too many groups at once. Now in his mid-forties, he knows the business inside and out, even if he does look like a cross between the world's shortest roadie and an accountant who's got a Harley in the garage. When Larry approached him about being the band's publicist, James jumped at the chance, saying he'd love to have just one group to deal with for a while. He's pulled himself together pretty well in my opinion, and he's got a wicked sense of humor. “I told you, Joey, I've got you beat where it counts. Every inch I'm under average height, I gain in size downstairs.”
Cora slaps him on the shoulder, and even I laugh at James' comment. “And I thought the boys were bad!”
James laughs and puts up his hands. “I can't help it. Call it my mid-life crisis. So, Joey, what's up?”
Cora turns her attention back to me, nodding through the glass. “Yeah, what's up Joey? Yesterday you were a guitar god like normal, today you're....”
“A little short?” James asks, and Cora punches him in the shoulder again. “Woman, if you weren't pregnant...”
“You'd be hitting on me,” Cora finishes for him, “despite Rocky. But enough of you. Joey?”
I take off my guitar and sit down, taking a drink from the water bottle on top of my practice amp. “Ah... just I kinda met this girl...”
“Woo-hoo!” Cora immediately cheers, coming out of the producer's booth and entering the recording booth to give me a high five. “Okay, spill it, buddy. I want details and all your innermost thoughts. Or else!”
James is right behind, with a chair for Cora before he hops up on the only remaining stool in the studio. “What she said.”
I feel myself blushing furiously, and Cora giggles. “Okay, okay,” I finally say. “You remember last Friday, I had that interview with the reporter from the Pulse? Turned out it was Andrea Coates.”
“Coates?” James asks, shocked. “We hadn't exchanged last names, just a phone call with first names, and then I talked a little with a receptionist there while she was out. So, Coates as in related to Darren Coates, owner of the Pulse and about a dozen other newspapers and media outlets around the West Coast?”
I blink, shocked. “Uh... I guess. She drove a pretty sweet Lexus and she gave me an address in Santa Monica when she called me Monday night to ask me out on a date.”
“I hope to God you said yes,” James says excitedly. “I mean, I've never seen a picture of her that I know of, I said she was cute on the receptionist's word, but... she must really be into you to call you up to ask you out. No offense, Joey.”
“It's cool,” I reply, smiling a bit in amazement. “Yeah... I guess so. I mean, the whole interview, I just had this vibe, like we were totally digging on each other.”
“So, what's got you nervous? You have a date tomorrow,” Cora says. “Really, it's not that strange, when was the last date you had? Two, three weeks ago?”
I shake my head, laughing a little. “Try two or three years ago. A real date I mean, not a hookup date. I guess, well, I guess I've kinda got cold feet about it right now, that's all.”
Cora smiles, a dazzling smile as she shifts closer and puts an arm around my shoulder. “You know Joey, the past year or so, we've gotten close, right?”
“You know we're close. You're mi hermosa,” I tell her. And it’s true, she’s great for Rocky, and great for all of us.
“Well, what you have to get over, is your overdeveloped sense of humbleness when it comes to the off-stage Joey Rivera,” Cora says, rubbing my hair. “You're a great guy, and you are a total catch, you know that?”
“I'm just a guy from Pasadena,” I reply, and Cora shakes her head, tugging on my hair. “Ow! Producer abuse, producer abuse!”
“Hush, chico. Seriously, why worry about it? I mean, is this girl cute?” Cora asks, smiling but letting go of my hair.
“Cute? She's a full-on hottie, Co
ra. Honey blond hair, some of the biggest amazing green eyes... but she's smart, too. I just... I got a feeling about this one,” I admit. “And I don't want to blow it.”
James clears his throat and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “Let me offer an older, wiser perspective, Joey. You guys know, I'm divorced. Hell, my ex-wife really cut me off at the knees, sorry to get in another short joke. But she really did screw me over, and I won't say it's all her fault. I wasn't the world's best husband when I was going through career burnout. So, you'd think I'd be telling you to take your time, to make sure you don't screw up. But I'm not. You like this girl, go have a fun date. I mean, dude, it's your first date with her. It doesn't work out, big deal, you go have a fun Halloween, and then we'll all go over to Rocky’s place or something while he's on his honeymoon and wreck it after Thanksgiving. If it works out, it works out and you see where it goes. But don't you ever put yourself in the situation where you sit back and wonder what if because you let your feet get too damn cold.”
I nod and bump James' held out fist before I give Cora a gentle hug. “Okay you guys, I'll keep that in mind. In the meantime, maybe I can get through this one song. Cora, you don't mind?”
“Nah, Rocky and Bella are going to be doing their Daddy-Daughter bonding thing for a couple more hours at least,” Cora replies. “It's cute to watch them, but they need some time just the two of them too. The last time, I came home and Rocky had his hair done up with pink ribbons.”
That one made even me laugh.
“Joey!” Angel yells, running across the living room to jump into my arms. I swing my little nephew up, giving him a squeeze before I tighten my arms and start tickling his ribs, making him squeal in delight. “Stop, stop, I tap out!”
“I see your mama's been letting you watch lucha libre again,” I joke, setting him down. “Who'd you watch today?”
“No lucha. ESPN,” Angel says, grinning up at me and taking my hand. He loves just leading me around the house, showing me what he's been up to that day, and the longer I'm out of the house, the longer he wants to show me. Coming home from the latest leg of our tour, he spent nearly two hours dragging me around the old house, showing me all the stuff he'd done as he packed up everything for the move to the new house in Thousand Oaks. “They had UFC on.”