Rocking Hard, Volume 2

by Samantha M. Derr

  Phil heard some shuffling at his side and turned his head to see who the person could be. Obviously, whoever it was should be the one responsible for him not being in his place.

  He saw Jason standing by the window with one hand parting the curtains and the other pulling the shutters. His shoulders had the tense look they always had when he was bothered about something, and Phil wondered what it was that could have Jason so bothered. He also wondered why Jason brought him to a place that Phil had concluded could only be a hospital.

  "Even if I got drunk or drugged last night—of course if either of the two was what happened, I'm sure Carlos is to blame—you should have taken me home. What the hell am I doing in a hospital, Jason?"

  Jason turned around so fast, Phil was certain he would have felt some sort of whiplash. Jason's brown eyes softened, and he moved closer to the bed. "You're in the hospital because you fainted while performing at a concert, you idiot. And you've been unconscious for three days. Everybody has been worried sick."

  "You serious? What the hell? I've never fainted in my life."

  "That's because," a woman's voice said, "I'm sure your body and mind have never been as stressed out as they have been in the last couple of months. Think of your comatose state as your body's way of getting your attention and getting some much needed rest."

  Phil turned to stare at a woman in green scrubs. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties, with pale skin, auburn hair packed into a bun and unpainted lips. She stood a little over five feet tall but walked across the room to his bed like she held ultimate power over the inhabitants of the room. Since she was his doctor, Phil figured that she did have that power.

  Her attention was occupied for a while by the chart she held in her hand. During that time, Carlos and Howard slipped through the door. Carlos gave a grin and raised the steaming cup of hot liquid in his hand—most likely coffee; Carlos drank the stuff like he needed it to survive—in greeting. Phil nodded back at him.

  Howard, though, looked distracted but still managed to give a slight wave, probably thinking about how this new development would affect the band and the press conference that would need to be called in order to assuage the fears of the fans.

  Howard never seemed to let go of work. Briefly, Phil wondered when Howard would faint from the excess stress, probably when conducting business with their record producers. They always seemed to stress him out most. At the thought, Phil grinned.

  "Happy to see you grinning, Mr. Dusylariaro," the doctor said. "That's quite a mouthful. Do you mind if I just call you Phil?"

  Phil shook his head.

  "Okay then, Phil, you can just call me Dr. Desiree Leigh. Like I said earlier, there's nothing really wrong with you. You're just fatigued. I would recommend that you consume a lot of good food, drink lots of water and get enough rest and that includes sleep. I expect you back in a month so I can check up on you to ascertain that you're doing as you're told."

  She turned around and started walking towards the door when she stopped, turned around, and gave Phil a stern look. "I heard that you're a popular musician?"

  "Yes, our band, Terr, performs rock music. You're welcome to come to any of our shows to watch us perform. I'm sure Carlos had some free passes on him." Phil gave a nod in Carlos' direction, which resulted in Carlos handing his cup of coffee over to Jason and frantically searching his pockets for the passes. The frenzied way he went about doing so convinced Phil that Carlos was interested in the doctor.

  Carlos finally found the passes and handed them to the doctor.

  "Thanks." Dr. Leigh said as she smiled politely at Carlos. "Will consider it."

  "You can bring a friend, a relative or a husband, if you like," Carlos added. "Do you have one? A husband I mean."

  Dr. Leigh gave no reply to the question but directed her gaze to Phil. "I know you're busy, and with the look your manager now has on his face, I'm sure you have tons of concerts and other promotional things planned. But I insist that for at least two months, you set everything else aside. No concerts, interviews, anything that would make you expend more energy than you need to, anything that would make you give up your nights. I want you to slow things down."

  "But Terr has the release date for their next album set," Howard said. "They need to be recording. He needs to be writing. Two months is a very long time."

  Dr Leigh opened her mouth to respond when Jason cut in. "We'll take it slow, doc." He gave Howard a hard look. "We'll sort it out. Thank you for your help."

  The doctor nodded, spun on her heels and walked out the door. Howard followed after her, all the while muttering about crazy doctors who throw wrenches into everything and were not willing to be reasonable.

  The silence in the room was broken suddenly by the sound of Carlos slurping his coffee.

  "Sometimes, I doubt that you're pushing thirty. You act like a child," Jason scolded.

  "Yeah, and sometimes, I wonder if you'll ever get that stick out of your ass and let yourself unwind," Carlos said. "See, we understand each other."

  "I unwind when I have to. I've learned the fine art of being serious when I need to be and goofing off when I can. A skill you're sadly lacking."

  Immediately sensing that the conversation would soon degenerate into a full blown argument between the two men, Phil butted in. "Ladies, a convalescent is in your midst. Do show some respect. You're giving me a migraine." Phil kept his voice low and his tone cultured. It worked.

  "Oh, do forgive us, oh pompous one," Carlos said. "We, your lowly subjects, have so missed you looking down your nose at our antics that we just had to resort to childish arguments to get you back." He grinned and gave a mock bow, while Jason hissed and shook his head.

  Phil laughed. "I wonder how exactly the doctor expects me to keep myself occupied if I can't work. I will be climbing the walls in a week." He raised himself up on the bed. He set the pillow against the frame of the bed to provide support for his lower back and relaxed against it.

  "That's easy enough," Jason quipped. "You find other things that catch your interest and do them."

  "Any ideas?" Phil asked.

  Jason walked to the only remaining chair in the room and sat down while Carlos leaned against the wall and sipped his coffee quietly.

  "I'm going home next week," Jason said, "and I think you should come with me. You'll have a change of environment, and there are plenty of clubs there that we can visit. In fact, a friend of mine is re-opening a club next week. We can go there first."

  "But you know I've been off the club scene for a while, and we all know the reason why." Phil shook his head to drive away the thoughts that wanted to plague his mind.

  Jason took in a deep breath. "Yes, I do," he stated solemnly, "but I'm sure you'll like the club I'm talking about. It used to be a place where songwriters come together to read the lyrics of their songs. Ken hopes to restore it to its past glory. There's going to be good food, good wine and a meeting of minds that share a love for words. It will be a time to heal, a time to be inspired and a time for you to unwind. Trust me."

  Phil spent some time ruminating on the suggestion. If he agreed to go with Jason, then yes, things would start to change. Was he ready for that? Was it time? Was he in the right state of mind to make such a sudden decision? He looked into two pairs of brown eyes waiting for his reply. "Okay."

  *~*~*

  It was a very chilly night, and Lars shivered slightly as a cold breeze sent its ice-cold fingers into his body. Lars loved New Hampshire, but sometimes, the extremes in the weather got to him. Tonight was one of those nights. Although, he did wonder if maybe the reason why he was extra cranky tonight was because he knew he would be spending the entire evening pushing Ethan away.

  He really loved Ethan, but he knew how persistent the younger man could be, and it sucked that he was going to be the one avoiding Ethan's advances. What sucked more was knowing that Frieda would be laughing at his predicament and would not be willing to help him out. Why was he best friends
with Frieda again? Oh yes! She saved his ass when they were five and had looked out for him ever since. So, why wouldn't she help him now?

  Lars stepped out of his car, slammed the door behind him and locked it. He buried his hands in his jeans pocket, braced himself and walked to the door.

  He pressed the doorbell and listened to the merry jingle it gave in the house. The door swung open, and Lars found himself enveloped in a warm hug. He smelled cinnamon, batter and citrus, fragrances he had grown to associate with Frieda's mother.

  Susan Cain was as tall as her daughter. Her skin glowed, and her brown hair was cropped short to form a slight bob that stopped at her jaw, giving her a very chic look. Add her curves, and she looked like a woman in her mid-thirties, not a mother of two grown children and a wife to a man she had been with for more than thirty years.

  "Welcome, Lars. We've missed you."

  "Thank you, Susan. I've missed you as well." Lars took off his coat and hung it on the rack. "Although, I've heard all about those young men who were beating a path to your door. I'd be surprised if you had enough free time to remember me with you having to fend them all off."

  The air smelled of sauces and Susan's meringue pie—a personal favourite of Lars', which she always made whenever he came by. Lars gave a long sniff, closing his eyes so he could savour the aroma. He soon opened them slowly to beam at Susan and gave her a light peck on her cheek. "It smells wonderful. Thank you"

  "For what?" Susan asked as they walked past the coat rack and into the living room.

  "For making my special dinner and always welcoming me into your home."

  "I'm sure you're not deaf," Michael Cain boomed out as he patted the loveseat where he sat. He was taller than his wife and daughter with an upper body and callused palms that proclaimed to all that he had spent most of his life in construction and that was where he made his money. "And I know my wife has told you time and time again. You're a second son to us. Of course you're always welcome. Besides, we did invite you didn't we? So settle down, enjoy it, and come over here and tell me how school is going."

  As Lars told him about school and his meetings with his psychologist, Michael listened with the patience Lars had become accustomed to, nodding encouragingly for Lars to continue speaking in the places where words failed him. Every time he had conversations or interactions with Frieda's parents, Lars could not help but compare them with his parents.

  Charles and Gloria Graves were not emotional people, nor were they ever demonstrative. There was no doubt in his heart that they loved him or each other, but they never really showed it. There were no affectionate kisses or hugs, no arguments or big fights. It always seemed like his parents said nothing to each other so as to keep the peace. They always agreed, and there was a time when he was younger when he had felt that his parents' relationship was the kind of relationship he wanted for himself. But after he had hung out and became closer with the fiery Cains, he had changed his mind.

  There was nothing wrong with a calm and tranquil relationship. He just wanted excitement, passion and fun. If only he had remembered that before he had hooked up with Curtis, he would have saved himself a lot of heartache.

  "Hello, Lars. I didn't know you had gotten here."

  Lars turned his head to look at Ethan Cain.

  Everyone in the Cain household was gorgeous, and it was to be expected. They did come from prime stock after all. Ethan was tall like his parents with the same glowing mocha-coloured skin and pearly white teeth. While Frieda had inherited their father's black hair, Ethan had their mother's brown curls. He had the muscular frame of his father though. If not for the fact that Lars would always see Ethan as the baby brother he never had, he was sure he would have fallen hard for Ethan.

  Now, if only he could convince Ethan that they were never meant to be together.

  "Hello, Ethan. Your vacation seems to have treated you well. You look good."

  Ethan flashed a smile and twirled one of his curls. Lars recognised that action. It was something Ethan always did when someone he had a crush on paid him a compliment. Ethan never knew when he did it, but when they were in high school, Lars and Frieda learned to watch out for it so they could tease Ethan whenever they felt like it.

  Ethan who always loved deeply, but wrongly, always found a way to bounce back and love again. This thing had to be nipped in the bud immediately. No way was Lars going to be one of the many men who hurt Ethan.

  "Ethan, can I see you alone for a moment?" Lars rose from the seat. Michael had turned his attention to the television and was following the match between the Bulls and the Lakers attentively. Lars could hear banging sounds and humming from Susan, so she was probably going to be occupied for a while. Frieda had not made an appearance yet, which meant Lars would have enough time to talk with Ethan.

  "Let's go to the study," Lars said.

  Ethan nodded and led the way. They walked away from the living room, past the kitchen and through the connecting door that led to another section of the house that was built separately from the main building. The door closed behind them with a click. Lars watched Ethan walk towards one of the bookcases and lean against it.

  The look Ethan gave Lars was expectant as he asked, "So, what did you want to talk about?"

  Lars debated speaking. Did he really want to talk about it? Since he arrived at the house, Ethan hadn't done or said anything mildly suggestive to indicate that he had developed feelings for Lars. What did Lars even have to base his suspicions on anyway? Frieda stating what she had heard Ethan say and Ethan running his hands through his hair? Were those good enough reasons to have the conversation they were about to have?

  "Sometime this century, Lars. Before my grandmother decides to rise from the grave and give you a little nudge." Ethan grinned.

  Lars laughed and felt the knots in his shoulders and back unravel. "You should be ashamed of yourself, talking about your grandmother like that. Whatever would she say?"

  "She would say 'Hurry up young man. I haven't got all day. Ghosts have better things to do than waste our time listening to the sound of a skinny white boy's breathing. Wait a minute. We do have all the time in the world. Whatever. Just say something already.'"

  "Hey! I'm not skinny!" Lars pinched his arms to show that he had enough flesh there.

  Ethan laughed. "Trust me, Lars. As far as my grandmother would be concerned, you're skinny. Anyway, spit it out. I know that look in your eyes. Obviously, something's bothering you. What is it?"

  Lars took a deep breath to fortify himself. "Frieda told me you said when you were vacationing that you were interested in dating me. Now, I love you as a brother, Ethan, but I don't think we will be good as lovers."

  Lars expected a stunned silence, a shout or an argument about why Lars was wrong and that the two of them would be perfect together. He did not expect Ethan to hold onto his sides and suddenly burst out laughing. Lars watched as Ethan laughed so hard that tears filled his eyes.

  "You've got to be kidding. That's what has had you all tied up in knots?" Ethan wheezed. "I know when I spoke to Frieda about that. Actually, she was passing by my door, and I stuck my head out of my window to inform her that the new guy I had picked up was a self-serving ass and had just walked. Then I …" Ethan stopped short to laugh some more before he continued. "... mentioned that you were the perfect guy, and I saw no reason why I couldn't hook up with you. Frieda must have concluded that I was considering setting my sights on you. Although knowing Frieda, I doubt that."

  "She was just messing with my head. That crazy ..." Lars didn't know whether to laugh at the joke or strangle his best friend. But he had to ask. "So, you're sure you're in no way attracted to me."

  "Lars, you're gorgeous and all, but trust me, you're not my type. It's worse 'cuz we've known each other since forever, and it just feels wrong. God! You've seen me in my diapers. For crying out loud, you even helped changed them a couple of times. So no, I'm not interested. Of course, I do intend to pull a Spanish Inquisition on
the guy you finally bring home as your man. Curtis got away with avoiding me, but the next guy won't. If that's all, I think I'll like to leave now. I have a feeling that dinner is ready, and I'm starving." With that, Ethan strolled out of the door, chuckling, and Lars followed behind him.

  They got to the living room only to discover that everyone had moved to the dining table. Lars took his seat across from Frieda and mouthed, "I'll kill you when I have the chance." She raised an eyebrow questioningly, and Lars pointed to Ethan and then to himself.

  Frieda laughed, drawing everyone's attention. "Nothing. Just a private joke." When everyone had returned their attention to the meal, she mouthed to Lars, "I can't believe you believed me." Lars shook his head and for a while, only the sound of cutlery hitting the plates could be heard.

  "So, did anyone hear that Mr. Rowe's son has decided to re-open the Phoenix?" Frieda asked and lifted a forkful of pie to her mouth.

  "Really? I thought that place would never be open again. That's nice." Michael cut into his chicken.

  "Apparently, Mr. Rowe's son thought differently. Opening night is next weekend. Why don't you come with me, Lars?"

  Lars dropped his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Why should I?"

  "So you can read some of your songs to an appreciative audience. Why else?"

  "I don't feel like doing that." Lars suddenly felt a desperate need to leave the table, but that would be rude. It wasn't Susan, Michael or Ethan's fault that Frieda decided to put him on the spot. Why did she do that anyway? She knew he didn't like others seeing his work. To share his words with others would be allowing him to be vulnerable to their criticism. Other than the Cains, who were like his family and would support him even if he thought he wrote crap, the only other person he had shown his music to had been Curtis.

  Curtis had called the words "crap" and had accused him of "living in the delusion of being a songwriter" and had advised him to focus on school since that seemed to be the only way he would succeed in life. The words had made him depressed for a while, and he had kept to himself until Frieda finally wheedled the truth out of him.