by Jeff Gomez
“It was the board’s idea. Thought it would be good for morale. Get everybody off on the right foot.”
Craig loops the backpack around his left shoulder. It feels good. It’s a nice backpack.
“God, these margaritas suck.” Josh crushes the red plastic cup and tosses it onto a desk. “I’m going to fire that fucking intern.”
Charles and Grace and Roy and Ronnie are finishing up the cheese and crackers. Once they said goodbye to Maddie, and sent her upstairs to watch a movie in her room, they quickly went through a pitcher of martinis and now Charles thinks they’re going to run out of gin. He’s not sure he has another bottle. Grace clears the small plates, each filled with cracker crumbs and cheese rinds, refusing Ronnie’s offer to help. Charles picks up a small bowl overflowing with olive pits and follows Grace to the kitchen. After they drop off the dishes, Grace pulls a pan of asparagus out of the oven. The smell of garlic fills the room. Charles is about to slice a loaf of French bread when there’s a knock at the door. He says, “Who could that be?”
“Well, whoever it is,” Grace says, “please get rid of them since dinner will be on the table in less than five minutes.”
He nods. Approaching the door, Charles looks through the panes of glass and sees the top of a head that looks familiar. He opens the door.
Randy’s standing on the front step wearing faded jeans and a blue button-down shirt with all the buttons off by one.
“You ready to go? Is that what you’re wearing?”
Charles looks down at his pink and purple Polo button down, the tails hanging over blue chinos embroidered with green anchors.
“Go? Go where? What are you talking about?”
“Bottlecap, remember?”
Charles just shakes his head.
“Who? Oh, that band from the nineties. Is that tonight?”
“Yes, it’s tonight, Jesus. Let’s go.”
“But it’s—I didn’t get a ticket. Grace and I have guests. We’re just sitting down to dinner.”
Charles opens the door slightly to give Randy a peek. Just as he does this, Grace begins bringing food out from the kitchen. Some of the smell escapes from the house and is caught by the breeze. Randy’s eyes close when he sniffs.
“So I have plans for tonight, okay?”
“But you invited me. Remember?”
“I’m sorry Randy, it just slipped my mind.”
Grace, headed back to the kitchen, clears her throat to get Charles’s attention. Charles turns and whispers, “Give me a second.” He then steps onto the front steps, closing the door behind him.
“I just thought that,” Randy’s saying, “after last week, we’d—I don’t know—start hanging out again.”
“I’m sorry, Randy. We used to be friends but I just—we can’t be friends now.”
“Why not?”
“Randy, look. We’re not the same anymore. We went different ways.”
“What, you think you’re better than me? Because you’re married and you live in Tiger Bay?”
While Randy’s saying this, Charles slowly shakes his head back and forth.
“Randy, no. You can be whatever you want to be. It’s just, where you are in your life is not where I am in mine.”
“And where am I, Charles? Tell me.”
“From what I can tell, you still think you’re twenty-three. And I hate to break it to you, but you’re not.”
“Oh, so everyone should just be like you and move out to the suburbs and stick their fucking heads in the sand?”
“Randy, I’m not—I don’t have my head in the sand.”
He starts to walk away, but stops. Randy turns around.
“Look, you don’t want to be friends. That’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but it is what it is. I can’t force you. But I need—I lost my job last week.”
“Randy, I—I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m looking for a new job, and I’m filling out a lot of applications. The only problem is, I’ve got no one to list as a reference. Can I put you?”
“Randy, I don’t know. That’s usually for people you used to work with. Or who at least know you well.”
“I know that, Charles. I’m not an idiot.” Randy looks at the ground, then up and down the street. “It’s just … I don’t think anyone I used to work with would vouch for me.”
“Randy, I wouldn’t—I mean, what would I say? If they called me?”
“My god, Charles, you lie. Is that so hard?” Randy paces in circles on the walkway. “You just say I was prompt, dedicated. Shit like that.”
Charles glances into the house through the panes in the door, trying to see what’s happening. He sees Grace call their guests to dinner. Roy and Ronnie walk to the dining room with their drinks.
“And where do I tell them I witnessed all this stellar behavior? When we worked on that zine twenty years ago?” Charles wishes he were inside with his wife and their friends, sipping on martinis and talking about their kids. He just wants Randy to leave. “Fine, tell me what I can do. Tell me what I should say if someone calls, and I’ll say it.”
Randy’s head drops and he clasps his hands in front of his chest.
“Thank you, Charles. Thank you. So then, just mention that we’re friends. That we talk about work. We—I don’t know—we hang out.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Okay? But I’m not making any promises.”
Randy nods eagerly.
“Sure, sure. Wow, Charles, that’s great. And listen, this means a lot to me. Really. Anyway, I’ll get out of here.”
Randy starts walking away. He’s almost to his car when he stops and walks back.
“Say, since you’re willing to go to bat for me, how about hooking me up with a job at your place?”
“What, Trust?”
“Yeah, sure. Wherever. A job’s a job, right?”
Charles hears Grace laugh, and wonders what’s making her laugh.
“Randy, I don’t know.”
“Why not? I mean, how cool would that be? Me and you, working side by side. Just like the old days.”
Charles tries to think of something that Randy could do at Trust. The only thing he can think of is the mailroom, but he doubts Randy could even handle that. Charles imagines being called into O’Brien’s office and having to defend his recommendation while Tom sits there, shaking his head back and forth.
“Listen, put me down as a reference. If somebody calls, I’ll be nice. I promise. But there’s no way that—”
“That what, Charles? That you think I’m good enough to work where you work?”
“Randy, it’s not that. Really. It’s just—”
Randy starts shaking his head in addition to waving his hands.
“You know what? Fuck you.”
“Randy, come on. There’s no need for—”
“Yes, there is, Charles. You think you’re so much better than me, then just fuck right off.”
Charles decides he’s heard enough. He opens the door and goes into his house. He hears Randy stomp down the driveway and get into his car. It takes two tries before his piece of crap actually starts—Charles can hear the chug chug chug—and then Randy finally pulls away. Charles takes a few deep breaths before joining Grace and the Nearys in the dining room. When he sits down, he sees they already have food on their plates. They’ve been waiting for him.
“Charles,” Roy says, “what was that all about?”
Charles is about to say something, but Grace speaks first.
“It’s an old friend of his. We had him over for dinner last week.”
“He’s an idiot,” Charles says. “Nothing for us to worry about.”
Charles reaches for his glass of wine and takes a sip.
“You should give him a chance.” Grace’s tone is stern. He hates it when she talks to him like this, especially in front of guests. “People can change.”
“No, they can’t.”
Randy gets on the freeway and heads downtown, toward where B
ottlecap’s playing. He knows he should head home. He needs to start packing and looking for a new apartment. He also knows from experience that, without a job or reliable source of income, no landlord’s going to show him an apartment. That means roommates again, but even they’d need first month’s rent and a security deposit, which is money he doesn’t have. Randy thinks of his parent’s house in Maryland. The spare room and the invitation his mom always makes whenever he goes for a visit. Randy’s running out of excuses for saying no.
Passing the mall, he sees Bookstorage. He misses having somewhere to go in the morning. He misses the paycheck.
Maybe if I go back and talk to Bill he’ll give me another chance. I’ll offer to work every Saturday for a month for free, just so he knows I’m serious. I’ll show up early and work late. I’ll do better this time, I swear.
Randy exits the freeway as a red light appears on his dashboard, the icon of a gas pump blinking on and off. A block away, he spots the club’s marquee: BOTTLECAP, ONE NIGHT ONLY, SOLD OUT. He starts to look for parking, but doesn’t see any open spaces. As he passes the club, Randy sees a long line of people snaking away from the closed doors.
Down the street two parking lots display signs that read EVENT PARKING $3. Randy doesn’t have three dollars, at least not for parking, so he keeps going. Four blocks down, and one over, he finds a spot. Grabbing the printout of his ticket, and not even bothering to lock the car, he heads toward the club.
Concertgoers approach from all directions. Cars pull up and people jump out to get in line. Randy gauges the crowd. Some are young, some are his age, and a few are even older. There are couples dressed up for a night out, as well as packs of guys out to relive their glory days, drinking beer out of paper bags. He sees lots of T-shirts of bands he used to like, all of them faded. He sees lots of gray hair. He sees heads with no hair at all. He lights a cigarette and goes to the end of the line.
People are smoking, laughing, drinking. Cars go by with loud music blaring out of the open windows. Randy remembers countless nights that began like this. Back then, all he cared about was the moment—having a good time. Now all he can think about is what happens next. Tomorrow. Next week. Each moment serves merely as a stepping stone to the next.
In front of him, a group of three couples are discussing how hard it is to get a decent baby sitter.
“I mean, you’d think we’d be able to find someone who doesn’t empty our entire
fridge and leave the sink filled with dirty dishes. Or spend the whole night on the couch texting with her boyfriend.” The guy’s friends are all laughing and shaking their heads in a that’s-so-true fashion. “Or is that too much to ask for ten dollars an hour?”
Randy’s ear prick up.
Ten dollars an hour?
It’s more than he’s ever made in his life. He’s about to offer his services when someone approaches from the street, steps onto the sidewalk, and stands behind him. He finishes his cigarette, throws it in the gutter, and sees that a woman has taken his place as the end of the line.
She’s wearing a black fitted jacket over an old Bottlecap T-shirt, along with Levi’s and open-toed high heel sandals. Randy’s wearing Levi’s, too, but his don’t look anything like hers. Hers fit her long legs snugly, with light lines down the front of the legs from where they’ve been ironed. Randy’s jeans are baggy and stained. He can’t remember the last time he washed them. Her hair is long, light brown, and curly. Pink glasses are pushed on top of her head. She checks her phone as people continue to queue up behind her. Randy tries not to be obvious about it, but he’s staring. She finally notices.
“Oh, hey.”
Caught, Randy knows he needs to say something.
“Hey.”
Haven’t lost the touch.
Mark pulls up in front of the address that appeared on a Post-it a few days ago. It was stuck to the manila folder of clippings in his room. His father had written, Thought you might be interested and, below this, It’s never too late.
The house is big, with white columns, red bricks, and blue shutters. If you squint, it looks like an American flag. There’s an SUV in the driveway with a bumper sticker that says MY SON IS AN HONOR STUDENT AT HOLY CROSS ELEMENTARY. Mark leans across the passenger seat and opens the glove box. He takes out a yellowed envelope he put there when he got the rental car two weeks ago. Getting out, he shoves the envelope into his back pocket.
As he walks to the front door, Mark looks down the block and sees similar houses lined up side by side. Even the cars parked in the driveways—SUVs, station wagons, minivans—look the same.
He knocks on the door. She answers.
“Laura. Hi.”
She smiles slightly, but then looks uncertain.
“My God. Mark.” She glances back inside the house. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m in town. Bottlecap’s doing a concert. Tonight. You know, my old band.”
She nods. Her brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt with flowers all over it. Despite some faint wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, Laura looks exactly like she did all those years ago.
“Yeah, I talked to—I saw you on the news.”
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“Pretty cool.”
“I wasn’t sure if you were planning on going to the show, so I thought I’d stop by.”
She crosses her arms and pulls them into her chest. She says, “No, Mark. I wasn’t planning on going to the show.”
He pulls the envelope out of his back pocket and hands it to her.
“Then let me give you this.”
“What is it?”
“A letter. From when I lived in Los Angeles. Do you remember? You wrote to me.”
“Of course I remember.” She laughs. Her laugh is also the same. “I also remember that you never wrote back.”
He steps forward and offers her the letter.
“I did. I just never sent it.”
She unfolds her arms and takes it. Turns it over in her hands. The address, written in faded ink, is from twenty years ago. From when she lived across town in a house he spent a lot of time in.
“What—when did you write this?”
“The night before I walked out on the guys. I started it as a letter to them. Telling them why I had to go. Why it was over.” Mark’s head is down. He’s staring at the front steps.
“So why didn’t you give it to them?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think they’d understand. I didn’t really understand it myself.”
“But you thought I would?”
“I guess so. Then I chickened out and never sent it. But I always wanted you to have it. To know.”
“Even now?”
Mark looks up. He says, “Even now.”
She puts the letter in her back pocket, and then shoves her hands into her front pockets.
“You know,” Mark says. “I never forgot about you.”
“Well, that’s a shame. Because I forgot about you.”
From inside the house there’s a crash, followed by giggles and screams. Laura glances over her shoulder, to inside the house. A male voice tells someone to be careful.
“You have kids?”
She turns and looks at him. He’d forgotten how blue her eyes are.
“Yes. Three.”
“What—kind?”
“Kind?” Laura laughs. “Two boys and a girl. My sons are eight. The girl’s ten going on forty.” She laughs again. Mark doesn’t remember her laughing this much when they were together.
Did we not have fun? Was it really not as good as I remember it?
Laura looks down. She kicks at the welcome mat.
“Mark, I have to go. And you have to go, too. The show, right?”
A chill comes over Mark. He suddenly remembers. The show. The guys waiting for him. His parents.
Laura gives him a hug. As he holds her, Mark remembers being young and in love this middle-aged woman who married someone
else. She pulls away before he’s ready to let go. He tries to hang on, but she twists her shoulders so he reluctantly releases her. She whispers “goodbye,” and then turns back to the house. She goes inside, closes the door. Mark can hear Laura’s children welcome her, talking excitedly and telling her everything she missed in the few minutes she was gone.
Mark gets into the rental car and heads for the Dark Star Lounge.
An hour later, Randy’s finally thought of something else to say to the woman standing behind him in line.
“I like your shirt.”
“Oh, thanks.” She looks up from her phone. “I’ve had it a long time.”
“You like the band?”
His voice rises when he asks. He’s never met a woman who had his taste in music, let alone who liked Bottlecap.
“They were my first concert. At the Scene. I had to sneak my way in with a fake ID.”
“Wow, that’s cool. You must have been eight or something, because you sure don’t look old now.”
She blushes.
“Thanks, but I was fifteen.”
The line moves a little, but it’s just because people are getting anxious and inching forward. The doors are still closed.
“So, you like Bottlecap?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she says. “Or, at least, I did. It was kind of a high school thing. Once I went away to college I stopped listening to them. I think they’d broken up by then anyhow.”
“I’m Randy, by the way.”
He offers his hand, unsure if it’s the right thing to do. But at least it’s a move.
“Nice to meet you, Randy. I’m Kat.”
She offers her hand and, when Randy touches it, he can’t believe how dainty and soft it feels.
“Cat? As in, meow?”
She laughs.
“No, as in Katherine.”
Randy nods.
Ahead of them in line, there’s some sort of commotion. The conversations suddenly become louder, more animated, news trickling from the front of the line to the back. Randy hears a guy in front of them say, “Finally. The doors are open.”
The line begins to move. Kat and Randy shuffle towards the entrance.
“Shit,” she says. “I better text my friend again. She has my ticket.”