Punk and Zen

by JD Glass

  Maybe, just maybe, it was me. Maybe it all meant nothing. Maybe I should just go ahead and do my own thing, before someone did their own thing to me. I was so tired of being cute…

  I called the club and got one of the owners on the phone. “Hey, Mickey, it’s Nina. Who’s got the back room tonight?” Hell, if someone else was DJing, I’d go in and back the bar. At least I’d make some money, and in between I could check out the new disc spinner, dance, see if they were any good.

  “It’s Darrel, but I think he’s gonna blow it soon,” Mickey told me. “He’s been doin’ whatever at the booth again.” Silence.

  “You guys set up the rear lounge yet?” They’d recently bought the adjacent building and were setting it up with both a booth and a stage—capacity 500.

  “We’re wired for sound, why?” Mickey asked me.

  “Let me run a session in the back room?” I asked. “Test the wiring, bin placements, all that sort of thing. That way you don’t have to bring me in for a day session.”

  I could hear the wheels in his head churn. If he let me in tonight and it went badly, he’d gotten the room tested for free. If it went well, more people could fit in the club. The bar staff might be a little shorthanded, but there’d be more money all around—no one would complain too terribly.

  “If you get people, you can stay back there. If no one walks in, just give me a rundown on any bugs you find—if any—and you wanna bar back tonight?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  I hung up and got dressed fit to kill. I grabbed a stack of my favorite tunes and quickly stopped by the bathroom—had to check my hair.

  Cap was right, I thought as I made sure everything was how I wanted it ABC to be. I’d had no problem with Candace. Thinking of her made me smile. She was sharp, sexy, direct. She knew what she wanted—and wasn’t afraid of it. I could deal with that. Hell, I should probably learn from that.

  Everyone was doing whatever they wanted but me. I was stupid enough to think that caring meant anything, when pretty obviously the only thing that had any meaning was the fuck. No wonder everyone treated me like such a baby—I was one.

  Not tonight—not anymore.

  My hair was perfect, and I looked pretty damn good, if I did say so myself. Okay, I thought as I contemplated myself in the mirror. I had a room to check, and if it was up to me—and it was—I was gonna have that room full and rockin’ way before it was time to close. Fuck bar backing tonight. And maybe, just maybe, if the music was good—and it would be—and the mood was right—it definitely should be—I’d invite someone up to the booth to party with me.

  Fuck Trace, fuck Van, fuck Cap and Jackie. Fuck everyone who kept treating me like I was some precocious little idiot. Fuck ’em all.

  ∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

  Save a Prayer

  Now I’m pretty—do you like me?

  Now I’m smarter—do you like me?

  Now I’m angry—do you want me?

  Do you want to lead me on?

  “Lead Me On”—Life Underwater

  ∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

  “Oh, God, Nina, what do you want?” she groaned as we pressed into each other, kissing desperately as we lay entwined together on her bed—shirts off, pants and shoes gone somewhere with the shirts. Don’t even ask about the socks; I still don’t know.

  I slid my tongue deep between her lips and was met by hers. “You know what I want.” I broke off and caught a breath before I trailed a line from her collarbone to her jaw. “I want you.” I gently bit her throat, then scraped it with my teeth before sucking on the skin. “I want you…I want all of you.”

  I kissed her lips again, and the sensual fullness of her response, the sincerity of it made me feel faint with rising desire.

  “This,” she whispered and thrust her body up to mine as she kissed my throat, “this is all I have to give, Nina, please…” Her fingernails ran sharp across my shoulders, and somehow she flipped me onto my back. She ground herself into me and my body responded, my hands on her hips and aching need ABC returning her pressure. Her eyes drove, begging, pleading for understanding, into mine. “This is all I have,” she whispered. Her mouth was soft and achingly sweet on mine.

  I splayed my hands and ran my fingers down her back, sensuously massaging along the way as I wrapped one of my legs over her hip. One of her hands ran down lightly along the curve of my breast, down my ribs, and past my stomach to my waist, then grabbed my hip, bringing our bodies harder together. The other repeatedly ran across my face and through my hair until, finally, I lifted my chin and broke that soul-searing kiss.

  She raised her head and leaned up for a moment on an elbow, and I stared straight into her beautiful gray eyes. “Okay, Trace, you win,” I told her huskily. “We’ll just give each other what we can.”

  “You don’t know how much I…I want you,” she said softly, tracing my face with her fingertips. Slowly, softly, she leaned in to kiss me again, and I closed my eyes to the feel of her lips pressing blatantly carnal kisses down my chest and stomach toward my…

  ∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

  No, this wasn’t a dream, this wasn’t even a stroke-fantasy, although it seems like it might have been a good one. This was really, truly happening.

  By late August, Candace had returned to Merry Olde England, and after a good-bye that was harder than I really let myself feel, I’d thrown myself into my work and my music: the band was going great guns, and although we’d been through two drummers already and were searching for a third—I swear, I’ll just never know what it is with drummers—we’d started to write a couple of songs and were really getting to know each other, bond, and have fun.

  “All right, I’ve got to split in a few, I’ve got dinner plans,” I announced to Jeremy and Stephie as the last notes of our latest tune died down in the air around us.

  Crunch sounded through the room as Jeremy unplugged his bass, along with the soft thud of Stephie putting the microphone back on its stand.

  I shut down my amp and unplugged my guitar, carefully setting it in a stand, then began to disassemble my wires and pedal effects. I shoved the pedals into my bag and stood to coil my patch cord.

  Jeremy came over, bass slung in its bag over his back. “Gonna ravish some poor innocent?” he asked me with a sly grin.

  “Yeah, right,” Stephie came over and interjected, punching my arm lightly, “like Nina ever has to work for it.”

  “Hey, hey, hey!” I faced them both, placing the now-coiled cord in with my effects. “I take offense to that!” I joked, and picked up my guitar to zip it in the gig bag. “I work my ass off in here!” and gave a little wiggle to emphasize my point.

  “Yeah, like that’s not part of the attraction,” Jeremy answered, staring pointedly.

  All right, maybe I shouldn’t have done that. “Cut it out, man.”

  “You’re such a jerk sometimes,” Stephie reprimanded, and smacked the back of his head.

  “Ow! Hey! Ya didn’t have to go and do that!” he protested, rubbing his scalp vigorously.

  “And you know, it’s not like any of them are innocent anyway,” Stephie informed him, pointing to the small window in the studio door.

  He and I both peeked out and saw some people out there, trying to see in.

  “That’s the next band, hoping we’re done,” I hazarded, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Yeah, that’s the next band,” Jeremy agreed.

  Stephie rolled her eyes at our collective denseness, and I grinned and shook my head in response, then returned to my equipment.

  I slung my bags with their effects, cables, and guitar strap over one shoulder, hoisted my guitar over the other, and we all reached for the door.

  “Right,” Stephie finally said sarcastically, “that’s why they don’t have any instruments.” She opened the door and made a sweeping gesture out into the hall.

  Once out of the studio, it was pretty obvious that Stephie had a point. It was three, no, four girls, um, young w
omen, and she was right—not an instrument in sight.

  “Oh, hey, you girls a singing group?” Jeremy stopped to ask one of them amiably, flexing his shoulders.

  Stephie and I shared a look and kept walking toward the store at the end of the hallway where the exit was, nodding polite hellos as we passed.

  “Yeah, we’re working on a single,” one of the girls answered, laughing, and another giggled with her. Stephie and I slipped through the exit and down the stairs that led to the store front.

  “Think he forgot to tie a shoelace or something?” Stephie asked in the companionable silence as we descended.

  I snorted a laugh. “No, but how much do you want to bet he ends up catching one?” I countered as I stepped carefully down—I didn’t want to trip and hurt my guitar. “Those lines of his are pretty awful,” I commented as I waited for ABC her.

  Stephie rolled her eyes again. “God, he can be such a jerk!”

  I smiled but said nothing as we walked through the repair shop and picked our way through the various disconnected and disassembled instruments that littered the area. What was there to say? That pretty much described everyone, anyway.

  A bell tinkled as we entered the store and headed to the register.

  “Hi, Stephie, hi, Nina,” said the long-haired young man behind the counter. He gave us each a big smile, but his eyes rested on Stephie.

  “Hi, John.” I smiled back, watching his eyes on Stephie, and dug into my pocket for my money.

  “Hi.” Stephie flushed and made a big production out of digging into her bag for her wallet. I grinned at her but quickly hid it. I knew she liked him, and I was pretty sure he liked her, too.

  John waited patiently as I found my money and put it on the counter.

  “Stephie, we want the same time next week?” I asked as she found her wallet.

  “Yeah, let’s do that. Hey, do you have the jerk’s money?” she asked with a smile.

  “I don’t have jerk money,” I smiled back, almost laughing.

  The bell tinkled again as Jeremy stumbled into the store. “Can you believe it?” he asked loudly. “They’re,” and he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, “doing a single for DJ Nina to play on Dominion nights. That’s just unfucking believable.”

  It was my turn to blush. “Got your share?” I asked him and looked down at the money under my hands.

  Since I’d done the sound check in the new back room at the club, well, believe me when I tell you I blew it out; it was now mine. So, Darrel and I both worked DJing Saturday nights; he was in the old room, and I had the new one. And, yeah, Saturday was Dominion night in my room—that was what everyone who attended called it, anyway, in tribute to that night with Candace. In honor of that, I occasionally entertained company in the booth. Everything has a consequence, right?

  “Oh, yeah, here you go,” Jeremy answered quickly, handing his money over to John. “Are we booked for next week?”

  “We’re done, we’re good,” Stephie answered him quickly and rushed out of the store and into the street.

  “Oh yeah, yeah, we’re all set.” I smiled. “See you next week, John.” I readjusted the strap of my guitar and stepped to the door.

  “Cool beans, dude,” John answered. “Tell Stephie I said bye,” he called to my back, the jerk, um, Jeremy, behind me.

  “Yup,” he answered, and we were out the door and on the sidewalk, the still-warm air smacking our skin in the early twilight. Stephie waited for us, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the weather.

  “That was a pretty good rehearsal, guys. What did you think?” I asked, looking at each of them and lighting a cigarette of my own.< /font>

  Stephie blew a few smoke rings just to prove she could, then grinned back at me. “We’re doing fine, we’re getting stuff down!”

  Jeremy shrugged a shoulder under his gig bag. “We’re really starting to groove. If we could just find a drummer…” He trailed off, frowning.

  Steph and I shook our heads in chagrined agreement. Where the hell were we going to find one, anyway? Ah, well. I had the next few days to ponder that and discuss it with the two of them as ideas came and went. For now, though, I had plans, and none of them included a drummer.

  Despite the fact that Candace had left a few weeks ago, I still rarely spent time at the apartment. I just couldn’t deal with anybody except for my brother and the band, especially after the last time I’d spoken with Trace. And I either made sure I was home at a time when everyone was out, or staying somewhere else—either visiting my family or jamming all night at Steph’s with Jeremy: composing, rehearsing, and making ourselves sick on ice cream. Yeah, we were musicians that didn’t do drugs; sue me.

  Maybe it was because of my absence that Cap decided we needed a “roommate party.” He’d very assiduously combed through all of our schedules and picked the one night everyone happened to be off, then asked us all to meet him at Dock Street, another popular bar on Bay Street. The invite was an open one. Bring anyone—siblings, friends, significant others, and outside of rehearsal, well, that was all I had to do that night. I’d already invited my brother Nicky—I mean Nico. He would meet me there later.

  I was suddenly inspired. “Hey, do you guys want to come with me? I mean, to Dock Street?” I asked Steph and Jeremy. “It’s my roommates and their friends, and you guys haven’t met my brother yet—he’ll be there. What do you say? Wanna go?” I asked in a rush. “I mean, if you guys don’t have stuff to do,” I added awkwardly. This would be the first time we had all hung out together—outside of rehearsal, I mean.

  “Sounds good to me.” Jeremy smiled. “You up for it, Stephie?”

  Stephie pursed her lips and considered. “Trace gonna be there?” she asked me in an undertone.

  As Stephie and I had become better friends, we discussed a lot of things, and of course, we discussed the weird mess that was our lives. I had confided in her about the strange relationship that Trace and I had and that I was trying to avoid, and yeah, Trace would be there, and I hadn’t really seen her in a while.

  “Yeah,” I answered. “I’m a little nervous about that.”

  Stephie nodded. “I’m there, then. You need backup.” She grinned at me.

  “Thanks.” I grinned back in relief.

  “Hey, no worries, that’s what friends do, right?” She punched my shoulder lightly.

  “Yeah, we’re your backup,” Jeremy confirmed, and punched the other arm, quite a bit harder than Stephie had.

  “Ow,” I groaned, rubbing the spot out. That really had hurt. “Jerk!” I scowled at him. “I’m a girl, not your bass.” Then I elbowed him in the ribs, ’cause that was all I could reach; he was darn tall, after all.

  “I am so sorry.” He shook his head in self-recrimination. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean—hey!”

  Stephie had whapped the back of his head again. “From now on, you’re the Jerkster, Jerkster,” she told him, then whapped him again for good measure.

  Jeremy, um, I mean, the Jerkster, kept rubbing his head. “Fine, fine, just stop hitting me,” he agreed, scowling as he tried to heal himself with his fingertips. “We should make you the drummer, you like to hit so much.”

  She and I both laughed, and we walked to Dock Street.

  Cap had managed to get three tables pulled together, and we all sat around laughing, eating, and drinking, and for the first time in ages, I was having fun with my roommates. Jackie was being hysterically funny, and even Trace, who’d shown up with Van, was being nice for once.

  I sat with Nico, Stephie, and the newly christened Jerkster, kidding around, sort of having our own party within the party until the larger conversation caught up with us.

  “That’s it for me, I’ve had it for the night,” Nico announced, pushing away from the table and rubbing his stomach.

  I dug into my pockets and pulled out my keys. “Here you go, Nico,” I tossed them at him, “you know where my room is.” He was staying at my place tonight since we were drinking and I d
idn’t want him to drive. Since I lived ABC only two blocks away, this was not a problem.

  “Yeah, I didn’t wear my drinking clothes,” he joked with me, referring to those parties all that time ago and the guy who always wore a plastic garbage bag just in case he puked.

  I laughed with him.

  Somebody said something, I don’t remember what, and I quipped back to the table at large.

  “Shut up, Nina!” Trace called jokingly down the table.

  “Why don’t you make me?” I joked back and returned to my conversation. Come on, now, I had every right to say stuff, too.

  In what seemed like half a second, Trace came over and yanked my chair out. Momentarily off balance, I raised my arms trying to get my bearings, and, in a flash, Trace slipped around, threw a leg over mine, and stood before me, straddling my legs.

  I looked up into her eyes, unreadable in the dim light, and kept my face expressionless.

  “I think you should shut up,” she warned me, her voice a deadly quiet. The bar had gone silent around us, and I could feel everyone’s eyes on us in the ringing emptiness.

  “Yeah?” I asked insolently, tilting my head in challenge. “I think you should make me.” There was no way I was going to let Trace intimidate me, especially not in front of my brother or my band.

  We watched each other a moment, no quarter on either side, then suddenly her hands were on my shoulders, her lips were on mine, and her tongue slid deeply into my mouth; and while my brain was stunned, I gave back as good as I got. This was war.

  We battled in that sensuous way for however long until we mutually declared temporary detente. Trace lifted her head from mine, her hands still on my shoulders.

  “Got anything else to say?” she asked, a triumphant laugh in her voice.

  “Yeah, actually.” I curled my lip at her. “That the best you got?”

  Good. Now she was shocked, and I grabbed her hips, bringing her down firmly onto my lap. Don’t ever dismiss the notion of Dutch courage, because that must have been what was fueling me now. Well, that and the fact that I absolutely refused to lose face.