“Hello?” Autumn’s voice seemed thick and slow, as if she had been sleeping.
“Hey, uh…Did I wake you up?”
“Kind of…just taking a nap, really. I’m surprised you called me. I mean, aren’t you worried about that three-day rule?”
“Rule? Is that a law on the books? Is the NSA gonna bust in my door and put a gun to my head for violating it?”
She giggled, then coughed, making unladylike hacking noises. “Sorry. I should really quit smoking, y’know?”
“I guess I seem kind of desperate right now, violating that three-day rule.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have trouble following the written rules, let alone the unwritten ones.”
Steve chuckled. “I kind of get that impression.”
“So what’s up? I assume you didn’t misdial me and decide to just go with it now.”
Steve laughed as much at her easygoing manner as at her quip. “No, no, I meant to call you. Listen, I know it’s short notice, but I got a friend of mine having a barbeque-band-practice- hoedown kind of thing.”
He winced at his own awkward fumbling of the English language.
“I don’t know, are there going to be dangerous people at this barbeque-band-practice-whatever thingie?”
“There might be, but I’m secretly a crack covert operative for the CIA in deep cover. They won’t stand a chance.”
She laughed again. For some reason, he found himself wanting to make her do it more.
“If you’re telling me, does that mean you have to kill me?”
“No, you’re the asset I was sent to protect. You have, a, uh, a cipher in your head that unlocks the nuclear launch codes.”
“Then I better start getting ready. I’m not safe at home. When are you coming to get me?”
“Twenty minutes,” he said, then rubbed his stubbly face. “Make that thirty minutes.”
“Okay, give me one ring when you’re outside my building. And don’t forget—”
“This isn’t a date?”
“That, too,” she said after a brief pause.
The connection went dead, and he heaved a sigh.
Chapter 5
PHIL SAT IN THE CORNER of the basement garage, almost invisible behind the concealment of his keyboard. He looked up with chagrin as Rich related an utterly ludicrous story. He shook his head at the way Rich was able to hold so many people in thrall at once, when he was crude and crass in so many ways. Yet, the gathered crowd (some fifteen people all told) continued to wait on his every word with bated breath.
“…so we finally, finally find the address Pedro gave us, which was really hard since none of us spoke Mexican, and we go inside. The first thing we’re thinking is what’s with all the chickens? Where’s the babe? Where’s the donkey? Come to find out, it wasn’t a donkey show—it was a cock-fighting ring!”
“That wasn’t funny,” said Phil to himself when the crowded room filled with laughter. Frustrated, he rose to his feet and scooted out from behind the keyboard. He squeezed by two people he had met but whose names he never remembered, and reached the exit. He stepped out into the cool, darkening evening, sighing in relief as Rich’s voice was at least partially muffled.
A white Eclipse came rolling up the street. Phil noted with interest that the driver was a young woman, and her slow trajectory down the pavement gave him ample time to see that she was pretty. Unlike most pretty women, she didn’t seem to look right past him. In fact, her face split in a cheery grin. She waved enthusiastically at him, parking about three cars away from Rex’s house.
He cocked his head to the side and tried to place her as she approached. She was petite and slender, with smooth skin a muted caramel hue. Her long, silky black hair was hanging loose, the bangs kept out of her face by a pink barrette. She was wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt with blue flowers, which hung over the top of her tight blue miniskirt. She wore opaque tights which disappeared into sneakers with an anime theme.
“Phillip!” She approached, beaming at him. He stared at her cute face and found his breathing was getting more rapid. She had dark brown eyes, nearly black, with slight epicanthic folds at the corners. She had a nose that was a bit wide, but did not seem out of place on her visage. Her lips were small but pouty, and coated with a dark red gloss.
“Uh,” he said, “can I help you?”
“Phillip,” she said, her smile fading, “it’s me, Crawley.”
He did a double take, eyes growing wide with realization. It was Creepy Crawley, but not at all the way he remembered.
“Oh my god! It’s been years since high school. I didn’t recognize you!”
He gave her a big smile, and was taken aback when she gave him a friendly hug.
“I recognized you. I am wearing my hair different now, I guess.”
“That must be it,” said Phil, eager to move past the awkward moment.
“Should I get my guitar now, or…” She pointed behind herself at the car.
“Yeah, yeah, definitely.”
He walked with her to her car, offering to help with her burdens.
“You can carry the amp, but nobody touches Molly.”
“Molly?”
“Molly Hatchet,” she said, slapping the black plastic case.
“You named your guitar. That’s cool. I never named my keyboard.”
“Well—” Crawley’s cheeks flushed red “—I guess it’s a girl thing.”
“I think it’s great!” They walked back to the garage. “My friend Steve named his muscle car. He calls it Black Moon, even though it’s kind of a primer color right now.”
“Black Moon,” giggled Crawley. “That sounds cool.”
They passed below a buzzing streetlight, its din drowning out the constant sounds of traffic from Manhattan. He found himself unable to stop staring at her. Her breasts were small, but still bounced nicely with every step she took. Her waist seemed almost impossibly tiny, and her hips flared out to give her a sensuous, womanly appeal.
He opened the door for her, standing aside to let her through.
“It’s kind of crowded in here, and you have to watch out for spiders, but…”
“What kinds of spiders?” she asked eagerly.
“Uh, not poisonous ones, I don’t think.”
“Oh.” Crawley’s eyes were cast downward for a moment and she seemed disappointed.
Rex’s gaze fell on them as they entered, his face breaking into a wide grin. He shouldered past the throng of people listening to Rich’s dissertations and reached out to shake her hand eagerly.
“Hey, you must be Eleanor.”
“I am,” she said, dimpling at him.
“I’m Rex, your drummer and founder of Settle the Score.”
“Settle the Score?” said Phil. “I thought we were calling ourselves We Shall Overcome.”
“We were.” Rex crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “But then your buddy Rich pointed out that sounds like a gay porn movie.”
Phil fumed, staring at Rich with eyes narrowed into slits while his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Then the almost musical sound of Crawley’s laughter reached his ears.
“You guys are still best friends! That is so great!”
“He’s not my—” said Phil.
“Creepy Crawley!” shouted Rich, stopping his story mid-sentence. The crowd parted for him as he traversed the short distance to the front of the garage. “Man, you turned out to be hot!”
“Shut up, asshole!” said Phil in a growl, while Crawley giggled behind her hand.
“You’ve still got man-hands, though,” said Rich.
Phil was shocked. He turned a wide eyed-gaze on Rich, his mouth flying open.
“Dude, that was not cool.”
“It’s all right,” said Crawley, smiling at him. She raised one of her hands for his inspection. “I do have boy hands. I bet they’re bigger than yours!”
She grabbed his right hand and lifted it, sending a shock through his body at her
contact. Placing her palm flat against his, it was evident that her hands were indeed longer and thicker than his own.
“See?” She smiled prettily at him.
“Yeah,” he said, a goofy smile on his face.
“She’s hot,” said Rich, turning to nod at Rex. “That means she can’t play for shit, according to your logic.”
Rex laughed nervously. “You’re such a kidder, Rich,” he said through gritted teeth.
Phil cleared his throat.
“She could be hot and be able to play.” In a split second, concern spread out over his features. “I didn’t mean to say you were hot! I mean, I think you are, but I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I mean, it’s not like I’m sitting here checking you out, it’s just that, you know, you’re pretty and—”
She put a finger up to his lips and giggled again, mischief flashing in her dark eyes. “You’re cute when you’re rambling.” Abruptly she removed the finger and walked over to the gaming table. She set the case down upon it and flipped open the latches.
“Come to momma,” she said softly, carefully taking the guitar out of the case. It was a beautiful Gibson six string, its red body polished to a shine. A medieval battle ax decal was affixed just below the whammy bar. The frets had some wear, indicating that she played the instrument regularly.
“Where can I set up?”
Rex led her over to the power strip on the wall. “I’ll show you. You know, I had to rewire the grounds myself…”
As the pair made their way to the power strip, Rich slapped an arm around Phil’s shoulders and moved his head in close. “You are about to be given a great responsibility.”
“You make my life miserable.”
“You,” said Rich, as if Phil had not spoken, “are about to begin dating a rock solid ten. Rock. Solid.”
“I doubt someone like her would be interested in someone like me. And anyway, why aren’t you all over her like stink on shit?”
Rich looked at him aghast, releasing his shoulder and standing a few feet away. “Phil, I’m hurt! I’m deeply, deeply hurt by your harsh words! I’d never try to horn in on your territory.”
“Why?” Phil was genuinely discombobulated.
“’Cause—” Rich punched him hard in the bicep “—we’re broskis. And broskis never rub another broski’s rhubarb.”
Rich went back to his waiting audience and picked up his story where he had left it. Phil looked past him, to where Crawley was setting up her amp. She seemed confident as her fingers spun the dials on the front of the device. She noticed his attention and gave him a grin.
He returned the smile, not knowing what else to do. A light rap at the door behind him gave him an excuse to break the eye contact, and he hustled to open it. Steve stood outside, towering over him and dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt. He had a leather jacket on over the shirt, and with his long hair and sullen eyes, he looked the part of a hooligan.
His date was equally off-putting. Phil had never liked women with tattoos, and this one had them all up and down her arms. She had a sleeve design on both of her forearms, while her biceps were more sparsely decorated. She was dressed in a pair of tight black pants with far more straps and buckles than was necessary, her torso adorned in a snug T-shirt. She had a pleather coat over it, but it was unbuttoned, accentuating her bustline. She wore dark purple eye shadow, her lips painted much the same. Her hair was done in pigtails.
“Stop drooling,” said Steve, slapping him on the arm. “Phillip, this is Autumn. Autumn, Phillip.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said in a husky voice that Phil had somehow expected.
“Nice to meet you, too.” Phil politely gave her hand a shake. “Come on in. Unfortunately the party is just getting started.”
“I wouldn’t call this a party,” said Autumn, wrinkling her nose. “There’s barely a dozen people here.”
“Well, we can’t all be social butterflies.”
“Hey, this is fine,” said Autumn defensively. “I kind of didn’t mean it as an insult…but I guess I kinda did, too. Told you I was a pain in the ass.”
Steve looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “So you keep saying.”
They made their way into the garage, Steve introducing her to Rex’s wife and other select guests whom he knew well. Autumn smiled broadly at each of them, curbing her normally acerbic tongue and exchanging pleasantries well enough.
In short order, they found the only available seating, a dingy and worn loveseat embroidered with geese. Steve got them both a bottle of Leininkugel, popping off the tops with his thumbs.
“That’s a talent! To good times.” Autumn clinked her bottle lightly against his own.
“I’ll drink to that.”
Both took long pulls on their drinks, not breaking eye contact the whole time. They sat staring at each other without speaking for a short while, as Crawley tuned up in the background.
“So…this is nice,” said Autumn.
“Yeah.”
“Cozy. And everyone seems friendly.”
“Yep. It is and they are.”
“Wanna get the hell out of here?” Autumn’s smile was as fierce as it was sudden.
“Absodamnlutely.” Steve rose to his feet and stretched. He held out a hand and assisted Autumn.
“Where are you going?” Rex asked as they headed for the front door.
“Just going to get some fresh air,” said Steve.
“If you want some privacy, you can use me and the missus’s bedroom.”
Autumn tried to stifle her laugh behind a palm as Steve sputtered a response.
“Oh, I’m just kidding,” said Rex, giving him a slap on the shoulder. “Have fun.”
They exited the building and stood under a starless sky. A fair amount of cloud cover largely concealed the moon as well, though a bit of its cheery silver light could be seen peeking out from time to time.
“Wanna take a walk?” he asked. “This is my old neighborhood. It’s pretty safe at night.”
“Sure. After all, I have a secret agent for a bodyguard.”
They slowly strolled along the sidewalk, Steve pointing out landmarks. “There’s where I fell out of a tree.” He indicated an empty lot overgrown with vegetation. “Broke my arm and had to have a cast. That used to be Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s house, right over there.”
“Are you a fan of PSH?”
“Of who?”
“PSH. Phillip Seymour Hoffman.”
“Oh, I guess so. Capote was pretty good.”
“I loved PSH in everything he did. He was like, the brute force and ignorance actor. Not handsome, and not classically trained, but he put so much enthusiasm into his work. Shame he had to go and OD.”
Steve nodded.
“Good actors, musicians, they all die young. Fred Durst and Adam Sandler will probably live forever.”
She chuckled at his quip, her large brown eyes shining. Then her face fell, a grim specter casting a pall over her pretty face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. This feels nice. Maybe that’s the problem. I’m not used to hanging around people who just let me be, you know?”
“I think I understand where you’re coming from. A lot of the time, I’m afraid to say what I’m thinking.”
“Oh?” she said, playfully elbowing him in the ribs. “Dirty mind?”
“No! No, I just…sooner or later, I seem to rub everyone the wrong way. I don’t do it on purpose. It’s just, some people are just so damn stupid! They say things like they’re speaking with the voice of God, and what comes out of their mouth is just so fucking ignorant that it gives me a stomachache.”
“Do I fall into that category? I’ll tell you right now, I never graduated from high school, never went to college…”
“No! Of course not. I think you’re witty, funny, and smart. A little mean, but funny and smart.”
“Mean?” Autumn jabbed her finger in his ribs. “I’ll show you mean, you p
rick!”
Her nail slipped between the soft tissue connecting his ribs.
“Ow! It’s like being jabbed with a sword!”
“Big baby.” They crossed a road and turned left, putting the Manhattan skyline in their view. The lights shining from the glass towers, the pale yellow from the windows, and the bright red atop the skyscrapers mingled to create an aesthetic portrait.
“Wow,” she said, her mouth slightly open. “It’s beautiful, at least from a distance.”
He looked at her, licking his lips nervously as she peered intently at the city. “Some things are even more beautiful up close.”
He reached his hand toward her own, brushing the backs together. She flinched at the contact, jerking her hand away.
“Sorry, I know, it’s not a—”
“Your hair tickles, dumbass,” she said, glaring at him even as she wrapped her hand around his and gently squeezed it. “It’s like holding hands with a gorilla! What did they feed you growing up, whole roast cow?”
Steve laughed, hard enough that his ribs ached. “Ma liked to cook pasta. Spaghetti and meatballs with pickles was my fa—”
“Pickles in spaghetti? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Don’t knock it until you try it. Maybe if you come over some time I can cook it up for you.”
Autumn lifted their conjoined hands, bringing them close to her face. “Oh, it has the opposable thumbs necessary for such feats?”
They stopped in the circle of light cast by the buzzing fixture overhead, Steve chuckling as the tattooed young woman examined his hand with great scrutiny.
“Well, it looks like a human hand, but due to the size and hairiness, I’d say we’re dealing with a Sasquatch.”
Steve stopped laughing, his mouth falling open and blue eyes opening wide. “Sasquatch?”
“Yeah, you know, like the Canadian team, what’s it called? Awful Flight?”
“She reads comics too. You just keep getting more awesome.”
“Shut the fuck up. And I didn’t read it, but I was aware of it. I only read Sandman, Preacher, the more edgy stuff. My boyfriend at the time tried to get me to read the superhero crap.”
“I read Sandman a little. Pop actually got the Deathslayer idea from some sword and sandal mag back in the day. Heavy Metal, I think.”
Forever Autumn Page 6