Hold On To Me

by Taylor Holloway

  “Fine,” Ian told me, pulling out his bowl of green things and whole grains, “I’ll eat my healthy lunch all alone.” Ian made a long-suffering face.

  “You’re a real trooper,” I replied. I knew he secretly enjoyed being healthier than me. It was true that I’d lorded my physical fitness over him for years. I dangled the carrot of not feeling like crap in front of him to try and convince him that getting all his nutrition from a bottle as a bad idea. Ultimately it hadn’t worked. But it had resulted in him becoming hyper competitive about things like body fat ratio post-sobriety.

  Like he was reading my mind, Ian’s next question proved my point. “Are we still running that half-marathon in New Braunsfels this next month?” He looked excited at the prospect. “I’m really looking forward to kicking your ass.”

  I’d completely forgotten about the race. “Sure,” I replied. Then I paused. “Can Rosie come? She’s a distance runner, too.”

  We hadn’t gone running together yet, but I had a bad feeling that she could probably run circles around me. Aside from being nearly ten years younger, she also ran with a UT running club that I remembered as being too intense for me during my law school days. I was in better shape today than I had been during law school—I was still going through physical therapy from the accident—but the one time I’d gone on a modest six mile run with that club, I’d ended up throwing up afterwards.

  Ian raised an eyebrow. “I suppose. Can I bring Victoria then?”

  I blinked at him. “Victoria runs?” She was tall and slim, but I seemed to remember her complaining once about going up a long flight of stairs.

  Ian laughed. “No. God no. She hates exercise. She can go shopping and then meet us for lunch afterwards though.”

  That sounded more like it. “Ok. Sure.”

  In reality, I needed to talk to Victoria anyway. I still had schemes—plans, rather—that involved her.

  “Speaking of Victoria, have you given any thought to changing the name of your new band?” I asked Ian.

  Moonstone was a stupid name. Ian knew it. I knew it. Everybody but Victoria seemed to know it.

  Thankfully, Ian nodded seriously. “Once I told her it sounded like a all-girl electropop group she changed her tune.”

  “The shows tomorrow. What are you going with?”

  “The Scoobys.”

  “The what?”

  “Scoobys.” He grinned. “You know, like from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

  Ian was a huge Buffy fan. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s worse. Go back to Moonstone. That was dumb, but this is bad. Better to be dumb than bad.”

  Ian shook his head at me in between bites of quinoa. “Nope. I already told Ward and he put it on the blackboard behind the bar. It’s blackboard official.” He said it like it meant something.

  Blackboard official? Was that like Facebook official? Sounded like bullshit to me.

  “No one can read Ward’s handwriting. It’s not too late.”

  “I’m sorry man, it’s blackboard official.”

  “How can I convince you this is a bad thing to name your band?” It seemed suddenly imperative that I save Ian from his own bad taste. “That name makes me want to turn off my radio.”

  “It’ll grow on you.”

  “It sounds like it would grow on something.” I frowned. “Actually, isn’t that what they call the weird snot-looking stuff at the bottom of Kombucha? You really want to name your band after a wad of bacteria?”

  Ian burst out laughing and nearly spilled his lunch. “That’s a Scobie. It’s a mother culture.”

  “Can’t you just call the band that? It’s not so bad.”

  “Mother culture?” he asked.

  “Yeah. It sounds Jungian or whatever.” Honestly, I wasn’t that into it, but anything was better than The Scoobys. I honestly even preferred Moonstone, although it definitely did sound like an all-girl electropop group. At least I enjoyed electropop. The Scoobys sounded like a cover band that exclusively played coves of that damn Buffy the Vampire Slayer musical episode that Ian loved so much.

  Ian seemed to be giving it some genuine thought. “Mother Culture?”

  “Yes.” I tried to infuse my words with conviction and excitement.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “I bet Victoria would like it.”

  “I said that I’d think about it.”

  “Ok.”

  “So,” Ian ventured, clearly desperate now to change the subject, “how are things going with Rosie?”

  He couldn’t have picked a better topic to distract me with.

  “Amazing.”

  “Amazing huh?” He looked at me with what I interpreted as a mixture of superiority and vicarious joy. “You’ve gotten over your indecisiveness?”

  Indecisiveness? I wouldn’t have ever called it that. I was never indecisive about wanting Rosie. “You mean my abject fear of wrecking my life and hers?”

  Ian shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it.”

  “Yes. I’ve gotten over that.”

  He grinned. “So, my advice was helpful.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But it was.”

  “Yeah, it was. I’ll give you this one.”

  “You’re so generous.” Ian’s sarcasm was legendary, but I genuinely did appreciate his help.

  “I’m serious, Ian,” I told him. “Your advice was helpful. I don’t think I would have made a move without it.”

  Ian grinned. He was proud of himself. I gave him his moment. Then, when I felt he’d had enough… “so can we go back to brain storming new names for The Scoobys? Because I can pitch names all afternoon if that’s what it takes.”

  Ian’s grin slid off his face and was replaced by an annoyed expression. “Ugh. Fine.”

  I brightened. It wasn’t only for Ian’s sake that he had to rename his band, although of course I wanted Ian to be successful, too. If things went well, Rosie might be opening for Ian’s band on a regular basis. I didn’t want her billed below The Scoobys. In fact, I didn’t want The Scoobys billed at all. Once again, I had to save Ian from himself. But this time, it would save Rosie, too.

  44

  Rosie

  “No, not that one,” Trina said. She shook her head vigorously. I set the hanger back on the closet rack and hovered my hand above the next shirt. “Ok, we can try that.” I tossed it into the pile on my bed.

  We were picking out an outfit for my gig tomorrow. I’d fallen into full panic mode when I realized that the dress we bought at the vintage store, the one we’d originally planned on for me to wear, wouldn’t work well if I needed to bend down. The neckline was just a little bit too low. The idea that I might inadvertently flash the crowd was unacceptable. I needed a new outfit, and fast.

  “How about this?” I asked, pulling out a long-sleeved, V-necked black bodysuit that Trina insisted I purchase.

  Trina laughed. “Are you planning on going full Josie and the Pussycats?” She pursed her lips at me. “I mean, I know you were worried about your boobs falling out, but I still think you should wear pants.”

  I smirked at her. It would definitely be a look, but no. Not my look. I wasn’t quite ready to go full Lady Gaga. “What if I wear it under the dress?”

  Trina blinked. “Actually, that might work.” She twirled the tip of her long ponytail around her finger. “That might work really well…” She nodded. “Let’s see how it looks.”

  I stripped unselfconsciously out of my clothes to try it on. Trina zipped me into the dress and I knew instantly that the bodysuit would solve the issue. But it created a problem, too.

  Now the top of the dress didn’t work. The dress was a sea-green seventies prom dress with a cocktail-length tiered skirt, plunging draped bodice, and cap sleeves. The chiffon fabric in the skirt had a bit of sparkle to it, not disco-ball sparkle. A subtle, mermaid sparkle. The right kind of sparkle.

  While the problem of the plunging neckline was solved by the addition of the bodys
uit, and I liked the contrast of my blonde hair with the black, the sleeves of the dress now looked very odd. Not a cute or quirky type of odd, either. They were just awkward. I bit back my disappointment.

  Trina saw my face and frowned. “I have an idea,” she told me. “It will either ruin the dress or make it perfect.”

  As far as I was concerned, the dress was already ruined. If I couldn’t wear it, I might as well return it. Perhaps someone else could enjoy it. Someone that didn’t ever need to bend down. Like a mannequin. At least I hadn’t taken the tags off yet. I could get my seven dollars back.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s cut the top of the dress off.” She made finger scissors with both hands.

  “Huh?”

  “The skirt is the best part of the dress, right?” I nodded. “And the skirt will stay up as long as the hook and eye at the back is still there. So, we can just carefully cut around the waist and you can wear the bodysuit and the skirt.”

  I looked in the mirror, seeing her smiling face and my doubtful one. What the hell. “Ok, let’s try it.” Worst case scenario, I was out seven dollars.

  Trina’s smile turned into a full-blown grin. “Ok, I’ll go get the scissors.”

  A few snips, some tucking, and damn was Trina right. “It’s perfect,” I told her, spinning around and letting the long layers spin out in a fan. “I love it.”

  Without the draped top’s crepe fabric, the skirt was infinitely more comfortable. I felt like a magical elven princess in it, but the black of the bodysuit rescued the look from being too whimsical. When I paired it with my black doc martens and opaque tights, it would read rock and roll instead of renaissance fair.

  “You’re a genius,” I told Trina.

  She nodded modestly. “I try.”

  I was honestly not sure what I would do without Trina in my corner. She’d saved me when my dad and I cut ties. She let me stay with her over the summer and encouraged me to do what I wanted no matter what he or my mom tried to do to manipulate me into their molds. Plus, these days she listened to all my crazy relationship babbling about Ryan.

  Today, my fear was that Ryan would hate my show so much that he broke up with me. What if I couldn’t deliver a good show on Friday? Ryan had done so much to help me. Would he regret all that if I wasn’t able to play live? It was one thing to make a video. You have an infinite number of chances to play the songs right. If your take is trash, you throw it out. Playing live is a whole different ball game.

  “So,” I told her, feeling it was my duty to repay the favor, and a good way to distract me from my anxiety, “now that you’ve helped me do you want me to help you with your calculus homework?”

  Trina faceplanted hard atop my bed. She just tipped herself forward until gravity won. “Yeah that sounds great.” Her voice was muffled by the coverlet.

  45

  Ryan

  Rosie’s schedule was packed on Thursday, so I stopped by the Lone Star lounge myself that afternoon to scope things out. Rosie had asked me to take some pictures so she’d know what to expect since she couldn’t make it. My buddy Lucas, who worked out of the space most days, waved me over to a table almost as soon as I walked in.

  “Hey man,” he said, “long time, no see.”

  Lucas was a computer programming wunderkind and an old friend. He’d been diagnosed with a heart defect in college, and we’d actually met in group therapy. Specifically, we met at a support group for young adults with serious health issues. I’d been there when I was still walking with a cane from the accident. It was through Lucas, that I originally met Victoria. They’d been dating at the time.

  “Where’s Rae?” I asked, thinking that it was good that Victoria was not around today.

  Rae was Lucas’ girlfriend. They’d been together for about a year. Lucas was a long-term kind of guy.

  Lucas and Victoria had lasted a long time too—well past the safe shelf life of their relationship. By the time they finally imploded in spectacular fashion, it was inevitable. In hindsight, they should have broken up years before they did. They still didn’t get along well, and probably never would again. It was best that they simply avoided one another.

  “She’s here,” Lucas replied, smiling and pointing over to the bar. Rae was talking to Ward, the owner. She waved at me and I waved back. Her dark red hair had grown out since the last time I’d seen her. It was long enough for her to sit on now.

  Rae was about a billion times better for Lucas than Victoria had been. Lucas didn’t need a volatile rock star for a girlfriend. He needed someone more like him: hardworking, brilliant, no-nonsense, and down-to-earth. Rae was all that and more. In fact, when I first met her, I asked her to dance myself. But she was Lucas’ and not really my type anyway (Lucas had a serious weakness for intimidating redheads). We got along great, regardless.

  “Are you two coming to the show Friday night?” I asked the question with as much of a neutral face as possible. Rae and Victoria disliked one another immensely.

  Lucas shook his head. “Hell no.” Then he grinned. “But say hey to Ian for me.”

  I exhaled in relief. That would have been unnecessary drama.

  “I will,” I replied, “and that’s probably for the best. It might be a bit intense.”

  Lucas stared at me with a suddenly intent expression on his face. His hazel eyes sparkled behind his glasses. “What’s up?” he asked me, kicking out the chair across from himself and inviting me to join him. I sunk down into it and considered his question.

  “It’s a long story. I don’t want to interrupt while you’re working.” In reality, I could use some genius help, and Lucas was the only one I knew. I didn’t count Ian. He might be genius drummer, but outside of that domain, he was rubbish.

  In reply, Lucas spun his laptop around. He was browsing Reddit. “I’m done for the day. Try me,” he said. Fair enough.

  “My girlfriend’s dad is coming into town next week, and he’s bound to figure out that she’s been lying to him about giving up music. She’s opening for Victoria’s band, and I have a feeling it’s going to jump-start her career. He won’t be happy. Oh, and he’s my boss.”

  It sounded incredibly dumb when I boiled it down that much, and I winced.

  “You have a girlfriend?” Lucas asked. “Since when?”

  I counted backward and grinned. “A little more than a week.”

  Lucas grinned back at me. “And what’s her name?”

  I felt a bit like I was being interrogated, but I knew he was just curious. “Rosie.”

  “And she’s a singer?”

  My head bobbed up and down. “And a student at UT.”

  “And Rosie’s dad doesn’t want her to be a singer. What does he want?”

  I took a deep breath. “He wants her to go to law school. He’s a lawyer. And my boss. Did I mention he was my boss?”

  “He’s coming to the show on Friday?”

  I shook my head. “No. Thank god, no. He’s not coming to town until the week after.”

  Lucas processed the information by taking a sip of his beer. He always drank the same beer, with the same garnish: an orange slice. It was almost pathological.

  “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I got nothing. That’s probably going to suck for everyone involved. Especially you.” He frowned. “On second thought, actually, especially her.”

  “Did I mention she’s also only nineteen?” I added. Her being so young really did contribute to the overall intensity of the situation.

  “You did not mention that, no.” Lucas hid a smile. His eyes widened behind his glasses like he was attempting not to laugh. “I didn’t figure you for a cradle robber.” I frowned at him and he waved a hand. “It’s not that weird,” he said when I opened my mouth to protest. “But I can see how that would make things worse. Is she financially dependent on him?”

  “For now, yeah. She’s about to start making quite a bit of money though.”

  “Well that’s a plus.” He cocked
his head to the side as he thought about my conundrum. “So, what’s your strategy for dealing with him?”

  Strategy? I sighed. “I feel like we have to just tell him the truth. I’ve gone over all the other options, and it seems like honesty is going to be our best bet.”

  Lucas raised an eyebrow. “No elaborate lawyer tricks?”

  “He’s the one that taught me most of mine.” I rolled my eyes. There was no chance that elaborate misdirection would be successful with Calvin Ross. Even Rosie admitted that it would only buy us time.

  “I see.”

  “Besides,” I added, “I’ve come to terms with losing my job over this.”

  Lucas nodded sagely. “That’s probably good. I’d offer you advice, but it doesn’t sound like you need it.”

  “No, I definitely need it. Please. If you’ve got anything, I’m listening.”

  He smirked at me. “If there’s one thing that I’ve learned from Rae, it’s that elaborate lies aren’t very effective.”

  “God, you’re no fun anymore.” He was so damn adult. For some reason it bugged me. If he had some kind of secret solution, I wanted it.

  He merely laughed in reply. “I might not be fun, but I am happy. You should try it some time.”

  Lucas, like Ian, had long contended that I was too brooding, lonely, and withdrawn to ever be happy. “I’m in a bar at three p.m. on a weekday. Doesn’t that make me fun by definition?”

  “Either that, or an alcoholic.”

  I smirked. “Oh dear. You said yourself that you weren’t fun, so I’ll have Ian recommend you a good AA group. We’ll get you the help you need.” I pushed his water glass closer to him, in front of his beer.

  He stared at me and then laughed. “I walked straight into that one, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.”