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Chapter Three: Going Out


Nick's eyes were closed. The hammock rocked in the slight breeze that rustled in the leaves, making the weathered ropes creak. He breathed deeply, practicing some kind of meditation, though he wasn't really sure wha he was meditating on, other than actively trying not to imagine laying there drinking an ice cold beer. He hugged the canary yellow notepad he'd been using to scribble down ideas for a new song and tried to think of lyrics. He found himself composing a love song to a pint.

Froth and foam so delicious...

He sighed and opened his eyes and stared up at the bright blue sky and the tops of the trees against it. He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through the pages of contacts until he reached Ringo's listing and pressed call.

"Hello?" Ringo answered on the third ring.

"Hey, it's me."

"Well 'lo there stranger," Ringo said joivally.

"I really want a beer," Nick blurted out. He bit his lip.

Ringo sighed, "I was hoping that wasn't what you were calling about. Where are you?"

"In my backyard," Nick answered. He rolled off the hammock, "But I'm fightin' everything in me not to grab my keys and book it to the store. I can almost taste it, man." He sighed heavily and threw the legal pad down into one of the lawn chairs on the deck he'd built and let himself into the house. Nacho, who had been confined inside because he'd been afraid of little dog legs getting stuck in hammock netting, fluttered around his ankles as he walked through the house.

"Take a couple deep breaths," Ringo advised, "Remember all the shit you been through in the last year, man. You take a drink that might solve ya problems right now, but where's it gonna get'cha tomorrow morning? Back where you started, that's where. And what good's in that?"

Nick sighed. "I know. I keep tellin' myself that." He closed and opened his fist, flexing his fingers.

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Nick," Ringo said. "We all have these moments of weanesses and secretly wish that we were weak so that we could pass off the things we do on our weakness, but you're strong, and you can do this. I believe in you."

Nick sighed. He closed his eyes and threw himself onto his couch. Nacho leaped up onto him and curled up on his chest, like a weight, keeping him in place, keeping him from defying everything and going out and getting the drink he was so desperately thinking about... "Thanks Ringo, I dunno where I'd be without you. Maybe dead or something. I dunno. But I appreciate you, man."

"Think nothing of it," Ringo replied. "Here, let's pray."

Nick pet Nacho absently as he held the phone, and he listened to Ringo's rough-edged voice mumble his way through the Serenity Prayer - God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Old Ringo got to the end of the prayer and said, "There we go... We feeling better?"

"Yeah, I think so," Nick replied. He let out a streaming sigh. "Thanks man."

"No problem. Anytime. You know that."

They hung up and Nick sat there on the couch, scratching behind Nacho's ears. The pug curled into his hand, then flipped over for a full belly rub. Nick stared at the blank TV screen, his mind working on processing everything Ringo had said. He thought about the song he was supposed to write and the pressure he was under to get it done. Nothing was coming to him at all, not even a concept for what the song would be about. But he'd been such a little braggart about the fact that he could write a song that now he felt like he had to write the song. He could almost hear the conversation between him and Kevin when Kev would be like it's okay, it's harder than you thought, that's all, and Nick would wanna punch him for being so casually arrogant.

He still really wanted a drink, he realized.

"Oh fuck it," he muttered and he stood up, causing Nacho to roll off the couch. "Sorry," he said to Nacho, then swung through the house and grabbed his keys from the hook by the door. Nacho raced alongside him to the door. "I'll take you for a walk later," Nick replied to the question Nacho was asking as he wiggled by the door. "I'll be back." He slipped out the door, leaving Nacho in the entryway. He jogged across the lawn to the car and swung himself inside.




Desmond stared at his face in the bathroom mirror. He splashed water on himself and watched the beads roll across his skin. His hair was still wet from the shower and had made a cresent moon of moisture around the neckline of his tshirt. He stared into his own chocolate brown eyes and studied what he saw. He wasn't entirely sure he knew who it was that stared back at him from in the mirror sometimes, like the person he'd once been had become lost somewhere along the way. He touched the edges of his eyes where the skin krinkled and puckered in ways he didn't remember it having done before.

When he came out of the bathroom, Kelsey was watching TV. Her slender body stretched flat across the bed. She was too thin, he thought, almost dangerously so, in a way that frightened him. He stood there awkwardly in the doorway until she looked over. "You're headed out then?" she asked.

"I wish you'd come," he said.

Kelsey shook her head, "I'm fine here."

"You haven't left the hotel since we got here," Desmond pointed out.

Kelsey shrugged.

Desmond grabbed his hat from the top of the TV, which had become it's unofficial perch. Kelsey didn't tell him, but she kind of liked that it lived there when it wasn't on his head, because it made the TV look distinguished, like a little moving picture gentleman.

"I've left the room," she said, "I went to the vending machine downstairs yesterday."

"That's not what I mean," Desmond crossed the room to get the guitar case that leaned against the wall. "You really need to do something besides sit around the hotel, Kels," he said, "The whole point of being here is moving on and getting you back on your feet and so far I'm the only one participating." He paused, "You haven't even gone apartment hunting with me."

Kelsey muted the TV and sat up, her legs crossed. She stared at Desmond as he unsnapped the guitar case and looked down at the strings of the instrument, the wood reflecting the light of the lamp. She knew he'd been doing so much for her, knew he just wanted to know she appreciated it all. But it was hard because as much as she wanted to leave the hotel room, wanted to go exploring and see everything there was to see, she didn't quite dare to.

Even the walk to the vending machine had taken every ounce of courage she had. She wasn't sure if Desmond understood that, what that had taxed her. She looked down at her crossed legs and put her hands on her ankles. She closed her eyes.

Desmond closed the guitar case and looked over at Kelsey. She had a tear on her cheek, and he knew he'd said something he shouldn't have. He crossed the room, and sat on the edge of her bed. He wanted to hug her, to just reach over and pull her into him and wrap his arms around her and hold her. But he didn't dare to touch her, afraid of a negative reaction... "Kels," he said, "I'm sorry."

She opened her eyes, they were watery. "I know it's foolish, I shouldn't be so fucking scared of everything."

"I'm gonna be right there with you," Desmond said, "I'll be by your side the entire time."

Kelsey looked into his eyes... those wonderful eyes that she'd looked to all her life with trust. She took a deep breath, "Okay. Let me get dressed."

Desmond's smile lit up, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said. She rolled off the bed and reached in her open suitcase for a shirt and some shorts. "One sec."

When the bathroom door had closed behind her, Desmond jumped up and grabbed his guitar case and slid the strap around his shoulder with an excited flare. Maybe, just maybe, he would finally get to change things, finally get her to see how he really felt about her...

She came out a couple minutes later, still pulling her shaggy hair into a pony tail. "Okay," she said, "Let's go, then."

Desmond hurried to open the door for her and she thanked him and stepped out onto the stairway. He pulled the door closed behind them as she looked out at the city skyline over the balcony. He led the way down to the car and unlocked it, slid his guitar into the backseat, and they pulled out of the lot and onto the street. "Next stop," he said, "The Bluebird Cafe."