[ - ]
Table of Contents [Report This]
Printer Chapter or Story Microsoft Word Chapter or Story
- Text Size +
Chapter Twelve
Point of View: Nick

So between the Prius-bitch, Officer Soccer Mom, and Krystal's persistence to not talk to me, my good mood was dented even before I got home and found my mom's car in the driveway. I sighed, realizing I'd never called her back before, when she'd left that voice mail asking for a loan. I won't lie, I don't like calling her, but I legitimately forgot with all the drama going on during the last week of the tour.

She was sitting sideways out the open door of her car, smoking. Apparently she heard the tour ended today and had assumed I'd be coming home. As soon as she saw my Escalade pull into the drive way, she dropped her cigarette onto the ground and stepped it out, twisting her foot. Her blonde hair was droopy compared to how she usually had it styled. Evidently she hadn't been able to afford going to see her hair dresser this week.

I parked and took my time gathering my cell phone, iPod and backpack from the passenger seat, wondering if I took long enough if she might disappear. But when I turned around she was still here, her arms crossed over her chest. I got out of the car. "Hey mom," I said, standing there awkwardly, juggling my stuff in my hands. I clicked the lock for the Escalade and it honked twice.

"Did you get my voice message?" she asked.

I couldn't tell if the weird tone to her voice was anger, exhaustion, too much nicotine, or some combination of all three. I walked by her, fumbling with my keys, headed to the front door. She followed me, her heels clicking on the stone walk way.

"Yeah, I got the message," I said, figuring being honest was the best policy. We reached the front door and I stuck the key in the lock and shook it. As soon as I got the door open, I turned around, dropped my stuff onto the table immediately inside the door and quickly thumbed in my passcode on the security alarm system.

"You never called me back on it," she answered. Now there was definitely anger in the mix. But I was still pretty sure nicotine and exhaustion were there, too.

I shrugged, "I was on tour, mom, what do you want from me? I was busy."

"Too busy for your mother?" she asked pointedly, "I gave you life."

I sighed, "I know, mom. I'm sorry, I just was really busy. I dunno if you heard about everything that's been going on this week, it's been on the news and stuff..." I paused.

"I have to watch the news to hear about what's going on in my oldest son's life?" she asked, her eyes welling up like they always did when she was trying to fake-cry.

Scooping up my stuff again, I walked further into the house. "Close the door behind you," I demanded. I heard it slam. I'd kind of hoped she might've thought I meant on your way out rather than before you follow me in, but I wasn't that lucky. Her heels clicked on the floor. "You could always call me you know," I said.

"I did," she reminded me.

"Yeah, 'cos you needed money," I snapped, grouchy. "I mean because you feel like it or something crazy like that."

She shrugged, "You're busy."

I sighed. This wasn't worth it. "What do you need?" I asked, putting my backpack down on my dining room table and opening it. I dug through for my check book and pulled it out. "Five hundred? A Thousand? Two?"

"Ten," she answered.

I blinked at her, "Thousand?"

"Yeah."

"What the hell are you doing with ten thousand dollars?" I'd been halfway through scrawling out Jane Carter on the pay to the order of line.

"I owe back money on my rent," she answered.

Sighing, I finished writing out her name, scribbled in the amount, ripped the check off the book and handed it to her. "Don't shit it away like last time okay?" I requested.

"I won't." She hugged me, "Thank you, honey."



Thankfully, she didn't stick around.

It took a grand total of about fifteen minutes after she left for me to realize I was restless sitting at home. I needed to get out. I needed groceries anyway. Taking my stuff, I got back into the Escalade and went downtown to get food. I wandered around the grocery store aimlessly, my mind elsewhere - mainly wondering what my mom was actually doing with the money I'd just given her, and tossing random crap into the cart.

By the time I got to the register, I realized I'd gotten absolutely nothing that could be considered an actual meal. There was a lot of crap food - chips, beer, an economy size bag of M&Ms, some bananas, peanut butter, and a bucket of cream cheese for the bagels that I'd thrown in. I loaded it up onto the conveyer belt, wondering what I'd been thinking exactly.

Well, not about dinner, that's for sure.

"Paper or plastic?" the bag girl asked, pushing her thick glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"Whatever," I answered. I got plastic. Everything fit into two bags.

I paid for it and carried it out to the Escalade and called Joey's - my favorite pizza place. "Hey Joey, it's Nick," I greeted the familiar Greek accent that had answered the phone.

"Nick! How you doin'? Back from the tour, I hear!" he cried, excited. Joey liked hearing I was back in LA. It was like an instant 700% increase on revenue for him.

"Yeah, I'm back for a couple months," I answered.

"Oh hallelujah," he joked, "My sales were down. Looks like the economy's back up at Joey's House of Pizza, 'ey?"

"Looks it," I said, glancing at my crappy shopping job on the passenger seat. "Can you drop off the usual for me?"

"Sure thing, NIck, be up in 45," he said the same thing every time, even though it always took an hour, not forty-five minutes.

"Thanks Joey," I answered, hanging up the phone. So much for my healthy eating plan.



That night, I drank the entire six pack of beer while watching Beavis and Butthead reruns on MTV2. I could literally feel my five o'clock shadow growing on my face, the hair pushing out of my skin. I wandered into the bathroom, feeling a little dizzy from the beer and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I looked like absolute shit.

My cell phone rang. I looked down at it. It was Krystal. Of course she has to call when I'm buzzed, I thought, She can't call when I'm actually succeeding at staying sober. Though, when I'd actually been succeeding at staying sober was, I wasn't sure, considering I'd only made the promise to myself that morning and here it was, night, and I'd already fucked up. Oh well.

"Hello?" I said, trying to sound as with it as I could. Maybe she wouldn't notice.

Krystal's voice, though, was irate. "Did you hear what that asshole you hang out with said about me?"

I paused. "Um... what?"

"Brian." Her voice was steel. "Did you hear what that holier-than-thou piece of shit said about me?"

"Uhhh," I wracked my brain, trying to think if I'd heard anything at all about Brian all day, other than when I'd gotten in my Escalade and said 'see ya next week' to him. "No," I answered slowly, "No... I didn't..."

Krystal's voice was icy cold. "He said, Nick, that I was the worst excuse for a girlfriend you ever had, and that I was half the reason you've been so messed up lately. He said, Nick, that you were better off without me, that you didn't need a woman like that around you."

Yeah, that sounds like something Brian would say, I thought. I could almost imagine the scene - he had probably been accosted at the airport, probably by baggage claim. He'd probably been hesitant answering any questions at all, but, finally backed into a corner, he'd probably spouted off something very similar, if not word for word, what Krystal was accusing him of saying.

"What is that supposed to mean?" demanded Krystal, "A woman like that? Is he suggesting I'm a whore?"

'You mean whorebitch?' his question from that morning in the hospital echoed in my mind.

"Brian wouldn't say that," I answered. "I'm sure it's more about... like, that you like to party, you know? Like me."

"I don't know why Brian doesn't like me," she snapped, "I've never given him reason not to. He just thinks he's better than everybody else because he's a Christian. Well, whatever. He's a piece of shit, and you can tell him I said that." Krystal hung up the phone.

I stared at it, dumbfounded. Anger boiled inside me, but I couldn't tell who I felt it toward - Brian for saying that shit about Krystal, or Krystal for saying that shit about Brian. I closed the phone and looked into my reflection's eyes again. They were sunken.

I wandered back to the other room, tripping over a couple of the discarded beer bottles on the floor as I did. I grabbed the Escalade keys. More beer, I thought, Is definitely needed.