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Chapter Twenty-Five: Iron Bars


I used my one phone call on Jason, my lawyer-slash-solo-manager. He said he would get me out of there. Just hang tight, he said. So there I was in the cell at the police station, hanging tight, sitting on a concrete bench, leaning against a concrete wall, staring out iron bars the concrete hallway. My mind was whirling. I stared at my sneakers. Chris was in the same cell. He was pacing back and forth by the iron bars. He'd used his one call on his mommy. Every once in awhile, he turned to look back over at me. Chris's face looked like hell. There was no question who'd won that, at least. A pretty pissed off looking guy that reminded me of Bruno from Popeye was taking a leak in the john.

I looked up at a clock that I could only just barely see. It was in an office a little ways down the hallway. I'd positioned myself perfectly on the bench to be able to see it. There was only one angle it was visible from. It was nearly seven o'clock at night. I wondered how Becky had gotten home, if she was okay, if she was worried about me. I wondered if Bruce and Bradley were asking where I was. I hung my head and hooked my fingers together behind my neck, frustration and regret mixing in my gut.

The guy from Popeye was settling himself back onto another bench against the other wall. A part of me wanted to know what he was there for. I was willing to bet whatever it was it wasn't as bad as what I'd done, lying to Becky like I had.

Chris turned around, "I can't believe you got us arrested over a whore."

"Seriously," I said, looking up, "I will beat your ass seven ways to Sunday, right here, right now, if you don't shut the fuck up and stop making fun of her."

Chris scowled. "You're a bachelor," he said, "A bachelor for life. How can you possibly be falling for the ultimate anti-bachelor type girl?"

"You don't know her," I replied. "She's incredible."

"Does she know voodoo magic or something?" Chris asked, "Because she's got you under a spell."

"There's no voodoo magic about it," I said. "Chris, you know how you spend your entire life just dreaming of what the perfect girl would be like?"

"Huge tits and a great ass?" Chris said.

"Personality wise," I said. "Like they love the things you love, even though they aren't particularly girly things or they can cook really good or they have that one kind of laugh?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"Chris, Becky's got every single one of my things like that, like she was designed by the master list of stuff in my head. So what if I can't tick off supermodel on the list, too?" I shook my head, "She's absolutely beautiful to me anyway, no matter what you think about her. She ain't fat, except maybe by Hollywood standards, and she ain't ugly." I took a deep breath, "She's... she's fucking perfect. I love her."

I wished suddenly as the emotion ran through me that I'd told her that last night. I love you were three impossible to say words until just the right moment. But I did, I loved her. And I wanted her to know. She deserved to know.

Chris was leaning against the bars. "So those girls really don't know who you are?"

I shook my head.

"Does this Becky chick know?"

I shook my head again.

"Who the hell does she think you are?" Chris asked.

"She thinks my name is Nathan Crosby," I replied, shrugging. "They all did."

"Nathan Crosby. And you just happen to look like a Backstreet Boy."

"I get that all the time," I said with a shrug.

Chris shook his head. "I really slept with girls, too," he said. He turned away and his tone changed, "But they weren't hotties. I printed those pictures so you'd think I was scoring hot mommas." He was quiet a moment. "I used this dating website. There's some fucked up chicks on the interwebs."

I thought of Monica from San Diego. "No kidding."

Chris glanced back over his shoulder. "So how are you gonna tell Becky the truth?" he asked.

"I don't know," I replied. "But I'm gonna tell her the second I get outta here."

Chris nodded.

We spent the night in jail. Jason, I assume, was flying from Nashville to Los Angeles, and Chris's mom was probably trying to scrap together bail. We didn't really talk again after that conversation, and although we'd fought I knew that we'd sort of pseudo made up there in the cell. It'd take awhile but eventually maybe we'd be friends again. Or maybe not, who knows. It didn't really matter. Chris was a part of an old version of myself that I'd shed slowly over time spent with Becky. I was a new me and the new me wasn't really cut out for old me's friends.

Around eight in the morning, Chris's mom showed up and posted bail and a cop came and got Chris outta the cell. It was just me and Bruno, who was snoring loudly, his belly fat jiggling as he huffed and puffed against the wall. I hadn't slept a wink all night, I was too nerved up, too focused on how in the hell I could possibly find the words to tell Becky what I'd done.

At nine-fifteen, I knew Bradley was eating breakfast and I wished I was there eating breakfast, too.

It was around eleven before Jason and a cop finally came down the hallway. Even Bruno had been released around ten and I was sitting alone in the cell when the cop unlocked it. "C'mon, Carter," Jason said, "Let's get you out of here as discreetly as possible."

I looked at him, "What?"

"There's enough paparazzi outside to wall paper the Taj Mahal in just a few clicks of their cameras," he said, shaking his head. "So keep low and I'll do my best for damage control. I've been up all night trying to smooth over what's already got out there. Seriously, a brawl at a pizza place at noon," Jason rolled his eyes. "You don't pay me enough to get you out of bullshit like this."

I felt my mouth go dry. "I made the news?"

"TMZ is having a ball, man," Jason replied. "You have a particularly attractive mug shot that's gone viral."

I hung my head.

Jason and a couple officers ushered me through a waiting throng of people. Photographers shouted various words trying to get me to turn to look at them so they could get a good shot, but I kept my head down and climbed into the waiting vehicle out front as quick as I could, and Jason followed. Hands banged on the tinted windows, flashes went off, cameras pressed against the tinting. I covered my face with my hands, completely ashamed, and ducked low.

"It's going to be okay," Jason said, "I'm going to smooth this all over. All publicity is good publicity, just remember that. We'll spin it. You'll probably see a spike in album sales."

I didn't care about album sales. I cared about Becky.

Jason glanced at his watch, "We have just enough time to get you home before I go get your press release written up..."

"No, I don't want to go home. I need to go to the Fresh Oasis on Central Ave," I said.

"Really, is this the right time for a smoothie, Nick?" Jason demanded.

"It's not about the smoothie," I replied, "My girlfriend works there. I need to talk to her before the shit hits the fan and she finds out about this the wrong way."

Jason laughed, "I'm sorry to tell you this Nick but she'd have to be living under a rock to have not heard about this."