Rock Chick Reckoning
Page 26
Across from that, up two more steps, was another platform. My ultimate space. Three guitars on stands, two electric, one acoustic, piles of music, two music stands, stacked amps and a big, mauve, overstuffed armchair that had seen better days but was comfortable as hel .
Behind the partition wal of the kitchen was a stacked washer dryer, a walk-in closet and the door to the bathroom which was as big as the kitchen, had a claw-footed tub, a pedestal sink and mosaic tile floors. I kept my wicker laundry hamper in there and a big, glass-front apothecary cabinet that looked like it came from an antique drug store.
I found it at a yard sale and Floyd fixed it up for me, Emily and I painted it white and it held my bits and bobs and towels and stuff.
My space was not rock ‘n’ rol stereotype with rich colors, lots of clutter and tasseled scarves over the lamps. It was tidy, clean, unlittered with junk which was how my space needed to be because my head was always a mess.
I remembered the first time Mace walked into it when he picked me up for our date. He looked around and couldn’t hide his reaction.
“You’re ful of surprises,” he murmured and I had the feeling he didn’t mean to say that out loud, so, to be polite, I didn’t respond.
I always wondered what he meant. I didn’t find myself surprising at al .
After that date, he spent nearly every night with me. We only stayed at his place a few times. He said we needed my bed because of Juno (Mace only had a queen-size) but I suspected it was because he liked my space. As for me, I liked him in my space, in the end, too much.
Daisy lived in Englewood and I lived in the Highlands, at least a twenty minute drive if traffic was good (which, it wasn’t). My mind moved from going home to its more usual pastime of worrying about my band. Or, at this juncture, them worrying about me.
Especial y Floyd.
I sighed and rested my head against the window. Behind me, Juno licked her chops and snuffled the wind coming through the crack where Mace had rol ed her window down.
I real y needed to cal Floyd.
Floyd was talented. He could have done something with his music. He could have gone somewhere if he’d gone after it and moved to NYC or LA. He could have been at least a sessions player but likely more. A lot more.
He didn’t want it, he wanted to live a quiet life with his wife and see his girls grow up happy. So that’s what he did.
That was Floyd and that’s a lot of the reason why I loved him.
At first, he pushed me to be more than I wanted to be, saying not only did I have the talent for it but I had a stage presence that “knocks your socks off” (his words).
I didn’t want fame and fortune, stadium gigs and my picture on the cover of Rolling Stone. I didn’t write music, I played it. I didn’t play music for the money; I did it for my sanity. The only way to escape my shit life growing up was by entering the hundreds of little, dizzyingly cool worlds of notes and lyrics of the songs I played.
Don’t get me wrong, I was happy The Gypsies had local success. We demanded top dol ar, free drinks, a percentage of the door and our cover charge was nothing to sneeze at. It paid the bil s and let me live the music. The whole band knew we weren’t going any further because I had no intention of taking us further. I’d been approached by some scouts, more than once, but for me, it was about the band. For the scouts, it was about me.
It was unspoken but Hugo, Pong, Leo and Buzz al knew the heart of the band was my guitar and my voice and the soul was Floyd’s piano. The other band members were good but they weren’t ever going to be great.
good but they weren’t ever going to be great.
They looked great, al handsome guys up there with Floyd and me and they were better players with the band than they’d ever be on their own. They needed The Gypsies to stay together for them to be anything at al and part of me knew that was the only reason The Gypsies d i d stay together. We were always fighting and in danger of one of the hot-headed ones (Hugo and Pong) or the dramatic ones (Buzz and Leo) losing it and walking out the door.
I needed us to stay together and I needed them. At first it had been just about the music but then they became the only family I had since I’d turned my back on my own. When that happened, it became al about the band.
Mace pul ed up the gravel drive at the side of the house and I pul ed myself out of my thoughts.
My van was parked by Swen and Ulrika’s Volvo.
I didn’t have to ask how it got there.
Mace.
I didn’t say anything. I was glad I didn’t have to go back to Lindsey’s to get it. I was also glad I wasn’t talking to him or I’d have to say thanks.
He parked and my hand went to the door handle.
“Don’t get out until I open your door for you,” Mace ordered, bossy as al hel .
I sighed but didn’t answer. He got out, skirted the hood, eyes scanning and he came around and opened the backdoor. Juno bounded out. Mace grabbed the workout bag in the back, slammed the door and opened mine. I exited the vehicle with a lot less enthusiasm.
Mace crowded me in a protective way and didn’t waste any time getting Juno and me in the house.
This played havoc with my already tattered guilt. I may not have wanted to be back together with Mace but it didn’t go unnoticed that he was taking care of me and he was being very serious about that task. It also didn’t go unnoticed that this was not because I was someone to protect but because I was his someone to protect.
Effing hel .
We walked silently together up the stairs and Mace made me stand in the hal after he unlocked my door (I’d never asked for my key back, this would have necessitated me cal ing him which might have descended into me begging him to come back which was not something I wanted to do, nunh-unh, no way, therefore I let him keep the key).
He walked in my place, I heard some weird beeping then I heard him doing a walkthrough of the house and final y he cal ed Juno and me in.
We walked in, Juno turning left, probably to hit the bed in order to take the al important Big Dog Nap Number Fifteen for the day.
She skidded to a halt on the stairs, stumbled a bit and stared ahead of her in confusion.
I stared too.
The room was dark, blinds I hadn’t owned when I left two nights ago were pul ed low. The bed was moved over to where my guitars were. My guitars were now in the middle, the couch where my bed was.
“What the –?” I started.
Mace closed the door and tossed the bag on the platform where the couch now resided.
I stood staring as Mace went up the platform and turned on a light then came back to me. His hand in his pocket, he pul ed out something that clinked.
Behind the partition wal of the kitchen was a stacked washer dryer, a walk-in closet and the door to the bathroom which was as big as the kitchen, had a claw-footed tub, a pedestal sink and mosaic tile floors. I kept my wicker laundry hamper in there and a big, glass-front apothecary cabinet that looked like it came from an antique drug store.
I found it at a yard sale and Floyd fixed it up for me, Emily and I painted it white and it held my bits and bobs and towels and stuff.
My space was not rock ‘n’ rol stereotype with rich colors, lots of clutter and tasseled scarves over the lamps. It was tidy, clean, unlittered with junk which was how my space needed to be because my head was always a mess.
I remembered the first time Mace walked into it when he picked me up for our date. He looked around and couldn’t hide his reaction.
“You’re ful of surprises,” he murmured and I had the feeling he didn’t mean to say that out loud, so, to be polite, I didn’t respond.
I always wondered what he meant. I didn’t find myself surprising at al .
After that date, he spent nearly every night with me. We only stayed at his place a few times. He said we needed my bed because of Juno (Mace only had a queen-size) but I suspected it was because he liked my space. As for me, I liked him in my space, in the end, too much.
Daisy lived in Englewood and I lived in the Highlands, at least a twenty minute drive if traffic was good (which, it wasn’t). My mind moved from going home to its more usual pastime of worrying about my band. Or, at this juncture, them worrying about me.
Especial y Floyd.
I sighed and rested my head against the window. Behind me, Juno licked her chops and snuffled the wind coming through the crack where Mace had rol ed her window down.
I real y needed to cal Floyd.
Floyd was talented. He could have done something with his music. He could have gone somewhere if he’d gone after it and moved to NYC or LA. He could have been at least a sessions player but likely more. A lot more.
He didn’t want it, he wanted to live a quiet life with his wife and see his girls grow up happy. So that’s what he did.
That was Floyd and that’s a lot of the reason why I loved him.
At first, he pushed me to be more than I wanted to be, saying not only did I have the talent for it but I had a stage presence that “knocks your socks off” (his words).
I didn’t want fame and fortune, stadium gigs and my picture on the cover of Rolling Stone. I didn’t write music, I played it. I didn’t play music for the money; I did it for my sanity. The only way to escape my shit life growing up was by entering the hundreds of little, dizzyingly cool worlds of notes and lyrics of the songs I played.
Don’t get me wrong, I was happy The Gypsies had local success. We demanded top dol ar, free drinks, a percentage of the door and our cover charge was nothing to sneeze at. It paid the bil s and let me live the music. The whole band knew we weren’t going any further because I had no intention of taking us further. I’d been approached by some scouts, more than once, but for me, it was about the band. For the scouts, it was about me.
It was unspoken but Hugo, Pong, Leo and Buzz al knew the heart of the band was my guitar and my voice and the soul was Floyd’s piano. The other band members were good but they weren’t ever going to be great.
good but they weren’t ever going to be great.
They looked great, al handsome guys up there with Floyd and me and they were better players with the band than they’d ever be on their own. They needed The Gypsies to stay together for them to be anything at al and part of me knew that was the only reason The Gypsies d i d stay together. We were always fighting and in danger of one of the hot-headed ones (Hugo and Pong) or the dramatic ones (Buzz and Leo) losing it and walking out the door.
I needed us to stay together and I needed them. At first it had been just about the music but then they became the only family I had since I’d turned my back on my own. When that happened, it became al about the band.
Mace pul ed up the gravel drive at the side of the house and I pul ed myself out of my thoughts.
My van was parked by Swen and Ulrika’s Volvo.
I didn’t have to ask how it got there.
Mace.
I didn’t say anything. I was glad I didn’t have to go back to Lindsey’s to get it. I was also glad I wasn’t talking to him or I’d have to say thanks.
He parked and my hand went to the door handle.
“Don’t get out until I open your door for you,” Mace ordered, bossy as al hel .
I sighed but didn’t answer. He got out, skirted the hood, eyes scanning and he came around and opened the backdoor. Juno bounded out. Mace grabbed the workout bag in the back, slammed the door and opened mine. I exited the vehicle with a lot less enthusiasm.
Mace crowded me in a protective way and didn’t waste any time getting Juno and me in the house.
This played havoc with my already tattered guilt. I may not have wanted to be back together with Mace but it didn’t go unnoticed that he was taking care of me and he was being very serious about that task. It also didn’t go unnoticed that this was not because I was someone to protect but because I was his someone to protect.
Effing hel .
We walked silently together up the stairs and Mace made me stand in the hal after he unlocked my door (I’d never asked for my key back, this would have necessitated me cal ing him which might have descended into me begging him to come back which was not something I wanted to do, nunh-unh, no way, therefore I let him keep the key).
He walked in my place, I heard some weird beeping then I heard him doing a walkthrough of the house and final y he cal ed Juno and me in.
We walked in, Juno turning left, probably to hit the bed in order to take the al important Big Dog Nap Number Fifteen for the day.
She skidded to a halt on the stairs, stumbled a bit and stared ahead of her in confusion.
I stared too.
The room was dark, blinds I hadn’t owned when I left two nights ago were pul ed low. The bed was moved over to where my guitars were. My guitars were now in the middle, the couch where my bed was.
“What the –?” I started.
Mace closed the door and tossed the bag on the platform where the couch now resided.
I stood staring as Mace went up the platform and turned on a light then came back to me. His hand in his pocket, he pul ed out something that clinked.
