Bright Side (21 page)

(Kate)

“Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday,
dear Bright Side! Happy Birthday to you!”

You haven’t really lived until you’ve heard
Gustov Hawthorne sing you happy birthday over the phone. He does it every year … at full volume, every note over-the-top enthusiasm. “Damn, this is quite a wake-up call, Gus.”

“Shit. Did I wake you, Bright Side? It’s six o’clock there, right? I thought you’d be up.” His sentences are running into each other.

“It’s okay, dude, I’m up.” I’ve been up since 4:45 and have already gone for a run on the treadmill at the campus exercise facility across the street from the dorms. Just running a mile is a struggle these days. But I’m up, showered, and walking down Main toward Grounds for my morning coffee.

“Oh good.” He sounds relieved and, now that he’s slowed back down to normal Gus paced speech, a little drunk.

“Dude, you sound wasted. Where are you?”

“Um,” he says sleepily, then raises his voice, “Hey Robbie, where are we again, dude?” I hear Robbie’s answer and then Gus echoes, “Indianapolis. We’re in Indianapolis, Bright Side.”

He’s shitfaced. I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard Gus this drunk. There’s a lot of background noise so I’m pretty sure he’s not on the tour bus. “How was the show last night?”

“Fucking sick!” That was way too excited, even for Gus.

“Sweet.” Time to bring him back down to Earth. “Question. Gus, I know you’re in Indianapolis right now, but
where
in Indianapolis?”

He pauses a few seconds and I picture him looking around for clues to help him with the answer. “Don’t know. Looks like a hotel room. The whole band’s here!” He pauses and then shouts, “What’s up, Robbie?!” as if he’s just noticed him for the first time all night and doesn’t remember talking to him twenty seconds ago.

“Gus, dude, thanks for the birthday wishes. I’m gonna let you go now. Do me a favor and find someone sober who can tell you where you are. I’m pretty sure you guys play in Chicago tonight.” I’ve been trying to keep an eye on his schedule. It helps me feel connected to him since we don’t get to talk every day anymore. “You’re probably supposed to be on the road right now.”

I hear the realization sink in. “Shit,” he says into the phone, before yelling, “Shit, you guys,” toward the rest of the room. “We play Chicago tonight. We need to get out of here.”

“Good man, Gus. You’ll be fine. Go down to the front desk and ask them to call you a taxi to take you guys back to the venue you played last night. And call your tour manager; he’s probably going apeshit right now.”

“Right. Thanks.” He sounds marginally more sober now.

“I love you, Gus.”

“Love you, too, Bright Side. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I’m weird about my birthday. I don’t tell people about it because I’ve never really enjoyed celebrating it. My mother was the type that loved to shower Grace and me with gifts on our birthdays when we were very young. We didn’t get her time, so we got stuff. It was a substitute that even a five-year-old can see through. As we got older and she became more unstable, she stopped … no more gifts … and still no time. It was part of her decline.

At least I know the “Happy Birthdays” are out of the way when I hang up with Gus because no one here knows. Or at least I don’t think anyone knows until I get a text from Shelly around 6:30 that night. I’m at the library.

SHELLY:
Happy Birthday!

ME:
Thanks? How’d you know??

SHELLY:
Drivers license. Employee file.

ME:
Breach of confidentiality?

SHELLY:
Maybe. Pizza. 7:00. Pick you up at the dorms.

ME:
OK

You can’t argue with Shelly, so I run back to the dorms and am just changing out of my sweats and into some jeans and a clean shirt when I get a text. It’s 6:45.

SHELLY:
What’s your room#?

ME:
210

Less than a minute later there’s a knock on my door.  I open up to find Shelly wearing a deep purple pea coat. Her nose and cheeks are pink from the chill.

I glance at my watch. “What the hell? I still have fifteen or twenty minutes.”

She smiles and walks inside, then throws herself down on my bed. “I know. Keller’s driving. He’s always early … like you’re always late. He’s neurotic about it. Sorry.”

I pull the band out of my ponytail and brush my fingers through my hair. “Keller’s coming?”

She’s looking at the photos on my d
esk. “Yeah, I told him this morning it was your birthday. It was his idea. You know, for birthday dinner.”

“I’m getting more mileage out of this birthday than all nineteen before it.”

She points to the photos. “So, what’s the story with these people, Kate?”

I’m pretty private. I don’t talk about family or Gus to anyone. Only Clay and Pete know about Gus, and that was out of necessity. And Sugar knows names, but beyond that she couldn’t give a shit. “That’s my sister, Grace, and my best friend, Gus.”

She runs her finger across Grace’s face, it’s loving. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“The best.” That’s where it ends. I’m thankful when she moves on to Gus’s photo.

She picks it up and holds it in both hands. “
Damn
, Kate, he’s fucking delicious.”

“That’s a pretty big declaration given that half of his face is hidden behind his hair.”
I’m grateful she didn’t recognize him as Gustov Hawthorne. He looks a lot different with long hair.

She looks at me with those big, wide, dark eyes. “But he is, isn’t he? I mean, in person the guy’s got to be blindingly good-looking?”

“He’s pretty easy on the eyes, yeah.”

She shakes her head and sets the frame back on my d
esk. “Damn,” is all she can say.

I grab my wool coat and hat and we’re out the door at 6:55. This may be a personal best—five minutes early.

Shelly opens the back door of the Green Machine that’s parked at the curb in front of the dorms. “We rock-paper-scissored earlier. Boys got front seat so we’re stuck in the back. My deepest apologies.”

“No problem,” I answer until I notice that there is one small problem with the backseat.

There isn’t one. No backseat, just three beanbag chairs.

“Jesus Christ, Keller. Beanbags?”

Beanbags
.

Keller smiles. “Hey birthday girl. Sorry about the lack of traditional seating.”

“Oh, hell.” I climb in and plop down in one of the beanbags.

Shelly jokingly introduces Duncan to me. Duncan apologizes for our first meeting the night of the Back to Grant Bash when we exchanged a few words and he promptly passed out drunk. “Not my finest moment,” he says.

The beanbags are actually pretty comfortable, and by the time we pull into Red Lion Road’s parking lot, I’ve been converted.  “Why don’t all cars have beanbags?” I ask Shelly.

Duncan turns around and agrees, “Right?”

Shelly rolls her eyes. “You mean aside from the fact that certain death is guaranteed upon impact? Gee, I don’t know, Kate.”

I nod and smile. “Yeah, aside from that morbid little detail. I’ll stew on that on the ride home. Thanks for ruining my Shangri-La moment, Shelly.” We hop out and walk toward the restaurant together.

Shelly slides into the booth next to Duncan, which leaves Keller to slide in next to me. The booth is small. I try to allow a few inches between us, but our elbows are brushing.

Keller nudges me, his voice quiet. “I should’ve asked first, but you like pizza, right?”

I nod. “Sure.”

Shelly looks at all of us. “Two large pepperoni?”

“One pepperoni, one cheese. Katie’s vegetarian.” Keller says knowingly.

Shelly’s forehead wrinkles. “You’re a vegetarian?”

I nod.

She looks unconvinced, like Keller and I are trying to pull one over on her. “
Really
?”

Keller answers for me. “Really
Shel,” he says, and tosses a ten dollar bill on the table. It’s funny how proud of himself he is to know this about me.

Shelly and Duncan each toss a ten on the table and Shelly says, “Huh, you learn something new every day.”

I dig through my pocket and lay a five and five ones on the table. Keller picks it up and hands it back to me. “Your money’s no good here, birthday girl.”

I pick it up and look at it front and back. “Why do you always have a problem with my money? It hasn’t been through the washer or anything. If you don’t let me start paying for stuff soon I’m going to start feeling like a freeloader.”

He curls my fingers around the bills with his hand. “This is your birthday dinner. You’re not paying. We are. Besides I bartend here a few nights a week, so I get a discount on the pizza.”

“You work two jobs?” I know he’s always busy, but I didn’t realize he worked two jobs.

He shrugs. “Have to. The tips are great.”

Duncan smirks. “The tips are great because sober women like Keller ... but drunk women
love
him.”

“I’m a good bartender,” Keller defends. It’s cute how serious he is.

Duncan looks at me and smiles. “Kate, Keller thinks he makes good tips because of his skills behind the bar.” He looks at Keller sincerely. “You
are
a damn good bartender.”

Keller nods. “Thank you.”

Duncan butts in. “What my boy fails to recognize is that half the women in here on any given Tuesday or Thursday night are here for one reason. And that reason is to check out Keller Banks. It’s pretty funny, actually.”

Sometimes I feel like I go to Grounds just to look at him. He’s gorgeous. I can relate.

As if on cue, a cute redhead walks by and smiles at Keller. “Hi Keller,” she says flirtatiously.

He raises his hand. It’s a half-wave to acknowledge her. It’s polite, but slightly confused.

“You know her?” It’s Duncan. He’s smirking again.

Keller shakes his head. “No idea.”

Duncan laughs good-naturedly. “See. Oblivious. It’s not your bartending, man.”

Keller’s blushing and it’s Shelly that saves him. She leans forward over the table and motions between the two of us. “I hate to rewind this conversation, but you mean to tell me that Keller Banks, the tight wad, bought something for you … with his own money?”

I shrug as Keller slides out of the booth, money in hand, to go place our order at the bar.

Shelly’s smile widens as he walks away. “Interesting.”

Twenty minutes later, a pitcher of beer and a pepperoni pizza are delivered to our table followed by a cheese pizza with twenty blazing candles. Shelly, Keller, and Duncan immediately break into a pretty good rendition of Happy Birthday. I don’t like being the center of attention, but it feels good to know I have such thoughtful friends.

(Kate)

Coffee. I definitely need coffee. I was out with Keller, Shelly, and Duncan late last night. I didn’t drink, but I had trouble sleeping. I’m going to need a big dose of caffeine to jump start my day. Rook’s concert is tonight and they’ll be here early afternoon. I need to wake up.

There are a few people in line when I get to Grounds. Romero salutes and smiles at me as he takes money from a man in a suit. Keller’s behind the bar with his back to me. I don’t think he’s noticed me yet when he takes an order from the brunette at the front of the line. She flirts. He doesn’t. I laugh quietly to myself. God, I never really noticed it before, but Duncan was right; girls try
so
hard with him. He catches my eye and winks. It’s subtle. If I wouldn’t have been staring at him I wouldn’t have noticed. I wasn’t the only one who noticed it seems. Someone else is staring. The brunette tosses her hair over her shoulder and scowls at me. And for one moment I feel a primal urge rise within me, a need to claim him somehow. I fight the overwhelming need to leap over the counter and kiss him senseless. But then I remember he isn’t mine. The urge passes and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened.

Finally it’s my turn. Keller pats Romero on the arm. “Can you get Katie’s coffee, Rome? Large. Black. I’ll be right back.” He runs toward the door to his apartment. “And I’ll pay for it, don’t take her money,” he calls back as he opens the door. He’s back before Romero has the lid on and waves me to the other end of the counter, then walks around from behind it. He hands me a small envelope.
Happy Birthday Katie
is written on it. It’s messy, boy handwriting. Maybe he should be a doctor instead of a lawyer. “Happy Birthday, Katie,” Keller says, smiling.

“Keller. What is this, birthday week? This isn’t necessary. You took me out for dinner last night, remember?”

He shrugs. “That was from all of us.” He smiles sweetly. “This is from me.”

I open it. It’s a twenty-dollar gift card to Grounds. “Thanks. It’s perfect.” Thinking back to our conversation a few weeks ago at the flower shop, I add, “Is this blackmail or bribery?”

“Neither. It’s insurance.”

“Insurance?”

“Yeah. That’s twelve cups of coffee. Twelve trips to Grounds. Twelve chances to see you.” He’s wearing this cute, boyish smile. He’s clean shaven again, giving him an irresistibly youthful look.

I hug him, kiss him on the cheek, and whisper in his ear before he lets me go, “Insurance sounds a lot like bribery.” Then I pull away so I can look him in the eyes. “You don’t need to bribe me, you know? I like hanging out with you. Thank you.”

I expect his crooked smile, but his expression is still sweet and sincere. “You’re welcome. I like hanging out with you, too, Katie.” He gestures to the counter behind him. “Listen, I’d better get back to work, but I’ll see you tonight. Can’t wait for the concert.”

“Rook’s
gonna kill it tonight.” I wink as I walk backward away from him and toward the door. “Prepare yourself appropriately.”

He laughs as he salutes. “Will do.”

Gus texts a little after 2:00:
I’m here!
We’re at the venue

Me:
Be there in 10 minutes

I grab my bag from my bed and I’m on a flat-out run for my car. I’m checking my pockets for my car keys as I run down the steps to the parking lot when I see him leaning against the driver’s door of my car. I run faster and the huge grin on his face is infectious. He scoops me up in a hug and spins around, my feet flying high above the ground. I love Gus’s hugs. He’s so big,
I get lost in his arms.

He sets me down and takes my face in his hands. “I can’t believe it’s really you, Bright Side. Skype is such a half-ass substitute for the real thing.”

I agree. I smile and touch his hair. “You look good.”

He shakes his head and then nods toward the building behind me. “So, this is your dorm?”

I nod.

“Then, by all means, give me the tour. I need to meet these characters you call friends. I don’t have to be back for
soundcheck until five o’clock.”

We stop by Clay and Pete’s room first. Clayton’s in Minneapolis with Morris, but Pete’s here. He’s polite but timid at first until he and Gus talk for a few minutes, at which point he loosens up. Well, as much as Pete
can
loosen up, anyway. I tell Pete that Gus is in town for the show (and leave out that he
is
the show). Gus asks him where he’s from, what his major is, and how he likes Minnesota. I think Pete’s a little surprised by all the questions and by the fact that Gus is actually listening to his answers with interest. When I tell Gus we’d better let Pete go, Gus’s eyes fall on a framed photo of Pete and Evelyn on the desk next to him and a wicked gleam flashes in his eyes. I don’t like it. I’ve seen it before too many times. He’s up to no good.

He picks up the frame. “This your girl, Pete?”

“Yes, her name’s Evelyn,” he confirms with a dimpled smile.

Gus sets the frame back down. “Cute couple. Tell me, does she like cowboys, Pete?”

“Cowboys?” His eyebrows pinch together at the odd question.

“Chaps, maybe?” Gus pushes.

Oh shit, he’s going
there
.

Pete shrugs. “I don’t know.” He’s confused.

Gus leans in like he’s sharing top-secret information, but he never lowers his voice, “Dude, a word of advice, chicks dig chaps. A little role-playing livens up the bedroom.” He raises an eyebrow and smiles like he’s just done Pete a favor passing this along. “That’s all I’m gonna say.”

Pete’s face flushes a bright red.

As I physically push Gus out of the room, I mouth, “I’m sorry,” to Pete.

Gus calls back loudly over his shoulder, “Food for thought, dude. Food for thought.”

Pete’s shy smile emerges. “Thanks.”

I punch Gus’s shoulder as soon as we’re safely behind the closed door of my dorm room. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“What?” he says innocently. Then he bursts out laughing. “I just did the guy a favor. You saw his face when we left. He’s considering it, dude. Evelyn will thank me for it, Bright Side. She’ll fucking thank me.”

I shake my head. Maybe he’s right.

Sugar isn’t here, so we can hang out and relax. Gus looks over every inch of the small room with the level of curiosity I’ve only seen in very small children, cats, and Gustov Hawthorne. He’s not nosy or intrusive, but wants to know all the details … intimately. Whether it’s a place, an object, or a woman, they command the kind of attention most people aren’t capable of or don’t take the time to give.

I walk him around campus and show him where all my classes are. He asks tons of questions about each one. If it were anyone else, I would think I was boring them, but not Gus. He’s interested in everything in my life as much or more than he is in his own. The road goes both ways. It always has. It’s one of the reasons we’ve been best friends so long.

Our time is drawing to a close so we walk back to my car. “You want some coffee before we head to the auditorium?”

“Is this the infamous Grounds I always hear about?”

I nod.

“Hell yes. I was so excited to see you today that I didn’t sleep much last night. I could use some coffee.”

I smile. “Me too.”

The bell thunders on cue as Gus pushes the door open to Grounds. He startles and glares up at it while he holds the door open for me to enter. He ducks down and whispers in my ear, “What the fuck’s with the bell?”

I laugh and agree. “Right?”

I do a double-take when I turn my attention toward the counter. It’s not Keller or Romero. I’ve never seen this man. He’s got to be in his mid-forties, and he’s very handsome. He’s tall and looks professional, even distinguished. His dark hair is graying at the temples and his dark, serious eyes seem out of place here. His greeting is friendly as he smiles at us. “Welcome to Grounds.”

And then it hits me. This must be Dan, Romero’s partner. “Dan?”

He tentatively answers, “Yes.”

I extend my hand as an introduction. “I’ve heard a lot about you. My name’s Kate.”

His eyes light up as if he’s made an association. “Keller’s Katie?”

Gus looks at me as if there’s something he’s missing and I’m looking equally as confused at Dan. “Um, I’m Keller’s friend, yeah.”

Dan shakes my hand two or three beats past what would be considered normal. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

I introduce Gus and I can’t help but notice Dan’s a little cold to him.

I order my usual large, black coffee and Gus orders the same and then predictably proceeds to add about a half cup of sugar to it after it’s handed to him. It makes my teeth hurt every time I watch him do it.
 

Gus faces me in the car
as we’re buckling our seatbelts. “Bright Side, are you seeing someone?”

“No. Keller and I are just friends.”

“Does he know that? Because that dude acted like a father meeting his daughter-in-law to be. It was kinda weird.”

I
tag along with Gus to Grant’s auditorium. After hugs from the other three members of Rook, I sit in on soundcheck. I’m speechless. Playing every night for the past month has been good for them. They sound flawless. When we were all in San Diego I used to hang out at their band rehearsals a lot. They were always working on new material and refining their sound, but that didn’t stop them from messing around with covers. And I always got to sing the covers, because it was like karaoke with a live band. So it makes me happy when Gus asks, “You up for one song, Bright Side?”

I look around at the band and they’re all smiling at me. It feels like just another rehearsal despite the expanse of the empty auditorium we’re standing in. With the band, it feels intimate and safe. I can’t hide my smile. “What are you playing?”

Franco’s twirling his drumstick between his fingers. I don’t even think he realizes he does it—it’s idle habit. “I vote for ‘Sex.’”

“The act or the song?” I tease.

He rubs his chin like he’s thinking about it, “Can I say both?”

Gus is adjusting the microphone down for me while I climb up on stage with them. “No, you can’t. And we’re not playing ‘
Sex,’” he says.

“Why not?” I ask. “That’s a great song. You like The 1975.”

Gus smiles and shakes his head before he looks back over his shoulder at Franco. “Because, Bright Side, think about it. Franco’s got ulterior motives. You singing that song would be—“

Franco’s nodding and grinning ear to ear when he interrupts
. “Girl on girl.”

Gus shakes his head. “She isn’t singing with us just to fuel your fantasies, dickhead.”

Franco laughs good-naturedly. He shrugs. “I had to try.”

Gus is switching out his guitar. “Let’s do ‘Panic Switch
.’”

He knows I love that song. The whole band does. Like all of
Silversun Pickups’ best songs, this one is controlled chaos. If you dissect the song and listen to the drums, bass, guitar, and vocals all separately, it sounds like four completely different songs. Put them together and it’s genius. “Hell yes, I’m in.”

After Gus messes with his effects pedals, he kicks off the song and just like that it’s on.
It feels good to let loose and sing again. Plus, everyone’s into it. I sing and dance around the stage like it’s just the five of us in Gus’s basement. They sound so good.

I text Keller, Shelly, Clayton, and Pete when we’re done to let them know I’ll meet them at the show before I squeeze the band into my car and take them to Minneapolis for dinner before the show. The options in Grant are limited. The show starts at
9:00 so we have plenty of time to eat, drink (I’m the driver, so I stick with water) and catch up on lost time. Things haven’t changed a bit. Jamie is still the sweet one, Franco is still the flirtatious, sarcastic one, and Robbie is still the quiet one. Friendship with them, especially Franco, has always come easily. It’s natural and comfortable. We respect and support each other.

I take a minute during our drive back to Grant to have them weigh in on a topic of contention. “Guys, I have a question for you. Am I a bad driver?”

Gus’s neck snaps to look directly at me from the passenger seat. There’s shock in his eyes. But before he can open his mouth it’s Franco’s voice I hear from behind me. “Define bad.”

“I don’t know, dude. Dangerous. Do you feel like your life is in peril with me behind the wheel?”

It’s Gus’s turn. “There’s nothing wrong with your driving. Who told you that? I taught you how to drive, remember?”

I wave my finger in the air as I dismiss him. “And that is exactly why you’re biased. Zip it, you don’t get to answer the question.” I glance in my rearview mirror at my three backseat passengers. “Guys?”

Jamie’s grinning back at me. “Why are you asking?”

I glance at the road quickly before I lock eyes with him in the mirror again. “Someone may have voiced a fairly strong level of concern after riding with me.”