Bygones (18 page)
THE audition was scheduled for Monday afternoon at
at a club called
Stonewings
. The band had their equipment set up onstage for their evening gig and were working on balancing sound when Randy walked in with a pair of drumsticks in his hand.
“Hey; guys,” the lead guitarist said, “our man is here.”
Randy reached up, extending his hand. “Randy Curran.”
“Pike Watson,” he said, shaking hands. Then he turned to introduce the other band members-the bass player, keyboard man, and rhythm guitarist. Then Watson asked
,,
“So what do you know?”
Randy shrugged.
“Anything.
You name it.”
“Okay, how about a little of “Blue Suede Shoes”?”
“Great.”
Randy settled himself behind the drums, found the pedals of the bass, and adjusted the height of a cymbal. He drew the stool an inch forward, tested the distance again, looked up, and said, “All set.”
Randy tapped out the pickup beat on the rim of the snare, and the band struck into the song, with Watson singing lead.
For Randy, playing was therapy. Playing was forgetting anyone else existed. It was living in total harmony with two sticks of wood and a set of percussion instruments, over which he seemed to have some sort of mystic control. When the song ended, he was surprised, having little recall of playing it measure for measure. It seemed instead to have played him. He pinched the cymbals quiet.
Pike Watson appeared pleased.
“How about another one?”
They played a little twelve-bar blues, then three more songs. When they broke, Watson asked; “Who have you played with?”
“Nobody.
This is my first audition.”
Watson raised an eyebrow. “What have you got for drums?”
“A full set of Pearls,
rototoms
and all.”
“Can you travel?”
“Yes.”
“What have you got for wheels?”
“That’s no problem.” It was, but he’d face it if and when.
“You union?”
“No. But I will be if you say so.”
I
With
a glance Pike Watson consulted the others, and returned his gaze to Randy. “Listen, we’ll let you know, okay?”
“Okay.” Randy backed off the stool and shook hands all around. “Thanks for letting me sit in. You guys are great.”
He left them and stepped outside, longing for a hit of something to relax the tension. He moved toward his car, rapping out a rhythm against his thigh.
Sweet-playing with real musicians.
Hope pressed up against his throat, making his head buzz.
But The Edge was a long shot; he realized that. They had undoubtedly auditioned other guys with plenty of experience, guys who’d played with well known bands.
What were his chances of competing with them? He got into his car and began pulling out of the parking lot.
Something hit the car like a falling rock.
He braked, and craned around to find that Pike Watson had thumped on the trunk to stop him.
“Hey, Curran, not so fast.”
“Was that you? I thought I ran over a kid or something.”
“It was me. Listen, we want you to be our
rimshot
.”
Shock suffused Randy. It went through his body faster than a hit of marijuana. Felt better, too.
“You serious?”
“We knew before you went out the door. We just have this policy-we all talk it over, no one person decides.
Wanna
come back inside and get in a couple hours of practice?”
Randy smiled. “Let me park this thing.”
When he stepped out onto the blacktop, Pike Watson shook his hand. Then they walked back to the club, Randy matching him pace for pace as he headed toward paradise.
IT HAD been three days since Michael’s evening with Bess. At work he had been withdrawn.
At home he’d spent a lot of time sitting on the deck staring at the sails on the water. Every time he passed a phone, he wanted to reach out and dial Bess’s number and say he was sorry. But to call her was to place
himself
in a position of vulnerability, and so he resisted the urge.
Then Lisa told him that Randy had auditioned for a band and was hired. Michael dialed the house the next morning expecting Randy to answer. To his surprise Bess did.
“Bess” he exclaimed. “What are you doing home?”
“Picking up catalogues before I head out for an appointment.”
“I didn’t expect you to be there. I called for Randy. I wanted to congratulate him. Lisa tells me he’s found a job with a band. I suppose he’s really excited, huh?”
“Is he
ever.
He’s quit his job at the nut house and practices here every morning and with the band every afternoon. Today, though, he’s out shopping for a used van to haul his drums in.”
“Has he got any money?”
“Probably not.
But I didn’t volunteer any.”
“What do you think? Should I?”
“I think it’s best to let him struggle and find his own way to get a van.
If he wants the job badly enough, he’ll work it out.”
“All right, I won’t offer.”
Michael paused. Then, “Bess, about Saturday night . . .” She said nothing. „All week long I’ve been thinking I should call you.”
Neither of them spoke for a time. Finally Michael said, “I think you were right. That wasn’t a very smart thing we did.”
“No. It only complicates matters.”
“So I guess we shouldn’t see each other anymore, should we?”
Again, no answer.
His heart was drumming. When he spoke again, the Words emerged in a ragged whisper. “Bess, are you there?”
Her voice, too, sounded strained. “Michael, the truth is that I’m scared. I’m scared of getting hurt again.”
“And you think I’m not?”
“I think it’s different for a man.”
“Oh, Bess, come on. Don’t give me that double-standard business. My feelings are involved here just like yours are.”
“Michael, when I went into your bathroom to look for a brush, I found a whole box of condoms in the drawer.
A whole box!”
“So that’s why you got all huffy and walked out?”
“Well, what would you have done?” She sounded very angry.
“Did you notice how many were used?” When she made no reply, he said, “One! And that was in my pocket before you got there that night. Bess, I don’t sleep around and you know it.”
“How can I know it, when six years ago-seven- It’s a good part of what broke up our marriage.”
“I thought we’d been through all that and agreed that it was both I our faults. Now here we go again. Hell, I can’t fight this for the rest of my life.”
“Nobody asked you to.”
After a broad silence he responded in a sound of pinched anger, “till right, that’s certainly clear enough. Tell Randy I called, will you? Tell him I’ll try hire again later.”
“I’ll tell him.”
He hung up without a good-bye. “Damn” He banged on his desk. What did she want of him? He hadn’t done a thing wrong s not one Damn women, anyway.
And this one in particular.
The next weekend Michael went up to the cabin that he had purchased a few years earlier for hunting, and got eaten up by I mosquitoes. He returned to the city still fuming, picked up the phone on Sunday night, and slammed it back down without dialing Bess’s number. He had tried to call and congratulate Randy three times, always without getting an answer. That irritated him, too. Two weeks passed, and his disposition hadn’t improved. Finally, at
night in late July, he went into his bathroom, got the box of condoms, drove to her house, rang the bell, and stood on her doorstep waiting to tie into her. After a delay the hall light came on, the door opened, and there she stood, barefoot, wearing a thigh-length thing made of white terry cloth. Her hair was wet, and she smelled good enough to bottle and sell, which further piqued him.
“Michael, what in the world
are
you doing here?”
“I came to talk.” He burst inside. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. Randy’s out playing.”
“Good. Let’s go into the family room.” He headed that way.
“Michael, it’s got to be
!”
“I really don’t give a damn, Bess.”
“You go straight to hell, Michael Curran! You can just get out, and lock the door when you go!” She headed up the stairs.
“Wait just a minute there!” He charged after her, catching her halfway up. “You’re not going anywhere until you –“
“Take your hands off me!”
“That’s not what you said that night at my
place,
is it?”
“Oh, so you came to throw that up in my face, did you?”
“No. I came to tell you that ever since that night everything’s been lousy.”
“And that’s my fault?”
“Yes! You accused me of sleeping around, and I didn’t!” He grabbed her hand and slapped the box of condoms into it.
“Herd, count ‘
em
!
One missing, and that’s all!”
She gaped at the box, dumbstruck,
then
tried to give it back to him. “Don’t be absurd!”
“Either you count them or I will.” He grabbed the box and sat down on a step just below her feet.
“One, two, three . . . was He counted clear to eleven. “There, you see?” He looked up at her. “Now do you believe me?
” .
She was leaning against the wall, covering her mouth with a hand, laughing.
“You should just see yourself. You look absolutely ridiculous sitting there counting those things.”
“Bess, do you believe me now or not?”
“Yes, I believe you. But for heaven’s sake, put them away.”
Michael rose to his feet and climbed the two steps to reach her. He looked devastating with his hazel eyes snapping, and he felt inviting, too-so near and warm and seductive. “You get out of here,” she said. “You’re plumb crazy.”
He kissed her neck. “I’m crazy, all right - crazy about you.” He kissed her mouth, and her arms went around his shoulders.
“Bess, I missed you,” Michael whispered. He clasped her against his breast. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you again.”
She went still-all but her heart, whose beat seemed to suddenly fill the world. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”
For that trembling, precious moment each was afraid to speak further, to move. Finally he drew back, tenderly brushing the hair from her face.
“Really?”
His smile was
disdelicate
, surprised.
“Really.”
They kissed with exquisite tenderness, touching each other’s face, temple, throat each touch a reiteration of the words they’d spoken. Then they went up the stairs together.
BESS’S hair had dried and spread a floral scent upon their shared pillow. Michael sighed and said quietly, “Bess?”
“
Hm
?”
“Are you ready to hear that M word yet?”
“I don’t know.” She looked at him.
“I think we’d better talk about it, don’t you?” he said.
“I suppose so.”
“Do you think we could make it if we married again?”
“I’ve been spending a lot of time lately wondering. What do you think?” Bess asked.
“Trust would be the biggest factor. We’ll each be meeting people, doing business with people, sometimes even in the evenings. If I tell you I’m going to a city council meeting, will you believe me?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
“You don’t think you can ever trust me again?”
She only studied him, wondering herself.
Soon he spoke again. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of other things. I’d be willing to share the housework. I realize now that I when both people are working, it’s got to be a cooperative effort.”
Bess was getting sleepy. “Know what?”
“What?”
“I like being convinced: Go on.”
“Well, we can take turns cooking.”
“
Mmm
. . . “
“Bess, are you sleeping?”
Her breathing was regular. He reached for the bedspread and pulled it up. Then he nestled on his side with his forehead near hers and thought
,
I’ll only stay for a half hour or so. It’s so nice here beside her. If I leave the light on, it’ll wake me up again in a while.
RANDY got home at
, pulled into the driveway, and sat staring at the silver Cadillac Seville. What the hell is he doing here?