Epic Adventures of Lydia Bennet (9781476763248) (17 page)

“Where have you been?” he prodded. “I've sent you like thirty Facebook messages trying to keep in touch.”

I knew he knew about everything that had happened, and I actually had never been worried about what he would think—once I got past the initial stage of worrying what literally everyone, even Kitty, would think—but communication was just a thing that had fallen to the side the past few months. Particularly through social media, where everything just felt like a constant reminder of the past.

“Pfft, Facebook,” I scoffed. “Who even uses that anymore?” Everyone. “Well, we're all here now. And you totally won't regret making the trek down. Not only do you get to hang out with us, which is super mega awesome—duh—but the band is actually really good.”

“Speaking of—” Mary finally piped up. “We should grab drinks and find a place to stand before the show starts.”

“Definitely drinks,” Denny agreed. “We have time, though. The guy at the door said some other band is playing first.”

“Wow, an opening act,” I said. Carter's really was pulling out all the stops. I didn't know of any other local bands off the top of my head, but if they're good enough to open for the Mechanics, this was looking to be a pretty sweet night.

Denny started leading the way through the crowd to the bar. I may have been good at ducking and weaving through large groups, but having a tall guy disperse the crowd for you is always a better option. Less chance of some dummy spilling a drink on you. Plus, it made me feel a little like Moses parting the Red Sea (Jane went
through a
Prince of Egypt
phase—I've seen that movie way too many times).

Especially the part where the sea came crashing back down on the Egyptians. Because suddenly, mere feet away from our destination, Denny stopped, and I ran right into him, and Mary ran right into me.

He turned around, a strange look on his face. “You know, actually, we probably don't need to get drinks right now.”

“What are you talking about? Let's get this party st—”

As I moved to push past him and order a delicious beer, I caught sight of what made him stop.

I turned back and faced both of them. “On second thought, we don't want to be
too
drunk for the show, right?” I grabbed Mary's hand again with the intention of yanking her away before she could see what Denny and I had seen, but it was too little effort, too late as a conversation happening at the bar made itself heard:

“No,
you
listen, brah. I am talent. I shouldn't have to pay for this shit.”

If the bright blue blazer and dark, over-gelled hair hadn't given it away, I'd still have recognized that nasally voice. And clearly Mary did, too.

“Eddie?” she croaked, clapping her hand over her mouth after the name slipped out.

Yep. Eddie.

As in dumped-Mary-for-getting-in-the-way-of-his-roadkill-music Eddie.

Awesooooome.

He spun around at the sound of his name, his face lighting up in recognition as he saw all of us.

“Mary Bennet,” he said. “What a lovely face to see before our first show tonight.”

“You're playing?” I blurted out in surprise. I knew Mary had heard them play in Eddie's garage, but to my knowledge, nobody
else had. They were practically the unicorn of bands. Well, except nobody knew or cared about their potential existence. And, by all accounts, they sucked.

“Right-a-roo.” Eddie grinned. “Todd's pop knows some people who know some other people who hooked us up. Figured it was high time to stop being selfish and share our melodies with the world. Isn't that right?”

Eddie cocked his head toward the pastiest boy I had ever seen, looking nearly translucent in the shitty bar lighting. And his dull orange hair practically made me look like a brunette.

The guy, who I assumed was Todd, nodded slightly, refusing to look at any of us. He stared straight ahead just . . . staring. Between the two of them, any band posters featuring their images would undoubtedly fit that eclectic indie pop vibe they seemed to be going for.

“You guys want drinks? We drink free, talent and all,” Eddie offered, eliciting a gruff “No, you don't” from Carter as he poured someone else's glass. “Might as well share the love with our biggest fans, coming out to support us.”

“Actually, we're here for the Mechanics,” Mary corrected.

“Right,” said Eddie, smiling with disbelief.

“Yeah, Mary's friends with them,” I added, backing her up. The last thing this night needed was Mary's weirdo ex thinking she was here pining over him. Man, what happened to party night?

Fortunately, that thought led me to realize this situation would be much better with the helping hand of—you guessed it—beer. I turned back to the bar and placed the usual order for all three of us (“Yes, Carter, I know the beer isn't free”) as Mary and Denny continued fending off conversation from the unexpected acquaintances. Or rather, just from Eddie, as Todd had yet to so much as open his mouth. Or alter his eye line.

Carter handed me the drinks, which I put on my card with the instruction to keep the tab open. I saw Mary side-eye me, and I knew she was questioning the wisdom of me paying for all of our drinks.
But hey, it's not like I have a big move to save up for anymore, amiright?

Drink up, Lydia.

I passed the remaining beers to Denny and Mary, who both looked relieved to have something to briefly distract them from this unfortunate turn of events. Poor Denny, I could tell he was looking for an opportunity to casually suggest we all go our separate ways, but Eddie was rambling on about their “process” and how he doesn't revise his lyrics—he just writes the words that course through him like a raging wildebeest. I wondered if it would be easier to take him seriously if he ditched those silly hipster frames. Or at least actually put glass in them.

And poor Mary. I'd hate to be stuck talking to my ex on what was supposed to be a fun night out. Even if said ex was more on the annoying side of the spectrum rather than the exploitative, borderline-criminal one.

I had resolved to burst into the conversation with the insistence that we hunt down a table elsewhere, no matter how interruptive or awkward it might end up being, when Violet showed up.

“Mary!” she exclaimed. “Didn't think you'd be here. We've been stealing all your time lately. Hey, Lydia!”

“Hey,” Mary said, looking like a cross between relieved and apprehensive. “What are you doing out here? Won't you get mobbed?”

Violet motioned to the beanie hiding all her hair from view. “Keep the hair tucked in and they don't know any better. It's kinda magic.”

Eddie coughed loudly into his fist, eyeing Mary.

“Oh. Violet, that's our friend Denny.” She pointed to the only guy in this bizarro circle we actually liked. “And this is Eddie, and . . . Todd.” Yeah, thrilled was certainly not the word to describe Mary's tone. “Apparently they're opening for you guys tonight.”

“Oh, right!” Violet exclaimed. “I'm sorry, what were you guys called again?”

“Eddie. Todd.” It was Eddie who spoke, of course. I was beginning to think Todd either had no voice or was hiding multiple rows of tiny, sharp teeth behind his lips and just never opened his mouth so as to keep his secret safe.

“No, like, your band name,” she clarified.

“We don't believe in names. It detracts from the music.”

“Uh-huh.” I could see Violet's confusion, and Denny's stifled laugh, even though I was more focused on Mary's eye-rolling. Which quickly turned into more of a deer-in-headlights kinda face after Violet's next question:

“So how do you know Mary and Lydia?”

I glanced behind me and nodded to Carter that I needed another drink. Yes, already. This was going to be a loooong night.

“Mary and I used to be a thang.” Eddie twanged the last word, drawing out every letter in it. This kid was always strange, but I do
not
remember him being this annoying. I would never have been so giddy for Mary when they started dating if he had been like this. Right? So much of that year is a blur.

“For like, a second,” Mary quickly interjected.

“True,” he agreed. “It was that magnetic attraction between musicians. Powerful like a dissonant chord, but when you're resolving the progression, you just gotta let it go.”

I don't know music terms, but between the looks on both Mary's and Violet's faces, I'm guessing that was a pretty douchey thing to say. At the very least, it sounded bizarre and hipstery and pretentious.

“Well, your . . . band missed out on a chance for a kick-ass bass player,” Violet finally said, throwing a smile at Mary.

“Oh, no, no. We don't bass. We synth.”

“Both of them,” Mary added.

“Right,” Violet said.

I exchanged glances with Denny. We were basically just playing a two-person audience to the most uncomfortable improv ever.
Three-person audience. Todd. Wow, he was even easier to forget about than Mary.

“Well, it's really cool of you guys to come open for us. We're calling this the ‘No, really, it's seriously the actual last show' show before we
finally
leave for San Francisco,” Violet said, then turned to us. “Carter pulled out all the stops on a Thursday because we actually have a gig in the city tomorrow. So we really are leaving. Promise.”

“Wow, that's awesome! The gig, I mean. Where is it?” Denny said, trying to help steer the conversation away from Eddie. Although Eddie steered it right back.

“Yeah, me and Todd thought about San Fran,” Eddie said, shifting the conversation to himself again. He was really good at that. Actually, I wonder if that's part of why Mary used to like him. She hates talking about herself. “But it's a little played out. Figure we'd head straight for the City of Angels.”

“LA.” Violet nodded. “That's cool. You got anything lined up?”

“Well, see, we aren't going yet,” Eddie backtracked. “Todd's brother's out there hustlin' his own deals in the biz, so we thought, hey, let him do the legwork, we'll stay here and hone our craft, and once he's in, we'll just ride along on those coattails, right up to the top.”

“Wow, sounds like you've really thought this out.”

“Gotta have a plan.” Eddie tapped his pointer finger against his temple. “I'm the brains, Todd's the connections, and we're both the sweet, sweet talent.”

“Yep,” Mary muttered into her drink before downing another gulp. I watched Violet's eyes dart toward my cousin and then back to Eddie.

“Hey,” she said. “Aren't you going to warm up, or . . . ?”

“Naw. We like our sound to be fresh.” He wiggled his fingers. “Being a performance artist is all about being raw and exposed, you know?”

“Bold choice.”

The already dim overhead lights dimmed even further, and the stage lit up.

“And that, gentlepeople, is our cue,” Eddie said. “Todd.”

I swear, Todd's eyes did not change direction whatsoever as he followed Eddie off toward the stage. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure he didn't even blink.

Maybe he had truly become one with the music. Or the synth.

Carter, another drink, please?

Nobody said anything for a moment as the two guys pushed their way toward the stage.

“So that's your ex?” Violet finally broke the silence, her voice doing a poor job of hiding her amusement. “I mean, I know I told you how weird my last girlfriend got when she decided to go on her vegan-hippie-commune-cult kick, but that guy takes ‘eccentric' to a whole other level.”

I grabbed my next beer from Carter as Mary fidgeted and shrugged uncomfortably.

“He was cute, and he was in a band,” she mumbled.

“Oh, is that all it takes with you?” Violet teased, and I swear even with the crappy lighting, I could see Mary get a little bit redder.

“He wasn't that . . .
that
when we dated,” Mary continued. “He's gotten douchier.”

“Way douchier,” Denny confirmed.

“Ah,” Violet said. “Yeah, I get that. That's pretty much where we're at with Duke now.”

“Duke? Are you saying he used to be less sucky?” I asked. He seemed pretty one-note to me.

Violet smiled, a little sadly. “He's been a pal for a while. He's always been kind of hotheaded, but he wasn't always . . .” She paused, chewing on her lip as she thought. “Well, he used to go by Justin, his actual name, if that's any indication of how far we've come. Sucks that he's let even moderate success go to his head.”

“Well, if he starts trying to get you to call him Emperor, I just
so happen to know another bassist who is super fine with just being called her given name,” I said.

Yes, I was not-so-subtly pushing my cousin on her. So sue me. Mary's talented; I know she likes playing with these guys even though she doesn't want to admit it . . . so someone's gotta point out the obvious.

“It's too bad we can't have two bass players,” Violet said, smiling at Mary.

“Well . . .” I trailed off, nodding toward the stage.

Eddie and Todd had finally shoved their way up front and gotten their instruments—not only two synths, but
identical
synths—plugged in. And with no introduction whatsoever (though, how do you introduce your band without a name?), they jumped into their first song.

I've never heard what a meteorite crashing to earth and obliterating an entire village sounds like, but if you could translate that into music, I'd imagine this would be the result.

Actually, scratch that, you wouldn't even need to translate it into music. It's just this.

“Not a compelling argument for double instruments.” Violet cringed. “And a very good one for warming up. So I'm actually going to go round up the gang and do some of that.”