My Heart's Bliss (Hard Love & Dark Rock #3) (3 page)

BOOK: My Heart's Bliss (Hard Love & Dark Rock #3)
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Chapter 5

Trace

 

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG.

Someone was pounding on the door, hitting it so hard that I heard the doorframe rattle.

I tried to ignore it, but it wouldn't stop.  Finally, answering the door felt like it'd be less of a bother than listening to that incessant pounding, so I rolled over and got out of bed.

It was Joey, with a big grin on his face.  The redness in his eyes didn't manage to defuse the bright fire shining in them.

"Trace, my man!"

"Hey, Joey."

"I'm glad you're up!  Micah just went to sleep, Sergio and Angel are M.I.A., and I'm fucking starving!  You gotta come to breakfast with me."

"I'm not really hungry."

"So what? 
I’m
hungry, and you're not doing anything in here, so you might as well keep me company."

"I dunno.  Kind of tired.  Maybe I'll just go back to sleep."

"Fuck that, man!" he said, grabbing hold of my arm.  "You've slept long enough.  Who needs sleep when there's coffee?"

I let him drag me out of the room and down the hall.  He didn't let go of my arm until we'd stepped into the elevator and the doors had closed behind us.

"I know this awesome breakfast spot," he said as we watched the elevator floor numbers counting down.  "It's just a couple blocks from here, in North Beach.  A proper diner that all the beat poets used to hang out at back in the fifties, but the owner's Italian and they do the coffee that way.  Cappuccino like they make it in Florence, so thick you can eat it with a spoon."

I nodded my head, but didn't say anything in response.

When we came out of the front of the hotel, the first thing I saw was the stone cathedral I'd noticed the night before, when I was looking for Anne.  A thick fog had come in during the night, and the cathedral's towers disappeared into grey mist.  I thought of the three drunk assholes who I'd found harassing Anne, and the fight I'd had with them because of it.  That had been less than twelve hours ago, but already it felt like it had happened in another lifetime… or maybe in a dream.

For a moment I felt another rush of the white hot rage that had possessed me when I found them harassing her.  I clenched my fists so tightly at my sides that my fingernails bit into my palms, the pain sharp and bright.  And then another thought came to me:

Had Anne come back to my room because she thought she owed me something for saving her?  Had it been out of obligation, rather than desire?

A wave of sadness came over me, snuffing out the rage.  I let it wash through me, and then felt the familiar numb apathy coming on in its wake.

"Hey Trace," Joey said.  "What happened to your face?"

I looked over at him, saw the concerned look in his eye.

"You've got a bruise on your face," he said.  "Right on the side of your jaw."

I shrugged my shoulders.  "Dunno.  Guess someone felt like my face needed to be punched."

"Well shit, I feel that way all the time, but that doesn't mean I actually do it."

I shrugged again.

"In fact, I'm starting to feel that way right now.  Shrug your shoulders one more fucking time, and maybe I
will
punch you."

I raised my shoulders up in a shrug.  Before I even had time to drop them back down, Joey's hand swung round and smacked me in the back of my head, hard enough to make my eyes water.

"Hey, asshole!" I said.

He feinted a jab with this other hand, and my hands came up to block it.  But as my hands came up, his boot flashed forward, kicking me in the shin.

"Fuck!" I shouted, bending over to clutch at my aching leg.

He grabbed my hood, yanking it down over my eyes.  And then he snagged the sweater's pull-cords, jerking them tight so that the hood contracted down over my face.

"What the fuck!" I screamed, swinging my arms out, trying to catch hold of him.

He skipped back out of the way.  My hands went to my hood, pulling it open.  The first thing I saw was his toothy grin.

"I'm glad you haven't lost
all
of your fire, you mopey bastard," he said, laughing.  "At least you'll still react to physical goading."

I glared at him, but then shook my head.  "All right, maybe I deserved that.  It's just—"

"Hold on, Trace," he said, cutting me off.  "Save it till I get my coffee, alright?"

I pressed my lips tight together, shaking my head.  And then I let my face go slack, and shrugged my shoulders again.  "Whatever."

The anger flashed back into his eyes, his face going hard.  He raised his hand to hit me again.

But before he could, I flicked my hand out and smacked him in the nuts, and then darted out of reach, laughing.

"All right, all right," he wheezed, hunching over with both hand hands grabbing his crotch.  "I'll give you that one.  Well played."

-

Not only did the café look like it hadn't been updated since its beat poet heyday in the fifties, it looked like it had hardly even been cleaned.  The table had a coating of grime and grease so thick it was almost like a varnish.

Joey sat down with a smile on his face.  He took a deep breath, stretching his arms out and then up toward the ceiling.  He let out a deep sigh.

"You gotta love this type of place," he said.  "Keeping it real.  No fucking pumpkin-bread-latte bullshit in here."

"Yeah," I said.  "Plus, if you run out of hair gel you can probably just rub your head on the table."

He gave me a look, but before he could respond, the waitress came up.  She must have been over seventy, looked like someone's grandma.

"Alright, boys?" she said.  "What can I get for you today?"

"Big breakfast, please," Joey said.  "Eggs scrambled, bacon extra crispy, hash browns, and how big is the cappuccino in here?"

She pointed to an old guy at a corner table, reading the paper.  He had a cup in front of him, small and white, maybe eight ounces.

"Alright," Joey said.  "I'll take three of those."

"How 'bout you, son?" she said, turning to me with her pen poised over her notepad.

"One espresso."

"That all?  You look like you could use a proper meal, son.  Put some meat on your bones."

"Alright, I'll take a croissant, too."

"Good.  I'll put in your order."

She came back a few minutes later with the coffee.  Joey grabbed one of his cups and gulped it down all at once.

"Jesus," I said.  "Careful you don't burn yourself.  That's not a shot of whiskey, you know."

"Matter of fact, I do know," he said.  He reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask, slopped some brown liquid into each of the remaining two drinks, knocking down the foam.

"Getting started early, Joey?  Don't forget about what happened last night."

"Oh, I'm not forgetting," he said.  "I smoked a big joint first thing this morning.  Doctors prescribe weed for seizures, you know."

"Maybe Dr. Dre does, but I don't think a real doctor's gonna tell you to smoke a doobie before breakfast.  And what about the bourbon?"

"Alcohol only causes seizures when you're withdrawing from it—Delirium Tremens, the DTs.  Making sure I've got a bit of booze in my blood is probably the safest thing I can be doing, right now."

"I don't remember Bernstein's doctor friend saying anything like that last night."

"Whatever.  Next topic."  He picked up the second cappuccino, gulped it down just as quickly as he'd drank the first.  "I've got my coffee.  I'm ready.  Tell me, what's on your mind?"

Now that he was asking about it, I didn't know if I wanted to talk.  I'd done too much talking in the past year already, mostly with shrinks.  I picked up my espresso, the little cup so small that I had to pinch its handle between my finger and thumb, and took a sip.  The coffee was strong enough to make my eyes spring open.

"Good stuff, right?" Joey said.

I nodded.  I took another sip, feeling the bitterness biting into my tongue.

He waited another few seconds, then prompted me again.  "Right then, Trace.  Spill it."

I thought of Anne, of what it had been like to be with her last night.  And what it had been like to wake up without her this morning.  I looked over at Joey.

The waitress came back in with our food, dropped it off in front of us.  Joey ordered three double-shot espressos, and she wandered off to get them.

He started shoveling food into his mouth, but he turned to me and spoke between mouthfuls.  "Lemme cut to the chase.  It's about the girl, Anne."

I nodded.

"What's the problem?"

"When I woke up this morning, she was gone."

"Maybe she had to go to work or something."

"She didn't leave a note or anything."

"Maybe she thought it was a one-night thing."

"Maybe."  I reached down for the tiny espresso cup, tilting it so that the foam washed over the bottom.  "I asked her to come with us to L.A."

"I knew it!" he said, grinning around a mouthful of hashbrown mush.  "I knew you liked this girl.  I could see it in your eyes, the old fire-hearted Trace showing through.  And it's about goddamn time!"  He paused to swallow.  "So, what did she say?"

"She didn't say anything.  We were falling asleep when I asked her.  And when I woke up this morning, she was gone."

His eyes looked off into the distance for a moment, and then came back to mine.  "Maybe she went to get some stuff, to pack for a weekend trip?"

"I don't know."  I broke off a piece of the croissant, put it in my mouth and started to chew.  "There's more.  She spoke with Sara last night, and Sara told her about Lucy.  What if… what if she left because of that?"

He seemed to consider it.  "Well, you won't know unless you ask her."

"Ask her?"

"Yeah, ask her.  Do you know where she lives?"

"She's a student at the local University.  She lives in the dorms."

"Well, why not catch a cab over there?  Track her down.  Ask her."

I tore off another piece of the croissant, thinking.

"What?" Joey said.

"I don't know if it's that simple."

"Oh here we go.  You’re gonna turn this into some big, complicated, theoretical mindfuck.  Again.  Like you always do."  He lifted his pointer finger in the air, eyebrows jumping like he'd just had an inspired thought.  "Or… how 'bout this? 
Don’t
overthink it."

I felt a little flare of irritation.  "Forgive me for wondering whether or not tracking her down like a stalker is actually a good idea.  What if she left because she doesn't want to see me any more?  What if she got freaked out by what Sara told her?  What if she thinks I'm just too fucked up, and she doesn't want my toxic life to infect hers?  Did you ever consider that?"

"No, but apparently you did.  Over and over and over and over again."

"My last girlfriend died in my bed!" I said.  My voice was getting louder, but I couldn't seem to stop.  "Maybe that's a sign, Joey.  Maybe having a girlfriend who fucking
kills
herself while she's in bed with me is a sign that I'm not fit to be in a relationship.  Maybe I don't want to put Anne at risk."

"Trace," Joey said, putting his hand on my arm.  "Listen to me."

I glanced around the diner, saw the old guy with the newspaper looking over at me with a sour expression.  I slumped down in my chair, letting my eyes settle on Joey.

"Let
her
decide, Trace," he said.  "Let her decide whether she wants to get to know you better, or not.  Don't make the decision for her."

"I don't want her to get hurt, Joey," I said, my voice suddenly sounding small and weak.  "I don't think I could live through it if another girl got hurt because of me."

"Trace, believe it or not, but Lucy had problems that had nothing to do with you.  You're not the center of the fucking universe, you know, even though you sometimes seem to think so."  He took another bite of eggs.  "If you like this girl—and I know that you do, I can see it in your eyes—if you like Anne, then let her know you're interested.  Let her know the offer is still on the table.  And then, let
her
decide what she wants to do."

I looked down at the croissant, torn to shreds in front of me.  Grudgingly, I nodded my head.

Joey lifted his last cappuccino, drank it all down in one go, and then put the empty cup next to the others.

"You're a thoughtful person, Trace.  You like to think things through, and that's not a bad thing."

The waitress brought out Joey's three espressos, setting them down next to the three cappuccino cups.  He pulled out his little flask once she'd left, topping up each espresso with bourbon.

"But it is possible to do
too
much thinking," he said, "and that's not healthy either.  Like I always say: moderation in all things."

BOOK: My Heart's Bliss (Hard Love & Dark Rock #3)
4.37Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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