Sheet Music - A Rock 'n' Roll Love Story (55 page)

“Hurry home, Michael, and please be careful,” she urged.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” he replied.

“I love you.”

“Me too.”

The taxi turned onto Shore Drive and Michael could see the motel in the distance.  Brian’s bright red sports car became visible in the parking lot.  What Michael failed to see in his excitement was the unmarked police cruiser pulling into the shadows beside the motel, as he got out and paid the taxi driver.

Michael knocked on the door and waited.  “Come on, Brian, let me in.  It’s me, Mike.”

“The door’s open,” Brian called to him.

Inside, the tiny cluttered room was dimly lit and smelt of rotting food.  There were pizza boxes covering a dirty table by the window, Chinese food cartons piled high, and empty booze bottles littered the bureau.  The only light came from a filthy bathroom with broken green tile and bugs in the sink.  Both the beds were almost stripped bare of the sheets and well used.

Brian sat between the beds on the floor.  His appearance caused Michael to stop in his tracks.  It was obvious he had not showered or shaved in days, dark circles hung heavy below his bloated eyes, and his lips were puffy and cracked.  His clothes clung to his body, outlining his fragility.  In his lap, Brian’s fingers toyed with the trigger of a .357 Magnum revolver.  Michael’s stomach began to churn into a tight knot.

“What are you doing?” Michael asked, sitting down on the bed to face his friend.  He had seen Brian hung-over from booze and drugs before, but this was the worst.  In the nearly twenty-five years they had known each other, this was Brian’s rock bottom, the state one reaches before they totally lose touch of reality.

Brian’s eyes drifted up toward the sound of Michael’s voice.  It was painful to watch him try and focus but Michael waited until recognition lit Brian’s face.  Then tears trickled down his dirty cheeks and his smile faded.

“I really screwed up this time, Mike.  I really did.”

Michael shrugged and tried to remain cool.  “No big deal, Bri’.  We’ll get a team of cut-throat lawyers on the case and…”

Brian’s head jerked up to face Michael.  “I can’t do jail time!  You know I’d never survive being trapped in a fucking cell!”

“No one said anything about doing time.”  Michael did his best to keep his voice calm while his eyes nervously watched Brian fiddle with the gun in his lap.

“I’d rather be dead,” Brian said, his voice sinking to his hands and the cold, shiny object they were holding.

“What’s the gun for?” Michael asked, slowly reaching out to take it.

Brian spun the chambers around with his long, bony fingers.  “I’ve been sitting here for days thinking about my life, Mike.  And you know what I came up with?

“What, Bri’.”

Brian sniffed loudly and wiped at his nose and face with the back of his hand.  He forced a weak smile to his strained face.  “I’ve lived a great life,” he shrugged, lifting his chin with a sense of pride.  “I’ve done more than I ever imagined, traveled the world dozens of times, and achieved every award possible in this fucking business.  Not too shabby, huh.”

“No, that’s not bad at all.”

“And, along the way I made myself some babies and enjoyed more pussy than an army of men could attempt on their best day!”  A lecherous laugh shook Brian’s shoulders.  “What’s not to like about that?”

Michael smiled weakly.  “It’s been a great life, to be sure, but the best is yet to come.  We’re at a stage now where we can sit back and reap the benefits from the hard work we’ve done over the last two decades.  Why stop now?”

Brian pondered Michael’s remarks.  “Maybe I want to go out riding the crest of the wave instead of being washed up on the beach.”

“You’re a long way from being washed up on the beach, Brian.  So, why don’t you let me have the gun.”

“You don’t fucking get it, Mike, do you?  There is no way out of this for me except jail and we’ve already discussed that conclusion.  It ain’t gonna happen.”

Noisily, Brian snapped the chamber closed and pointed the gun toward the ceiling.  Michael’s heart began to pound in his ears as he swallowed hard.  His brain was desperate to think of a plan to get the gun from Brian’s tight grasp.

“Brian, give me the gun before it accidentally goes off and kills one of us.”

Brian hoisted himself up onto the edge of the bed and became level with Michael.  “Why?  Would that be such a bad thing?”

“Yes, it would.  Besides, I don’t believe you had me drive all the way out here to watch you blow your brains out.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to die alone.”

Outside the motel two more police cruisers joined the first patrol car.  Like rats, they scurried in the obscurity of the shadows, taking positions along side the building, pistols raised, awaiting the signal to enter the room.

Michael’s patience hung by a thin thread.  With each second that passed, Brian came closer and closer to losing it.  “Give me the gun.  Now,” Michael demanded, his voice louder and more forceful, his hand stretched out to receive it.

With steely resistance, Brian raised the revolver and pressed it to his temple.  “I’m really going to miss you, Mike,” he wanly smiled.  “Hey, do me a favor and watch over Barbara and the kids for me.  She didn’t deserve any of this you know.  Tell her I’m sorry and that I love her.”

“Why don’t you tell her yourself,” Michael said, as he lunged for Brian’s arm.  In their struggle on the bed, the gun went off, piercing quickly through the plastered ceiling and exiting through the roof.  Behind them, the officers kicked in the door.

“Freeze!  Police!”

Michael jumped to his feet and spun around to face them.  Guns drawn, he stared down the barrels of half a dozen lethal weapons.  Quick, he raised his arms offering no resistance.  A nervous rookie took two steps toward the bed.

“Put down the weapon, you bastard,” the young rookie screamed at Brian.

In slow motion, Michael turned around toward Brian.  The revolver was moving back toward his temple.  Seeing the movement of the gun, the rookie cocked his gun, took aim and shouted one last warning.  Michael saw the flash of fire and threw his body into the air.  The bullet tore a searing path of heat through his left arm.  The pain was blinding.  The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils.  He fell to the bed in a lifeless heap close to unconsciousness.  Beneath him, Brian lay dead, shot in the chest by the same bullet that ripped through Michael’s arm.

The last noise Michael heard before he lost consciousness were the death gurgles that involuntarily escaped Brian’s throat, as his chest filled with blood that would silence him forever.  In the blink of an eye, it was over, never to be the same again.

Three days later, Michael woke from a heavily-sedated sleep in the hospital.  His eyes rolled then blinked as he tried desperately to focus on something in the room.  Then his eyes fell upon Annie, curled in a lounge chair sleeping beside the bed.  He attempted to sit up and groaned loudly in pain.

Annie’s eyes fluttered open when she heard his cry and bolted upright.  “Michael!  You’re awake,” she squealed and kissed him softly on the cheek.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell did they do to my arm?” he grimaced, straining his neck to see the thick plaster cast encasing his arm from his shoulder to forearm.

“Michael, don’t try and move it!  Let me get your doctor.”

“Not yet.  First tell me what they did to my fucking arm!”

Michael’s eyes were wild with pain and anger at being immobile.

Annie approached the bed and tried to choose the appropriate words to describe the micro nerve surgery the doctors had managed during the hours and hours of surgery they had done to try and save his arm.  She sat beside the bed and took his right hand.

“Michael, do you remember what the doctors did to save my foot?  Well, the doctors here did something similar for your arm except in your case they were working with nerves and bone.”

He shut his eyes and skewed his face.  “It feels like they cut it off!  Maybe they should have.”

“They were nervous of infection and wanted to amputate, Michael, but I refused to sign the paperwork.  I told them who you were and what you did for a living and demanded they go back into surgery and do whatever was necessary to save your arm.”

He sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead.  Stress marred his otherwise rugged features.  “How long will I be living with this cast?”

“I’m not sure.  It depends on how fast you heal.”  Annie lowered her head and toyed with her fingernails.  “There’s something else about the surgery that I have to tell you, Michael.”  She swallowed around the lump of emotion in her throat and met his stare.  “The bullet hit you just below your shoulder and did a lot of damage to the bone on the way out of your body.  They weren’t able to repair all of it and they won’t know the full extent of the damage until you heal.”

He gazed at her blankly and blinked.  “What the hell does that mean?”

She fidgeted in her chair and exhaled.  “It means, you might not regain all the feeling in your fingertips.”

He turned his head toward the window and squeezed his eyes tight.  For several minutes he was quiet.  She watched his chest rise and fall and wanted more than anything to know what he was thinking.  Quietly, she began to cry.

“I couldn’t save him,” he said, his voice soft and wounded.

Annie bent over him and pressed her face to his cheek.  “Yes, I know, sweetheart, and I’m very proud you were brave enough to try.  You took a bullet for him and risked your own life for his.”

His gaze returned to the window.  “How’s Barbara?”

“She’s grateful you were there with him and that he didn’t have to die alone.  She’s also thrilled you’re going to be okay.”

“Did I miss his funeral?”

“No, it’s on Sunday.”

He reached for her hand.  “I need you to make the proper arrangements with the doctors to get me released in time for that.”

Annie shook her head.  “Oh, I don’t think they’ll agree to that, Michael.”

“They have to.”

“I’ve already discussed it with them and they all agreed it is too soon and too risky to move you.”

“I don't give a shit what they think!  It's
my
arm, and if what you're saying is true, I won't be able to feel much of anything anyway so how much more damage could I possibly do to it?”

She pushed the hair off his forehead.  “Lets not argue, Michael.  I’ve been so worried about you.”  Tears pooled in her eyes as she pressed his fingers against her cheek.  She watched the muscles in his face soften and he seemed to relax.  Emotion made his eyes glisten.

“How’s Sammi?” he asked, almost breathless with sentiment.

“I swear she grows an inch every day.”

He forced a smile to his lips.  “I guess life really does go on.”

Annie wiped a lone tear that threatened to spill from his eye.  “Yes, it does.”  She moved closer and kissed his mouth.  “I want you to get better so you’ll be able to hold her when you get home.”

Michael made it to Brian’s funeral and surprised everyone when he stood to give the eulogy.  He spoke softly of the day they met and of the many years they shared and lived and worked together as brothers.  Many in attendance laughed at his recalled memories but most wept knowing that there would be no more memories made.  It was the end of something magical and mystical: the conclusion of an era in rock ‘n’ roll history, the significance of which rated up there with the demise of Elvis Presley and John Lennon.

After the cemetery, Annie got Michael to agree to go home and rest.  Michael approached Barbara to say good-bye.  Barbara reached out and stroked his cheek. 

“Michael, you look exhausted and your arm must be throbbing by now.”

He shrugged.  “A little bit.”

“Have Annie take you home and I’ll stop over to see you in a few days.”

He moved closer and slid his good arm around her slender waist.  “I’m only five minutes away.  If you need anything, call.”

Barbara ran her fingers down his cheek.  “I’m really scared, Michael.  I can’t remember what it was like without him in my life.”

“I know, me neither,” he sighed, kissing her forehead.  “This will be the hardest thing either of us has had to work through.”

Barbara nodded and pressed her face against his chest.

Annie watched the scene play out between them and wished she were closer in order to hear what they were discussing.  Whatever it was, it was intimate.  Too intimate, she thought, with touches that seemed all too familiar to them.  It was as if they were old lovers.  Jealousy began to simmer in Annie’s stomach.  Ashamed of herself for thinking the worst, she turned away.

In the car, Michael was quiet.  Annie wanted more than anything to question him about his conversation with Barbara, but she didn’t.  It would do nothing but cause an argument.  By the time they pulled into their driveway, he was sleeping beside her in the passenger seat.  She helped him into bed, and he slept for what seemed like days.  The only time he left the bedroom was for a doctors appointment, and that was after much protesting.

After two weeks, his routine had more to do with hiding from reality than with his recovery.  He had managed to shut everyone out of his life, including Annie, and even refused to see visitors.  No matter what she said or did, it seemed to cause an argument.

He had searing pains and tingling sensations that intermittently shot through his arm all hours of the night and day; which kept him from sleeping soundly.  Most often, he would sleep on the family room couch.  He refused the pain medication offered by the doctors, wanting to tough it out by himself.  But each day that passed, he sank into a deeper depression.

“Michael, lets go for a drive and take Sammi to the park or something,” Annie suggested, sliding the bedroom drapes open to illuminate the darkened room.  “It’s gorgeous outside and you could use some fresh air and sunshine.”

He rolled away from her in bed and barely acknowledged her presence.  “I don’t want to.  Go without me.”

Annie sat on the edge of the bed.  “And, I don’t want to go alone.”

“Then find someone else to go with you and let me sleep.”