The Sound of Us (20 page)

If one reporter is that intense, imagine a whole army of them. Imagine them converging on a single person after the most tragic death of the year. God, that must’ve been scary.

No wonder Roman ran.

“Junie!” Chuck calls from the kitchen.

I crack my eyelid open and groan. So my life isn’t a nightmare. It’s real. Chuck calls my name again from the kitchen. The one day Chuck takes off work, he has to wake me up before noon?

When I crawl off my bed and thump down the stairs into the kitchen, they’re humming along to “Crush on You.” If it’s possible, Roman Holiday has become
more
popular. Not that I hate them anymore. Now, I just want to gouge my eardrums out every time I hear them. Which is a step up, I swear.

Flour and icing powder the countertops in the kitchen. Did World War III erupt in the kitchen while I slept?

Chuck and Mom are making cake pops for the neighborhood’s end-of-summer cookout—the one I’m still invited to. The
only
one I’m still invited to.

“What is it?” I ask, sitting down at the table.

Mom hands the cordless phone to me with it squashed between her elbows. “You’ve got a few letters on the counter and some man wants to talk with you. Something from last week...?”

“What?” I mouth, curiously putting the phone to my ear. She shrugs and hands Chuck another stick to shove into a cake ball. I get up, grabbing the stack of letters, and walk into the living room for a little privacy. “Hello?”

“Junie Baltimore?”

“This is her,” I answer, tearing open the first letter.

Go to hell slutface,
it reads. I drop the letter on the coffee table like it’s a hot iron. My eyebrows furrow in vexation.

“I’m sorry, but who is this?” I ask into the receiver, a bad feeling ebbing in my stomach.

“Go fuck yourself. I hope you die.” Then, a dial tone.

More surprised than offended, I toss the phone onto the couch. The next letter is addressed to me too in loopy, heart-swirling cursive. I don’t recognize the handwriting, or know anyone from Michigan, but I open it anyway.

How can you think you
’
re good enough? Stop ruining his life! You stupid bitch. You
’
re welcome.

Flabbergasted, I shred open the next two letters. Are they all like this? They call me worse names, and one even includes a cutout from one of the tabloids with devil horns drawn to my head and a penis shoved against my lips.

The last letter is from Asheville. Great. It’s a very polite un-invite to the neighborhood cookout. At least I knew
that
was coming.

Returning the cordless phone to the kitchen, I slide up onto the barstool. Chuck slips Mom a peck on the cheek while reaching for another cake pop stick.

I hold out the un-invite. “I’m not going to the cookout.”

Chuck inspects the invite without missing a beat. “Fine by me. I hate housewives anyway.” He eats the cake pop he’s making and hands the un-invite to Mom.

She scans over it. “Oh, my. I didn’t realize it was this serious.”

The other letters feel heavy in my hands. “Me neither.”

She tears the un-invite in half and tosses it into the garbage can beside the counter. “Then I refuse to go, too.”

“You know what? Who cares?” Chuck eats another cake pop.

“Exactly. We don’t need to associate with people like them, anyway,” Mom adds. “Oh, darling, who was that on the phone?”

“I dunno.”

“And what are those letters? Did you subscribe to anything? Who are they—”

“Mom, it’s nothing,” I cut in, and she frowns in disapproval. Hopping off the barstool, I storm back upstairs and grab my cell phone, punching in Maggie’s number with shaking fingers. She picks up after the first ring, as if expecting me. “Mags, what’s going on? People are calling me—I have fucking
hate mail
! Please, tell me you know what’s going on.”

Her voice is solemn when she answers, and as dry as death. “You’re totes gonna hate this. You’re
really
totes gonna hate this.”

Then, like the fucking cherry on the cake, the doorbell rings. Is it too late to go back to sleep?

Chuck calls me back downstairs again. His voice is urgent.

I hiss into the phone, “What did he
do
?” She doesn’t need elaboration on who
he
is.

She clears her throat. “Well...let’s just say that those photos we gave Roman? They’re live. And I’m staring at one right now on the front page of the New York Times.”

“New York...” I sink down onto my bed with the weight of her words. “He went public with them.”

“Yeah but...”

My throat begins to constrict. “He mentioned that I gave him the pictures, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

At least I
’
m not the bad guy anymore, right? Just the girl who destroyed the perfect vision of Holly.
I stare down at the hate mail in my lap, and somehow I get the feeling I’m worse off now than ever.
“This’ll blow over soon, right? In a few weeks?”

“Yeah.” I can tell she doesn’t sound so convinced either. “Don’t you have to be at work soon?”

I nod, although she can’t see it, and rise to my feet again. Chuck hollers at me from the living room, and I take the stairs two at a time down. He and Mom are standing guard by the front door.

“We...have a problem,” Chuck admits grimly.

The doorbell rings again.

I duck into the dining room and pull back the curtains. No, we don’t just have
a
problem. We have close to
thirty
problems loitering on our lawn. Three media vans. And a group of high schoolers with signs calling me names I’d really rather not read.

“Maggie, they’re here. On my doorstep,” I inform.

She groans. “Fuck-tastic.”

“What do I do?”

One of the paparazzi notices me in the window and raises his camera, but I drop the curtain again and step away from the window before he can catch me.

“I can’t leave my house!” I hiss.

“Okay...okay...Plan B?” she offers helplessly.

“Because showing my boobs for a second time will
really
make things better!”

“Jeez, it was
just
a suggestion!”

Suddenly, Chuck marches back across the house into his study, which used to be Dad’s study, and comes back out with a Winchester shotgun.

Mom blanches. “Now, darling...”

“Honey, they’re in my flowerbed,” he replies simply, as if that’s any justification for shooting a man, and throws open the front door. He steps out with his shotgun and yells “Get the hell out of my yard!” When no one moves, he pumps it once—and that’s all it takes. The people on the lawn scatter like roaches. “If any one of you steps in my flowers again, you’ll find a bullet in your ass quicker than you can call a lawyer!” He turns, marches back inside, and slams the door. “Junie.” His voice is level and scarily calm.

“Maggie, I’ll call you later.” I hang up. “Yeah, Chuck?”

“Get dressed. I’m taking you to work—”

I try to wave him off. “It’s fine, Monday’s are always slow—”

“Juniper Marie.”

“No,
really
, I’ll just call Geoff and tell him that I won’t be coming in today...”

“
Now
!”

“Be ready in ten.” I scatter up to my room.

By the time I’m dropped off near the dumpsters out behind The Silver Lining, everyone’s seen the news. Mindi, Jess, and even Geoff stare at me like three deer in headlights, like at any moment Roman will pop out of the woodwork.

“Don’t you all have work to do?” I snap, unraveling the sound cords from underneath the booth.

I’m so glad Mom booked a gig tonight, or else I’d lose my mind. I already told Hal, our bouncer, not to let anyone who looks remotely paparazzi-like inside. I’m sure they won’t try to fight him for the door.

Pulling the black chords over my shoulder, I haul them up to the stage and begin connecting the mikes and speakers for the night. Because I fired our only sound guy, looks like I’ll be taking the board for a test-drive tonight.

“Do you know who’s playing?” I ask my bartender.

“Band called The Black Sheep.” He shrugs, opening up the refrigerator to count the stock. “Big in Columbia, but I’ve never heard of them.”

“If they’re from Cola they’re probably some new-age indie metal sound,” I reply, hooking up the speakers. There’s a squeal of live feed before I kick the mics away. “So, anything new happen while I was gone?”

“Oh, the usual, boss.” Geoff counts the pale ales. “Massive orgies. BDSM parties. Naked Jell-O wrestling...”

“Wet t-shirt contests?”

He mocks a gasp. “Of course not! What do you think we are,
heathens
?” Closing the refrigerator, he hops up to sit on the bar and swings his legs over. “Speaking of, tell me—how tight
is
Roman Montgomery’s ass?”

“Pretty tight,” I answer.

“And abs? As rock-climbable as GQ said?” He wiggles a black eyebrow.

I laugh. “I honestly didn’t check.” When he narrows his eyes I elaborate, “But he had a bit of a pudge when I danced with him?”

“You
danced
with RoMo? Oh be still my beating, bloody, gay heart!” He cries, clutching his chest, and mock-falls across the bar. “You are
such
a lucky bitch.”

“Uh-huh, so lucky I got
arrested
.”

“For streaking, we’ve all heard. Ballsy, boss, but I dig it. How did you get those pictures of Holly, anyway?”

“It’s a long story,” I sigh, kicking the rest of the cords into the wings and hop down, wiping my hands on the backside of my jeans.

He pulls himself up into a sitting position again and slides off the counter. “You know I like long stories about true love. Were there any swordfights?”

I think back to the golf club lightsaber fight on the pirate ship, and can’t help but grin. “Speaking of love,” I add to change the subject, because I should really start forgetting about it all, dropping my face into a hopefully nonchalant look, “anything new with you?”

He hesitates. “Well...” The front door opens, and his glances over to see who it is. He seems to both glow and wilt at the same time. “Oh, Cas.”

A chill creeps down my spine. I turn, slowly, to the entrance.

Caspian closes the door behind him. Achingly gorgeous, as always, straw-colored hair swept back, cornflower blue eyes glittering in the dim Lining atmosphere. He’s wearing a white v-neck shirt with a plaid over-shirt and skinny jeans. My stomach twists into a knot until I remember that he doesn’t swing my way, and then the sight of him just makes me mad. Did he know, that night, that he wasn’t into me? Before or after the bad sex?

“Cas,” I find myself echoing aloud.

He looks about as surprised to see me, as I am to see him. “Junie...” Caspian hesitates, shifting his eyes between Geoff and me, “I thought you didn’t come in until later?”

“She’s been getting here early because of the pap,” Geoff fills in for me. “How do you guys know each other?”

Cas and I lock eyes. “Yeah,” Cas replies shortly.

So Geoff doesn’t know about him and me? This is almost too Jerry Springer for me. I look away first. “Sorry, but we’re not open so I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Baby—”

“Do
not
baby me,” I snap.

His gaze snaps down to his shoes. Geoff tries to laugh off the almost-tangible tension. “Oh, c’mon boss, you’re kidding right? Since when’ve we kicked anyone out for coming too
early
?”

“He’s not even legal,” I reply.

“Neither are you,” he retorts in good humor, but his grin is slowly sinking. Finally, he asks, pulling a nervous hand through his curly hair, “Is there something I don’t know?”

Cas gives Geoff a pitiful look. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what, love?”

Love
. The word hits me like a wall of bricks, and I ball my hands into fists. Caspian isn’t going to admit anything.

But I can. “For using us at the same time.”

Geoff bristles. “What?”

“No! It wasn’t like that. I didn’t know,” Cas rebukes sharply, his cornflower eyes flickering to Geoff. “I didn’t
use
Junie. I was just...I didn’t...”

“Didn’t know which one you liked best?” I guess. “You couldn’t have told me you were on the fence
before
you slept with me?”

All color drains from his face.

Maybe last week’s Junie wouldn’t have admitted that, not here anyway, but I’m not that Junie any longer.

Geoff whips around to Cas, his shoulders stiffening like a feral cat. “You had
sex
with her?!” But when Cas doesn’t answer, too mortified for words, he slams his fist on the counter. “
Caspian
!
”

“I—I didn’t know,” Cas stutters. “I didn’t know I was, I wasn’t...” When Geoff begins to shake his head, he adds in a voice that’s so sincere it cracks, “You’re everything to me, Geoff.
Everything
.”

Geoff scrubs the back of his head. “Love, this is too complicated for me.” He shoves off the bar angrily, and paces the length of it.

I want to be angry too, but I must’ve misplaced it somewhere. Or maybe I’m just too tired of being angry to care. Perhaps, that’s worse.

“How did everyone forget to tell me they were
fucking
?” Geoff goes on rabidly, and for the first time I actually wince. He jabs a finger at Caspian. “
You
need to leave.”

“No, Geoff, please—” Cas pleads.

Geoff slams his first down on the countertop, his voice so loud it rattles the beer glasses hanging behind him. “
Now
!”

For a moment, it looks like Cas’ll stay for the abuse, but then he takes a step back, and then another. I watch him go, helpless, but when he’s gone I place a hand on Geoff’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him earnestly.

“Yeah, me too, boss.” He hangs his head, and his muscles unwind until he wilts. I rub comforting circles on his back as he sinks to the counter and buries his head in his arms.

The Black Sheep
were
new-metal indie rock.