“Yeah. And then I’d come visit you every weekend in jail — if they’d let me out of the halfway house.”
He turned, starting toward the door, but I grabbed him. “Just a few more minutes, Pete. We got nothing else to do, anyway.”
“I’d rather be back at the house.”
Invisible speakers boomed “Happy Birthday” so loud there was no point in trying to talk. Everybody was singing along and then this five-tiered cake was wheeled onstage. John went back into generic humility for the next few minutes as he cut the cake and served Kelly the first slice. This was when the other rock stars appeared, four of them, encased in their arrogance and privileged clowning.
Then dancing and liquor and dope of all kinds broke out. The party was officially on.
Pete managed to leave my side before I could stop him. There was a crowd at the door and he somehow eeled through it. I had to bump between two big important bellies to catch him just as he reached the front door and the androids. I could feel the belly owners glaring at me.
I grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. One of the androids had been facing inside. He lurched toward me.
“No problem here,” I said.
Pete saw that he was eager to waste me so he said, “Everything’s cool. No need for any trouble.”
Disappointed, the android stopped, glared at me, and then went back to his post.
I half dragged Pete into an empty corner of the lobby. “Where the hell were you going?”
“Where do you think? Watching her up there—”
“It got to me too, Pete.”
“Not in the way it got to me. You hate him and that’s different from me being in love with her. You just want to hurt him.”
“I want to kill him.”
“That’s what I mean. That’s different. You don’t know what I’m going through.” I’d seen him cry before, too many times, trying to kick coke. But these tears were different, not harsh but gentle, sad as only Pete could be sad.
“Aw, man, I’m sorry.”
“So could we just leave?”
“Sure. We’ll get a pizza.”
He smiled as he brushed a tear from his cheek. “All that fancy food inside and we’re going to get a pizza?”
“Yeah. Better class of people, anyway.”
He saw her before I did. There was a stairway leading to the balcony. She descended it concealed by a group of much larger people. He said “God,” and that was when I saw her, too.
And that was the moment when all the corny moments in all the corny movies proved to be not so corny at all. Her recognizing him; him recognizing her. It was really happening that way. Each stunned by the sight of the other. And all else falling away.
If she said goodbye to the important people around her, I wasn’t aware of it. She simply left them and floated across the lobby to us. To Pete, I mean. I doubt she was even aware that I was there.
He was the old Pete suddenly. The bad drug years fell from his face, his eyes. And it was all ahead of him, the great golden glowing future. And when she reached out and took his hand, I saw that she wanted to be part of that future. That she knew now how bad a mistake she’d made taking up with John. That despite her marriage, somehow she and Pete would be together again.
She tugged him away from the corner. She still hadn’t said hello to me or even let on that she knew I was there. I didn’t care. I was caught up in their movie dream, happy for both of them. And happiest of all that the retribution I’d wanted to visit on John was now far more crushing than a few punches could make it. He was losing his wife. They were gone.
For the next twenty minutes I drank wine and listened to conversations between people who were — or claimed to be — in the music industry. The anger was coming back. I wanted to hear my name instead of John’s. I wanted those chart sales to be mine. I wanted the tour they were discussing to focus on me. John should be working at Guitar City. Not me.
But at least Pete was getting something out of this night. All the way back to grade school he’d been the one she’d loved. And now maybe it was finally going to happen for them.
“Are you Mr. Rafferty?” She was an officious-looking blonde in the red blazer that Regency Hall employees wore.
“Yes, I am.”
“John would like to see you in his dressing room.”
“John Temple?”
“Why, yes.” She gave me an odd look, as if maybe I was stoned and not hearing properly. Was there any other John who mattered here tonight?
“What’s he want to see me about?”
She’d been trying to decide if she found me tolerable or not. She’d just made her decision. Not trying to hide her irritation, she said, “I’m just doing what he asked me, Mr. Rafferty. I’m not privy to his thoughts.”
“Aw, God. I’m sorry. I’m just a little surprised, is all.”
“Well, there are a lot of people here tonight who’d be happy to visit with him in his dressing room. Consider yourself lucky.”
She didn’t have anything more to say to me until we reached backstage and the row of three doors off the left wing of the stage. She knocked gently on the center door and said, “Mr. Temple?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Rafferty is here.”
“Great. The door’s unlocked.”
She stood back for me. I wondered if she could tell how angry I was at hearing his voice. Four years of rage, of betrayal. I wanted to rip the knob off and flatten the door on my way inside, where I’d grab him and begin beating him to death.
But he was quicker than I was. He stood in the open door, all black-clad rock star, smiling camera-big and camera-bright. He’d learned that smirking with your mouth made you enemies. Now he tucked his smirks into his dark eyes. He took a step forward and I thought he was actually going to give me a Hollywood man-hug, but he obviously sensed that that might not be such a good idea so he settled for waving me in. The small room held a large closet, a makeup table with the mirror encircled by small bright bulbs, and several vases stuffed with red congratulatory roses.
“Close the door, would you?” he said.
“You want it closed, you close it.”
He walked over to the dressing table and hoisted a bottle of Jack Daniel’s Black. “I’m sure you’d rather have this than all that sissy-boy wine they’re serving. You get some Jack, I get the door closed. That’s how the world works, Rafferty.”
I kicked it shut with my heel.
“Nice to know you’ve grown up,” he said, not looking at me, pouring each of us healthy drinks.
“What the hell you want to see me about?”
The eye smirked as the hand offered me my drink. “We didn’t leave on the best of terms. Maybe I feel guilty about things.”
“Oh, man. Spare me this crap, all right? You dumped us because you knew we were going to get a contract and then you’d have to share the spotlight with us. You wanted it all your own.”
The sharpness of his laugh surprised me. The contempt was bullet-true. “God, Rafferty, do you really believe that? Please tell me that’s not what you really think.”
But before I could say anything he went on.
“I stayed a year longer than I should have. I stayed because we went all the way back to grade school. I stayed because we were friends. But Pete’s habit got worse and worse and you—” He paused.
“And me? What about me?”
I noticed that the smirk was gone. The gaze was uncomfortable. “You’re not the greatest guitarist I’ve ever worked with.”
“I was good enough to write songs with.” But the whine in my voice sickened me as much as it probably pleased him.
“You’ll notice I’ve never recorded any of those songs. Never played them on stage. Never tried to sell them.”
“So you called me in here to tell me what a genius you are and what losers Pete and I are?”