“Lee?” She was blinking and stunned.
I gave a little wave.
“What are you doing here?”
The little kid, Jackie, jumped out from under the table and yelled “HE’S HERE TO SINNNNGGG ME MY HAPPY BURFDAY SONG!”
10
Ethan wanted a rehearsal. We hadn’t played any of our set in quite a while, and he’d booked us a show in New York City. It was a big deal to us.
I left K Neon’s house. She wanted to come watch us rehearse, but I knew it wasn’t a good idea. Ethan freaked out about that kinda thing. He didn’t like people watching him sing unless he was on stage. I found that silly and childlish.
Ethan’s parents’ ocean-side manor was lit up with soft orange lights in every window. I drove down the long pebble driveway and couldn’t help but feel a little bad for Ethan. Unlike K Neon’s vacant manor just up the road, where freedom was abundant, this place was always occupied by parents that kept a hawk-like eye on Ethan’s movements.
He’d had a pretty crappy childhood despite all the money. His dad, Claude, was overbearing.
“He used to make me play the violin when I was seven, eight, nine years old … I hated it,” Ethan told me once, drunk. “So I stopped practicing. He’d come home and say, ‘You haven’t been playing your violin, I can tell.’ I said, ‘I have, dad.’ He’d take off his belt and ask me again if I’d been practicing. I told him, ‘Yes, yes, yes! I swear!’ Then my dad would point at the violin case. There was a small feather sitting on it. He said, ‘I put that there a week ago!’”
“Now you can kick his ass,” I told Ethan.
“I don’t think so. His attempts at bonding with me usually involved a trip to the gun range. Automatic weapons.”
“Yeah, you don’t fight somebody like that,” I advised. Ethan didn’t laugh. But then again, when did he? “Well, I never shot a gun before. What’s it like?”
“For you? You’d break your nose.”
I parked my truck and sat. Thought about the tropical bird they kept in the house. It was a very pretty bird. It must’ve been one of that bird’s feathers that was placed on the violin case. I smirked. If K was here, she could take a look at that tropical bird and identify it.
Ethan and the bird were both pets. When you’re somebody’s pet, you don’t get to live your own life. Them’s the rules.
Behind the large bay doors, Claude had a massive, detached garage that was set up as a BMW speed shop. Claude didn’t do any of the work himself and didn’t race the cars. He just liked to have the place. He used to hire a guy named Gunny, who was a real ace mechanic, but something happened with the car shop and with Gunny. The shop was empty since then. That was fine for us, because we were able to rehearse there. I went to the door and punched in the code. After the door opened, I clicked on the lights. It was expansive. Three antique cars — a Jaguar, a Model T, and an Aston Martin — were parked along the back wall.
Seth pulled up in his Sentra and asked, “Where’s Ethel?”
I shrugged. We started carrying his drum set into the shop. There was a small rubber-backed rug that we unrolled for his kick drum (so it wouldn’t slide around on the painted concrete floor). I had just set my amp up in the usual spot and flicked on the PA system when Ethan walked in. He stood in the doorway, glaring at us.
“Oh, here it goes,” I thought.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said ominously.
“Problem, yes,” I confirmed.
“Realized something today. Wanted to hear it from you two. Wanted to hear you say it.”
Neither Seth or me said anything, for over a minute. Ethan just continued to glare.
Finally, Seth said, “Alright, gig is up. You know about me and Denise.”
“Yeah,” Ethan said.
I watched his bottom lip tremble. He looked on the verge of tears.
“It just happened,” Seth said, “and continues to happen. What am I supposed to do?”
“I should’ve seen this coming. You’re both scumbags.”
I suppose there was no denying that.
“Both of you are out of the band. We’re done.”
Fair enough. Seth was screwing his girl. I was an accomplice in all of it. Seth started to pack his cymbals away, and I put my cheap backup pawnshop guitar in its case.
“You’re leaving all that,” he said to me, pointing at my amp, guitar, and pedal board. Then he pointed at Seth’s drums.
“Those too. They’re mine now.”
“The fuck they are,” Seth shot back.
“You owe me twenty-six hundred dollars,” Ethan said. “I know you losers don’t have the money. I’m keeping your shit.”
Seth started to laugh.
“Yeah, that’s a good one.”
“Call me a loser again,” Seth said. “You won’t like what happens.”
Ethan stood his ground in the doorway. He said, “I’m serious. I want all that cash. You give it to me, and you can have your toys back.”
It was unreal. He really thought that we would just be like, “‘sall cool, Ethel! Go ahead, keep our stuff.’”
“I hope you’ve got a gun, ‘cause you’ll need one,” Seth said.
“In the house,” Ethan replied coldly.
“That’s Claude’s gun. That’s Claude’s money,” I said.
“I liked her,” Ethan said.
“She’s a good girl,” Seth said. “Liked doesn’t matter.”
“You can’t play drums for shit,” Ethan hissed. Pointing at me, he continued, “And you’re a joke. Your songs suck. It was a waste of my time having anything to do with you.”
“Hey, I fucked Denise too,” I said.
“She’s a whore. You’re all trash,” Ethan, hurt, snarled.
Seth had one of his Zildjian cymbals in his hand. He smashed it into Ethan’s chest. The alloy rang out after being knocked to the floor. Seth was around his drums, quick, like a German Shepherd coming around the side of a house. Right on Ethan. Knocked him on his ass.
They were on the ground. Seth knocked that kid hard in his stomach. Ethan’s knee came up, catching Seth in his lip.
“You motherfucker!” Seth’s lip was bloody.
Ethan scrambled to his feet and then out the door, heaving, sucking air. I heard him slam his car door, start his BMW, and peel off down the driveway.
I looked at Seth.
“You’re bleeding.”
“You’re next,” he said.
“I’m next … fuck off. I didn’t really bang her. She climbed in my window. It was close, but it didn’t happen.”
“When?”
“The first night you were with her.”
“Get outta here,” he spit blood on the floor.
“She was in my room first,” I admitted.
“But nothing happened?”
“Nothing major,” I said.
“Good enough. Keep it that way.”
Nothing else was said about it after that. We packed up our equipment quickly. As we left the garage, drops of blood kept smacking on the floor. It felt like at any moment the cops were gonna show up and drag us off.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I said to Seth.
“Right.” We drove in opposite directions on Route 35. He was going to Lagoon House and Denise. I was going back to K.
The night felt dire. Raw. Worrisome.
Ethan was gonna shoot Seth in the head. At least that’s what I kept thinking. Seth would be asleep on my couch. The gunshot would wake Feral up … maybe.
K was up on the balcony in the backyard when I got there, drinking Tanqueray and bitter lemon and painting her toenails. I stood down on the mahogany deck, looking at the moss rock boulders strewn around the edges of the dune.
“I better get to work tomorrow.”
She laughed. Her voice carried nicely. It flew around like a gull sailing across the moon.