Chapter 9 Hotel California
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Hotel California
Leaf waited on the porch, arms tightly wrapped around himself, trembling as he stared at the door.
Fuck, where is Nathan?
The house was dark, but that didn’t mean much to Nathan. As a photographer, he spent most of his time in the basement or in the darkroom anyway. Something caught Leaf’s attention in his peripheral vision, and Leaf turned his head toward the neighboring property.
In the warm glow of the living room, a family gathered around a board game. The little boy was rolling the dice, grinning proudly. The mother lovingly stroked his head and smiled. Next to her, a girl gestured wildly, while the father listened attentively.
Leaf felt a pang in his chest that radiated down to his stomach. He wrapped his arms even tighter around himself, breathing unevenly as cramps started shooting through his muscles.
It wasn’t the first time he had watched the family next door. Every time he came to Nathan’s place, they were gathered in the living room, as if desperate to prove to him that there were normal, happy families.
Sickening.
“Are you watching the Bradys again?”
Leaf spun around in surprise. Nathan hobbled up the porch stairs with his lame leg and jangled a set of keys.
“Sorry, got stuck in traffic. Were we supposed to meet?” Grinning, Nathan turned on the porch light and unlocked the door. When he glanced up at Leaf, he grimaced. “Dude, you look like shit.”
Leaf ran a shaky hand over his mouth and hesitantly scanned his surroundings.
“Don’t worry. Daisy’s in the backyard.”
“The Bradys?” Leaf’s voice was no more than a whisper.
“It was a TV series. You don’t know it?”
Leaf shook his head and followed Nathan into the house.
“I have no idea why I know it.” Nathan shrugged and limped to a side table, where he sorted through the mail. “It was a TV series from the seventies. Happy family and all that shit. There was a remake at some point.”
“Nate, I … Have you heard from Diego?”
Nathan set the letters down. “No, still nothing. The guy seems to have vanished into thin air. I’ve asked around. No one knows anything.”
“Shit, man.” Leaf was starting to feel at a loss.
“What was Diego’s sister’s name again? You used to hang out with her, didn’t you.”
“Ariana.”
“Exactly! Ariana. A real hottie. Have you tried reaching out to her?”
“Of course! I called her, texted her. Nothing.”
“And are you sure it’s not because you dumped her?”
“That was too long ago.” Leaf shook his head, perplexed. He didn’t understand what this meant. What could be more important to Diego than his business?
“Don’t worry, I got this,” Nathan said, patting him on the shoulder as he passed by and opened the door to the basement. “Come on. I guess you’re here for something else too, right.”
Leaf followed him, waiting every other step. The way down was more strenuous for Nathan than going up.
“Others have lost their legs over there,” was his response to stupid questions. “At least I still have all my limbs.”
“Want a beer?” he asked, finally reaching the bottom and disappearing into a separate room.
“Yeah, sure.” Leaf took in the cozy basement furnished with three sofas and a round wooden table in the center. Among the ashtrays and empty beer cans, glass bongs, and small pipes a pungent aroma wafted in the air.
“Here, as always,” Nathan said, returning with two beer cans and a yellow envelope. “Have a seat.”
Leaf extracted the money from his pocket and placed it on the table. He sat on the brown leather sofa and unpacked the opium.
“It’s getting harder and harder to find this stuff,” Nathan said, opening the can with a loud hiss.
“I know,” Leaf murmured, lighting a cigarette and kneading small balls with his fingertips.
Deep down, he knew he had lost control after Milo’s death. But as long as he didn’t have the urge to shoot up again, everything was fine. At least he could keep telling himself that.
“Is it true?” Nathan asked, rolling a joint. “Tristan’s back?”
Leaf nodded weakly.
“Have you seen him?”
Leaf took a deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled loudly. The prolonged silence was all the answer Nathan needed. He leaned back on the black sofa and smoked his joint.
“Why aren’t you with him?” Nathan eventually asked. “I mean … you’re together, aren’t you?”
Yeah. Sort of.
Or aren’t we?
“I’m gonna swing by his place later,” Leaf said, taking the last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “It’s complicated.”
“How is he?” Nathan inquired.
“I don’t know. I wish I knew.”
“Haven’t you asked him?”
“He wouldn’t tell me the truth, probably.”
Nathan merely raised his eyebrows in an undefinable gesture and took a drag from his joint. “Shitty situation, what happened. And what do you plan to do now?”
“I’ll make sure Diego goes to jail.”
Nathan frowned. “But Diego didn’t pull the trigger.”
“No, but if it weren’t for him, it would have never come to this. I can only make amends for my guilt by putting him behind bars. The guy has enough dirt on him. It shouldn’t be that hard.”
“And what about Nightstalker?”
“We’re playing at the Whisky on Saturday.” Despite not believing it himself yet, the words came surprisingly easily from his lips.
“This Saturday?” Even Nathan couldn’t hide his surprise. “When was the last time you were in the rehearsal room? Even before this catastrophe, I haven’t seen you rehearsing at Gaucho for a long time.”
Leaf packed some black balls into the glass pipe and reached for the lighter.
“Leaf?”
He looked suspiciously at the black-haired photographer.
“It’s always the same,” Nathan said, holding out his open hand.
Leaf handed the car keys to Nathan. Then he lit the lighter, put the pipe in his mouth, and took a few strong hits.
Damn, that’s good.
The effect kicked in almost immediately. Warmth surged through his veins, enveloping every cell of his body. He felt a heaviness settle over him as he leaned back. All worries dissolved, leaving behind nothing but this blissful sensation.
Security.
Peace.
Everything was good.
For a while, he shut his eyes and enjoyed the high that lifted him into other spheres. All constraints fell away from him. Detached, he floated along. But soon, he felt the shackles on his ankles again, dragging him like an anchor underwater.
Leaf had driven halfway across the city.
When he finally arrived at the mentioned address, Milo was sitting on the curb, smoking, with cracked lips and a drooping head.
Leaf honked, causing Milo to look over at him in confusion, as if he had forgotten he was waiting for him.
He struggled to get up and climbed into the car.
“Dude, what happened?” Leaf asked.
“No idea, man,” Milo answered, tossing the cigarette out the window. “I think I got into something.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just drive.”
“Where to?”
“No idea. Just home.”
Leaf glanced at Milo with concern. Milo wiped the blood from his lips and stared out the window. Throughout the entire drive, he nervously tapped his right leg.
At home, they sat on the balcony drinking a beer. The shadows of the trees and the rustling of the leaves were relaxing.
“Why didn’t you call Tristan?” Leaf asked.
“He would’ve ripped me apart again,” he replied. “He … doesn’t know what I’m doing.”
“What … um … What are you doing?”.
“No idea, I keep asking myself the same thing.” Milo dug his nails into his palm. “Thanks for picking me up. That was really nice of you.”
“No problem.”
“And how’s it going with you guys? Making good progress?”
“Yeah,” Leaf replied. “We’re actually doing really well. We’ve already written seven songs.”
“That’s good.” Milo sipped his beer and leaned back in his chair.
Leaf brushed the wind-blown hair from his face and gazed into the grove.
“Whatever you do or whatever happens,” Milo said, placing his sunglasses on the table, “always be nice to him.”
“What do you mean?” Leaf scrunched his forehead in confusion. “Nothing has happened.”
“But it will.” Milo’s calmness was unlike him somehow. “I see you both, writing songs, talking about music, discussing everything under the sun. And for hours on end. Everyone sees it. It will happen. And when it does, be nice to him.”
Leaf turned his head away. Milo was right; he had been thinking about Tristan the whole time. “Do you think I’m an asshole?” he asked in a timid tone.
“No. You’re a nice guy, but you don’t seem to realize it.”
Milo smiled, and there was a pleasant silence for a while.