9. Chapter Nine #2
Dagger: How’s it going? Did you arrive at the radio station yet?
Bronx: I’m currently sitting with David Speen in the parking lot. We’re going over the details. I’ve got it handled. Did you rescue the Two Stooges from their doomed life in handcuff captivity?
Dagger: Yes, but it wasn’t as easy as you’d think. I’ll tell you about that when we see you. We’ll be hitting the road first thing in the morning. Thank you for dealing with the interviews for us.
Bronx: Not like I had a choice but I’ve got it under control.
Dagger: Is your guard still alive?
Bronx: For now, but that status could change at any moment.
Dagger: Keep the blood off the bus.
Bronx: Too late for that. You should have been more specific when we left LA.
Dagger: You’re hilarious.
Bronx: I better see your asses in time for the shows because I’m not sure anyone is going to want to watch my one-man bass performance when they’re expecting to see the whole band.
Dagger: You underestimate your appeal to the masses. It’s part of the reason we hired you—well, that and your incredible talent.
Bronx: Stop flirting! You can’t have me—no matter how pretty you are.
Dagger: First of all, I’m not pretty and enough of your wishful thinking. I’m married and Ryan doesn’t share—no matter how much you beg.
Bronx: I’m not opposed to begging for certain things but this fantasy you have of me will need to remain tucked away in your spank-bank. It’ll be our little secret and Ryan never needs to know.
Dagger: You’re so fucking funny.
Bronx: On that note, I’ll get back to work to keep this band floating.
Dagger: I’ll be listening in on the interview. Make me proud, son.
Bronx: You got it, big daddy.
David cleared his throat just as Bronx was sending his last message to Dagger. He met David’s gaze as he tossed his phone onto the coffee table.
“Are you ready to go over the interview questions?” David asked Bronx.
“Hit me,” Bronx said.
David pulled out a small stack of papers from his computer bag and arranged them on top of the leather satchel.
“There will be the obvious questions, like are you excited about the Vegas residency and whatnot. Those are fine to answer freely. When the questions turn personal, keep your answers vague and non-specific.”
“Such as?” Bronx coaxed.
“Well, such as, ‘are you currently dating and if so, are they a man or a woman’?” David said.
“Are you suggesting I lie about my sexuality?” Bronx asked in an accusatory tone.
“Absolutely not,” David backpedaled. “It makes no difference whatsoever. Three out of the four band members are in same-sex marriages, so it would be highly unlikely your audience would care if you’re gay, bi, or a spectrophiliac.”
“What the fuck is that?” Bronx questioned and David fidgeted in his seat.
“It’s a sexual attraction to ghosts,” David answered. “It’s a real thing. Look it up.”
“I’ll take a hard pass on fucking a ghost and stick to the warm, willing body of a man,” Bronx stated. “Or if the mood strikes me, a gorgeous woman would work, too, although that’s rare these days.”
David addressed a few other questions that might present a stumbling point for Bronx and clarified various ways to answer without giving away too much of their privacy, then he collected his papers and put them back into his bag.
“You can hang out here for another thirty-five minutes and then I’ll come back for you,” David said. “And don’t forget your acoustic guitar.”
“Got it,” Bronx said. As soon as the door to the bus closed, Bronx went into the bedroom to grab his laptop.
He had some research to do now that David planted a seed in his brain.
He returned to the living room and searched the internet for various sexual attractions.
Most of it he’d never heard of before but David was right.
There really were people who had sexual attractions to ghosts. Who knew?
Bronx was almost finished with his research when Cavalari stepped back onto the bus. “David said they’re ready for you inside,” he said to Bronx.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Bronx replied. “I’ll be right out.”
Cavalari nodded at him, then turned around to step to the door.
“Oh, hey! I figured out what your problem is,” Bronx said and smiled broadly.
“What are you talking about?” Cavalari answered. His hands were planted on his hips as he glared at Bronx.
“You’re an auto-sexual,” Bronx said and laughed.
“Sounds made-up, dickhead,” Cavalari argued.
“It’s not fake,” Bronx replied. “I just googled it. It means you have a sexual attraction to no one except for yourself and what gets you off is, well—you! Reminds me of the theme song ‘Nobody Does It Better,’ from the James Bond movie, The Spy Who Loved Me .” Bronx began to sing the lyrics very loudly and was nearly falling off the couch with a laughing fit.
Cavalari was not amused. He stalked across the room with his hands balled into fists at his side and stopped short of walking into Bronx’s legs.
“Would you like to see my fist up close and personal?” Cavalari yelled at Bronx. “That way you can walk into your interview with a freshly pounded face. I’ll even make it extra bloody to show you just how much I care.”
“Aww, sweetheart. I already know how much you care about me,” Bronx cooed. “Your feelings run so deep you wouldn’t think of actually hurting me—not in a million years. I have to say that warms the cockles of my stony, cold heart.”
“I have a fondness for keeping my job, dim wit, and nothing more,” Cavalari protested.
“Are you sure about that?” Bronx asked. “I seem to be experiencing some memory loss from your lame attempt at a wrestling match. It should make this interview very interesting.”
“My fists never touched you and you know it,” Cavalari proclaimed. “We rolled around for a bit and that was the end of it. The lump you have on your head is all on you. You did that to yourself. Probably on purpose to have something else to blame me for. One never knows with you.”
“Correct. We played on the floor and then you got hard which changed everything,” Bronx said with a smirk.
“We’ve already discussed this,” Cavalari reminded Bronx. “My reaction was involuntary because you were rutting against me like a deer on a scratching post.”
Bronx laughed at the visual that came with what Cavalari said then quickly pushed off the couch. His head swirled around like a ballerina perfecting a new move. He covered his deficit by giving himself a minute while he took his time securing the laptop in a cabinet above the couch.
“What was that?” Cavalari asked.
Leave it to him to notice something was off. Attentive bastard.
“What are you talking about?” Bronx questioned.
“You wobbled and almost fell over,” Cavalari stated. “You could have a concussion. We can reschedule your interview and I’ll take you to the ER if you want.”
“No! I told you I was fucking fine,” Bronx said. “I got up too quickly from the couch. That’s all it was. It also doesn’t help that I haven’t had nearly enough coffee or food yet today. But do you hear me complaining about that? No!”
“There’ll be more food and coffee inside for you,” Cavalari said and reached for Bronx’s arm to help him off the bus.
“Get your fucking hands off of me!” Bronx yelled. “I told you I was fine!”
“And you’re also a known liar,” Cavalari stated.
“Fuck you! You know very little about who I really am. The man you met a hundred years ago, who you loved to slap handcuffs on for sport, is long gone. That’s not who I am now.”
Cavalari opened up the door to the bus and waited for Bronx to descend the stairs. “Forgive me for doubting you’re sober,” he said to Bronx in a somewhat sincere tone.
“Fucking A, I’m sober and have been for many years now,” Bronx proudly admitted. “The last pair of metal bracelets you wrapped around my wrists made me lose three full years of my life. My sobriety was earned the hard way, asshole, and it takes work every day to maintain. Trust me on that.”
“You’re not the only one who lost something back then,” Cavalari stated. “Try and keep that in mind when you’re blaming me for your drunken and drugging ways.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bronx grumbled. “Let’s get this interview done and over with so I can come back out here and sleep.”