Chapter 4
Harvey’s new life! Find out what he does, where he goes, and who he sees!
I sit at the table and hold up two fingers. “Peace, brother.”
Carl laughs. “Power to the people, baby,” he says in a deeper voice.
We both laugh, and I dig into my lunch. It’s nice to have someone to make fun of all the hippies with, but I have to give these guys credit—the food is really, really good.
It’s also sneakily healthy and strictly vegetarian, but a good meal is a good meal.
It almost makes up for all the other stuff.
I expected the Earth shoes and patchouli.
I knew I’d see long hair, beards, and love beads.
But I didn’t expect the humidity that clings to my skin like a wet sheet.
I didn’t know the only option to cool down the cabin would be a ceiling fan.
I hadn’t considered how I’d feel waking up at seven after sleeping until noon every day.
It’s only been three days, but it feels like three weeks.
“How’d you break your arm again?” I ask Carl between bites of some veggie pasta dish.
“You want the official or unofficial version?”
“Unofficial.”
“So, there was this girl at this bar, right? Huge tits. A total babe. One thing led to another, we go to her place, and I’ve almost sealed the deal when her ex-boyfriend shows up and wants to beat my ass.
I didn’t want any trouble, so I left, but on my way out, I tripped and fell down the front steps.
” He raises his broken arm. “All this, and I didn’t even get laid. ”
I laugh. “Wow. That’s a bummer, man, sorry.”
He shrugs. “I might have been a little drunk too, so… guess that’s why I’m here.”
“You weren’t a little drunk then.”
“I don’t really remember. I black out a lot. I thought I’d get the shakes coming here, but the doc is keeping an eye on me. Gave me some herbal shit. And you know something? It’s actually working. I don’t feel sick or anything.”
Before I can answer, Timber’s blond beard appears beside us, smiling. “How are Carl and Harvey doing today?”
“Good,” Carl replies.
“I’m fine.”
Timber sort of looks like a Rastafarian Viking with his light blond beard and hair in dreads. He pulls up a wooden chair and sits backwards in it. He smells faintly like Nag Champa, and I notice his faded, tie-dyed Hot Night shirt. “You still adjusting okay, Harvey?”
“I guess so. The food’s good.”
“That’s cool. How about you, Carl?”
Timber talks to Carl, and I wonder if Timber knows. Laden isn’t that common. Carl figured it out on the first day. He hasn’t talked much about his family, but they must be loaded. Everybody here is. This place was expensive as shit, and yet it feels like I’ve joined a commune.
“Have you had your first session with Jack yet?” Timber asks me.
“Who’s Jack?”
“He’s our therapist. He should’ve met up with you by now.”
“I don’t need a therapist, thanks.”
Timber’s smile doesn’t change. “Well, I’ll rap with you guys later.”
He puts the chair back and moves on to another table of unsuspecting guys.
“I swear they’ve got weed here,” Carl says. “Probably under grow lights somewhere.”
“What about in that big garden?”
“Nah, somebody would’ve found it by now.”
That big garden is where we’re headed after lunch. It’s one of the activities they have here. Horses were there the day before I arrived, and Carl mentioned there’s sometimes canoeing on the river.
It isn’t terrible here, but it’s still the last place I want to be. I want to get through this so Pete will shut the fuck up. The irony is that he should be here. Talk about addictions. Even on the wagon, he’s still like a junkie.
My mother tried to help him, but she failed.
Then Peach came along. She and Pete would drop acid and smoke hash in the basement with band mates, groupies, and a revolving door of others.
The entire downstairs always smelled of cigarettes, BO, and a chemical, herbal concoction of drugs.
I was little, and everybody thought it was cute when I showed up to clean the ashtrays and bring beer.
Sometimes Pete would disappear with whoever for days or weeks without telling me.
I always knew ahead of time if he was going on tour, so he was just partying his ass off.
One time, I walked into the basement. People lay sprawled on the floor, passed out on cushions and blankets.
The air smelled of the distinct odor of incense mixed with crank.
In the corner, I saw a couple of people dry humping while the Hot Night record on the player skipped in the middle of one of their hit songs, “Kaleidoscope.” I stepped over bodies to the record player, moved the needle, then went through pockets and wallets, taking money and spare change.
I kept it in a Desert Springs Hotel envelope under my mattress.
It seemed like their own fault getting so high they didn’t know what was going on.
I didn’t see what was so great about any of it.
I’ve stayed away from the hard stuff because I saw what it did firsthand.
It’s different watching people like that, all fucked up and out of their minds, while you’re not.
It didn’t look fun, lying on the floor, giggling and grabbing at something that wasn’t there.
Whatever they were seeing, I didn’t want to.
And yet I’m the one in rehab.
Carl and I walk to the garden, pick up gloves and tools, and get to work.
They grow everything here. Well, whatever will grow in this climate—rows of fruits and vegetables and apple trees.
There’s even an apiary. My first day, that Bluto hippie Canyon guy bragged they were almost self-sufficient.
Ecological. He pointed to the solar panels on every cabin and building—probably where the money goes—that heat the water and power the lights.
Maybe if they didn’t make us meditate and talk about our feelings, I’d be more impressed.
I’m kneeling by the cucumbers, pulling weeds, when I hear Canyon’s voice a few yards away.
Carl glances over. “Looks like another new guy.”
“Oh, yeah?” I move on to another patch of weeds.
“He looks kind of familiar. I think I’ve seen him on TV or something.”
I tug at a prickly, stubborn weed. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’m trying to think. Fantasy Island? He’s got red hair, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”
I freeze, leaving the prickly, stubborn weed halfway out of the ground.
No.
God, please no.
“Hmm,” Carl muses, twirling the spade in his good hand. “Maybe it was The Love Boat.”
There is no fucking way.
I don’t want to look, but I peek through the big leaves of the cucumber plants anyway.
It’s him. It’s really him. Standing beside Canyon, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, sun-burned and sweaty in a polo.
I get up and move over to some stalks of corn so Austin doesn’t see me.
“What are you doing?” Carl asks.
I peek through the corn. How in the ever-loving fuck is he here?
Carl stands beside me. “Why are you hiding?”
“I don’t want him to see me.”
“Who? The new guy? Why not?”
“I just don’t.”
“Did you screw his woman?”
“No.”
“His mom?”
“No!”
“You owe him money?”
“Look, it’s nothing like that. It’s complicated.”
“You’re telling me.”
Carl goes back to weeding, and I wait until Canyon and Austin have walked off before I come out from my hiding spot.
“He’s gonna see you eventually,” Carl says. “Unless you bust out of here.”
“Damn it,” I mutter.
I kneel and grab the prickly, stubborn weed, yank it hard from the ground, and toss it far behind me.
It happens at dinner.
I figured it would. I sit with Carl, having a distracted conversation about porn, when I see Austin with a tray of food, looking around like the new kid in school, all lost and pathetic.
I might feel sorry for him if he weren’t such an asshole.
What the hell did he do to end up here? Don’t tell me he smashed up a police car too.
He catches my eye and looks away. Then slowly turns his head to look back in disbelief. And horror.
I give him a sarcastic grin and wave.
The tray slips from his grip and crashes onto the floor.
Plates and cups clatter along with silverware, and everyone turns to look. Timber goes over to him. “Aw, man. Here, let me help.”
Austin looks up at me, wiping spilled water with a napkin, his face flushed with rage.
He’s really pissed. This might be fun.
“Did you run over his dog?” Carl asks, chewing on some bread.
I turn to him. “Shut. Up.”
After he and Timber clean up the mess, Austin turns to give me another scowl.
He goes back through the line and pointedly avoids looking at me or sitting anywhere near me.
After dinner, as we all gather outside to walk to the group bonfire, our eyes meet again.
I approach him carefully because his fists are already clenching.
“Small world, huh?” I say.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls.
“I could ask you the same thing, Hollywood.”
He shakes his head. “You have to go.”
“Excuse me?”
He glowers at me. “I can’t do this with you here. I want you out of here.”
I laugh. “Well, pardon me, your majesty. I didn’t know you were made King of the World.”
“Don’t be a fucking asshole. Just go.”
I can’t believe his audacity. “Why don’t you go?”
“Because I paid a lot of my own money for this, and I’m pretty sure your daddy paid for you.”
The other guys are watching us now. I hear Carl mutter “ouch.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Hollywood,” I say. “Deal with it.”
Austin moves closer to me, his chin tilted up. He looks a little mental. A little wild in the eyes. “And what if I don’t?”
“Guess that’ll be your problem.” I take a step toward him.
In my periphery, I notice a circle forming around us.
“Get out of here,” he says. “I’m warning you.”
I laugh harshly. “You really think you’re hot shit, don’t you? You really think I’m just going to obey you and do whatever you want? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He shoves me.
I shove back.
He shoves me harder.
I shove him harder back.