Chapter 19
Anew year, a new place. Earlier in the week, Gene and the Dusty Brooms moved into a farmhouse in Lake Orion—the town, not to be confused with the actual lake nearby—out in the country and only about a forty-minute drive from downtown Detroit.
It sure as hell beats what they were used to before, with the long, gruelling two-hour drive between Grand Rapids and Detroit.
Gene appreciates the rural country atmosphere: calm, still, albeit rather plain and snow-covered this time of year.
Dennis had done the house hunting for the band and, with the Brooms’ approval and funds, purchased the farmhouse sometime last month.
The mortgage is reasonable, seeing as it’s not a fancy summer lake house, and more manageable in general to take care of spread out amongst the lot of them.
But it still is rather large, enough to accommodate six people (with Dennis off living in his own apartment in Detroit).
There are four bedrooms: Gene and Santiago share the master bedroom, Ray and Carol have one for themselves, then Pat and Stefan each have their own.
It’s a bit strange for Gene to not share a room with Ray, as he’d done for the last two years.
But he doesn’t want to share a room with Carol if he can help it.
Pat wanted a room of her own; she had confessed to Gene that she was tired of rooming with Stefan and all the chicks he slept with on the tour.
It was sort of funny to Gene, not seeing Stefan as the flirty type, but he supposed one didn’t need to be sociable to still have a pretty, desirable face.
Though unfortunately, while they may have separate rooms here at the farmhouse, they’ll all likely still have to share hotel rooms for their next tour like they did before.
But Pat negotiated with them that if that’s the case, she plans to room with Maurice and either Santiago or Gene can room with Stefan.
It won’t be until April, but the Dusty Brooms have big plans ahead of them—traveling to the largest cities in the US.
Presently, Gene sits on the floor with Ray in Ray’s room, toking on a pipe he’d gotten from a friend of Maurice.
Maurice’s friend, Randy, had also gone to art school with them all—small world, I guess.
Randy sold Gene some weed before they moved, though he’d also given Gene the number of another contact who lives in Detroit in case he needed to stock up before he had a chance to come back to Grand Rapids.
Gene’s trying not to blow through his stash too quickly, but with the wonderful high he gets, the calm he feels in his soul with every hit, it sure is tempting.
He passes the pipe to Ray, who takes a smooth hit himself. Rather than lighting it again, Ray sets it down on the carpet—a cue he wants to continue playing music. “Let’s start from the chorus again,” Ray says. “I love the harmony we’ve got.”
“Alright.” Gene picks up his acoustic guitar from lying on the floor, and strums the chord progression before moving on to the lyrics, which they sing together:
“Ohhhh, we could tear this whole place down…
Oh-ohhh…. we could tear this whole place down…”
The words don’t mean much, other than Ray had said he thinks they sound good together.
Oftentimes their songs start out that way, without a clear direction and simply feeling the vibes.
But with how they’ve been developing the verses, Gene thinks this song will be about rebellion, about doing something different from the norm.
Not quite an original concept, sure, but what blues song nowadays is original anyway?
Ray has been digging it, and Gene feels elated to continue following Ray’s lead.
“Wait a second,” Gene says, stopping his strumming. “What if instead of ‘tear’ this place down, we switch the word with ‘burn’?” He strums the chord again, singing, “Ohhh, we could burn this whole place down…”
“You’re a genius, Gene.” Ray claps his hands, then reaches down to scribble the words in their pocket-sized lyrics notebook. “Wait-wait-wait. Gene-ius. Get it?” He laughs, and Gene laughs with him.
“Oh my god, that’s great.” Gene slaps his guitar. “I’m surprised you haven’t come up with that before.”
“Maybe it could be your new nickname. Genius.”
Gene waves his hand. “Nah, I think as a nickname it would sound too weird. Like, ironic, sarcastic. Not genuine.”
Ray chuckles. “Not gene-uine.”
“Oh, fucking hell, Ray.” Gene keeps laughing. “But thank you for calling me smart.”
“Any time. You know it’s the truth.”
Gene’s heart soars, so delighted at Ray’s infectious smile.
He reaches over the guitar in his lap and rests his hand on Ray’s knee.
He hasn’t really shown affection for his best friend physically in quite some time, but it’s just the two of them here—what’s the harm?
Ray’s grin never slips as he places his own hand atop Gene’s.
It’s moments like this that Gene can truly feel their connection—as some sort of electric spark, passing through them via their shared touch—
The door to the bedroom opens.
Carol is standing in the doorway.
Ray and Gene abruptly pull their hands away from each other, Gene placing his back on his guitar. “Wh-what are you doing here?” Gene asks.
Carol raises an eyebrow. “This is my own room.”
“Oh, yeah, heh.” Gene rubs the side of his guitar. “I mean, weren’t you busy with something else?”
“Hey, Gene, it’s okay,” Ray says, lips pouting. “She can come in here if she wants. Like she said, it is her room, too.”
“Right…” Gene shakes his head. “Me and Ray were busy writing a new song together.”
“Oh, that’s groovy.” Carol smiles. “Can I listen?”
“Ah, well, it’s not done,” Gene says. “We still gotta tweak it a bit…”
“That doesn’t matter to me,” Carol says. “I’m curious about your writing process.”
“Ah, I mean, well…”
“It’s alright, Gene,” Ray says, reaching to place his hand on Gene’s shoulder. “It’s not like she’d get in the way or anything. She just wants to listen, right?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “You guys can keep just doing what you’re doing.”
Carol shuts the door behind her and moves to sit on the only bed in the room: the one she shares with Ray.
With how they’re positioned, Ray and Gene still seated on the carpet, it puts Ray next to her legs and Gene directly in Carol’s line of sight.
“Alright,” Gene says. “Um… I guess let’s sing the chorus together now with the new lyrics… ”
Ray nods, pulling his hand off Gene, and Gene strums the chords on his guitar.
The two men sing in harmony: “Ohhh, we could burn this whole place down…” As they move along with what else they’ve written of the song, flowing into the next verse, Ray sings solo, leaving Gene’s mind to wander.
As he comes to think of it, every time he’s written songs with Ray, it was always just the two of them.
Only the two of them. For their best creative efforts, Gene wants Ray all to himself.
Didn’t Ray say the same to him before? Having Carol here, interrupting their precious time alone, is ruining everything.
Gene feels his muscles relax, his head feeling heavy as he looks up and sees Carol staring at him.
Those big, doll-like brown eyes stare straight into his soul.
As the high kicks in, he feels himself drifting.
Why the hell is she looking at me like that?
She doesn’t still like me that way, does she?
She’s been with Ray for a few fucking months now.
She barely even knows anything about me.
A lingering string of paranoia creeps into the back of his head, twisting at his scalp.
Ray stops singing—as this is as far as they’ve come with the lyrics—but Gene keeps strumming, trying to find his place in the music.
Music will never let him down. But he can’t focus as she keeps staring at him.
Staring, staring, staring. His finger slips, plucking a note so off-key it makes him wince.
“Fuck, I can’t fucking do this,” Gene says, stopping his strumming all together.
“What?” Ray blinks. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t fucking do this with you while she’s here.” Gene motions his hand toward Carol. She lifts her upper lip in a sneer.
“Why not?” Ray tilts his head. “I don’t get it. We’ve written songs before on the bus and you didn’t mind having other people around us, then.”
“Well, fuck, I know that. But that was different. We were more just… refining something we already had. Not starting a brand new song.” It also felt different because other members of the band were with them, perfecting the song with their input.
The ambience of the bus and chatter of the Brooms works well that way when finishing up a track.
But when creating a new melody from scratch, when Gene sits with Ray in the bedroom, it makes a world of difference being together with him in private.
“I still don’t see the problem,” Ray says. “Carrie’s not even saying anything; she’s very polite and quiet while we play. Why should it even matter if she’s in the room?”
“Wow.” Gene’s jaw drops. His gut twists every time Ray uses that nickname for her—Carrie. “You really don’t fucking get it? Whatever happened to only writing songs with me?”
“I am still writing songs with only you, Gene. I just fucking said Carrie’s not even interrupting us!”
“It’s still not the same. I can’t fucking deal with this…”
Ray frowns, crossing his arms. He eyes the pipe on the floor. “I think you’ve smoked too much, Gene, if you’re acting like this.”
“More like I haven’t smoked enough.” Gene stands, grabbing the pipe in one hand and his guitar in the other. “I’ll finish the song with you some other time. When we can be alone.”