36. What Just Happened?
36
WHAT JUST HAPPENED?
ARCHER
I watched the taillights of her car turn onto the big road and drive out of sight.
What the hell?
Charlotte took the opportunity to christen the brittle bushes by the door, and then we headed back inside. Two groups stopped me on the way to the booth and we took some selfies, but I was still off balance by the time I made it back to Ian and Mal.
They both looked at me as I sat, tying the end of Charlotte’s leash around my knee. My girl—this one, at least—wasn’t going anywhere.
“I can’t read your expressions, guys. What is it you want to say to me? Do you know what’s going on?”
“Where’s O’Connor?” Ian asked.
“She left. You heard. Don’t give me that look. I have no idea why. I guess she really did just come for Charlotte.”
Ian looked at Mal, who sighed and took over the conversational ball. “I’m trying to think of an equivalent that you’d understand, Archer, but I’m having a hard time. You’re just not a very possessive guy.”
What the hell was he talking about? My egg-white omelet was cold, but that was what was at hand, so I tucked into it. “I’m possessive.”
Mal tapped his finger against his coffee cup. “You’re possessive of your dog and your truck, I guess, but you’ve never much cared if someone else dated a former girlfriend.”
“What are you talking about? Is O’Connor dating someone? How do you know?”
Mal scrubbed his hands over his face and regrouped. What the hell was so hard to explain?
“You talked to O’Connor’s enemy. You gave the enemy help. That’s as plain as I can put it.”
Ian nodded. “Plus, the boobs.”
“What? What are you talking about?” My frustration was getting the better of me.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Mal joined in. “The honey over there. Not that one—that one. In the black top. She would have blown you at the table.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But she didn’t.”
Ian cocked an eyebrow at me. Mal filled in the words. “Right in front of O’Connor, you were all over that impressive, man-made rack. It had to have been insulting.”
“What? I was just flirting. It didn’t go anywhere.”
“Right in front of O’Connor,” Ian said, his voice heavy with emphasis.
“Now wait,” I started, and then the entire waitstaff of the diner arrived to ask for a photo.
They wouldn’t let us pay for our meal, which was sweet, but I was ready to leave by the end. I had a discussion with my boys to finish. I had justifications to insist on.
Back in the BFT with the Mighty Wheel of Control in my hands, I took charge as we began the next leg to Minneapolis. “First of all, Bella Southdown isn’t O’Connor’s enemy. It’s not like they’re at war.”
Mal had been thinking too. He was in the passenger seat with Ian behind us so he could stop Charlotte from chewing at her foot. “Look at it this way. One day, Aftermath is going to reach the number-one spot, right?”
“Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” I agreed. “Any day now.”
“Right. That will be a great day. And then one day, someone else will be at number one, and we’ll be at number two. And then number five, and then we’ll drop out of the top-twenty countdowns.”
“We’re going to stay at number one forever.”
Ian scoffed. Why did they have to focus on the negative?
Mal kept at me. “The band that takes our place at number one. Would you think of them as our enemy? Be honest.”
I fussed at the suggestion. “Not an enemy so much, but . . . I don’t know. Who’s going to take our place? Which band? Is it Harry Styles again?” I had better hair than that guy. “A new Taylor Swift album? Who?”
“Don’t worry about who. Just think about how that’s going to feel. The new number-one band isn’t your enemy, but it’s pretty hard to feel good about their success, right?”
“If it was Sheree, that would be okay.” I felt quite magnanimous making the gesture.
“Quit worrying about who displaces you at the top and think about being in number two, okay?”
“Number two’s not bad,” I said.
Mal threw his hands into the air. From the darkness of the back, Ian spoke. “You gave an exclusive interview to someone who’s trying to push O’Connor out of first place.”
“No, I didn’t,” I started, but then I wondered. Was that what I’d done? “Are you kidding? I told her that Charlotte’s bandage was hot pink. How would that push O’Connor out of number one? And she’s not number one anyway, right? That guy— The Snoop . He’s got the most, doesn’t he?”
“ The Scoop ,” Mal corrected. “Yeah, but he’s different. You can buy a good review from The Scoop . O’Connor and Southdown’s Variety are a lot more alike.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” I hated feeling guilty. It was so much easier to blame someone else.
“Now, O’Connor has more followers.” Mal was warming to his subject. “But Southdown’s coming on fast. I’ll bet O’Connor sees Southdown as a real threat.”
“Pink bandages!” I shouted. “That’s not news!”
“Tell that to O’Connor, who probably thought you and she had a pretty tight relationship going.”
“And that’s another thing!” Righteous anger rose up in me. “She said we were done. I was free to be with any groupies I wanted to be with. We had a three-day thing, and then she washed her hands of me. That was the deal!”
“But when Charlotte was lost,” Mal started.
Ian finished it: “She didn’t think twice. She just came.”
“That’s right,” Mal said. “She came to help. And more than that, you called her . You were in a panic, and you reached out to someone you trusted. Someone you wanted next to you in a bad situation. Face it, Archer. There’s no way you’re done with this woman.”
I sputtered, leaving an opening for Ian to heap more coals on my head. “Well—you’re probably done with her now.”
“Oh, come on. She’s just mad. She’ll get over it. I’ll charm her. It’ll be fine.” For once, Mal was as silent as Ian. “What? You don’t think I can do it?”
Mal shrugged. “Good luck with that. Her departure seemed kind of final to me.”
“No way. One phone call. I’ll call her in the morning. You’ll see. I have her private number, you know. She gave it to me. O’Connor thinks I’m awesome. ”
They seemed to feel like the conversation was over. I set my jaw. They were wrong. I’d make this work. Give her a few hours to cool down. It would be fine.
I got hypnotized by the highway in front of us and drove right past our reserved campsite in Illinois. The guys were both asleep when I realized it, so I just kept following the road.
Who needed sleep? I’d spent the night with my arms around O’Connor and Charlotte, which had led to some pretty deep and restful sleep. I had nothing but energy. And the memory of her hair, smooth against my face.
O’Connor smelled good. Any impartial jury would agree. It was like flowers, but not funeral flowers. More like a meadow or something. Kind of fresh.
She knew her products. She’d found some excellent shampoo or conditioner. Or a moisturizer. If I asked her, she’d tell me, and then I could smell fresh like flowers too. That was all it was. That elusive, delicious scent was bottled neatly and waiting in long rows on some store shelf. Any bonehead with a credit card could buy it.
It was nothing special. Nothing to get worked up about.
I was driving pretty close to due west, so it took a while to realize that I was seeing sunrise in the rearview. Shit. I’d driven too far. We were going to get to Minneapolis days too soon. We’d need to find a motel that would take Charlotte.
O’Connor would have found us a great place. One phone call to her efficient brigade of Janes, and we’d be living in the lap of luxury. One phone call. Man, that was true power. What did I have? Mal and a cell phone. Great. We’d be staying at the Bates Motel.
“Arch,” Ian grumbled from the back. “Where are we?”
“Just coming into Eau Claire.”
“Where is Eau Claire?” Mal was stretching. “Fuck, it’s morning. Did you drive all night?”
“We’re less than a hundred miles from Minneapolis. ”
Mal looked at me. “The gig isn’t for two days. We were supposed to take longer to get here.”
“Yeah, well, we’re here now. Find us a place to stay, Mal, and quit your whining.”
“I wasn’t whining,” he mumbled.
He found us some dive off the highway, and they sent me into the office to check in so I could charm the lady at the desk, but it didn’t help. She still charged us for three nights, since we wanted to check in before two. Plus, she demanded a huge security deposit for Charlotte—without even seeing how big my dog was.
Once in the room, Mal collapsed on one bed, and Ian sprawled across the other. Nice. I was the one who’d been driving all night.
But I still had too much energy. Charlotte, at least, was as awake as I was, so I took her for a walk. She deserved the exercise, and I did too. I enjoyed parading her past the front office, so the harridan at the counter could marvel at the size of the beast she’d checked into her fleabag motel.
Ten in the morning in Michigan was . . . what time? Eight in Los Angeles? Maybe I’d let O’Connor sleep in a little before I called her.
Then it was eleven. That was nine in LA.
Then it was noon. Mal called to ask where we were; I had no idea. He wanted something to eat, and Charlotte was looking a little wilted from walking around on that paw. I was an asshole.
“I left you the keys to the BFT. Come pick us up.” I found myself on my phone and gave him directions.
We had breakfast, and Ian thought it would be smart to find a dog bath to clean Charlotte up, which we did. I applied the cream and rebandaged her foot. All we had was the pink wrap the vet had given us. If I got some in a different color, I could tell O’Connor. She would’ve liked to be the first to know that. Bandage scoop.
I’d stalled for most of the day. Even if she’d slept very, very late, O’Connor was now awake, probably dressed and perfectly groomed. When we got back to the motel, I stayed in the truck. Mal and Ian looked at me, and I held up my phone.
Fine. They took Charlotte into the room, and I found O’Connor’s number in my contacts list.
The call went to voicemail.
For the first time.
She always answered my calls. That was the nature of our relationship.
Shit. She really was mad at me.
“Hi, O’Connor,” I said, trying for easy and charming. “It’s Archer. Give me a call when you get this. Let’s set up the time for our next dating-school interview. I think you said you were coming to the First Avenue show, right? It’s going to be epic, man! Um, okay. Talk to you soon. Bye.”
Fuck. What a mess.
Maybe I should call her back and sing her the song.
No, that was stupid.
It had been at least three minutes. Why hadn’t she called me back yet?
She must have lost her phone. Or hadn’t charged it, and it was dead and she hadn’t noticed yet. Girl was busy. That was it. She’d spot the message soon and call me back.
But she didn’t.
Ian appeared at the truck window. “You haven’t slept in a while. Come inside.”
“I left a message. I’m waiting for O’Connor to call me back.”
“Come inside.”
By refusing to say anything more, he forced me into the nasty motel room. Char and I took one of the beds and I dozed unhappily, jerking awake every time any one of us got a text on our phones. Finally, in desperation, Mal and Ian took the BFT to buy supplies, and I was left alone with Charlotte. In the silence of not a single noise from my phone, I finally fell asleep.
I woke up too soon, shivery like I got when I woke up before I was ready.
Confused, I looked around. My phone was glowing. It had been a text ping that had snatched me from sleep.
From O’Connor.
I’m ending the dating school series. You’re fine to date anyone now. Good luck at First Avenue
Shit. What? No. No way. I texted her back.
We’ve still got two more lessons
Your podcast is very popular
I waited. Again, I waited.
And waited.
Ian and Mal got back, and I showed them the texts. Then we all waited.
And waited.
And waited.
No reply.