20 #2
“I dunno…”
"Something extra weird, innit? Some Fifty Shades shit? Kill room?"
"This is a Christian household,” he said with a playful sternness, slipping past me.
"Ah c’mon!"
One room led into another in big communal spaces with barely any halls, presenting few obstacles to seeing directly into the next room at any given time.
It bore that coveted indoor-outdoor California living.
Floor-to-ceiling doors that pocketed into the walls permitted tons of natural light in the lounge, where the sun-drenched yard served as picturesque backdrop.
The yard put me in mind of a 60s commune.
A universe unto itself. A leafy, undisturbed glade independent of the outside world.
I feared I might contaminate it somehow.
Rome stepped from the covered patio onto the lawn, spreading his arms like a hippie cult leader.
The yard before him was expansive and terraced, built into the side of a large hill with stucco steps and white walls demarcating the levels.
He had spraypainted nearly every inch of the walls.
"I'm in love with this place," I said, following him up the hillside stairs towards the roof.
"It's small, innit?"
"I don't think so. It's perfect. The privacy? The yard?" He met my eyes and sort of lifted his brows. "I like that everything in the house is one-level, but the yard is endless."
"Me too...that's what got me to sign at the end of the day. The agent kept tellin’ me it was a steal...and I suppose she was right."
"Don't doubt it. I'd kill for this place."
Bright greens and reds and purples stood out along the walls.
Tons of wacky characters and mini comics.
Flowers and aliens. His name was written in a dozen different fonts.
I spotted his parents’ initials, then each of his sisters'.
It was like he allowed everyone who visited to sign.
As always, the world was his canvas, and nothing was off limits.
Not the electrical boxes outside our houses, nor the tables at our signings on the road, nor the walls in each of his homes.
Not even my body. I couldn't begin to recall the number of times I’d woken up to him doodling on my hips, belly, and the tops of my feet with a sharpie.
"Where you stayin’ now?" he asked.
"Laurel Canyon."
"Nice, mate. Cool, cool. That’s so you.” He nudged me with an elbow.
“Thought so too,” I smiled.
“You like it over there?"
"It's alright. Pretty decent. Kinda lonely sometimes."
"But the quiet…you can’t beat it.”
“True.”
“What d’you get up to over there, anyway?"
"Working. Partying.”
"Hah...yeah. That’s LA for you." He took a deep breath. "Things have been pretty wild since I came here last year. I kinda started goin’ nuts. Goin' out too much. Not keepin' me head on straight, y'know?"
"Oh yeah?"
“I feel a bit more centered now that I moved. Somethin’ about ownin’ a home makes me more tranquil than when I rent.”
A breeze stirred as we sat along the wall and continued discussing our separate west-coast experiences. In many ways, they were similar, like the constant partying and general dissolute behavior, but in other ways they varied.
We were entirely alone in his world, drifting on an island in the middle of the Pacific. Our own little oasis, someplace no one could reach us. Like the room in my dad’s bungalow so many years ago. Someplace no one could intimidate us into silence or separation.
I could see myself living here with him in time. Just he and I, all the livelong day—and maybe a few pets. Cranking out new music, getting high, experimenting and experiencing, completely removed from all conventional constructs.
An animal lunged from the bushes and startled me. I stepped behind Rome after picking my shades up from the grass. He laughed at how dramatic I was.
"It's okay, bro, chill!”
“Easy for you to say!”
“She won't hurt you, I promise.” He squatted and scratched it on the head. It was a damned cat.
"Where the fook did it even come from?"
"Neighbor's cat. She roams a lot. Could be from another town for all I know. But she likes me for some reason."
"I can name a few," I said. He handled her so adoringly. For a split second I felt envious. "Does she bite?"
"Not that I've seen. Why? Wanna give 'er a nibble?" he joked, pressing the back of his index finger to her mouth.
She seemed content to brush back and forth beneath his hand, slinking along the wall. I hunkered over him and pet the small grey head.
"She's clean, I promise. No fleas."
Our hands brushed along the cat's back and fire leapt up my arm. It was the first time we’d touched casually, and things were beginning to feel familiar again. I scratched the cat's belly at his behest, using it as an excuse to inhale his cologne.
"She's sweet, isn't she?"
"Yeah...I guess," I drawled. "Why don't you just take her in?"
"She's got a collar, see? Belongs to someone else...they're not very mindful of her though. She's too well-groomed to be a stray. That's what I've figured, anyway. But she comes 'round every now and then and I give 'er whatever I have on hand."
"It ever scratch you?" I muttered, lifting her into my arms.
"She," he corrected me with a laugh, rising to his full height. "And yeah, once or twice." He twisted his arm to show the old marks.
"Nothing you're not used to, I guess."
I regretted it the second it slipped from my mouth. It was an absurd reference to our lovemaking. It had the potential to destroy the mood of my visit beyond repair. Whether he found it awkward or discomforting, he didn't let on. He simply laughed and moved forward.
I set the cat down and fell into step behind him, mindlessly shadowing him around the yard.
It was 2013 again and we were heading from the greenroom to stage.
The intro music blared over the hall speakers to let us know it was go-time.
He was fixing his belt as he moved, greeting the crew in passing with a chuck of his chin.
God, I would give anything to relive those years.