22
He adjusted the seat and made a remark about the air fresheners. They weren’t his cup of tea, so I snatched them down and stuffed them in the glove compartment. Now I adjusted the GPS and slapped his hand away when he started messing with the touchscreen on the dash.
"Don't fuck up my pre-sets."
"Don't matter," he forfeited. "I'm too psyched, anyway."
He started the engine and revved it, unleashing a deep growl throughout the yard.
"Mate, don't piss off the neighbors." At that, we looked at each other and laughed.
"Yeah...we've got loads of experience with that..."
"Fuck’s sake, remember when we nearly got kicked out of the Plaza?"
"How could I forget?"
"Our team fought for like half an hour to convince them to let us stay.
They said the bed must've already been broken when we checked in.
Mate, they had no fooking clue how we destroyed that thing.
" He pursed his lips in a way that let me know he remembered quite vividly.
“The moment the frame came crashing down, they were at our door with complaints from other guests.”
"Thin walls..." was all he muttered, shaking his head.
I laughed and put my glasses on, watching him pull out of the secluded driveway towards the avenue.
He was doing relatively well, compared to some of our past jaunts.
It’d been rough going a few times we were out together, to the extent that I’d make him pull over and switch seats with me.
It always resulted in us fighting by the time we got wherever we were going, and I hoped this ride wouldn't result in the same.
A few blocks from home, he glanced around the neighborhood and shook his head at the obscene capital that surrounded us.
"Mila’s dad lives not too far from here."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mm-hm. The house she grew up in." He shook his head. “Sheesh. Fuckin' mental, mate. They’re like…royalty or somethin’."
"You married rich, huh?"
"As if. Couldn't pick me jaw up off the floor the entire time I was there. I've never seen a house that massive. Bigger than both of mine combined. It's mind-blowin’.”
"Woah…"
"He’s brilliant. Self-made, from what I can tell. Pretty cool bloke, too. Bro... I thought we were well-off after the band, but his fuckin' bedroom and closet—the square footage is as big as my entire house. The BHPO house, anyway."
"Holy shit..."
"It's inspirin'—or inspirational," he chuckled. "Kind of scary though. I feel like once you get to a certain level...of wealth or fame or whatever...it's easy to lose sight of what it means to be human in a way."
"Does he strike you that way?"
"No, not at all. I'm just sayin', y'know?
" We rounded a corner rather awkwardly. He was getting jerky as we entered the main roads, which presented lots of stop-and-go traffic.
"It would be easy to lose sight of everythin'…with what we’ve been through. And all the dope shit we’ve achieved.
Numbers on numbers on numbers. What does it all mean anyway? "
"Yeah...I get what you mean. I try to catch myself whenever I start taking things for granted. It’s difficult unless you’re reminded of how bad it could be otherwise.”
"Right. If you aren’t careful, it’d be easy to, uh, lose perspective. And what are we if we're lackin’ perspective at the end of the day?"
"Self-involved, entitled, greedy...."
"Exactly. Few people are, like, invulnerable to the negative effects of money and fame. They’re powerful, mate."
“Yeah…” After a while I ventured: "So... a lot's changed lately, right?" He nodded. "You, sort of like, have a whole different thing going on here. It's, uh, good from what I can see. But I'm just wondering, Rome...are you finally happy, mate?"
"Happy?" He cut someone off because he’d nearly missed his turn. The GPS freaked out on him. An angry horn followed us down the road before easing off.
"What, you mean now? In this very moment?"
"Yeah, I guess…. you know what I mean. In general, I guess."
"Um...yeah, I think. But…it sort of varies."
"What…like you’re not sure or something?"
"Look, man…I dunno. What do you even mean?" He looked put off. "What do you mean by happy, exactly? It can mean so many things, Rafe."
"Can it?"
"Of course it can. You know that."
"Well…then I guess that depends on what happiness means to you, right?"
"I'd rather know how you meant it."
"Shit, mate...I'm just saying…are you like...happy, y'know? Content or something? Are you pleased with life? With your new setup? Are you in want of anything? Are you better off now than when we were in the band?"
"Bro, I dunno. Content? Uh, sure. Pleased? Yeah, most days. Most of the time it's cool, I guess. In want of anythin', you say? Of fuckin’ course, Rafe. I'll always be in want of things, man. Things I can't have...things that aren’t meant for me. Just like all the rest of us. It's human nature."
"What things are those?"
"Y'know. It’s everythin’ else. Like, sometimes I just want...
things I can't particularly describe, if I'm honest. It's the sort of shit you imagine would go away once you cop a dope house, or earn loads of money, or even meet a gorgeous bird, but it just doesn't, y'know? It’s always there in the back of your mind. Naggin’ ya. "
"Right..." I said, staring absently ahead. "Yeah, I guess I know the feeling."
***
When we got to the doctor’s office, he parked and I shook his hand for getting us there in one piece.
It was nearing closing time, so the lot was empty and we were grateful for the added seclusion.
Strolling straight into a private lounge, we sat side by side in the oversized leather chairs.
We goofed off for a while, nudging each other's elbows off the shared armrest, before he got up and made a few faces at the fish in the tank.
I studied his boots and clothes, appreciating the conscious mixture of designer and non-designer items. He still valued solid, versatile pieces and accessorizing over labels.
Despite having a massive wardrobe, he rarely packed when we were on the road, and typically ended up cycling through mine and the other boys' clothes the minute he ran out of his own.
I didn't mind it though. I got a weird thrill out of seeing him in my things sometimes, particularly when he wore them to bed.
"Did I tell you I met Jeff Goldblum?" he asked, plopping down beside me again, picking up a months-old issue of People.
"No. Did you? When?"
"Yeah, man. Last year."
"How was he?"
"About how you’d expect. Cool, man. Really cool."
“He’s a legend.”
"Hardly even recognized 'em at first. I just knew he was a bit of a face, y'know? He was eatin' at one of them tables across from me, and a friend introduced us after a while. He was super chill though—"
"Mr. Rawlings?" the nurse called upon entering. Her name was Gayle. She was a short, stout woman with mystically long hair. Normally I’d be pleased to see her face, since she always greeted me with a refreshing sincerity, but today I had to stifle my irritation over the interruption.
I told him I'd see him in a bit and followed her to the back rooms.
Half an hour later, prescriptions called in, I was set free and rejoined him with a knot in my stomach.
Uneasy that at any moment the mirage would vanish.
Fuck’s sake, he was shockingly beautiful.
Reclining in the seat with a breezy nonchalance.
A long-limbed, swagged out, gut punch of a wet dream.
Yet, he was real. In the most bizarro-world turn of events, Rome was here, waiting for me.
When the fuck did that happen? When had my world been righted?
After all the tears, fears, and sleepless prayers, he was there. How’d I get so fucking lucky?
A black boot was propped on the coffee table in a characteristic abandonment of good manners.
He’d been singing McCartney’s “Maybe I'm Amazed.” It was a go-to for him when he was bored or showering.
As I entered, he rose, shoving his phone into a back pocket.
In a jarring flashback, I recalled he owned dozens of nudes of me from our time together; heaps of terrifyingly intimate still and videos documenting the changes in my body from boyhood to manhood.
Presented in all manner of posture and lewd exhibition. Seriously gay shit.
Not for a second did I fear him using them to humiliate me, even during the worst of our fights and separations. It was a relief to share that level of trust with someone for so long, and he remained the only person I would ever trust to that degree, despite our long-standing estrangement.
As I drew near, I noticed his cigarettes and lighter were on the table and he smelled like fresh smoke. He put them away as he faced me.
"Had a smoke?"
"Yeah...there may've been a smoke."
“Busted!”
There was something in his eye that told me he was marveling at how normal everything felt. Something that begged: What are we even doing?
"So, you're not dyin’ of some dreadful illness right? I didn’t walk into some Terms of Endearment type shit?"
"All good...I think...I hope," I joked, earning a laugh.
As I headed for the door, his hand moved absently to my waist, then to my hip. He wanted to hold it open for me. Wherever we were, whatever we were doing, he grabbed me like I belonged to him. I recalled that with a sudden wooziness.
Back at his house, we ordered Thai and pizza and chicken and pigged out in his dining room, just the two of us and Bob Marley crooning from the record player.
“Time Will Tell” cast a spell over our feasting.
Later he took me into the studio and let me listen to a few exclusive tracks that probably wouldn’t see the light of day.
I was stumped by how versatile his tastes had become, and the way he innovated culturally distinct sounds to create something suited to his cadence.