Chapter One #2
Dressed in jeans faded on the thighs and a black V-neck shirt that clung to his lean frame, he slid three small silver hoop earrings into his left earlobe and a fourth up in the cartilage, then two more in his right earlobe.
Around his neck, he fastened a choker of two thin black leather cords with a gold pendant of a sixteen-rayed sun that rested in the hollow of his throat.
He stepped out of the bathroom to the living room, and after putting on his shoes, he sprang up and spoke to Kenny as he walked toward the door. “I might spend the night at Brandon’s, so don’t worry if I don’t come home.”
Kenny nodded, concentrated on his guitar once again.
With the elevator broken in the rundown apartment building, Jesse jogged down three flights of stairs to the ground floor and pushed through a front door roughly the thickness of a sheet of plywood.
He turned in the direction of his brother’s apartment a few blocks away.
His heavy thoughts invaded his mind again and pressed down so hard they were reflected in the way he walked, dragging his feet, scuffing his already tattered Nikes on the sidewalk.
A piercing wolf whistle cut through his mind.
Jesse snapped his head up and spun toward the sound. His older brother waved to him, idling a few feet away on his Suzuki motorcycle.
“Moron!” Jesse called, walking toward him.
Brandon laughed. “Who’d you think it was?
Prince Charming come to whisk you away on his gallant white and blue crotch rocket?
” He pulled up next to the curb and stopped.
His eyes locked on the bruise on Jesse’s jaw.
He caught Jesse gently by the chin and turned his head to the right, peering intently at the purple blemish.
“When we talked last night, I thought you said he only clipped you.”
Jesse stayed still while his brother inspected the injury.
“He did. I twisted away and dodged the full impact. Mom’s been calling me, but she’s warped back into her classic stand-by-your-man mode.
What sucks most is I was so pissed after everything happened, I refused to take the money she got for me, so now I’m going to have to dip into the funds I’ve been saving for a new keyboard, but I guess it’s better than taking anything that’s attached to him. ”
Brandon dropped his hand from Jesse’s chin. “I’ll help you out as much as I can.” He faced forward, squeezing the handlebars of the motorcycle with white-knuckled force. “He could’ve broken your jaw. I should show him the results of all my karate lessons he paid for when I was a kid.”
Jesse gazed at the distant expression and barely concealed hurt on Brandon’s face.
If anyone understood how their father could be, it was his older brother.
There wasn’t a week he remembered from when they were young where Brandon and their father hadn’t been at each other’s throats over something.
Their relationship had been a lot more volatile than what he had with their father, and he knew he should have learned from watching it, especially when Brandon decided to major in theatre and the performing arts at Chicago University and their father turned his back on Brandon.
He should have seen his own expulsion from home coming a few years later, and part of him had, but part of him wanted to believe his father would change.
At least when he got kicked out he had Brandon to go to, unlike Brandon who’d had no one.
Jesse laid his hand on Brandon’s shoulder, wanting to save him from reliving his dark memories. “Hey, you promised to feed me before we go out, remember? If you don’t, I’ll be too weak from hunger to be able to bait all the hottest guys in for you.”
Brandon rolled his eyes. “Like I need your help.”
“I’ve seen some of the people you date. You need all the help you can get.”
“Jerk-ass,” Brandon chuckled. “Get on.”
Jesse swung his leg over the back of the Katana 750. Brandon hit the throttle and zipped the bike through Jesse’s neighborhood toward his own.
Jesse leaned away from his brother and patted the back of his shirt. “You’re all sweaty. What the hell were you doing before you came here?”
“What do you think I was doing? Dancing my happy little ass off in rehearsal. We gotta go to my place so I can get a shower before we go out, but we can grab something to eat first.” Brandon veered the Suzuki onto South Dearborn Street and found a place to park near his apartment building.
Jesse hopped off, shaking his fingers through his hair, and fell into stride beside his brother as they walked away from the weathered brown brick building in the direction of their usual burger place up the street.
“I read a review of Cabaret in the paper the other day. They were saying it’s the best production of it Chicago has ever seen.
They spent two paragraphs gushing over you as the Emcee. ”
“Of course. I’m only the best Emcee ever.”
A humorless snort rattled from Jesse’s nose. “Yeah, only because I spent every night with you for three weeks teaching your lame ass how to sing.”
Brandon pushed him on the shoulder, making him stumble. “Like I don’t spend hours teaching you new dance moves for your silly little rock performances.”
“A lot of good it’s done me,” Jesse mumbled.
He lifted his eyes to the Manhattan Building, one of the largest buildings in Chicago over a century ago, now dwarfed by skyscrapers and high-rise apartments.
In this area with many of the structures dating back to the end of the 19th century, it was easy to feel the history of the city closing in around him.
Normally he loved admiring the old architecture, each building had some sculpture or design that made it unique, but now he walked with his eyes focused on the sidewalk.
Brandon glanced at him, taking in his somber mien. “There’s more bothering you than just what happened with dad, isn’t there?”
“It’s a lot of things,” Jesse said softly.
He stopped outside a small burger joint and pulled open the door.
Crossing the pale yellow linoleum floor, he slid into the red vinyl, duct tape patched seat of a booth near a window and pulled a menu out from behind the dented stainless steel napkin holder.
He gazed around the greasy spoon decorated to local flavor with pictures of past and present players from the Chicago Bears.
Helmets and jerseys from the Big Ten Conference teams, including the Purdue Boilermakers, hung on another wall.
He always found it cool to see memorabilia from his favorite pro and college teams, and being on the South Side, it was nice to be in a restaurant that had more White Sox stuff displayed than the Cubs.
He turned his attention to the grease stained print of the menu.
A sugar packet flew over the top of it, hitting him on the forehead.
“Are you gonna talk or be a pouty little punk all night?” Brandon said.
Jesse lowered the menu and met eyes a shade lighter blue than his own.
People always said they looked alike, and he guessed they had some resemblances, save for the fact Brandon had three inches on him and a thicker, medium build.
They shared the same jet-black hair color, though Brandon wore his a bit longer than him these days.
Jesse took a breath to speak, but stopped when their waitress walked up.
After mimicking Brandon’s order of a Pepsi and a bacon mushroom Swiss burger with an extra side of fries, he focused on answering Brandon.
“Things have just been messed up lately. It seems like no matter what I do, I can’t get ahead with my music. ”
“You still got Tweedledee and Tweedledum playing with you, right?”
Jesse chuckled at Brandon’s nicknames for his keyboardist and drummer, and leaned back as their waitress returned with their drinks.
His laugh slowed, and he took a deep breath, his moment of good humor slipping away with the exhale.
“Yeah, Mike’s drumming hasn’t gotten any better since he joined, and Ben can’t work the synth and his keyboard playing blows.
I’m trying to teach him ‘Shattered’ but it’s too complex for him.
What the hell am I supposed to do? Sing, perform, play keyboard, rhythm guitar, bass, and drums?
If it wasn’t for Kenny, I’d be going insane. ”
His voice rose with his frustration. “I’ve sacrificed everything for this and where am I?
Twenty years old and I can see my future clear as freakin’ day.
I’ll be the stock manager at the goddamn bookstore for the rest of my life.
I turned down college for this, to live in a shit-hole apartment and play in shit-hole bars, losing more money than I’m making because I’ve got nothing but idiots dragging me down and holding me back.
Third largest city in the damn country and I can’t find two people who know how to play their instruments.
” He collapsed back in the booth, ending his rant when he saw their waitress coming with their food.
Brandon stared at him from the other side of the table. “Damn. You’re a lot more pissy than usual tonight.”
Jesse glared at him while Brandon drowned his burger in ketchup and squeezed a glob on the side of the plate for his fries. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
Brandon shrugged and took a bite of his burger. “It’s too late to be piss-eyeing over college now. Some other book smart, no common sense dork has your seat in pre-law 101.”
Jesse flipped the top bun off his burger. “Thanks, jackass. That was real helpful.”
Brandon lowered his burger to his plate. “What do you want me to say? When you made the decision to keep going with your music, that was the only time I ever thought you might have just a smidge of common sense, but as always, you’ve decided to prove me wrong by acting like you are now.”
Jesse shook the ketchup bottle harder than it needed and flicked it open. “And how exactly am I acting?”