Chapter 21 - The Show
“Ummm. Ummm. I’d like me a piece a that.” Ray had the binoculars pointing toward the harbor, having taken them from Seth, who was wandering around the room looking for something to do. They’d arrived a few hours ago, been busy setting up, ordering groceries, but now Seth was bored.
“You guys have been doing that ever since we got here.” Robby came into the room.
“Gimme those.” Robby took the binoculars from Ray.
He put them up to his eyes, adjusted them slightly, saw a girl in a yellow string bikini .
. . “Holy shit! Fucking hell!” He threw the binoculars into a chair and stormed across the room, taking his phone from his back pocket and pushing a speed dial number.
“Joe! Are you fucking trying to drive me fucking nuts? . . . I think you know damn well what I’m talking about!
” The other band members had their mouths open and were trying to stay out of Robby’s way as he strode around the room with his eyes fixed on the floor.
“You didn’t know when you booked this place that Grace was here? You expect me to believe that?”
Seth and Ray exchanged looks. Ray picked up the binoculars. Keith said, “Uh-oh,” under his breath.
John said, “Shit. We were just getting past this. Now we’re going to be looking for a new manager.”
“Yes, it’s her. You think I wouldn’t know?
. . . Don’t tell me to settle down. . . I don’t know — we never talked about exactly where — she didn’t like talking about it.
What does it matter? I can’t stay here. Find some other place.
Far away from here . . . Oh . . . yeah. Forgot about that.
. . No, I don’t want to blow it off. He’s been good to me .
. . practically saved my life. When is that?
. . . Sunday! Damn Joe . . . it’s only Wednesday, right?
. . . I can’t write here. I’m having trouble writing as it is .
. . Shit . . . Okay . . . I’ll listen . .
. What’re you saying? . . . Oh. . . Oh. .
. Yes, it’s weird, but . . . Okay . . . I’ll think about that .
. . but you start looking for another place.
How long are we here for? . . . Oh man. I can’t do that.
Find another place . . . I will . . . I said I will.
” He took the phone away from his ear and left the room.
Seth put his hands on his hips. “This is not good.”
Ray was looking back out the window. “He let that go?”
“She let him go. Hard. You were in ICU then. It was not pretty.” Keith looked up from what he was reading.
“Shame . . . a waste.” Ray put the binoculars on the table. “Yeah . . . I never asked about how that went down. I heard it was different—”
“Duh.”
“Hey, Seth. Come on. Gimme a break man. I figured he was getting in over his head and pulled out. He’s not exactly known for being a one-woman man . . . a close second to you. It never occurred to me he got dumped.”
*******
What should he do? They hadn’t spoken in almost four months, and he’d thought that call had ended it for good.
She’d said she was coming back, but not to him, maybe Ely .
. . for the job . . . as soon as the weather was warm enough.
He’d said, “So same time as last year. But I won’t be in the airport. ” Then he’d hung up.
Sure, he still thought about her . . . but he’d given up.
Hoped she was in Ely by now, up where he’d never have to see her again.
What were the chances she’d live right where Joe booked them a place to write?
He rubbed his eyes and laid back on the bed with a groan.
Joe said maybe he should think about that .
. . what the chances were this girl he met by chance in an airport, who turned out to be the most important relationship of his life, had now turned up again, by chance, right in front of his rental, fifteen hundred miles from the last place he saw her.
It was weird . . . so many chances . . . maybe synchronicity . . .
He got up and went downstairs. Keith was reading in a comfortable chair.
The other three were back at the window.
Robby looked at them. “What the hell! Have you guys been there the whole time?” Ray turned around with the binoculars still at his eyes.
When he saw Robby at the other end of them, he lowered them in a hurry.
“I have not,” Keith said, looking up from a magazine.
“Well,” said John, “are we looking for a new manager?”
“She sure is something, Robby. I heard red hair and freckles, but I was not picturing that. Not big tits, but more than some of your models, and any more than a mouthful is a waste, right? And that hair — what’s it’s like when she—”
“Shut the fuck up, Ray,” said Seth.
“Yeah. Shut your fuckin’ mouth before I do it for you.
” Robby turned around, went quickly down the stairs to the soundproof room, plugged his guitar in, turned the amp way up, stood next to it, and started playing.
Gradually, the other four drifted in. Seth first, picking up his guitar.
Then, Keith and John. Lastly, Ray, who clambered up behind his drum kit.
They played for over an hour. Seth and Keith looking frequently at Robby, occasionally at each other.
John almost laughing at Ray, who was grinning like a madman.
When Robby stopped and turned off his amp, the others did, too.
Robby put the guitar on a stand, looked at his watch, and went upstairs.
He went to the bar, poured Johnny Walker into a metal tumbler, and took it into the shower with him, where he stood for a long time under the rain showerhead, his hair unbraided.
He dried his hair, put on black jeans and a cream shirt, turned the cuffs back, and stepped into his moccasins.
Then he reached into the shower, got the scotch, and drained it.
He went downstairs, out the streetside door, got in the rental truck, put the address in the GPS, and drove to the party.
When he arrived, he went up the wide stairs to a wraparound porch.
He could hear voices, laughing, shrieking.
He followed the sounds, continuing around the porch till he could see their source — a swimming pool with children and neon-colored floats and noodles.
The host saw him and strode quickly over.
They hugged. “Sorry to say, you don’t look any better than the last time. How’s it going?”
“You won’t believe what just happened,” and Robby proceeded to tell his old friend what he’d seen through the binoculars.
*******
Grace’s phone rang. In the middle of the night.
She fumbled around the nightstand and found it.
The caller ID read “Private Number,” so she didn’t answer, she hit Decline.
Simple and, if it were important, they’d leave a message.
But no. Nothing’s simple. It rang again.
She’d been up past midnight trying to get a piece about charter schools right, and felt like she’d just gotten to sleep, but she said, “Hello?”
A happy male voice replied, “Grace? Grace Wheeler?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my god! Really? I can hardly believe it! Finally.” He laughed.
Background laughter, too. “This is Jakob Dylan.” Getting no response, he added, “Really. Jakob Dylan . . . of The Wallflowers.” Still no response.
A hurried, “Don’t hang up! God don’t hang up.
Not after all we’ve gone through to find you. ”
“Okay. . . I’m here. . . What time is it?”
“About . . . 2:30 . . . a.m. . . . Oh . . . sorry. I was just so happy to get this number . . . and we’re all up . . . I didn’t think about the time. Sorry.”
“Okay.” Grace just wanted to get this jerk off the phone and go back to sleep. “What do you want?”
“Boy. You don’t impress easily, do you? . . . Okay. Are you coming to the show tomorrow night? Actually - tonight. Do you have plans to come tonight?”
“What? What’re you talking about? What show?”
“Damn. Well, we can go into that later. Look, if I send a car to pick you up, would you come to my show and eat with us after?”
“Who is this, really?” Grace said, sitting up. The only clock in the room was on the phone. She took it away from her ear and looked. 2:36.
“It’s Jakob Dylan. Really. Here, I’ll prove it,” and he sang the chorus from “One Headlight.”
“Ohhh. I do know that one. My mom used to play that in the car endlessly.”
“No! Don’t say that! God why am I putting myself through this? . . . Oh yeah. Lurch.” Deep breath. “Okay . . . Grace. I’m sending a car to pick you up. Tonight. 7:30. Got that?”
“Why?”
“We have a mutual friend . . . you and I . . . someone here I’m throwing a little soirée for . . . Just do it Grace . . . Will you? Please? Say you’ll come. We need you to show up. It’s critical . . . for the show to go on.”
Background chorus, “Come! Please! Come!”
“Okay . . . I guess. But who is this friend?”
Background chorus, “Yay Jakob! You did it!”
“I can’t tell you — it’s a surprise, and I can’t risk he might find out . . . Oh! But wait! Is this the correct address?” And he read off Grace’s exact address from the report.
“Whoever you are, this is getting creepy. I don’t know about—”
Jakob broke in hurriedly, “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ Don’t worry about it babe. Go back to sleep.” Then, he added, under his breath, “Hopefully, you’re gonna need it.” Background laughter. “See you tonight.” And the phone went dead.
*************