Chapter 16 Scott - Mixtape
SCOTT: MIXTAPE
I stopped looking for Michelle about halfway through the set. It kept throwing me off, and I was forgetting lyrics. Losing my place. The guys noticed too, shooting me the side-eye when I blanked in the middle of Porno Queen. Not exactly a complicated chorus to remember.
But I was rattled. Michelle was supposed to be here.
At least that had been the plan until her dad hauled her off the beach this morning.
The fact that she wasn’t in the crowd gnawed at me, especially since she’d turned into quite the escape artist since we’d met.
The girl had an arsenal of excuses and a back exit mapped like a military op.
So if she wasn’t here, it could mean only one thing: she was locked up in her mansion.
Not a bad spot for most people, but for a Jackal fan like Michelle? She’d be howling at the moon.
We hit our last chord, and I leaned into the mic, sweat dripping down my back. For once, I thought I’d finally beaten the system. Start early. Wrap early, and maybe then the Venice Beach PD would leave us alone tonight.
Then came the siren, followed by red and blue strobes flashing across the ceiling.
“Cops!” someone screamed, and the place detonated. Beer flew, Chalk Line Charlie’s memorial was trampled, and concertgoers bolted for the exits like at every other show in recent history.
Muscle memory kicked in and I jumped off the stage, immediately barking orders.
“Johnny—kill the lights!”
“Marco—get the plastic wrap off the window!”
The guys scrambled, tripping over their own instruments. I sprinted toward the hollowed-out kitchen where half the crowd had bottlenecked trying to escape through the hole in the exterior wall. “One at a time! Let’s go! Don’t stop.”
Marco whistled over the siren. I glanced back. He’d removed the plastic sheath. “Everyone on this side—out the window.”
Some intoxicated kid stood in the middle of the escape split, each leg moving in a different direction. He collapsed to the floor in front of me.
“Don’t let ’em get me,” he said, grabbing my leg and hugging it to him. “I’m already grounded.”
He looked fifteen. Dragging him up by the armpits, I said, “On your feet, man. Through the hole. Run home. Don’t look back.”
The smoke machine and incense haze only added to the madness. I shouted over it all, pointing, directing, escorting stragglers toward exits until the last of them was gone.
And then there was silence. Only me and the band remained. I stood in the wreckage, chest heaving, microphone still clutched in my hand, waiting for the cops to bust us. That was when I noticed the siren had cut out and the lights were gone.
Then a laugh.
I squinted into the dark to see a figure approaching.
“That was some hero shit, right there,” he said, clapping.
“Paul?”
A box I recognized well was tucked under his arm.
From Radio Shack, a sound effects machine that he’d used to orchestrate raids in our single-family home.
Jim had outlawed the thing after getting caught in the shower during one such prank.
He’d slipped and popped his knee out of the socket and was naked when the paramedics arrived.
“You psycho dick,” I said, shoving him back. “Someone could’ve died in here.”
“Please. How many times has Dad survived ‘heart attacks’ because of this thing?” Paul used finger quotes to shame Jim for his overreactions to the special effects box. “Oh, and remind me to be by your side when the commies drop the nuclear bomb.”
“Right. Like I want to survive the day after with you.”
“Wait—where are the cops?” Marco called out, only just now realizing we weren’t under attack.
“False alarm. It’s Paul.”
“Paul!”
The band swarmed him, treating my brother like the mini-celebrity he was.
Paul had gained legendary status back in high school when his band got signed by a major label.
Everyone in Venice Beach knew of him. Wanted to be him.
Hell, that was why I’d taken up music myself.
But then the album tanked, the band broke up, and Paul had been skirting fame and fortune ever since in bands that barely made a dent.
I gave the guys time to reminisce with Paul before grabbing his arm and hauling him outside.
“Dude,” he said, ripping his arm out of my grip. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem? You ruined the show.”
“No. I gave them what they came for.”
“A police raid?”
“Scotty, use that brain of yours. Your audience lives for this shit. Running from the cops? That’s part of the show. Why do you think you draw a crowd? It’s not the music. They come for this.” Paul threw his arms wide.
It made sense. Fear of the unknown and cheap beer—that’s what packed the house. Take that away and we were just another band.
“Well, shit.”
Paul hooked an arm around my neck and dragged me in. “You were good tonight. I didn’t know you had a voice.”
His praise was what I’d always lived for. Still did.
“Get some half-decent songs and you might have something.”
“Hey, I wrote those songs.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Something was different about Paul. I studied him instead of joking it off. Wait—was he sober? Or just better at hiding it than usual?
“You seem, uh… sharper tonight,” I said. “Like you’re using sentences with a beginning, middle, and end.”
Paul’s smile faded. He looked away. “Trying something new.”
I nodded once. “And how’s that going?”
“I’ll let you know after the show tonight.” He hesitated. “Honestly, bro… it might be my last.”
“Your last show?”
“The band’s threatened to fire me,” he went on, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “I wish they’d get on with it.”
“They want you sober?”
“No. Functioning.” He lifted his hand. It was shaking.
“You’re in withdrawal?” I said.
He nodded.
“Can I do anything to help?”
“Nah. Just gotta make it through the night.”
“And then what?”
A long beat. Then he sighed. “That’s the question, isn’t it? I don’t think I wanna do this anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Music. I’m just spinning my wheels, not getting anywhere. I think it’s time for me to grow up, little bro.”
I gasped. “Paul, no.”
He smiled but it came slow. “My dream’s turned into a nightmare. I gotta get sober for real this time, and then…” He trailed off.
“And then what?” I asked again.
“I honestly don’t know. I just know I can’t keep doing this.”
It was one of those rare moments of clarity with Paul, and they were always fleeting. I didn’t want to waste it.
“Whatever I can do to help you,” I said, gripping his shoulder, “just ask.”
He stared at his shoes, then cleared his throat. “So… where’s the preppy chick with the smart mouth?”
“Michelle.”
“Right. What’s her deal? How’d you even meet?”
I gave him the rundown, not holding anything back. Paul listened—an unexpected side effect of sobriety—nodding slowly.
“So?” I said. “What should I do?”
“Nothing,” he shrugged. “You’re already doing everything perfectly.”
I laughed, even though I was dying a little inside.
“You were always gonna lose this one,” he said, popping a piece of gum in his mouth. “That doesn’t make you wrong for playing.”
“Not exactly the pep talk I was hoping for.”
“But the one you need. Girls like her? They’re not settling for guys like us.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe this thing with Michelle had an expiration date stamped on it. Still… part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe we were the two dumbasses who’d prove everyone wrong.
I could hear the phone ringing inside my apartment the second I opened the garage door. It was her…I knew it was. I sprinted up the stairs and snatched the receiver off the wall.
“Hello? Michelle?”
“Oh, my god, finally! I’ve been calling over and over. Scott, I am so sorry. You know how badly I wanted to come to the show tonight, but my parents, they—”
My whole body sagged against the wall in relief. I didn’t even catch the rest. “Michelle, slow down. You’re okay, right? They didn’t Mommy Dearest you or anything?”
“No, you lunatic. You think my mother owns wire hangers?” Her laugh died almost instantly. “What I’m trying to tell you is… I’m leaving for New York tomorrow.”
Even though I’d guessed this was coming, it still knocked the wind out of me. “Because of me?”
She didn’t answer right away. She didn’t need to. We’d both been there, on that deck, under that blanket.
“They’re afraid of you,” she finally said.
My jaw ticked. “They should be.”
“Yes.” The way she said it told me she agreed more than she wanted to.
“Can you come here?” she asked. “Meet me outside the gate.”
“When?”
“Right now.”
“I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“I know it’s late notice… If it’s too much trouble…”
“Shut up. When have you ever been trouble, Michelle?”
“Okay, be careful. And keep your distance. My parents aren’t home right now, but they could come back anytime, and if they see you—”
“They won’t. Twenty minutes,” I said. “I’ll be there.”
I hung up and tore down the stairs—then stopped halfway, spun around, and bolted back up. I grabbed the mixtape off the table, the one with the label that read—If you ever forget me, rewind.
Like she told me, I parked a safe distance from the front gate. The last thing we needed was a round two with her parents. My mind wouldn’t stop replaying her voice on the phone. She was leaving tomorrow. The door was slamming shut on us.
Movement on the sidewalk ahead caught my eye. I knew I was supposed to be careful. I knew this was the exact kind of stupid move that could blow everything up. But the second I saw her? Yeah… all that caution went straight out the window.
I tapped the headlights. Flash. Off. Flash-flash. Off.
Her head whipped up, eyes locking on me. And then that smile. So I hit her with another round, full disco strobe, because subtlety had never been my thing.
She opened the passenger door and slid in, rolling her eyes even as her grin gave her away. “Stealth was the plan, remember?”
“Stealth’s still the plan. That was just the pre-show.”
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” she said, though she hooked a finger through my belt loop and tugged me closer.
My hand slid to her backside, the thin cotton of that blue-and-white striped dress hugging her just right, and gave a squeeze. “I think I’m exactly the right amount of trouble.”
Her smile widened. Then she kissed me. “Let’s get out of here before the police find you facedown in the hedges.”
I threw the truck in gear and made a U-turn.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
I leaned forward, grabbed a paper bag, and handed it to her. Michelle reached inside and pulled out a packet of Twizzlers.
“You converted?” she asked. “For me?”
“Fuck no,” I replied, grabbing my box of red vines from the door.
“So your plan is to drive around and eat licorice?”
“It’s not like you gave me much time to plan your dream date. So this is it—my very last-minute idea. The drive-in. Not to watch the movie. To...”
“I get the idea.”
Was that… disappointment?
“You don’t want to go?” I asked.
“I mean, it’s fine.”
“So enthusiastic.”
“No, it’s just… I was kind of hoping we could go back to your place.”
“My place?” I raised a brow. “Yeah, that’s probably not a good idea.”
“Because of April? I’ll be quiet… like a mouse. She’ll never know I’m there.”
Oh, I was pretty sure the second Michelle spotted Zonk, the entire neighborhood would know she was there.
I hesitated. “I don’t know…”
“Come on,” she urged, tugging my shirt. “I want to see where you live.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “No. You definitely don’t.”
“Yes, I do. Why? Are you hiding something?”
I could tell by her insistence that Michelle wasn’t going to drop it, leaving me with only the nuclear option.
“Okay,” I said, exhaling. “I’m going to tell you something, and you’re not going to like it.”
Her eyes went huge. “What?”
“I have a pet.”
“A pet? Like… a dog?”
“No.” I dragged the word out. “Like an opossum.”
She stared at me, trying to process. “So, a dog that looks like an opossum?”
“No, an opossum who is an opossum.”
“Wait—you mean one of those giant rat-like things?”
“He’s a marsupial, actually, but yes. And I didn’t adopt him at the humane society or anything. Zonk came with the place.”
“Zonk?” She blinked. “You named him?”
I shrugged. “What else was I supposed to do?”
“Hire an exterminator,” she said, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Oh, my god, Scott.” She jabbed me in the ribs. “I let you kiss me.”
“So… the drive-in, then?” I asked.
She weighed her options. I prayed I’d done enough to scare her off the idea of going back to my place for a meet-and-greet with my beady-eyed roommate.
But then she let out a long, dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… take me to your master.”