Jane's Melody Page 18

  Caleb took her to a booth reserved for friends of the band and introduced her as his girlfriend to the group of youths gathered there. They hardly looked old enough to drink. One pretty girl refused to make eye contact with Jane, pretending to recognize someone at the bar and excusing herself from the booth. Jane noticed Caleb watching her walk away.

  “What’s wrong with her?” she asked.

  “Who? Michelle? Nothing. She’s just like that sometimes. Don’t worry about it. She’ll warm up to you. Listen, I’ve gotta go set up with the guys.”

  “Sure, go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  “You want me to grab you a drink first?”

  “No thanks. I’ll get myself a diet Coke.”

  “Okay, but tell them you’re with the band, and don’t let them charge you.”

  Caleb carried his guitar away to the back room somewhere, and Jane sat in the booth and tried not to look uncomfortable as everyone talked around her. A server came by, balancing a tray of drinks. She set them in front of their owners, as if she knew their orders by heart. Then she smiled at Jane.

  “Looks like you could use a pick-me-up, girl. Can I get you a Speedball, or maybe a Vod-Bom, or something?”

  Jane looked around. Was she talking to her? Had she been out of the scene so long, she wondered, that cocktail servers now offered up drugs like they were the daily special?

  “I’m sorry,” Jane said, “but what did you ask me?”

  “You look like you could use a Vod-Bomb.”

  Jane could hardly hear her over the noise.

  “A what?”

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Do you have diet Coke?”

  “Pepsi all right?”

  “Even better.”

  It seemed like forever before she passed again with Jane’s diet Pepsi. She wasn’t even really thirsty, but she felt like she fit in better with a drink in her hand. Eventually, there was a lull in the talk at the table, and a young guy wearing eyeliner turned to Jane and made an attempt to include her in their conversation.

  “So,” he said, “Mitch told us that Caleb told him you live on Bainbridge Island.”

  Jane nodded.

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s so adorable. My grandparents had a beach house out there when I was a kid.”

  “Well, I’m not on the beach or anything, but I like it.”

  “I remember it being pretty quiet,” he said.

  “It’s still that way,” Jane replied, raising her voice to shout above the almost deafening din. “Although I think there’s over twenty thousand people living on it now.”

  One of the girls at the table looked confused and more than slightly drunk. She leaned forward and waved her finger at Jane, her eyes crossing and uncrossing as she spoke.

  “But, like, don’t you worry about the island, like, tipping with all those people on it? I mean, what happens if they all go to one end or something? I always wondered that. I wouldn’t live on an island. And you shouldn’t either.”

  The young man looked apologetically at Jane.

  “She got an early start,” he said.

  Jane saw the band setting up on stage, and she sipped her soda and focused her attention on them. She recognized Mitch from their encounter in the street the other day, and a few of the others too, but the moment Caleb stepped into the stage lights, everyone else completely disappeared.

  She’d never seen Caleb in this environment before, and it was clear that it was his natural habitat. He was tall and lean, with wide shoulders like a swimmer’s, and his thigh muscles showed in his tight jeans. His hair hung carelessly in his face as he looked down and tuned a borrowed electric guitar. Every few seconds he’d toss his hair and look up, scanning the crowd with those haunting eyes.

  Jane wasn’t the only one looking either. She saw Michelle up near the stage, talking to some other guys, but with her eyes trained on Caleb. Jane had to admit that she was attractive. Very attractive. As if she had just walked off the pages of an urban fashion magazine to make Jane’s life miserable. A perfect ass in perfect size zero jeans. Thick, brown hair, streaked with blonde highlights, and one pink extension hanging down. And her smile was a hundred watts of pure white, if a little fake.

  Jane watched as she escaped the men she had been talking to and approached the stage. She looked up at Caleb and said something. Caleb smiled, as if he thought it was funny.

  “Another diet Pepsi?”

  Jane looked up to see the server standing next to her.

  “Yes, please. Wait. No. Bring me one of those Vod-Bods, or whatever you call it.”

  “One Vodka Red Bull coming up.”

  By the time her drink arrived, the band had finished their warming up. Mitch took to the microphone and tapped on it to get the crowd’s attention. A few people at tables kept talking, but most everyone else hushed and focused on the stage.

  “Thank you,” Mitch said, over a squeal of feedback from the mic. “We’re going to do our best to raise the roof on this place for you tonight. But first we’d like to thank you all for coming out to help us celebrate.” He turned to his band. “What are we celebrating again? Shit. How about we just celebrate each other, and good beer, and Friday?”

  Several people held up their glasses and cheered.

  “We’ve got a very special treat for you all. Joining us up here this evening is the always popular, always amazing, guitar-shredding man of mystery, Caleb Cummings.”

  Caleb smiled and bowed slightly.

  “So let’s keep it fun, and keep it light. And don’t forget your servers tonight. As they keep the booze flowing, don’t forget to keep their tips growing. All right. Here we go.”

  He rehung the mic on its stand, and as if taking it for his cue, Caleb played the opening guitar riff to “Alive” by Pearl Jam. The bar and everyone in it seemed to fade until only Caleb remained, standing like a rock god in the spotlight of center stage. Fortunately, the music was too loud to talk over, so Jane had nothing to do but sip her vodka Red Bull and listen to them play, occasionally scanning the crowd for Michelle. The server reappeared with another drink for her, even though she didn’t remember ordering one. She polished off the one in her hand and took it anyway.

  When there was a brief break between songs, the young guy next to Jane leaned over to her and said:

  “Caleb’s pretty amazing, isn’t he?”

  “I never knew he could play like that.”

  “I know, right? He likes the singer-songwriter stuff, but I don’t think there’s anything he can’t play. He used to ...”

  The band started up again and muted out what he was saying. He threw up his hands and shrugged, and they turned their attention back to the stage.

  After the song finished, Jane turned back to him.

  “What were you saying?”

  “About what?”

  “About Caleb.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Hard to talk in here. Anyway, he used to have a standing gig on weekends at Lucre & Lush. They’d flock in to listen to him. He was doing pretty fucking good back then. But he found out they were stiffing the band on the door, and he quit over it. Said it wasn’t fair. Guy’s got balls.”

  “How did you two meet?”

  “I was dating Lisa and she was friends with ...”

  The band began to play again. He laughed and turned away. Jane felt the vodka rising from her stomach to her head, bringing with it a welcome wave of relief. Relief from what, she couldn’t say. Time slowed down. Voices grew distant. The walls of the small bar seemed to expand, enveloping an ever growing space. When the song ended, to wild cheers and huge applause, her conversation partner spoke again.

  “Now, what was I saying?”

  “You were telling me how you and Caleb met.”

  “That’s right. I was dating Lisa, and she was best friends at the time with Michelle. We went on a couple of double dates.”

  “Michelle? The Michelle that’s here tonight?”

&
nbsp; “Yeah. Lisa turned out to be a bitch, and we broke up not long after. But Michelle’s pretty cool.”

  “Caleb dated her?”

  “Yeah, but that was like ancient history.”

  Ancient history? How could it be? The girl was practically still a child. Jane felt her jaw clench and her cheeks flush. He must have noticed, because he laid a hand on her arm and said:

  “Don’t sweat it. He’s obviously way into you now.”

  The band saved Jane from asking any more embarrassing questions, and she excused herself from the booth and went to find the restroom. It was a single bathroom, and there was a line outside the door—mostly girls talking loudly and texting at the same time. A guy walked past Jane and winked bigly.

  “You can join me in the men’s room, honey.”

  She meant to call him a pig, but she only shook her head.

  When it was finally her turn, the girl behind tried to push inside with her, but Jane closed the door on her and locked it. She peed, then washed her hands, and checked her makeup in the mirror. The fluorescent power-saving bulbs made her skin look pale and lifeless. She re-applied her lipstick, pulled down a paper towel, and blotted it. She tossed the lip-stick stained towel with the mound of others just like it in the trash.

  The girl pounded on the door.

  “Jesus,” she said when Jane finally opened it. “You write a book while you were in there?”

  “Believe it or not,” Jane replied, stepping past her from the bathroom, “the world does not revolve around you.”

  The girl stuck her tongue out at her.

  “You sound just like my mom.”

  Then she slammed the door.

  When Jane returned, the band was on a break and Caleb was sitting in the booth, waiting for her. He pulled her down beside him and put his arm around her.

  “What’d you think, babe?”

  “It was really good.”

  “Well, good is okay, I guess. But we’re still warming up, so we’ve got time yet to get great.”

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that. You were really great. I had no idea you could play like that.”

  Michelle slid into the booth across from them, tossed her perfect hair, and smiled brightly. She said:

  “He’s always been able to out-shred anyone on a Stratty. Remember when you won first place in that riff contest at the Triple Door, Cal?”

  Cal? Did she just call him Cal?

  Jane thought she saw Caleb blush.

  “I just got lucky that night,” he said. “Tommy’s guitar was on the fritz.”

  Jane pulled her drink to her and sucked it down through the double straws. Caleb seemed to sense that she was upset.

  “Hey, babe. I’d like to play something special for you. You got any requests for the next set?”

  “Can you play any Guns N’ Roses?”

  “Yeah,” Michelle interjected, “I hear that the eighties are making a comeback.”

  Caleb ignored Michelle’s comment and focused on Jane.

  “You got a favorite?”

  “How about ‘Sweet Child o’ Mine’?”

  “One of the best guitar riffs ever,” he said. “I’ll bet the guys will let me sneak it in after the Buckcherry cover.”

  “Maybe you could play some Nirvana,” Michelle said.

  Caleb ignored her and turned to Jane.

  “I better get back, babe.”

  Then he leaned in to kiss her. It was meant to be a quick kiss, but Jane buried her fingers in his hair and pulled him to her and kissed him deep, watching Michelle squirm out of the corner of her eye. When she let him go, he wore her lipstick.

  “Fuck,” he said. “That was hot. But I’m not sure I’d pass a breathalyzer after that kiss. What are you drinking anyway?”

  “Vodka Red Bull.”

  “Careful,” he warned. “Red Bull gets people into trouble.”

  “Sure it’s not the vodka?” she asked.

  “The vodka will make you pass out. The Red Bull will let you keep drinking vodka when you ought to be passed out.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll switch to shots then.”

  He smiled and caressed her cheek.

  “It’s good to see you loosening up and having fun, babe. One special request heavy-metal power ballad coming up.”

  He slid from the booth and headed back toward the stage. Michelle wasted no time following him. Conniving little bitch, Jane thought, replaying her words in her head. “The eighties are making a comeback.” Screw her. And if Caleb wanted to see her loosen up, she’d show him. She flagged the server down.

  “Another Vodka Red Bull?” the server asked.

  “No,” Jane said, handing her a credit card. “Bring tequila shots for the whole table. And start me up a tab.”

  Everyone at the table nodded, excited for a free shot. The server slipped Jane’s card in her pocket and counted them off, stopping at the drunken girl, who was leaning on a big guy next to her with her eyes shut.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Yeah,” the big guy said. “She’s just napping.”

  They had just pounded their third round of shots when she heard the opening guitar for “Sweet Child o’ Mine.”

  She grabbed the hand of the eyeliner kid she’d been talking to and dragged him onto the dance floor.

  People crowded the small space, standing with drinks in their hands and singing along, but few of them were dancing. Those that were, were barely moving at all. As Jane danced, she caught glimpses of Caleb on stage in the spotlight, his eyes closed and his hair hanging in his face as his fingers worked the strings. She knew everyone was watching him.

  She knew Michelle was somewhere watching too.

  The music soon took hold of her inebriated mind, and she began to dance more wildly. The boy she was with disappeared, probably for the safety of their booth, but Jane didn’t care—she’d show these kids how it was done. She balled up her shirt and tied it off, exposing her midriff, and she tossed her hair and shook her ass. She went pinballing through the crowd, dancing with strangers, male and female. She didn’t care.

  “Look at her go!” she heard a man shout.

  “Someone’s having a good time,” a girl said.

  Jane was encouraged by these remarks, and she danced all the harder. Someone handed her a drink and she downed it and handed back the glass. She felt liberated and free, as if she were back in her first year of college, before she’d gotten pregnant and been burdened with responsibility.

  She remembered going to outdoor concerts at the Gorge, smoking pot and getting drunk and dancing until the sun came up. She remembered feeling alive and hopeful with her whole life still ahead of her. For one brief moment it was there again—the wistful hope that she had once felt. It hung in front of her like a sparkling disco ball, every mirrored facet reflecting another possible path, another exciting future, all waiting to be explored. It was a mysterious and private world no one could touch but her; a crystal moon orbiting forever in her mind. But it soon came crashing down, shattering into the broken shards of reality. The song had ended long ago, and she alone remained on the floor dancing. Blank faces stared at her as she whirled past them, spinning out of control. She stumbled and fell. She was briefly aware of pain in her knee.

  Now up again.

  Twirling faster, leaping higher.

  She wouldn’t let them stop her from dancing—

  Until she careened hard off a shoulder and fell. She heard someone shout and glass shatter on the floor. Then she was wrapped in strong arms. A hand caressing her hair, a soft voice promising everything would be all right. Strange faces leered at her as she held onto his arm and staggered toward the door.

  A whoosh of cold air.

  An orange streetlamp.

  The sidewalk sliding by.

  She felt hands lowering her into a seat, a belt pulled across her chest. She saw passing headlights in a mirror. A nauseous feeling roiled up from her gut. She leaned over and puked onto the curb. He held her hair
and spoke softly in her ear. What he said she’d never know. An eternity passed while the world spun around her, but at last, it steadied, and she felt the seat recline. She heard the thud of a shutting door.

  She closed her eyes and imagined that she was in a coffin, being lowered into her grave. It wasn’t so bad, she thought.

  If only the pain would go away.

  Chapter 20

  HEAD POUNDING, dry mouth.

  That’s what Jane woke to the next morning.

  Bright sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, and as she squinted into it, she began to recall the embarrassing events of the night before. She lay still for a long time, not daring to turn and face Caleb. But when she finally did roll over, he wasn’t there. The covers were pulled up on his half of the bed and she couldn’t tell if he had slept there or not. She would have been more concerned by his absence, however, if her immediate thoughts had not been consumed with how to stop the throbbing pain in her head.

  She shimmied half out of bed, pausing when she noticed a glass of water on the bedside table with two Advil tablets next to it and a handwritten note that read:

  Good morning, my little rock star. I’m out back working in the garden. Join me when you feel like it. I hope you slept okay. I love you!

  When she finished reading she closed her eyes and let her head fall back onto her pillow. What was I thinking last night, she wondered. You weren’t thinking, was her silent answer. If you’d been thinking, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

  “Ugh,” she said. “I hate myself right now.”

  She sat up and took a sip of water, popped the Advil in her mouth, and swallowed them down. Then she drained the glass. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so thirsty.