#consistent? but yeah i vowed for a while to never pick up a pen

[lickthehilt]

baby girl...

[pjbehindthesun]

chapter 8: if I followed you home, would you keep me?

Tuesday, October 9th, 1990

I blink and look around the practice space, which is lit only by one small lamp right by the stairwell, and it takes a moment to remind myself where I’ve just woken up. My watch says it’s still only 6:24 am, so I must have only been out for a couple hours. Easing off of the run-down couch, I pull the guitar neck out from under my shoulder blade and wince as I stand up and stretch out the kinks. Even with no sunlight down here, no street noise, and no one else around, I woke up feeling like there was an alarm clock ringing in each of my cells. Time to write, time to write, time to…

My notebook dropped onto the floor while I was asleep, and after a little hunting, I locate my pen just under the couch. I’ve got a couple hours before the guys said they would stop by and get back to work. Jeff had offered to let me crash at his place, but I needed to stay here, keep the creativity going as long as I could, as long as I can. No distractions, no fucking around. I rub my eyes and sit back down on the couch with the guitar on one knee and the notebook next to me on the cushion, picking up where I left off.

***

“So, uhm, I’m in the front row, and Exene just, like, hands me her beer, so she can finish her set, and –”

“She WHAT?” Jeff screeches over Eddie’s quiet mumble. Jesus Christ, Jeff, don’t terrify him, he seems freaked out enough by us already.

They’re a couple stairs ahead of Mike and me on our way to drop Eddie’s bag off in Jeff’s apartment before we grab lunch and get back to the practice studio to meet up with Dave. I have to admit, Jeff and Ed have really hit it off. I’m glad someone’s getting this guy to talk. I mean, it’s not like it’s a problem that he’s quiet, I guess, although I’m a little worried about how he’s gonna do on stage. Or maybe I’m just used to how extroverted Andy was. At any rate, Eddie seems like a good guy. And I respect how hard he’s ready to work already – I caught an inkling of that this summer when we sent him that tape and got music back right away, but he even slept at the fucking studio the other night just so he didn’t have to stop writing. And he writes so spontaneously, like it’s all just beneath the surface, waiting for the right riff or rhythm to pull the words out of him. I’ve never seen anything like that before. Good instincts.

Not that I’d be caught dead saying any of this out loud, of course. It’s great that he and Jeff are so close already, but someone has to regulate things. I feel like I’m likely to get to know this new guy better if I keep him on his toes, keep him nervous, keep him trying to impress us. Find out if he’s really this dedicated or if it’s just a front in the beginning, and maybe he’s actually just lazy or an asshole or somehow really fucked up.

“Or maybe you’re just scared of another false start and you’re just being an asshole to protect yourself, when in fact this guy is knocking your fucking hair back with his creativity and work ethic, and don’t pretend like he isn’t.”

I can hear Cora saying it. She didn’t, obviously, she hasn’t met Ed yet. But she’s always had this way of nailing my innermost thoughts to the wall. It’s so unnerving and also so calming. Fuck. I miss her. I can see it now. The way she looks at me when she’s really listening to my bullshit, those intense eyes burning holes through all the layers of sarcasm and indifference, the way she holds off on saying anything until she’s confident she has all the pieces put together, and then she says something so insightful it’s devastating. I’ve known her for like four months, but I could swear she recognizes me from a past life, or I would if I believed in any of that crap.

“Stone? Earth to Stone…”

Mike’s waving his hand in front of my nose. Eddie and Jeff must have already taken their Exene Cervenka Fanboy Hour inside Jeff’s apartment, and I must have unconsciously stopped dead out here in front of #41. Cora’s door. Alex’s door. It’s closed, there’s no one home, why am I staring at it?

“Yeah, yeah, sorry…”

She’s been gone like four days and I’ve got the fucking DTs. I fake a laugh with Mike before following him into Jeff’s place. She comes home tonight, you idiot.

“You find him, Mike?” Jeff laughs.

“Yeah, just worshiping at the shrine of the red priestess.” Stop fucking smirking, Mike, damn it.

“Who?” Eddie asks.

“Cora,” I roll my eyes at Mike, “our friend Cora. You’ll meet her soon, she’s been out of town but she gets back tonight. She lives on this hall with her boyfriend Cletus.”

“Oh, cool.” Eddie bobs his head like he meets someone named Cletus every other day, and I gape at him, not even caring that I’m being rude as hell.

“Alex, his name is Alex,” Mike shoots me an exasperated look.

“Whatever. Are we almost done here, guys?” I ask, surprising myself a little at how annoyed my voice sounds. I try again, a little more gently, “I just wanna get back to work, okay?”

Jeff shakes his head at me and clicks his tongue. “Yeah, okay, whatever, let me just show Ed around the place really quick.” He goes back to talking Eddie’s ear off as they disappear toward the spare bedroom. With a roll of my eyes, I decide I’m better off loitering in Jeff’s front doorway to try to move these three in the general direction of the studio sooner than later, and Mike grabs a seat on the couch.

Once I’m kind of halfway into the hall, I let out a big, steadying breath. Time to get a grip and stop being such an asshole. It’s not their fault I’m on edge. I didn’t expect to miss her this much. She left on Friday for this wedding in North Carolina, and she’s been so busy with family stuff that we haven’t talked since before she flew out. This is honestly the longest I’ve gone without seeing her or talking to her since we met. Even when she was in Alaska, we talked almost every day, and especially now that Jeff and Lucy are joined at the hip all the time, I just take it for granted that I’ll get to see Cora every couple of days for one reason or another. She’ll drop by to hear us play, or come out to catch a show with us, or we’ll grab a drink during her shift at Cyclops. Sometimes I have to put up with Alex hanging out too, but it’s been worth it to have her become such a consistent part of the landscape.

“I said, RIGHT STONE?”

I shake my head back over my shoulder at Jeff, who’s staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I… what?”

“I was telling Eddie, we ought to go to Cyclops tonight for a quick bite, it’s like right around the corner from the studio,” Jeff repeats, as Mike nods along and Eddie listens intently.

“But… Cora’s not working tonight,” I mumble stupidly.

Mike’s face cracks into a shit-eating grin. “Stone…” he says slowly, like you’d explain to a senile grandparent, “it doesn’t suddenly stop being a restaurant if Cora’s not there…”

“Ha. Like, uhm, Schrodinger’s cafe?” We all blink at Eddie, because it’s one of the longest sentences he’s spoken since getting here, at least, a sentence not having to do with music.

Also. Fuck. She would have laughed at that joke. But I can’t ever tell it to her. It’s a little too true to be funny.

Eddie has already reverted to scratching the nape of his neck and studying the floor, clearly uncomfortable with our attention, so Jeff goes back to giving him the scenic tour, Mike helps himself to some chips on Jeff’s counter, and I go back to my solitary post in the doorframe. Until I hear a voice in the hallway that makes me automatically duck back inside the apartment.

I can’t make out exactly what he’s saying, but that’s definitely Alex’s voice, hushed and mumbling. What is he doing home on a Tuesday? Who’s he talking to? It’s the woman’s flirty giggle that makes me tilt my head slightly out of the door against my better judgment.

I look out just in time to see a grinning Alex follow some girl I’ve never seen before into his apartment, speaking into her ear with his hands resting low on her hips. He shuts the door behind himself, too focused on his friend to notice me, and the sound echoes in my ears and pounds through my veins. The guys join me out in the hallway and ask me if I’m ready to go, and I nod, swallowing hard to lock the rage down in my chest.

***

“Uh, hey, sweetie, it’s me, and now that I think of it, it made absolutely no sense to come inside and call you because you’re probably already in the car on your way, or worse, you’re out circling the airport looking for my dumb ass, but anyway, I was just looking for your car at the terminal. Hope you didn’t get stuck somewhere or something, or… and great, now I’m rambling into the void, so I’m gonna hang up and go back outside to keep an eye out. Disregard! Love you.”

I hang up the grimy payphone and make my way back outside to the curb, with my bag at my feet and the world’s ugliest bridesmaid’s dress in a dry cleaning bag over my shoulder. Orange. As in, day-glo orange. It looked fine on my cousin Annie’s sisters and friends, who are all Southern belles with radiant sun-worshipper tans, so if I squint, I can maybe understand why she picked the color out, but on me? Ghostly pale even before I’d spent the last year in Seattle, with flaming red hair? I looked like a fucking Bic lighter if you’d made it wear a corsage. Vowing to use just such a Bic lighter to burn any wedding photos she sends me, I scan the oncoming cars for Alex’s Jeep, but it’s still nowhere to be seen.

He didn’t forget. It’s rush hour, there was probably traffic.

Half an hour later, with a painful lump of anxiety in my throat, I give up on waiting and try again, but this time I hang up as soon as I get the machine, figuring another pointless message won’t do me any good. Where is he? I gave him the right flight information. Ugh, down girl. Just give him a little more time.

I take my bag and dress back to my lonely spot on the curb, feeling increasingly heartsick as the minutes drag by and approach an hour and a half past the time we’d agreed upon, although I put on what I hope is a believable smile when the security guard asks me if I’m alright after passing me for the fourth time. What if something’s wrong? What if he’s sick, or had an accident? The thought feels like ice water down my spine, and this time I leave all my shit outside as I head back in to the row of phones. I have two quarters left. It doesn’t make any fucking sense to keep ringing my own phone off the hook. Maybe Lucy’s home. I don’t even want a ride anymore, I can get a fucking cab. I want someone to go up to my apartment and make sure Alex is okay.

“You’ve reached Lucy Rosenfelder, I’m not home right now but –” I hang up on my friend’s sunshine voice and swallow hard. Okay. Maybe she’s at Jeff’s. I’ve just resolved to call his number when I remember there’s no way in hell any of the guys are at home with their new singer in town. Stone said the new guy was adamant about working around the clock, and the memory of Stone trying not to appear impressed by the singer’s work ethic is almost enough to make me smile through my disquiet.

I root through my shoulder bag for my copy of A People’s History of the United States, which has as its bookmark a folded piece of notebook paper with the phone number for Potato Head on it in Stone’s handwriting. It’s not far from the building, so maybe if Lucy’s with the guys she wouldn’t mind running home to check on Alex without interrupting their practice. I drop my last quarter in and dial.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings. Of course there’s no answering machine in the basement of the gallery, why would there be? A wave of nausea rises up as the stupidity of my idea dawns on me and I make to hang up the phone. Either they’re not there, or they’re playing and they can’t hear the phone, but anyway, I’m resigning and pulling the receiver away from my ear when I hear a voice. A really deep voice that I don’t recognize.

“Hello?”

I yank the phone back. “Hello? Oh, sorry, uhm, sorry to bother you, I think I have the wrong number –”

I trail off as I make to hang up the phone, but the voice starts shouting.

“No, no, hey, hello? HELLO? Shit”

I put the receiver back to my head again, and I hear a cymbal crash and some low bass notes and guys’ voices tumbling around in the background. It starts to make sense.

“Uh, hello, still here… is this Eddie?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” the low voice continues. “Uhm, who’s this?”

“I’m Cora.”

“Oh, Cora, right, hi, uhm, let me get one of the –”

“CORA?” Stone’s yelp cuts over the noise in the background and there’s a muffled sound that can only be him rudely grabbing the receiver from his poor, bewildered new singer. Soon it’s Stone’s voice coming through the receiver, but it’s strained, tense, not at all the familiar lazy tone I expected.

“Cora? What’s up?” Whoa, he sounds pissed. Is he mad at me for interrupting their practice? That’s probably it, I should have thought of that. I’d kick myself, but I really don’t have time for that right now.

“I’m so sorry to bother you guys, seriously, I –”

“Shut the fuck up, you’re not bothering anyone, what’s up?”

“Uhm, I was actually wondering if Lucy was around.”

“No, she’s gonna meet us later, what’s going on? Where are you?” he asks as the gate agent’s nasal voice broadcasts flight information over the loudspeaker behind me.

“I’m at Sea-Tac. Look, I need someone to check on Alex for me, he was supposed to pick me up like two hours ago –”

“motherf–”

“– and I was just looking for someone who could go back to the building and see if he’s okay, or like, maybe he’s had an accident or he’s sick or something –”

“–ucker. What? No, you need a ride is what you need,” Stone growls over the top of my words.

“No, I can get a cab, I –”

“Like hell, Cora. My car’s back that way anyway, I’ll come get you after I check on Alex.”

“What?? No, I didn’t mean to interrupt, that’s going to take you forever, I just –”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m coming to get you. Stay right there.” He hangs up before I can say anything else. Jesus, he sounds mad at me.

Back on the curb, I sink down onto my bag, worry and regret gnawing my insides, and wait for Stone.

***

I’m going to fucking kill him. That motherfucker, I’m going to fucking kill him.

Violent thoughts blur my entire run back to Cora’s building, but even so, there’s no missing the hideous blue Wagoneer that fucking bastard drives. Alex’s car. The thought of Cora waiting at the airport and worrying about him, when he forgot about her and is off with someone else, makes me want to scream. I glance up at the building and count windows until I’m sure I’ve got #41. The windows are all dark. If he and his friend were still home, at least one light would be on somewhere, right? Anyway, it was hours ago that I saw them. He’s out with the girl now, I’ll bet anything, but I’ve got to go knock because I need to be able to tell Cora… Cora. What the hell am I going to tell Cora? I’m taking steps three at a time. I’m pounding on her door. No answer. Of course. I grit my teeth and head downstairs to my car.

When I pull up to the terminal, she’s sitting on the curb next to her luggage with her knees pulled under her chin, but she stands up as soon as she recognizes my car. I jolt the parking brake into place and jump out. Before I can say anything, she starts rambling with her hands up defensively.

“Stone, I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have come all the way out here, please don’t be mad at me…”

“I’m not… I’m not mad at you, Cora,” I frown at her, pulling up short, “wait, what? Is that what you thought?”

“YES!” She shouts and then chews her bottom lip, like her voice got away from her and she’s trying to rein it back in. “I interrupted your practice, Eddie’s been here like, not even 48 hours and I – and Alex – is Alex okay, did you find him?”

“His car was at the building, but your place was dark and no one answered the door,” I explain as she watches me with worried eyes. “But… I saw him. Earlier today.” With another girl. Say it. With. Another. Girl. Except I can’t make those words come out of my mouth.

“Today?” she repeats quietly, frowning at me.

“Yeah. Yeah. So he’s… he’s fine, he’s safe. I think he just –”

“– forgot. Yeah.” She blinks slowly and nods with a small sniff.

“I’m sorry,” I say lamely, but there’s something else I need to tell her. “You know I’m not mad at you, right? That’s not how this –” I wave my hand between us “– works, okay? You can call me whenever you want.”

I’m trying to keep my voice level, but my insides are churning. I want to tell her everything, I don’t want to tell her a thing because I don’t want to be the one to hurt her, I want to beat that bastard to a pulp, I want to apologize for ever suggesting that he should pick her up from the airport in the first place, I want to wrap her up in my arms, I want…

I stop spinning my wheels when she throws her arms around my waist and buries her head in my chest. All the toxic sludge in my chest evaporates at the feeling of her warm breath through my shirt as she murmurs “thanks, Stone.” I hug her back, but I’m thankful when she lets go first, because I’m not sure I could have.

She picks up her bag and the crumpled up dress, and doesn’t even argue with me or call me a chauvinist asshole when I take them both out of her hands.

It’s a pretty quiet ride back. Cora’s been looking out the window, mostly, although she pipes up occasionally to ask how things have been going with the new singer. I can tell she’s just trying to distract herself, so I fill her in as much as I can, but she doesn’t say much back. The closest we come to actual conversation is when I tell her about Eddie at the Temple rehearsal yesterday, just quietly stepping up to the mic to help Chris out of a tough spot, and intuitively making that song into something entirely different, something better. That gets a smile and a few words out of her, and I know she’s considering teasing me for doubting him, but she holds back. I don’t push any other topics of conversation because I’m afraid of what I’ll say. As we’re getting close to her neighborhood, though, she speaks up sharply.

“Stone? I don’t want to go home yet. Can we go somewhere else?”

I glance away from the road and try to read her face. “Yeah. Uh, I think the guys are at Cyclops by now, you wanna… you wanna go grab a drink?”

She bites her lips in and gives me a small smile and a nod. I hope that was the right answer.

***

“So, Eddie, how are you liking Seattle so far?”

Jeff’s girlfriend Lucy strikes up a conversation with an encouraging smile as she climbs next to Jeff into the opposite side of the booth at this cafe near the gallery. She’s definitely the friendliest person I’ve interacted with since getting here. Not that everyone else has been rude. Jeff and I have probably talked the most because we have so much in common, and the other guys are all cool. Musically, it’s a perfect fit, but they seem okay outside of practice too. Or, at least, I think we’re okay. Dave’s great but I haven’t seen him outside of playing. Mike’s a joker and I’m always worried that somehow I’m the joke. Stone’s been pretty friendly too, as far as I can tell, but it’s all painted over with sarcasm and defensiveness so I’m never really sure what he thinks. But Lucy, she’s clearly the ambassador. She knows when to talk, when not to talk, what to say to make me feel welcome. As welcome as possible, anyway.

“It’s, uh, it’s great. Kinda cold.”

“It’s like 50 degrees, man, this is nothing!” Mike cackles as he sits on her other side, and she glares at him briefly before responding.

“You get used to it, honest. At least it hasn’t been raining much, that’s where you’ll have the most trouble, I think. You’re going to have to get used to rain in the summer!”

A waitress who looks quite a few years younger than us, with a long blonde braid, comes over to greet us and take drink orders. “Just you four this time?”

“Hey Emily. Nah, two more on the way,” Jeff responds, waving to the rest of the empty bench on my side. “Pitcher?” She nods and disappears towards the bar, and Jeff turns his attention back to Lucy, winding an arm around her shoulder and planting a kiss on her cheek. Her cheeks glow and she glances down at her lap self-consciously, but she leans into him with a huge smile. The two of them are soon absorbed in some quiet conversation, lacing fingers and only occasionally looking at anyone else. Happy. I study my hands, trying not to intrude, trying not to think about how it feels. Soon Mike speaks up and gives me a distraction, leaning in with a conspiratory smile.

“So Eddie, when you meet Cora, she actually goes by the nickname Red –”

Whatever he meant by that, it was enough to get the attention of both Lucy and Jeff. He’s scowling at Mike and she’s charitably explaining to me, “no, don’t listen to him, she’ll bite your head off. Stone’s the only one who gets away with calling her that, don’t ask me why.”

“You guys are no fun,” Mike pouts as Emily sets our pitcher and glasses down.

“Honestly, I just made her sound so bitchy, but she’s the sweetest, you’ll love her. Just… don’t ask her about her hair,” Lucy continues.

I just nod, but I’m starting to wonder what the deal is with Stone and this Cora girl. Isn’t she supposed to have a boyfriend?

Why does everything have to make me think about couples? Damn it.

I don’t get much time to sit and feel sorry for myself, though, because Stone has just walked up behind a short, freckled girl, and Mike’s prank makes more sense now that I see her long, flaming red hair, which almost looks unearthly under the orange-shaded halogen light above the booth. It’s a great color and it suits her, but I also understand feeling sensitive about something that makes you different.

Lucy nudges Mike out of his seat and gets up to hug Cora with a worried look on her face, but her friend kind of shrugs her off with a smile and a shake of her head before turning to me.

“Eddie, hi, good to meet you.”

There’s that voice I heard on the phone, although it sounds a little more tired now, a little less keyed up. But it’s still the same tone, warm and a little bit husky. It occurs to me that based on her voice, I thought she’d be taller, before reflecting that’s probably what everyone thinks of me as well.

“Yeah, hey, uhm, nice to meet you,” I mumble, realizing I haven’t responded to her yet, and I lean forward to take the hand she’s offering as she climbs into the seat next to me, followed closely by Stone.

“These assholes been nice to you so far?” She sneers at Mike, who sticks his tongue out at her, and Stone chuckles.

“Yeah, it’s been great,” I say to the table.

“So did you ever figure out what happened to Al –” Lucy’s voice cuts over the growing noise in the cafe, but Stone coughs even louder.

“It’s fine, we got it figured out,” he says casually. I glance over to see him giving Jeff a pointed look while Jeff frowns back and Lucy scrutinizes her friend, who’s now acting as if she hasn’t heard anything because she’s too busy pouring herself what’s left of the beer.

“Shit, that’s not going to work,” Jeff laughs at her pitiful glass that’s more foam than anything else, and flags Emily down for another round and some food.

Over dinner, Jeff and Stone start brainstorming plans for a show as soon as possible. Now here’s somewhere we all agree. I’m mostly just listening and chiming in occasionally to remind them of when I fly back to San Diego and when I can come back up again for a second trip. Other than work, it’s not like I have much to go back for. Stone’s got a good game face, but he’s keeping a close eye on Cora while we talk. She hasn’t said much, also partly because her friend Lucy is holding down a heated argument with Mike about Ayn Rand. She just said something about a misogynistic rape fantasy that made everyone at the table turn their heads and gave Mike a reprieve from obviously having stepped in it.

“Hey, there’s Mark and Matt,” Jeff rasps, waving over toward the door at a tall guy with shaggy blonde hair and and a baby-faced guy with a wild mop of hair who have just walked in. Jeff and Stone excuse themselves to go greet their friends. Lucy and Mike are still deep in their argument about The Fountainhead, and Cora’s nodding along but she doesn’t seem to be paying much attention.

I don’t know this girl and I don’t know her situation, but you’d have to be totally oblivious not to notice that she’s hurting. Obviously this boyfriend of hers stood her up at the airport so Stone had to come bail her out. What kind of person does that to someone they care about? I’m actually kind of intrigued that she wanted to come out with us, rather than going home to find him. That really says it all about this relationship, doesn’t it? Writing’s on the wall.

How come it’s always so much easier to read the writing from the outside?

I wish someone had told me. Beth was gone for months before she really left. That’s how it happens, and you’re lucky if you see it coming. I sure as hell didn’t. Why should I be looking for signs that something I loved was coming to an end? What kind of life is that?

Stop projecting your shit onto this poor girl. I glance down at the bag she still has slung over her shoulder, resting in between us on the bench, and stifle a smile at the collection of buttons and patches covering the messenger flap. She’s still pretending to listen to Lucy and Mike, so she hasn’t noticed me reading them all. It’s like a map of her brain: in the center of it all is a tattered ecology flag patch, neatly stitched on. There are band buttons (I notice the Dark Side of the Moon prism and the Who’s mod sign right away) and political slogans (“homophobia can be cured with education”; “no nukes”; although, weirdly, another one with an atom symbol right next to it; “up yours”; “pro choice”; Rosie the Riveter; a handful of psychedelic classics, the peace sign in the American flag, and more environmental ones than I can count without being creepy). But there’s one button out of all of them that doesn’t seem to make sense with the rest of the group. It confuses me enough that I read it out loud.

“If…if I followed you home, would you keep me?”

She shoots me a sideways glance with sharp brown eyes. Weary. Wary. Wry.

“if you what now?” she asks with a hint of acid in her voice.

I poke in the general direction of her bag, not daring to actually touch anything, and drop my hands in my lap like I’ve been static shocked as we speak at the same time.

“Uhm, your button –”

“– oh, yeah,” her face relaxes into a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. What’s the deal with that one, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Kind of an outlier.” I jab at the one about the woman needing a man like a fish needs a bicycle, and its neighbor, the coat hanger. “A pick up line?”

She gives me a puzzled look. “See, I never thought of it that way.”

“You know very many guys?” I laugh.

She glances around conspicuously at our gathering and chuckles. “These guys? Bunch of Casanovas, obviously. Whatever Stone would have you believe, it’s charitable to call it an exaggeration.”

“Fair,” I laugh back as Mike looks increasingly cowed by Lucy’s counter-arguments and Jeff and Stone are surrounded by a bunch of mangy guys over by the bar.

“So then, what does it mean?”

“Hmm?” she squints at me and scrunches her mouth to one side for just a second.

“Your button. What does it mean to you? If not the laziest way ever to try to get invited upstairs.”

She toys with the flap of her bag and prods the button in question. “I picked that up at a thrift store when I was 16, back home.”

“Home’s not here?”

She shakes her head down at her bag. “North Carolina. Mountain Girl, just… wrong mountains.”

“You’re far from home.”

“Not really.”

Two words can carry an avalanche of meaning, and I feel the weight of it looming, so I go back to pointing at the button.

“Anyway, yeah, I’ve had it longer than any of the others, well, except this.” She drags a fingertip across the ecology flag. I make a mental note to ask about that one later. “I don’t know. Back then, it just seemed so… sweet. It’s probably going to sound idiotic or naive now…”

“I doubt it.”

She glances back up. “I don’t know, it’s kind of romantic, isn’t it? That kind of vulnerability? Asking someone to keep you. The whole biblical ‘whither thou goest’ thing, if I still gave a fuck about anything in that book,” she laughs. “Or, like, Perry Como, I guess.”

“Leonard Cohen?” I offer.

“Hey! Much better,” she grins, and it’s the first time I’ve really seen her relax, so I can’t help smiling back. “Anyway, yeah, I was a silly teenage girl when I picked it up, and it fit with my notions at the time. I didn’t know then that’s… that’s not really how any of this works, is it?” The smile is gone and doubt has clouded her face. “Too fucking trusting.”

She picks at the button like it’s a scab now, rather than a decoration. I’m sure as hell not going to say anything out loud, but I feel a certain kinship with her all of a sudden. This near-stranger in a bar, further from home than I am, figuring out the limits of reciprocity the hard way. I know exactly what she means.

“Alright, New Guy,” Stone materializes at the booth with Jeff right behind him. He glances quickly at Cora before continuing, “Mark heard that the Off Ramp needs a band for the 22nd. We doing this or what?”