Lick (Stage Dive 1)

Martha headed back outside with her nose in the air and I followed. The usual flow of city traffic cruised by. Overhead, the sky was clear blue, a perfect summer’s day. I’d have felt more comfortable if nature had been about to dump a bucketload of rain on top of her perfect head, but it was not to be.

After a brief inspection of the surface, Martha perched on the edge of a bench. “Jimmy called me.”

I sat down a little way away from her.

“Apparently he has to apologize to people as part of his rehab process.” Perfectly manicured nails tapped at the wooden seat. “It wasn’t much of an apology, actually. He told me I needed to come to Portland and clean up the shit I’d caused between you and David.”

She stared determinedly ahead. “Things aren’t great between Ben and him. I love my brother. I don’t want him on the outs with Dave because of me.”

“What do you expect me to do here, Martha?”

“I don’t expect you to do anything for me. I just want you to listen.” She ducked her chin, shut her eyes for a second. “I always figured I could get him back whenever I wanted. After he’d had a few years to calm down, of course. He never got to screw around, we were each other’s first. So I just bided my time, let him sow all the wild oats. I was his one true love, right, no matter what I’d done? He was still out there playing those songs about me night after night, wearing our earring even after all those years …”

Traffic roared past, people chatted, but Martha and I were apart from it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this, but I soaked up every word anyway, desperate to understand.

“Turns out artists can be very sentimental.” Her laughter sounded self-mocking. “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.” She turned to me, eyes hard, hateful. “I think I was just a habit for him back then. He never gave up a damn thing for me. He sure as hell never moved cities to fit in with what I wanted.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s got the album written, Ev. Apparently the new songs are brilliant. The best he’s ever done. There’s no reason he couldn’t be in whatever studio he wanted putting it together, doing what he loves. Instead he’s here, recording in some setup a few streets over. Because being close to you means more to him.” She rocked forward, her smile harsh. “He’s sold the Monterey house, bought a place here. I waited years for him to come back, to have time for me. For you he re-organizes everything in the blink of a f**king eye.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, stunned.

“The band are all here. They’re recording at a place called the Bent Basement.”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“If you’re stupid enough to let him go then you deserve to be miserable for a very long time.” The woman looked at me like she had firsthand experience with that situation. She stood, brushed off her hands. “That’s me done.”

Martha walked away. She disappeared among the crowds of mid-afternoon shoppers like she’d never been.

David was recording in Portland. He’d said he was working on the new album. I hadn’t imagined that meant actually recording here. Let alone buying a place.

Holy shit.

I stood and moved in the opposite direction to the one Martha had taken. First I walked, trying to figure out what I was doing, giving my brain a chance to catch up with me. Then I gave it up as a lost cause and ran, dodging pedestrians and café tables, parked cars and whatever. Faster and faster my Doc Martens books carried me. I found the Bent Basement two blocks over, situated down a flight of stairs, between a micro-brewery and an upmarket dress shop. I slapped my hands against the wood, pushed it open. The unassuming green door was unlocked. Speakers carried the strains of an almighty electric guitar solo through the dark painted rooms. Sam sat on a sofa, reading a magazine. For once his standard black suit was missing, and he wore slacks and a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt.

“Mrs Ferris.” He smiled.

“Hi, Sam,” I panted, trying to catch my breath. “You look very cool.”

He winked at me. “Mr Ferris is in one of the sound booths at the moment, but if you go through that door there you’ll be able to observe.”

“Thanks, Sam. Good to see you again.”

The thick door led to the soundboard setup. A man I didn’t know sat behind it with headphones on. This setup left the small studio at Monterey in the dust. Through the window I could see David playing, his eyes closed, enmeshed with the music. He too wore headphones.

“Hey,” Jimmy said quietly. I hadn’t realized the rest of them were behind me, lounging, waiting to take their turn.

“Hi, Jimmy.”

He gave me a strained smile. His suit was gone. So were the pin-prick eyes. “It’s good to see you here.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t know what the etiquette was regarding rehab. Should I ask after his health or sweep the situation under the rug? “And thank you for calling Martha.”

“She came to talk to you, huh? Good. I’m glad.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. “Least I could do. I’m sorry about our previous meetings, Ev. I was … not where I should have been. I hope we can move on from that.”

Off the drugs, the similarities between him and David were more pronounced. But his blue eyes and his smile didn’t do to me the things David’s did. No one else’s ever could. Not in five years, not in fifty. For the first time in a long time, I could accept that. I was good with it, even. The epiphanies seemed to be coming thick and fast today.

Jimmy waited patiently for me to come back from wherever I was and say something. When I didn’t, he continued on. “I’ve never had a sister-in-law before.”

“I’ve never had a brother-in-law.”

“No? We’re useful for all sorts of shit. Just you wait and see.”

I smiled and he smiled back at me, far more relaxed this time.

Ben sat on the corner of a black leather lounge, talking with Mal. Mal tipped his chin at me and I did the same back. All Ben gave me was a worried look. He was still every bit as big and imposing, but he seemed more afraid of me than I was of him today. I nodded hello to him and he returned it, with a tight smile. After talking to Martha, I could understand a little better where he’d been coming from that night. We’d never be besties, but there would be peace for David’s sake.

The guitar solo cut off. I turned back to see David watching me, pulling off his headphones. Then he lifted his guitar strap off over his head and headed for the connecting door.