Fear and Laundry (5 page)

I frowned. Her offer was far less than ideal. But she must’ve known I’d take whatever I could get. “Okay,” I muttered.

With that settled, she changed the subject, talking about the night classes she’d be taking at Carreen College this coming semester. After getting pregnant with me, she’d never finished her Art History degree and was finally making time to go back and try for it again. I was happy for her, but only half listened while she talked, pushing food around my plate and trying not to get too depressed at the thought of spending the last full week of my summer vacation sorting dirty linen in the creepy Crawford basement.

***

W
hen Lia met me in her driveway the next day, she seemed amazed to see me awake, much less dressed and ready, before noon.

“I was about to call and wake you,” she said.

I lowered my bike to the driveway. “For your information, I’ve been awake for hours,” I said crossly. “Where’s your brother?”

She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “In the house; he’ll be out in a sec.”

“And Paige?”

“Nope. No
Paige
,” she said the name as though it were a curse. Our bassist was working, apparently, and couldn’t make it to the audition/practice. 

Lia led me into the open garage, where she’d set up two folding metal chairs. “I should warn you. Jake’s in a mood. I mean worse than usual. Mom and Dad really laid into him at breakfast this morning, wanting to know when he’s going back to school, if he’s going to look for a job, blah, blah, blah...” She waved her hands. “They were giving him so much grief I actually started to feel a little sorry for him...”

She didn’t finish because just then Jake emerged from the house, wearing the same disheveled clothing and sullen look as the day before. He did, however, seem to have showered and shaved since then, and he managed one of his tight, lopsided smiles as he greeted me on his way to where his electric guitar leaned against the wall.

Lia picked a composition book and pen off a chair, sat down, flipped the notebook open and scribbled.

“What are you doing? Taking notes?” I leaned over her shoulder, trying to glimpse what she’d written, but she hugged the notebook to her chest.

“There are certain criteria I think need to be met,” she told me, tapping her chin with the pen.

I glanced at Jake, who was strapping the guitar over his shoulder. “Like what?” I asked.

“Well, there’s skill, of course. But stage presence is also important.”

“Don’t I start out with some points for good looks?” Jake asked. When I looked at him, he winked at me but didn’t smile.

Lia answered him with a sour face.

“Why don’t we just play?” I laughed, only mildly surprised she was going through with her fake audition ruse. “You know –
all
of us? It’ll give us an idea how we sound together.”

Under her breath, Lia declared me “no fun.” But she got up, dropped the notebook and pen and approached her microphone stand. “We’ll see how this goes,” she said to Jake, taking a rubber band from her pocket and raking her hair into a ponytail, “and then we’ll move on to the interview.”

Jake coughed and asked how many songs we’d written.

“A few,” Lia said as I sat down behind the drums.

***

W
atching Lia and Jake work fascinated me.

Lia sang parts of a song she’d written and Jake waited, listening, before trying to join in. It was iffy at first, but after directions from Lia, some relatively minimal arguing between the two of them, and a few adjustments, Jake came up with something that clearly fit the song. It took him maybe fifteen minutes. Whatever personal crisis he’d been going through hadn’t affected his talent for composition any. He sounded better than ever, too, playing with confidence and ease.

I was nervous and intimidated when Lia turned to me and explained what she needed me to do on the drums, thinking she and Jake were both going to be let down. But I did my best to oblige. After a stop-and-start attempt, Lia instructed me to try something else. When I couldn’t seem to get it right, she came over and helped me. Eventually I got going to her satisfaction, and Jake once again plunged in with the right chords. Lia ripped the mic from the stand, her voice cresting and falling in all the right places. I watched her from behind the drum kit, mesmerized as she swaggered around, alternately growling and purring her way through the song. Even if she hadn’t been my best friend, I was sure I still would’ve thought she was the best rock singer to come out of Carreen since Clyde Kameron.

We ran through various parts of the song a few more times until, just over an hour later, Lia put her microphone down and paced around in slow circles, trying to catch her breath.  My t-shirt was plastered to my back and sweat ran into my eyes. My arm and back muscles screamed. But Jake didn’t even seem winded. “We done?” he wanted to know. Lia told him it was time for a break.

“Your lyrics are pretty good,” he told her, sounding sincere.

“’Course they are,” said Lia, dropping into one of the folding chairs.

He asked if we should run through the song again after the break, but Lia shook her head. “Let’s just skip to the interview.” She took the rubber band out of her hair, cocked it back around her fingertip and flicked it at him. He caught it easily. “There’s only one question, but if you answer it correctly you may soon be able to count yourself as one of our illustrious band members.”

“Shoot,” he said, toying with the rubber band.

“Will you buy us lunch?” she asked.

***

M
r. Lee’s Pizza stood just across the street and down the block from Lynch’s. You could get two slices of pretty delicious pizza and unlimited soft drink refills there for a dollar cheaper than anything on Roy’s menu — a fact that probably wasn’t doing much to help Lynch’s pull in much-needed revenue. Even Lia and I couldn’t resist stopping in at Lee’s a couple of times a week.

The guy behind Mr. Lee’s counter, Trent, had graduated from CHS the same year as Jake. As we approached, he greeted each of us by name, dusted his hands against his flour-smeared apron and asked Jake what he’d been up to. Jake’s height allowed him to reach easily across the counter and clasp Trent’s extended hand, bumping fists with him as he explained he’d been away at college.

Trent seemed impressed by the prospect of medical school, his eyebrow ring rising. He asked Jake what he was doing back in town if the new semester was about to start and I waited, curious to hear his answer. But Jake just rubbed uneasily at the back of his neck and changed the subject, asking after mutual friends, other employees at Mr. Lee’s. He and Trent chatted and reminisced for a few minutes, and then Lia ordered a large mushroom and olive pizza for the three of us to share. When Jake tried to pay, Trent refused to charge him, waving away his proffered cash. We collected our Styrofoam drink cups and moved to a booth by the wall, Lia narrowing her eyes at Jake as we sat.

“What’d I do now?” he asked her, tucking his wallet back into his pocket.

“You see what I mean?” she huffed, ignoring his question and addressing me. “You and I come in here, what, once or twice a week? And have we ever gotten a free pizza? No, we have not.”

“It’s just a pizza,” I said, hoping she’d drop it but knowing she wouldn’t. “I don’t mind paying.”

“No it isn’t just a pizza.” Her face was starting to change colors, the freckles across her nose and cheeks darkening. “This is what I’ve been trying to explain to you, Vee. My whole life, Jake’s gotten special treatment. And for no reason, other than that he’s...
Jake
.” She gestured at him, looking truly mystified by her brother’s appeal.  

Jake looked at the table. I opened my mouth, wanting to say something in his defense, but I couldn’t think of anything that probably wouldn’t just anger Lia further.

“I mean, what’s so special about him?” she barreled ahead, holding up a finger. “So he’s a decent musician. So are a lot of people around here.”

Jake pressed his straw wrapper out flat on the table and gestured for mine. I flicked the balled up strip of paper across the table at him and he got to work straightening it, too.

Lia held up another finger.  “So he’s
supposedly
intelligent. I get straight A’s too, you know. And what difference does graduating early and getting a full ride make if you can’t even hack it once you get to college? What difference does it make,” she asked, “if you just have to run back to mommy and daddy? Huh?”

“Okay,” I said. “Think we get your point.” Surprisingly, Lia backed off, sinking back against the booth’s padded seat. 

From past experience, I expected Jake to argue against Lia’s tirade, but instead he surprised us both by agreeing with her. “You’re right,” he said, and it may have been the first time he’d ever uttered that particular pair of words to his sister before.

Lia snorted, suspicious. “About?” she prompted.

“All of it,” he said tiredly. “Everything you just said is true. And I’m sorry,” he added, “For...Well, for existing, I guess.”  I searched his face for signs he was being sarcastic and found none. In fact, he looked more serious than I remembered ever seeing him before.

I could see even Jake’s accord got on Lia’s nerves. She looked more irritated than ever, and didn’t seem to know how to respond. I cleared my throat and smiled sympathetically at Jake.

“Well,” I said, “It’s lucky for us you do. We really need a guitarist.”

“So I’m in?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Lia said at the same time I said “Yes.”

“I thought we sounded alright.” Jake tied the two flattened straw wrappers together in a knot.

“We sounded fine,” said Lia.

“Fine?” I looked at her, thinking this was too much. “Compared to what we’re used to, we sounded freaking amazing.”

She frowned at me.

“Having Jake in the band can only help us,” I persisted. Not only did we sound better with him, Burro Bruto had always been popular. An ex-member on the bill would draw in more people. And significantly increase our chances of
not
getting booed off the stage at the benefit.

“Will you please stop stroking his ego?” Lia asked me, ignoring Jake’s recent show of humility. “He’s hard enough to live with as it is.”

Trent appeared with our pizza and a stack of paper plates. The strong, slightly sweet, smell of oregano coaxed a grumble from my stomach as Lia distributed the plates and handed us each a napkin. I grabbed and dropped a pizza slice onto my plate, burning my fingers in the process.

“Jake’s got the van,” I reminded Lia, kissing the tip of my scalded thumb. I knew she’d see what I was getting at. Sierra had been the band member with access to the biggest vehicle. We’d counted on hauling our equipment in her mother’s pickup, but with her gone, we needed a new transportation plan.

She picked a stray olive from the edge of the pizza pan and chewed it thoughtfully, watching her brother spin the knotted straw wrappers around in a circle, catching them just before they flew off the edge of the table. “Okay,” she yielded. “But you have to promise to show up to all the practices. And,” she jabbed a finger at him, “you have to load all the equipment.”

He looked at me as if to ask if she was serious. I gave him an apologetic shrug. “Fine,” he murmured, and turned his attention to his food.

The three of us ate in tense silence. Until I couldn’t take it anymore. “You really think we’ll be in shape to play by the twenty-seventh?” I asked Lia.

We should get some more songs together, she said. And practice some more, obviously. “But then I don’t think it should be a problem.”

I explained Lia’s plan for the “practice gig” to Jake, halfway hoping he’d laugh and tell her we’d never be ready in time, that she was insane to even think so. But he just crumpled a greasy napkin in his fist, dropped it on his empty plate and said that was “cool.”

***

A
fter lunch, Trent’s shift was over and he wanted Jake to come with him to University Comics and “say hello to some people.” Lia wanted to see if we’d moved any copies of the zine, and to talk to Roy about letting us play the week before the benefit. So we agreed to meet up back at the house and split up, Jake riding off with Trent while Lia and I headed to Lynch’s.

“Hi, girls.” Roy stood behind the counter, polishing a coffee cup with a dishcloth. When we were seated on the bar stools, he asked Lia if the rumor he’d heard was true, that Jake was back in town. Someone he’d talked to swore they’d seen her brother at a convenience store in the wee hours of Friday morning, “looking like hell” and buying peanut M & M’s and a bottle of Mountain Dew.

Lia’s face tightened with annoyance, but she confirmed her brother had indeed driven back into town late Thursday night.

“He okay?” asked Roy.

“Aside from his undiagnosed mood disorder?” asked Lia. “He’s fine.”

“You think he’ll stop by here sometime? Say hi?” Roy’s eyes sparkled.

“Probably.” As Roy tried to question her about the reasons for Jake’s return, Lia fingered the stack of zines on the counter, counting to see how many we’d sold. “Looks like you’ve moved a few of these,” she told him impatiently.

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” He reached to the end of the counter and brought over a large, clear glass jar labeled with masking tape and black Sharpie: “Save Lynch’s.” A few dollar bills and some change rested at the bottom, reflecting donations
The Blank Slate
had pulled in so far.

“That’s terrific. Don’t you think?” Lia looked at Roy expectantly.

“Well sure,” he began, looking uncomfortable. He pushed the jar aside. “You know, Lia, I appreciate what you’re trying to do with your little magazine here and the benefit concert and everything, but...I hope you know it’s still a long shot. We’d have to raise a hell of a lot of money to keep Lynch’s open.”

“We’ve been through this, Roy. You’ve gotta think positive.”

Roy shook his head but smiled. “You’re a good kid, you know that? Whatever happens, I won’t forget it. If there’s ever anything I can do for you...”

Lia pounced. “Well, actually, Vee and I...and Paige,” she added reluctantly, “are looking to play a show pretty soon.” She reached into the pocket of her jeans, unfolded the flier she’d shown me the previous day. Flattening the paper out on the counter, she tapped at the date scrawled near the bottom. “I was thinking of the weekend before the benefit, on the twenty-seventh. What do you say?”