Zenith Falling (4 page)

He shrugged
, glancing, predictably to her face. His gaze ran over the length of her. “The way you walked, and the way you moved, seemed familiar to me. That’s probably why I came over; I was trying to place you. Besides, there aren’t too many grown women who barely reach five feet tall, with a head of hair that’s at least two feet long.”

“Don’t you want to ask?”

“Ask what?”

“Why I’m so different?”

His lips twitched. “I guess I figured you were pretty aware of what you looked like. None of my business.”

“Oh,” she said. Something about him gave her the urge to explain herself. That wasn’t her personality anymore
, so why did she feel compelled to explain it to him?

He glanced at his gold and platinum watch, the epitome of casual, nonchalant, and composed. The opposite of everything she was. She was wired, messy, and suffered from anxiety that burned like acid through her stomach at all times.

“So, are you calling a cab, or your husband, or shall I drop you at home?”

“I drive miles out of my way to come here.
I live close to Seattle.”

“I predicted as much. I live downtown, so I’m headed that way anyway. Do you want a ride?”

There again, problem solved, stress averted. God it was… nice. Really nice to have someone fix her life for her. She gulped down the rest of her coffee as she nodded. “Yes.”

He got up and she followed him out to his car before sliding onto the seat again. She still marveled at how easily his car started up every single time he turned the key. It responded as it was designed to, and she sighed, longing for such a simple luxury.

Nick turned his car onto the southbound on ramp of I-5, heading to Seattle. The Al-Anon meetings she went to were in Lynnwood. Rain pelted down in long sheets on the windshield. The wipers slapped repeatedly to clear it, never once stopping or sticking like hers always did. Silence again settled between them as Nick easily glided onto the wet freeway. His taillights flashed through the dreary rain of night.

Nick’s profile was illuminated by the peek-a-boo affect of passing headlights.
“My name is Joelle Williams now. Not O’Niel.”

“Trina’s is Trina Corothers now, in case you’re interested.”

“Maybe. She…do you think she wants to get in touch?”

“I’d assume so. You two were friends for years
, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. Eight. We met in sixth grade.”

“Where did you disappear to? She lost touch and never knew what happened to you.”

A pang of regret slammed Joelle’s psyche. She left everything unexpectedly for Rob when she
was eighteen years old. She never contacted her old friends, or her newer college acquaintances. She wanted nothing to do with any of them, and only could envision her future with Rob and the band. Now it seemed such a trite and petty thing to do.

“I left to travel with a band.”

“You became a groupie?” He asked, glancing momentarily from the road to her.

“No. I married the lead singer, Rob. That’s my husband. He’s the singer for the band. We used to travel a lot, but things kind of stalled there. So we moved back here, trying to make a go of it.”

“I didn’t guess that.”

“What did you guess?” she asked, intrigued at what someone like Nick Lassiter would assume about her. She wondered what he thought of when he saw her.

“I don’t know. Not really my scene, so I obviously wouldn’t guess it. He, Rob, you said, he has the drinking problem?”

Joelle didn’t want to talk about that
now. For the first time, in a long while, her body wasn’t cramped by nerves. She was almost enjoying her conversation with Nick, considering it a cross section of a life she didn’t choose to live. Perhaps it was like how he felt looking at her life.

“Sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Kind of. I mean it just all goes together. Lots of parties, lots of groupies and hangers-on. The band members, there are four of them, are pretty good looking, and have lots of fans. Fans who hang out with us, and bring lots of drugs, alcohol, you name it. And then it gradually became more than a lifestyle. Look
, no one knows where I go on Wednesdays. Only you. Please keep it to yourself.”

“I already intended to.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“So
, are they any good?” Nick cleared his throat, trying to break through her suddenly serious mood.

“Who?”

“Your band. Are they any good?”

“Yes. It’s a matter of time, I’m sure of it, before everyone’s heard of them.”

“And that’s something you want?”

“Of course I want that. I’ve wante
d nothing more for the last four years. He’s my husband, I love him, and this is his dream. He’s as good as any musician ever recorded, so why not him?” she snapped unreasonably.

Nick shifted his ass in the driver’s seat. He nodded.
“Right… but it would also mean more groupies, more drugs, more alcohol, and bigger parties for you. And might compound his problem. That’s all I meant; it could make your problems worse.”

Didn’t she already know that? And dread it? Didn’t her stomach invariably churn at the thought? Didn’t she already feel guilty enough and
scared for their future if and when the band made it?

Nick glanced at her after her long silence. “Hey
, forget it. It’s not my business.”

They arrived at her street, and she pointed to the third house down. She saw it with fresh eyes, like what Nick Lassiter would see. The yard was as small as a sedan, the grass chunky with weeds and dirt. Garbage cans over
flowed onto the sidewalk. Paint, once blue, but now very faded, was peeling and uneven. The windows were covered with blankets to keep out wandering eyes. The storm door hung from a loose hinge and was bent where someone rammed through it during a fight. God, it looked so ugly, dumpy… and speaking of low class, trashy slobs…

But they weren’t
. At least, she wasn’t. They were just stuck here while trying to make a dream come true.

Nick pulled his car along the sidewalk a few houses down from her house.

“What’s your cell number? I’ll pass it along to the mechanic who has your car.”

She sighed; of course, everyone had a cell phone, except broke people like her. “I don’t
have a cell number. Can I just… can I call you?” She didn’t want any messages being left at the house.

“Sure
.” Nick fidgeted around, withdrawing his wallet from his back pocket. He flipped it open, and brought out a business card. He took out a pen from the console and wrote something down before handing it to her. It read,
Next Generation Consulting,
and had his name and four different phone numbers next to it.

“One phone
number not enough?” she asked.

“Main office number, my private office phone, my cell phone and the last is my home.”

“Who needs four numbers?”

He flipped his wallet onto the dash between them.
“Someone who gets a lot of phone calls. You find that amusing?”

“I find it very corporate.”

He grinned. She blinked again in response to his half smile. She didn’t go for guys with charming, lopsided grins who needed four phone numbers… So why did her stomach flip in response to Nick’s mild, almost non-existent flirting?

“And that’s me? Very corporate?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Must be. And you, Joelle? What are you?”

She flashed him back a grin.
When was the last time she grinned for no real reason? For fun? For flirting?
“Me? I’m just a broke groupie.”

He rolled his eyes.

She laughed out loud, but it sounded rusty. When did she last laugh at something stupid? Or joke around? Or relax? It felt… nice. Really, really nice. “I guess you’re asking if I work or not. Don’t worry, I work.”

“What do you do?”

“Hairdressing. Sometimes waitressing. Sometimes motel housekeeping. Depends on our financial situation.”

“Three jobs?” he asked in disbelief. But his eyes were fastened
on her hair. His puzzled look made a bubble of laughter rise in her throat. She could almost read his thoughts, how could someone wearing her hairstyle be a hairstylist? Okay, maybe to him, she wasn’t a good advertisement of her skills with hair, but to her clients? The wackier, the better, in most cases.

“Yes. And yes
, I can color hair normal colors, and cut it as inconspicuously as the fifty dollar cut you get downtown.”

His lips twitched at her tone. “Are you insulting me
or soliciting my business?”

She smiled broadly. “
I saw you eyeing my hair.”

He turned towards her, and her stomach tightened. She jerked back from him into the car door. Ho
w could his smile cause such a physical reaction inside her gut? “Your hair is
blue
.”

“It used to be pink.” She started to open the car door and step out, but paused
and peeked up at him through her lashes. Why did she have such a hard time holding his gaze? She spoke, but directed her voice to his gearshift, “Thank you for helping me. I mean it. You didn’t have to help me out like you’ve done.”

He shrugged. She
got out and slammed the door shut.

“Hey
, Joelle?”

“What?” she asked, leaning back through the open window.

“Call me if you ever need anything. Anything at all.”

She jerked back. Call him? Never. No. No way. Not with that smile, those eyes, and the ability to say things like, “let me help you” and “call me if you need anything.”
So… no, she would never call him.

She watched him pull away. He knew
, of course, that she had no family left. Her father skipped town when she was only a kid, and her mother was in prison for embezzling money from the city expenditures, where she once worked as a low-level assistant. Joelle was a junior in high school when her mother was arrested. After her mom’s conviction, she went to live with a foster family until she graduated high school. The following fall, she went away to college, living on campus, and trying to forget her mother, her shame, and her overall sordid past.

She never really intended to get married
before she was even nineteen, just like her mother; or live in a cramped, dumpy house, always broke and borrowing money from any passing stranger, a lot like her mother. Nick assumed Joelle had very few people to turn to, and sadly, his assumptions were right. The few friends she made, she later totally turned her back on, and now all she had were Rob, Spike, and their friends.

Maybe… She now had a friend? Was Nick Lassiter now her friend? No. That wasn’t right. She had an acquaintance to whom she owed way too much, and who knew way t
oo much about her.

After Nick left, Joelle faced Rob who was drunk and watching a movie with Mitch. She bypassed them all, heading to her room where she dug around in her closet until she found her old yearbook. She hadn’t looked at it in years. Now she felt like it. She opened the book and found her picture and nearly laughed at how foreign the girl looking back at her was. The seventeen-year-old in the photograph was a stranger, and held no resemblance to the woman holding the book.

Joelle of seventeen smiled brightly at the camera. Her teeth were white and shiny, despite the slightly crooked smile she couldn’t help. Her hair fanned off her forehead, smooth and silky in the picture, and far beyond.
She nearly laughed at the stupid, naive, almost childishly vain girl, in the photo. She was young and popular, a firm believer that fitting in and being pretty were the only things that mattered. It all happened at that small theater of high school.

All was well until her mother betrayed her and everything she believed to be true was not. Jeannette O’Niel, her mother, had quietly been living her life, until suddenly, the police arrested her. Joelle was sure the long, surreal, nightmare was a mistake. No way. Her mother? It had to be a mistake.

But it wasn’t. Her mother had absconded with almost a hundred thousand dollars from the city funds. For two years, the small amounts she was supposed to deposit in the city funds were only slightly off, and fell slightly into Jeannette’s pocket. And as a result, Joelle went from a fairly normal high school girl with decent grades and good attendance, to a life in foster care, where she always felt alone and lost. Her grades plummeted, she skipped more classes than she attended, and suddenly, every illusion she held of herself, her mother, and the small, stifling world of high school as well as her popularity were shattered. Exposed. Ridiculed.

It soon all turned to shit.

Once she got her bearings, and escaped by going to college, she slowly started to shed the high school Joelle. First her hair, then her clothes, and then Rob. She thought she found herself, and her own style. Joelle Williams had been officially born.

High school was the world where she knew Trina Lassiter. She often spent entire weekends at the Lassiter’s large, six-bedroom house. It was always bustling, and very comfortable, despite Trina’s sisters and their explosion of hair, makeup, clothes and shoes that seemed to constantly trail all over the house. Their mother doted over each one. And Nick? Nick was there more often th
an not. Though he had his own place, she couldn’t recall where, he seemed to be there as often as Joelle. Nick was quiet then too, and rarely said anything to her specifically. But still, she remembered him.

Then, after
being relegated to foster care, she could hardly bear to be around Trina and her perfect family, with too many sisters and and an all-caring brother. Trina’s biggest concern was trying to get her own phone line, while Joelle withered inside, living in a home where she felt she wasn’t welcome. She soon stopped calling or going over to the Lassiters. Her friendship with Trina had dwindled to nothing by graduation, and they said no more to each other than a passing hello.

Looking at Trina’s picture, she felt a stab of longing for her former friend.
She needed a friend right now, more than she ever had before. She needed someone, anyone to talk to. As it was, she had no one beyond Rob, Rob’s friends, Rob’s band, or Rob’s groupies.

Suddenly, she wanted someone to trust. And why not Trina? Why not contact her old friend? It would be a natural thing to do after running into Nick.

The door burst open, and Joelle dropped the old notes from Trina that she’d been reading back into the box. Rob came in.

“What are you doing?” he asked, glancing at her things. She wasn’t one to reminisce, and didn’t like greeting cards or sentimental notes. He’d never caught her mooning over her past before.

“Do you remember that friend I told you about from high school, Trina Lassiter?”

Rob shrugged, and lit a cigarette as he walked over to her. As she spoke, he blew smoke into her face and glanced at the yearbook.

“Yeah. So?”

“I ran into her older brother the other day. It made me start thinking of her. Maybe I should contact her. You know, see how she’s doing.”

“Why?”

Joelle shrugged listlessly, suddenly wondering why too. “I don’t know, having a girlfriend who’s not looking to use me,
to get to you, or someone else in the band, might be a nice change of pace for me.”

He grinned, flashing his smile, and smoke sailed out of his nose. How Rob could manage to do that and still look cool in this day in age of anti-smoking she didn’t know.

“Yeah, whatever. But you know, those girls don’t mean crap to me.”

“I know.”

She did know that. Rob wasn’t looking for cheap, meaningless sex. He would never sleep with any of the girls who tried to hit on him. A strange quirk for a rock star, he detested cheap or easy women. And he would never cheat on her. It was one of the only things Joelle was sure of in her life. He did, however, often get the opportunity to do so, several times a night, on an almost nightly basis.

Rob was looking at her, with
that look
in his eyes. She knew he desired her, almost anytime he looked at her. It used to flatter her silly. Little Joelle O’Niel managed to make this intense, sexual, very popular, and sought-after rocker, want
her
. Only her. What was it about her that so did it for Rob? She couldn’t say. She was cute, kind of pretty, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nonetheless, Rob always wanted her, as she was then, and as she was now.

He reached over and casually put his cigarette butt in the ashtray on the night table. He started kissing her. Deep and hot, his mouth moved over hers, as his hands slid on her back, along her body. She sighed at his touch.

“You seem better today,” he said, as his hand went into her, stroking her, and stoking her fire. “That’s good. I need you better. I need you, baby.”

He was instantly inside her, hot, hurried and intense. She wrapped her legs around his middle, and let herself get carried away by his voice, so soft an
d soothing as he spoke to her. His voice always seemed to lift her, her life, her love for him, to another plane of being.

Afterwards, as Rob was dressing to leave, and Joelle lay curled in their bed, it occurred to her they just had sex without protection. Her good mood, her relaxed desire for him that previously felt so good after so long a delay, withered. She’d been swept away, and became forgetful, no, stupid. She nearly groaned out loud in dismay, at her disappointment with herself. With Rob. He was already gone, joining the band downstairs. She nearly cried. Her good mood was long gone. Vanquished. Damn him. Damn her. Damn their life.