Chapter Eighteen
“I SWEAR,” TIERNAN SAID. “WE JUST TALKED ABOUT STUFF, THEN SHE gave me a choice of whether I wanted to stay or go.”
It was too bad Judy was already on a plane back to Boston. As a lawyer, her mother would have been proud of the cross-examination Alice and Summer had been giving her for the past hour and a half.
“But you didn’t tell her everything, did you?” Alice was an eyes-on-the-road kind of driver, but her curiosity about Tiernan and Judy’s tête-à-tête had sent them swerving into the breakdown lane more than once.
“I told her I tried E.”
Summer gasped from the backseat. “You did not!”
Tiernan nodded. So, she hadn’t told Judy exactly how many times she’d tried it, but it was the PG version.
“I’m serious. It was like she liked hearing about all the bad stuff I did.”
“You should have made things up,” Alice joked.
“Trust me, I didn’t have to.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Judy I remember,” Summer chimed in from the back.
“I know,” Tiernan said. “But if you’re thinking she’s gone soft ’cause she’s dying of a terminal illness, she’s not. I asked.”
On a normal day with less than six hours’ sleep, Tiernan would be crashing hard right about now. But this morning she was wide-awake. Level3 was on the stereo, and her foot, with its freshly painted lime-green toenails (Judy had sprung for all four of them to get pedis at the hotel spa), was up in its preferred spot on the dash, tapping along to the beat.
It wasn’t as if she had any delusions about this new lovey-dovey phase with her mom. It would wear off over time. No doubt things would flare up and get ugly. But at the moment it seemed like a good thing Judy had tracked her down. Like their big Moment of Truth couldn’t have happened if they were still back in Walford, in their normal environment.
Tiernan picked their map up off the floor, admiring the New Orleans collage she’d created that night in the woods, based on the song “Drink it Up.” It was a giant martini glass made up of pictures of Luke, Ryan, and Travis—half of Luke’s snare drum garnishing the Level3 cocktail like a lemon wedge.
“I am so psyched to go out in New Orleans tonight!” The music was cranked so loud Tiernan had to shout. “I’ve heard there are tons of places that don’t even card.”
“I thought you were on the up-and-up now,” Alice said.
“I didn’t have a personality transplant.”
“So your mother’s okay with you drinking?” Summer asked, turning down the stereo’s volume a smidge.
“She doesn’t have to be. We have a new thing going. What’s the phrase she used? Oh, yeah, we’re ‘keeping it real.’”
This sent Summer and Alice into hysterics.
“Oh, shut up,” Tiernan said, but even she was laughing. Ever since her conversation with Judy, Tiernan felt a weight had lifted. Every horrible confession had lightened her until she felt giddy and clear, as if she’d inflated her brain with helium. There was only one ugly memory Tiernan was still too scared to touch, and it didn’t have anything to do with family stuff.
She thought about what her mother had said about wanting to slog through the mud with her as opposed to just letting Tiernan drift away. But friends played by different rules than parents. Not that Alice and Summer even considered her their friend. And what was the point of unburdening herself with something they’d never forgive her for anyway?
No, now was not the time for true confessions. Not as long as they were having fun. Tiernan reached back and turned up the music full blast, and soon they were all singing along.
AND TOGETHER WE WILL WALK
DOWN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET
AND THE CARS, THEY MAY CURSE US
BUT THEY WON’T MAKE US RETREAT
SHOULDER TO SHOULDER, HAND IN HAND
HEART TO HEART, FEET TO FEET
WE HAVE COME SO FAR
WE HAVE COME SO VERY FAR
Tiernan hadn’t found the energy of a city in Nashville (actually, she hadn’t even left the hotel), which made entering New Orleans at dusk seem all the more dazzling, like crossing the border into a foreign country.
“I wonder how it’s changed, post-Katrina,” Summer wondered as the Pea Pod snaked its way through the French Quarter, bumping along the cobblestone streets.
Tiernan looked around for signs, but how could she tell if anything was different in a place she’d never been before? The city was so alive, it was hard to know where to look first, so Tiernan took out her camera and just started snapping. First, a saxophonist bebopping away on the street corner. Then, a group of roly-poly fifty-something women peering through the tinted windows of a strip joint. Above it, the delicate wrought-iron balconies with their tidy flower boxes seemed completely out of place.
“The whole city’s like a jazz song,” Summer said.
Tiernan nodded. It always surprised her when Summer came out with stuff like this, even though she’d been this way for as long as Tiernan could remember. Maybe it was Summer’s looks that threw her off, as if wearing a ponytail and an Aeropostale T-shirt meant a person couldn’t be smart or perceptive.
They checked into their hotel room, which was small, generic, and worn. Not that it mattered where they slept—they’d probably be out half the night partying anyway.
“Let’s pick up the pace, people!” Tiernan said, slipping on her Doc Martens. “Those frozen drink machines are calling our names.”
“It seems so radical that they actually let people drink in the middle of the street,” Alice said.
“Radically awesome,” Tiernan countered.
But Summer just sat on the bed, writing in her journal. She’d been strangely quiet ever since they’d checked in, and she didn’t seem to be in too big of a hurry to change into any of the ten thousand flouncy dresses she’d brought along in her duffel bag.
“What up with you, Sunny-D?” Tiernan asked. “You going out in that?”
“I think I’m gonna stay in tonight and write.”
“What are you talking about? We’re in New Orleans!”
“I know where we are,” Summer said.
Alice put down her mascara. “Come on, Summer, look at all the places we can go.” She held up at least a dozen brochures she’d snagged from the lobby. There were piano bars, a vampire tour, and three separate restaurants that claimed to serve the city’s best gumbo.
“Fro-zen drinks! Fro-zen drinks!” Tiernan chanted.
“Okay, stop.” Summer closed her notebook and looked at the clock. Tiernan could tell she was cracking.
“You have to come out with us,” Alice begged. “It’s the only night we’ve had so far with just the three of us together.”
“Pleeeeaasse,” Tiernan whined. It wasn’t like she needed Summer with them to have fun, but the thought of her moping around by herself in their dumpy hotel room while she and Alice partied on Bourbon Street was too lame for words.
Summer rolled her eyes and got up off the bed. “Fine.” She unzipped her duffel bag. “I’ll go out for one drink.”
“And together we will walk, down the middle of the street . . .”
Four bars later, they were all arm-in-arm shrieking Level3 lyrics as they stumbled down Bourbon Street. Tiernan knew it was obnoxious, immature, and a total drunken cliché, but damn, it was fun. She could barely believe that less than twenty-four hours from now, they’d actually be seeing Level3 in concert.
“‘. . . and the people, they may curse us, but they won’t make us retreat!’”
“Good evenin’, songbirds!” an old man called to them from the sidewalk. He held a plastic paint bucket filled with red roses that he swung as he walked. “Where’re your boyfriends at?”
“Away,” Alice answered. Tiernan wouldn’t have answered at all.
“Those boys is askin’ for trouble, lettin’ pretty girls like you come down here, all alone.” The man’s voice sounded hoarse, probably from shouting at strange women. “So, whaddya say, pretty ladies?” He pulled out a single rose. “Five dollars each, three for ten.”
“No thanks,” Tiernan said, pulling Alice by the arm.
They kept walking, but the man still followed them.
“You’re modern girls, I can tell. Well, then you just buy your own roses. Show those boyfriends you don’t need ’em.”
“Persistent little bugger,” Tiernan whispered to Summer, who was busy fishing around in her bag. When Summer pulled out her hand, there was a ten-dollar bill in it.
“Here you go,” she said, handing it to the man. “Three, please.”
The man looked as surprised as Tiernan felt, then quickly plucked three roses from his bucket. “You’re some lucky girls to have a friend like that.”
Tiernan begrudgingly took her rose. In her opinion, “friends” didn’t make you interact with creepy old street vendors.
“Oh, when your boyfriends see this, it’ll make ’em sooooo jealous.” Even though their sale was complete, the rose guy was still following them.
“Come on,” Tiernan whispered, veering off the street and leading them into a hole-in-the-wall bar.
The place was one of those classic New Orleans dives where everything was served in Styrofoam cups and no one seemed too concerned with checking ID. Behind the bar, instead of shelves of alcohol, twenty frozen drink machines swirled hypnotically in every color of the rainbow, like some kind of psychedelic Laundromat.
“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked, sweeping the bangs out of his eyes. His question seemed to imply a plural “you,” though he only made eye contact with Summer.
Tiernan sneered at him openly (a benefit of not being attractive enough to be on his radar). He was one of those gym rat types who probably spent about an hour on his hair each morning, as if steroids and a handful of mousse could make up for the acne scars all over his face.
Summer—who had some theory about not mixing hard liquors—was sticking with Hurricanes (though why they served a drink called a Hurricane down here was beyond Tiernan’s comprehension). Alice ordered a Blue Hawaiian (a rookie drink if there ever was one). Tiernan picked her libations like she picked her nail polish—by name—and ordered a Calm Before the Storm.
“I bet he works the second shift at Chippendales,” she whispered as the bartender made his way down the row of drink machines, their Styrofoam cups bending inside his meaty hands.
When Chippendale delivered their beverages, he told only Summer to “enjoy.”
“These drinks don’t separate like normal slushies do,” Alice said, cupping her Blue Hawaiian with both hands. “Did you ever notice that?” Tiernan couldn’t help but smile as she watched Alice, hunched over her drink, slurping it up with intensity. She’d always admired the way Alice remained firmly in Alice World, no matter who she was with or what the surroundings.
On the barstool next to her, Summer bopped along to a cheesy techno song, her blond hair flying as she swiveled around in a perfect 360-degree turn. If Tiernan squinted (and their drinks were replaced with Fribbles) this could have been an afternoon at the Friendly’s in Walford Center, back in fifth grade.
A year ago—even a month ago—Tiernan would have never believed a moment like this could exist—the three of them together on a road trip, having fun. But the truth was, she liked being in this dumpy bar even with its d-bag bartender and sticky floors. Sure, the place was super sketchy, but it wasn’t trying to be anything other than it was. It was “keeping it real.” She’d have to send Judy a postcard.
Tiernan pulled her camera from her bag. She wanted to capture this feeling. Whatever it was.
“Hey.” Tiernan held her camera up to the bartender. “You mind taking a picture of us?”
Chippendale gave her a rude little grunt and took the camera. “Squeeze in,” he directed, pressing his back against the whirling drink machines.
Tiernan and Summer each leaned toward Alice and she slung her arms around their shoulders.
“Say Bourbon Street!”
Tiernan smiled the way she usually did for photos. It was a pose she’d practiced many times, alone in the mirror—chin down, lips pursed, eyebrows raised in a mix of sultriness and irony. Her “picture face,” her friend Melissa called it. It was the way she looked the best. But it wasn’t the way she really looked.
Chippendale was already pulling the camera strap over his head—a feat that took some time since he was trying to do it without messing up his male stripper hairdo.
“Hey, wait.” Tiernan stopped him. “You mind taking another one?”
He gave her a slightly annoyed head flick, but stepped back into position.
“Ready? In one, two . . .”
“Level3!” Alice blurted out as he snapped the shot.
When Tiernan got her camera back the difference between the two photos was striking. In the first one, the girls wore well-rehearsed (if slightly tipsy) smiles. In the second, Alice had a double chin going, Summer was all nostrils, and Tiernan’s smile was so wide she looked like the Joker from Batman. To a stranger, their picture would look like three friends having fun. But was it possible to actually be a friend to people she’d lied to for all these years?
“Aren’t you glad you came out with us?” Alice slurred as she leaned in to Summer.
Summer nodded. “I had no idea you guys were actually this fun.”
“Thanks,” Tiernan said, giving Summer’s arm a playful slap.
Part of her wanted to just blurt it out and get it over with right here and now, even if it ruined the moment. Even if they hated her forever. The later it got (and the more Tiernan drank), the more she felt her secret from freshman year scratching and clawing away at her insides, like the squirrel digging his way out of his grave. And if she didn’t do something about it soon, Tiernan was afraid that the truth about that night might just bust its way out all on its own.
“Oh my God!” Alice screamed. Then she jumped off her barstool, searching the floor frantically. “My purse! Have you guys seen my purse?”
“Where did you put it?” Tiernan asked, still trying to make sense of what was happening.
“I thought I put it on the bar, right in front of me. But then I went to pay the bill and . . .”
Tiernan just stood there, taking it all in, as Summer immediately sprang into action—dropping to her hands and knees and rummaging beneath every barstool in the place as if Alice’s purse might have fallen down and then hopped away on its own.
“Well, one of you needs to take care of this.” Chippendale waved their bill in his hand, unconcerned by their crisis.
Tiernan slapped twenty-five bucks on the bar. No compassion, no tip, dink-weed.
Summer made her way back to them from the end of the bar, looking resigned. “Nothing,” she said sadly.
“That’s ’cause it’s not here!” Alice said.
“When do you last remember seeing it?” Tiernan asked in her calmest voice.
Alice’s eyes looked wild. “I don’t know!” she cried, throwing her hands in the air.
“Well, let’s just take a breath and try to retrace our steps,” Tiernan instructed. She didn’t know how she was managing to keep her composure. Just that someone needed to do it.
They all held hands as they ran back down Bourbon Street plowing their way through the mob, dodging the people who looked even wobblier than the three of them.
Finally, they got to the place they’d been last, an obnoxious Mexican-themed chain restaurant so strict with ID that Tiernan had resorted to begging some lonely middle-aged loser to order their drinks. A half hour ago the place was packed to the point of being uncomfortable. Now, it was just ridiculous.
“We were right here!” Alice shouted over the crowd, sounding a lot more sober than she had ten minutes ago.
“Did you use the ladies’ room?” Summer asked.
Alice nodded and dashed off to the back of the bar.
“This totally sucks,” Tiernan said, as a waitress holding a tray of margaritas squeezed in front of her.
Summer exhaled through her nose. “We shouldn’t have let her get that drunk.”
“We didn’t let her do anything,” Tiernan said.
“And who was pushing the frozen drinks on her for hours?” Summer asked.
As if this were all Tiernan’s fault, when Summer was drinking all night too. Not to mention that it was Alice who had lost her purse, all on her own.
“I didn’t find it,” Alice said, emerging from the crowd. Her face looked so shiny and pale Tiernan was sure she was about to get puke on her shoes.
“You guys . . .” Alice spoke haltingly, as if the words themselves tasted of bile. “Our tickets were in there.”
“THE NEW, NEW THING”
I WANTED A NEW THING
I WANTED A NEW, NEW THING
DON’T WE ALL? DON’T WE ALL? DON’T WE ALL?
I WANTED A NEW THING
I WANTED A NEW, NEW THING
BUT THE OLD THING
TURNED OUT TO BE BETTER
THAN NOTHING AT ALL
—from Level3’s second CD, Rough & Tumble