“Trust me, Miss Santos,” I said, throwing my arm around her shoulder, “you’re going to love it.”
We walked down the street, her leaning into me. As we got closer to Crash’s place, we began to hear the muffled sounds of singing and acoustic guitar accompaniment. The rush returned: a mix of adrenaline and stomach cramps.
As we neared the fenced-in patio of the Beauty Saloon, my friends spotted us and greeted us with a collective “Wooo!” Relieved to see them already there, I released Rose from my grasp and sped up my pace to greet my friends.
“What’s up, guys!” I shouted, walking toward the fence, which was made of black vertical bars topped with spade-shaped spears to deter after-hours patio furniture thievery.
“The Zeus is loose!” said Axl, coming to greet me at the fence. We shook hands between two iron bars.
“What’s up, man?” I said.
“Good to see you, man,” said Dylan.
“Hey, what’s up?” I replied.
“What’s happening, Zeus?” said Novie from a patio chair.
“What’s up, Novie?” I said, realizing I’d said “what’s up” four times, four ways.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” asked Dylan, referring to Rose.
“Yeah, man, I—” I turned to introduce Rose only to find that she still stood ten feet behind me. “What are you doing back there, come meet these guys,” I said, waving her over.
Rose hesitated, then slowly approached. She stuck her hand through alternating gaps in the fence, shaking each of theirs.
“Come on in, find a seat,” said Novie.
I was starting to walk toward the entrance when Rose grabbed my hand and gave it a little tug. She leaned toward my ear. “Zeus, should we be here? This is a bar; we’re underage. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
I gave her a look that I thought said, “Don’t worry, I got this,” but might have missed the mark since she still looked skeptical.
Earlier in the week I had voiced the same concern as hers, regarding teenagers at a bar. Axl and Novie had reassured me though, reminding me their mom owned the place. We weren’t allowed inside, but the patio was family friendly. And a local cop apparently frequented the Open Mic circuit, and welcomed any audience: young, old, or underage. It turned out he currently presided over the patio, performing a cringe-worthy version of Tom Petty’s “American Girl.”
As we walked to find a seat, I sang the chorus in Rose’s ear: “Oh yeah, all right, take it easy baby, make it last all night (make it last all night!).” Dylan motioned for us to sit at the empty chairs at their table. Rose and I sat next to Dylan, across from Axl and Novie.
For the next hour, waves of anxious anticipation washed over me. Rose flashed me a quick smile every time I turned to check on her, though she hardly spoke. Just being shy, I thought. I kept imagining her heart melting as she watched me play, especially after I dedicated the song to her. I spent most of the time joking around with Dylan, Axl, and Novie.
The cop finally finished his set.
I felt my heart palpitate.
My big moment.
My musical debut.
Dylan and I shared a look that said, “Here we go.” Just as we began to stand and head to the stage area, Rose scooted her chair back and stood herself.
I looked at her and cocked my head to the side, like a dog.
“I think I’m going to head home,” she said, forcing a smile.
I cocked my head to the other side. “What are you talking about?” I asked, sounding a bit more annoyed than intended.
“I . . . I need to help my mom with something,” she replied, still trying to hold a smile.
Inside I deflated, heartbroken. Rose was bailing on me.
All that buildup for this?
“Come on, just one more song!” said Dylan, doing his best to help out.
I slumped my shoulders and looked at Rose. “Stay for one more?”
Rose blinked slowly and took a breath. “I need to go.”
I felt like I was going to be sick. I had a dozen different questions I wanted to ask her, but I just stood there with my mouth open. What the hell was she doing? I glanced at the stage. Someone else had already walked up with their gear.
Well, screw it, I thought. The whole thing’s ruined.
“Fine. See you later,” I said, sitting back down.
Rose looked like she wanted to say something. I waited for her to speak, but she turned and walked away.
TWENTY-ONE
THE NEXT DAY WAS MONDAY, THE THIRD OF JULY, WHICH MEANT FIREWORKS would be shot over the river the following night. American flags commemorating the occasion waved from every available pole. It was a balmy ninety-six degrees with eighty-two percent humidity. The low air in my bike tires didn’t help the situation, nor did Grub’s sweaty hands digging into my shoulders. I pedaled us across the bridge past the spot where Rose and I had had our first kiss. I glanced at it miserably.
I was still baffled over Rose’s sudden departure from the Open Mic. Dylan and I never even ended up playing the song we’d worked on. What was the point? Learning and practicing the song all week meant nothing without Rose there. And what was up with her being so quiet the whole time? I defended her after she left, telling my friends she was just shy. But seriously. She couldn’t have stayed fifteen minutes longer?
My plan was to quickly stop at Hilltop and let Grub see his old pal Blackjack. Then I’d talk to Rose to see what happened yesterday and apologize if I had to. Though I still wasn’t sure what I’d done wrong.
But when we approached the common room, the grand piano sat silent, its keyboard covered. Am I too late? I wondered, checking the wall clock: two thirty. Rose should be here. I spotted Mary and Blackjack across the room.
Grub and I wove through the tables.
Mary stood by a tall window, staring out at the property grounds. Blackjack sat hunched beside her, gazing blankly at the floor. I started to get a sick feeling, like I was about to receive some awful news.
“Mary,” I said.
As she turned, a nanosecond passed before she seemed to recognize me. Finally, a forced smile appeared.
Oh God. Something terrible has happened.
Mary read my expression, which was wide-eyed and slack-jawed to match my pallor. “Rose isn’t feeling well,” she said flatly.
My brain scrambled like a microwave full of metal forks set to high.
“She’s sick?”
Mary took a slow, deep breath. She shook her head no.
“What’s wrong? Is she okay?” I asked, the blood returning to my face.
Mary hesitated again. “She’s home. She’s had a bad day.”
Oh no. I pissed Rose off and she told her mom and now her mom’s pissed at me and I’m standing here like a jackass. I had to think fast. I needed to see Rose.
“I’ll go see her, I’ll make things right,” I blurted.
Mary shook her head. “That’s nice of you, Zeus, but I don’t think she wants company today.”
Shit. This is not good. I felt my pulse increasing. “I need to see her. It’s my fault, I’ll fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix, Zeus. I think she wants to be alone.”