Page 26 of Dead Rockstar

I was going to die of embarrassment. I would just gently keel over and expire right on the library carpet. I could feel my cheeks burn. “I've got to go. I have work to do.”

“Nice to see some things haven't changed since the 90s.”

“Phillip Patrick Deville, I swear to Lucifer-”

He was still laughing. “You middle named me! Okay, fine. It might take me a minute to figure out how to hang up this thing. My fucking fingers can't seem to-” I didn't wait for him to finish. I hung up on him, my face uncomfortably hot. I thought back to the pumpkin spice lube Sloan had given me last Christmas as a joke, wondering if he’d seen that, too; I had to giggle a little, imagining explaining the term “basic bitch” to Phillip Deville. Or was I a basic witch?

I was still mulling over how mortified I was as I locked up at 5pm and stepped out of the library. I patted my pockets to make sure I had everything, threw my purse over my shoulder and headed toward the car. Halfway down the ramp, I tripped and almost went sprawling onto the concrete. I grabbed the metal rail and hoisted myself back up, cursing under my breath. My shoe was untied. I bent down, still muttering, tied it quickly, and shifted on my haunches, ready to head back to the car, when something caught my eye.

It was starting toward dusk already, so the natural light wasn't great, but even before I turned the little rectangular card over, I knew what it would be. A tarot card. A quick flip with my fingers revealed just what I expected. The death card.

I left the card where it lay and sauntered off to my car. Whoever or whatever was trying to rattle me wouldn't succeed. The one thing I knew was that I wanted to leave with Phillip more than ever.

I came in the house praying that Phillip had forgotten his wayward discovery from earlier, or at least wouldn't mention it. I had bigger problems to worry about. I'd gone back and forth several times in the car as to whether I should tell him about the tarot cards. The entire situation was fucked up and weird enough as it was without me adding more kooky shit into the mix. I was equal parts pleased and annoyed to find Sloan sitting with him on the couch when I came in.

“I didn't see your car,” I said to her.

“Hello to you, too,” she said. “Dan's got it. He dropped me off. He was going to get me a new battery, and then run it by the car wash. Isn't that sweet? He's coming back for me in a few.” She certainly was smitten with Dan. If she was happy, I was happy, especially if it meant she was staying away from that Gus guy.

I looked at Phillip, wondering what he'd told her about where we were going and why. He was plucking at the bass, an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “I won't smoke it,” he said, seeming to read my mind. “It just helps me think. I can't write without one.”

“So you guys are going on a little road trip,” Sloan stated, meeting my eyes. I tried to reassure her with a glance. “How long for?”

“Not long,” Phillip answered for me, still plucking away. “Just a couple of days.”

“Did Jean give you shit for taking off work?”

“Nah,” I said. “I think she was glad to get rid of me, honestly.” That wasn't really fair. We got along well, and she was always kind to me, especially after my divorce. But I knew I got on her nerves sometimes - my anxious energy could be a lot to deal with.

“Well, the reason I came by,” Sloan said, rummaging in her pocket for her ChapStick glancing at Phillip and then at me to make sure it was okay to talk in front of him. I nodded and she went on. “I didn't want to tell you over the phone, especially while you were at work. But...I saw Tess today. And his girlfriend.”

“Oh really?” I was surprised at how okay I felt hearing this. “Roberta?”

“I think that's the first time I've heard you say her name without turning green,” Sloan answered, gliding cherry ChapStick onto her lips. “They came by the Curling Dervish. You just missed them, they were there literally five minutes after you. With money, believe it or not. I told them to fuck off.”

“You didn't do her hair?”

“Fuck no I didn't.” She smirked. “I told them I was all booked up.”

“You didn't have to do that. I know you've got to make a living.” I sniffed, wishing they weren't both looking at me. Phillip's expression was strange. “How was he?”

“Ugly. Strung out. The usual.”

“Sloan-”

“Fuck him, Stormy. Stop defending him. He showed up with that skank and was asking about you right in front of her. It was just so gross.”

“He was asking about me? What did he ask?”

“What do you think? Wanting to know if you were seeing anybody-” She looked at Phillip, then at me with a wink, “-and I was quick to say YES, you are. And that he'd better leave you the hell alone if he knew what was good for him. I'll kick his ass myself if I have to. He wanted to know who, and I told him to mind his own fucking beeswax. Asking if you were still driving the truck, how long you'd been seeing your guy, all this weird, nosy stuff. Finally, I got fed up and threw him out. He flipped me off before they finally left.” She looked at Phillip. “Classy guy, her ex.”

Phillip, who had once flipped off Kurt Loder and told him to, “lick my asshole, you fucking corporate stooge” on live TV, clearly realized he had no legs to stand on and resumed plucking the bass with a shrug.

“I wish you wouldn't have caused a scene,” I said with a sigh.

“There was nobody there but us,” she argued. “Calm down, Church Lady.”

“What was she like?” I asked. “Roberta?”

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