Page 12 of Vespertine
“Well, it’s gone now.”
He stepped into the entryway, the scent of home floodinginto him. There was no particular description for it, no particular cleanser orperfume. It was just the smell of their life here and it was as comforting asit was painful.
“Thank you, Mom.”
“And I poured out your father’s Manischewitz.”
A sharp memory of Jazz swallowing mouthfuls of the kosherwine came to mind. His eyes had gone glassy, his cheeks flushed, and hisbeautiful, rich mouth had been stained red. God, how Nicky had wanted to kissJasper even then. But he’d never had the balls to make a move. Eventually, it’dbeen Jazz who’d grabbed hold of him and kissed him breathless. Over the years,there’d been plenty of time to wonder if it wouldn’t have been better if maybehe hadn’t.
The entryway was different. Where there had been an oldfamily photo featuring a baleful Nicky with a mohawk and braces, there was nowa large set of multi-frames with photos of magazine covers featuringVespertine, the centerpiece being the cover ofRolling Stonewith a very high, very numbed-out Nico Blue dominating the posed studio shot.
“When did you do that?” he asked nodding toward it. A sickfeeling slinked through him. He barely remembered that day. He didn’t enjoy theidea of being bombarded with the shame of it every time he walked through thefoyer.
“Oh, well, that other portrait was getting a bit dated, don’tyou think? It seemed like we should replace it with something more recent.”Miriam said, indicating the ‘shoe trunk,’ as they called it, standing open bythe front door. “Is it all right?”
Nicky didn’t know how long he would be staying, but maybethe reminder of how shitty drugs were and how fucked up they left him wouldn’tbe such a bad thing. “Sure, Mom. It’s fine.”
Miriam put her Birks inside the trunk and Nicky had to siton the bottom step to unlace and pull off his black ass-kicking boots. The coolair caressed his sweaty toes, and he noticed his mother’s eyes drawn down tohis feet. He balled up his socks and tossed them into the trunk along with theshoes.
“Those are new.”
“Yeah. I got this one since you last saw me too.”
He held up his left hand, which was covered with blackstraight lines and dots from a sideways band at his wrist almost up to the nailof his middle finger. It was a masculine mehndi-inspired design he’d had donein Australia at some tiny shop in Canberra. He’d been blitzed out of his mindat the time and it was far from his favorite, but the tat was visible andpretty impressive. He hoped it would distract her from her focusing on the moreimportant tats on his feet.
He waved his hand to draw her eyes up again. “It hurt likehell. I’ve got a big one on my back too.” Not that he wanted to show it to her.He shouldn’t have mentioned that one.
Miriam swallowed and nodded her head. She didn’t like them,he could tell, but she wasn’t going to say anything that might make him changehis mind about staying for a while. He hated that in the past he’d given herevery reason to think he would do something like that. Before he’d started onthe detox doctor’s new prescriptions, he’d always been incapable of seeing howmuch his behavior must have hurt her.
Her eyes came back once again to the tattoo on the pale skinof his right foot. “When did you get that one?”
“A few years ago.”
She nodded. “It reminds me of Jazz when he was small.” Shesmiled fondly. “The way he used to curl up on his side. Remember how he took upmost of your bed? You’d be smashed up against the wall to make room for him.”
The fox was a nice illustration of orange, white and blacklines. Its back curled along the base of Nicky’s toes and its head and pawscurled up to his ankle. The sleeping fox’s expression was tenderly rendered sothat he seemed to smile at his dreams, and his little feet came together nearthe apex of Nicky’s arch. A small red heart punctuated their restful pose.
Nicky swallowed and gritted his teeth. His mother had takenhis homosexuality in stride, as had his father, but she’d always seemedoblivious to his devotion to Jazz as anything other than brotherly. He didn’tknow if he wanted her prying now. Though if he wanted her help then maybe itwas time she knew the truth. But not today. He was hungry, tired, and notinterested in the emotional upheaval of telling her about him and Jazz.
Her eyes shifted to his other foot, and he glanced down atthe black lines of a more angular fox. That fox sat calmly on his haunches withblue angel wings sprouting from his back and his head graced by a yellow halo.
“Sometimes it feels like I’ve got two devils on myshoulders,” Nicky said. “So I gave myself an angel on my foot. He’s supposed toguide me to a better path. But he’s done a piss poor job for such a smuglooking little bastard, hasn’t he?”
Miriam arched a brow and cleared her throat. “They’re notwhat I would have imagined for you. But they’re not bad.” She smiled with asteely determination, like she was not going to let whatever was on her mindget between them today. “Let me guess: turkey and avocado with onion?”
He smiled and hopped up, clapping his hands together. “Yeah.That sounds great.”
As she pulled open the fridge and the bread box in thekitchen, Nicky waited on one of the tall stools at the counter. He perused thechanges in the living room since he’d last been home. A new blue sofa faced alarge screen attached to the wall, and a plush rocker faced the same directionwith legal files piled next to it. Closer at hand, a large throw rug withgreen, blue and brown accents separated the breakfast table from the rest ofthe room. Next to theTV, there was a framedpicture of Nicky playing guitar with Vespertine at Glastonbury three yearsbefore. He got up to investigate it more closely. He barely remembered thatnight, either. He’d done a speedball in the trailer but then fucked it up withan extra bump, and he’d been sure his heart would explode there on stage.
“Your father likes how you’ve got your tongue out in thatpicture,” his mother said, a little laughter in her voice. “You always stickyour tongue out when you’re playing something you need to concentrate on. It’sso cute.”
Nicky tilted his head. He’d needed to concentrate because hewas so far gone that night that he hadn’t trusted his fingers to play the musichis muscles had memorized years before. He squatted down to look at thebookshelf under the picture. Murder mysteries, the Torah, the Book of Mormon,and his dad’s copy of the Holy Bible. Nicky smiled, remembering how often hisJewish father had used the Christians’ scripture against them in debates,pointing out the hypocrisies and contradictory passages.
Miriam set his plate down on the counter near the stool he’dabandoned.
Nicky grabbed the Bible and headed back. He took a bite fromthe sandwich, the taste of mustard and onion exploding on his tongue, and hemurmured his pleasure around the mouthful.
Miriam stood across from him, her small fingers running overthe seam in the granite counter. She good naturedly rolled her eyes toward theBible next to his plate. “You always did seem more drawn to Christianity. Iremember when you used to go to Mass with Jasper and his family.”
