Page 18 of Vespertine
Nicky squeezed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of hisnose.
“Nico, don’t get your dick in a twist, kid.”
Nico glared out at the rippling water in the cove. Danverswas at least six years younger than him and he could take his ‘kid’ and shoveit, as far as Nicky was concerned.
“I’m not saying you need to report to the studio this week,for fuck’s sake. We’re just trying to feel you guys out. Test the waters. Mick’sfacility will release him in four weeks if we put a little pressure—”
“Sure! Why not?” Nicky tore at his hair, pacing by thewindow. “Because why bother getting Mick fucking sober when you can get himjust fucking sober enough, right?”
“Nico, we care about—”
He kept pacing because otherwise he would put a hole in thewall. “What does the goddamned ‘health spa’ Sez is holed up in say? How muchare you going to fucking pay them so they’ll send him on out into the big badworld with a month’s scrip for some maintenance drug and a fucking pat on hisass?”
“I get it. You guys want a little more time. I smell whatyou’re selling, Nico. I’ll just need to see what the suits upstairs—”
“No, you think we’re idiots, don’t you?” Nicky pounded hisfist on the wall next to the window. “We’re not. Fuck this bullshit. I’mcalling the bluff.”
“What bluff, kid?”
“If they wanted another shitty album like they got lasttime, they wouldn’t have insisted we all get sober in the first place.”
“Sure your last two albums haven’t sold as well, but Nico,you’re still under contract—”
Nicky hung up. He powered the phone off and threw it acrossthe living room onto the sofa. He wished it could have been through the window.The smash would have been fucking satisfying as hell. He never should haveturned the damn thing back on in the first place.
Note to self: avoid phone.
Miriam’s calm voice broke into his stormy thoughts. “I’dappreciate it if you refrained from language like that around me. You can be afoul-mouthed rock star anywhere else in the world, but here in my home you canspeak like a civilized person.”
Nicky snorted, rubbing a hand over his bedhead. He took aslow breath, his anger already cooling under his mother’s steady, warm gaze. “I’lltry. But I can’t promise anything, Mom. Especially if I’m talking to thosefu—jerks.” He’d already given up his worst vices. Did he really have to give upsome harmless cursing too?
“Well,” Miriam said with a smirk. “Everyone has to throw anf-bomb now and again, but somehow you make a whole fucking conversation of it.Fuck loses its meaning if you say it every other fucking sentence.” She grinnedat his surprise. “See? It’s powerful when used fucking sparingly.”
“I smell what you’re selling,” Nicky mumbled, copyingDanvers’ juvenile acknowledgement. He slumped down at the kitchen table andtried to keep his mind from spinning back to the phone call. He scratched athis right arm, leaving white marks over his second-largest tattoo—a floralsleeve made up of forget-me-nots, cornflowers, and violets.
“That’s a pretty one,” Miriam said. “How’d you choose it?”
Nicky appreciated that she was trying to accept his tattoos.He almost hated to tell her the truth. “Sez and I got into a really dumb fight.We were kind of high and really drunk…” He trailed off, feeling his throat godry at the admission, like he was a kid she might punish with a nice longgrounding. He almost wished he was because then he’d stand a chance at thissobriety gig.
She looked at him with a placid, warm expression, and hecleared his throat to go on. He knew it couldn’t be easy for her to accept thathe was an addict, and he was proud of her for not flinching. “Anyway, Sez saidthat men with flower tattoos were all flaming queers.”
Miriam frowned. “Does your lead singer not accept you,Nicky?”
“Given the cock he sucked this year, I think he’s fine.” Hecleared his throat again, heat rising in his cheeks. “Uh, I mean given the, uh,oral sex?”
Miriam shook her spoon at him again. “Enough, silly boy. Onwith the story.”
“Well, I decided to get a flower sleeve to prove him wrong.I wanted to show him once and for all that having flower tats doesn’t mean you’rea fag.”
She stared at him.
“I know. I don’t know either. Like I said, we were high.” Hecracked up and shrugged. “Drugs are bad things, Mom.”
“They are.”
“Sez, though, he got a big sleeve of a jungle cat surroundedby skulls to prove that he was totally not a queer. But, you know what? Itsomehow turned out a hell of a lot gayer than my cornflowers andforget-me-nots.”
“Sweetie...I don’t even know what to say about that story.”
