Page 64 of Vespertine
Jasper didn’t say anything, and the sound of the turntableclicking on and the arm dropping with a pop onto the record vibrated throughthe speakers. Jazz sat on the opposite end of his comfortable sofa, and theyboth listened.
The silence wasn’t awkward at all. It was like all the timeswhen they were kids alone in the fort or up in one of their rooms, listening toalbums and not talking—just being. Jasper got up and refilled Nicky’s glasswhen it was empty and brought out a bowl of strawberry ice cream while Nickyflipped the record over.
“Sez was at the top of his vocal game here too,” Nickymurmured as Sez’s voice pierced the room, holding a high note of angst andmisery until it almost hurt to hear and then letting it fall to a softer soundthat tore at Nicky’s heart. “You know how on ‘Ease On In’ he lets his voicedrop and it sounds like he’s beckoning you? So you actually lean in toward thespeakers?”
“Only to have that guitar chord strum hit like a slap in theface?” Jasper filled in.
“Yeah.” Nicky grinned and played with the ice cream. Noteating much but enjoying the soup that was forming at the bottom of the bowl. “Thatwas his idea, actually. One of his most brilliant ones. That moment on thealbum blew so many critics’ minds. The reviews all mention it.”
“It’s a painful moment.”
Nicky glanced over to read Jasper’s expression and found itas easy as it had been to understand as when they were children. “Yeah. It’sheartbreaking.”
Jazz nodded. “The whole album is, Nicky. I’m proud of you,you know. For making it; for being brave enough to write all these songs. It’sastonishing that you get up on stage every night and share them with the world.”
“Fuck that. I was in survival mode. I wasn’t on drugs, but Iwas still barely aware of what I was doing. There was nothing brave about it.”
Outside, the wind must’ve changed because the room filledwith the briny scent of the ocean. A soft breeze swept into the room from theopen kitchen window and Nicky inhaled the familiar smell. He was about tocomment on it and turned to find Jazz with his hands clasped in his lap and hiseyes glassy. Along with the change in the wind the atmosphere had shifted inthe room.
When Jazz spoke his voice was fragile. “It’s brave to fightas hard as you have to make a connection, Nicky.”
A soft sound escaped and Nicky realized it came from him. “Yeah,well. Attachment disorders stop being anyone’s excuse once you turn eighteen.”
“No, don’t throw that away. You worked for years trying toconnect with your parents, with the world—”
“I connected with you.”
Nicky could see indents where Jazz’s fingers dug into hishands. “And I left you.”
“You had your calling. I had mine.” He gestured to thestereo as the sounds of “Peter Says No,” the final song on the record, washedover him. “Sometimes the answer to what we want is no. It just is.”
“And even though I hurt you,” Jasper’s voice sounded thick. “Youdidn’t give up. I know you think you did, but you wrote these songs trying toconnect to the world, to other people, Nicky. That’s not something a lazyperson does. That’s what a true fighter does. You never gave up. It’s not yourfault that heroin came along and plugged all the holes for you, leaving youmore disconnected than ever.”
“Huh. I’m pretty sure it’s my fault I tried heroin to beginwith, but I see what you’re saying.” Nicky held up his hand. “I don’t think weneed to argue about it. I’m done with blame. I only want to get better.”
Jazz stood and took the bowls into the kitchen as Sez’svoice faded out on the final notes of the album. Nicky sat and listened to theneedle catching at the end of the record for a full minute before Jazz cameback in and put the arm back on the cradle.
Dizzy had long since crawled into the space between thearmrest and Nicky’s leg, and he could feel her contented rumble travel up hisfemur.
Jazz slid down to the floor, legs out straight and crossedat the ankle. His T-shirt and yoga pants were rumpled and despite theseriousness of their prior conversation, his expression was relaxed. Hisshoulders, though, seemed tight, and Nicky shifted down the sofa and shovedJazz forward a little to settle behind him with Jazz between his legs.
Jasper tensed. “What are you doing?”
“When’s the last time someone touched you?”
“Nicky—”
“I mean a massage. Just, you know, friendly touch. Yourshoulders are inching up to your ears.” Nicky put his hands on Jazz’sshoulders. “Let me help you.”
Jasper let out a soft noise as Nicky started working hisfingers into tense muscles. “I’m surprised I’m so tight. I do a lot of yoga. I’musually fairly flexible and relaxed.”
“Well, you experienced a severe trauma tonight. No oneshould come home to that,” Nicky whispered, leaning forward and letting himselfsmell Jasper’s hair. Oh God, he wanted to push his face against Jazz’s scalpand just breathe. “You still use Head & Shoulders.” Heat rose up his neckas he realized what he’d said. He tried to play it off. “No dandruff for you,huh?”
“It does its job. Why? Do you use special rock star shampoonow?”
Nicky laughed. “No. I use whatever’s in the hotel when I’mon tour.” When he showered, anyway. He pressed against the trapezius and Jasperwhimpered. “You should get massages. Human touch is important. My addictioncounselor says so. I’m trying this thing where I do what she says.”
“Yeah?” Jasper was breathless.
