Page 13 of Charm City Rocks
“Should I cut?” asks the camera guy. “Is this, like…part of it?”
“I thought maybe you’d like my dad,” Caleb says. “He’s really nice. And he had a huge crush on you. I think he still does.”
“Oh my God, Caleb,” says Billy.
“Wait a minute.” Rebecca takes a step toward Caleb and Caleb takes a step back, like they’re waltzing. “Explain to me what’s going on. Immediately.”
“There’s also a nice spot open next to Cal Ripken, Jr.,” says Grady. “See, right here.”
“Dude, enough with the wall,” says Rebecca.
“There is no Mazzy,” says Margot. “Right? No little girls?”
She isn’t askingeveryone—she’s asking Billy. Until this moment, this has felt slapstick, like some ridiculous celebrity-encounter story he’ll tell at parties for years. Margot’s face changes that, though. Billy can see that she isn’t just pissed off. She looks hurt. “I’m afraid not,” he says.
“But you sent a picture,” says Rebecca.
“I found it online,” says Caleb. “Google. I added a filter.”
“Did you catfish us, you asshole?” asks Rebecca.
“He didn’tmeanto be an asshole,” says Billy. “He made a mistake. He’s sorry.”
“Yeah, this is good,” the camera guy says. “I’m gonna keep filming.”
“No you’re not,” says Margot. “Turn it off. This was stupid. I’m out of here.”
Margot walks out of the store and turns left on Thames Street. Everyone who remains looks at everyone else. The sound system plays “Brandy” by Looking Glass, because sometimes soundtracks are random as shit. Then Billy does the only thing he can think to do. He goes after her.
Chapter7
It takes Margot all of ten seconds to figure out that she’s being chased. Which is just perfect. Even better, Billy or whatever he said his name is keeps shouting her name. His voice echoes off buildings, like he’s using a megaphone.
“Margot!”
“Goddammit,” she whispers.
“Miss Hammer! Margot, wait! Please!”
People turn and look, and Margot wishes desperately to be home, back in her apartment, because being a rock-and-roll recluse is better than this bullshit.
“Did he say Margot Hammer?” someone asks. Another woman says, “She was married to Lawson Daniels,” because apparently people think Margot is deaf.
She passes bars and restaurants. A tattoo parlor. Some weird-looking trash wheel spins in the harbor, churning up junk. A kid up ahead is playing a set of strung-together Home Depot buckets for spare change. Billy is catching up to her fast. Years ago, she and the band were flanked by security every time they so much as left their tour bus. Now Margot is alone in a city she doesn’t know at all.
“Margot! Please don’t be upset!”
She stops. She has no idea where she’s going anyway. Billy stops, too, and stands ten feet away and waves. “Hi,” he says.
Margot relaxes a little, because at least this man, who is wearing a Neil Diamond T-shirt under his cardigan, probably isn’t a murderer. A block away, the front door of the record shop opens. Rebecca points at her. Todd is still filming, the bastard. The owner is waving a Sharpie.
“Miss Hammer,” says Billy, “I want to—”
“Will youpleasestop saying my name?” She takes a few steps, closing the gap between them. “People don’t always recognize me. I’m not Rihanna. But if you keep yelling my name…”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” He looks around. “Do people really not recognize you? I recognized you right away. You…you look like you.”
The drummer kid up ahead keeps playing. A few seconds pass, and the lookie-loos move along, leaving them alone. A pigeon stands at the curb watching, cars roll by with their windows down, and there’s a sign for Domino Sugar across the water.
