Page 51 of Charm City Rocks
“It’s more noticeable this way,” Grady proudly told her. “Plus, it gives the wall some legitimacy, you know. Some real star power.”
Billy took her out for crabs the other night. Margot had no idea what she was getting into. She had to use a special little mallet and wear a bib like a toddler. The whole thing had been funny and messy and gross, because crabs are really just giant sea bugs, but it was an experience.
She walks to Eddie’s, the little market she saw that first day in Roland Park, nearly every day and hangs out at the coffee shop next door for hours on end. When dogs approach her, she pets them, and when people approach her, she signs things for them. A barista she sees often brought one of her dad’s old concert T-shirts for her to sign. Two high school kids asked her to autograph a CD for their music teacher. The dilapidated jewel case practically crumbled in Margot’s hands, like a shell washed up on the beach.
On their way out of a movie on Saturday evening, they stopped to watch Daquan, the drummer kid down the street from Charm City Rocks. Daquan smiled and invited her to take over. A small crowd gathered as he gave her a brief tutorial on which buckets made what sounds. She played for a few minutes, which, of course, ended up all over YouTube and Instagram. Margot didn’t playanything specific—just a couple of drum loops she made up on the spot—but she enjoyed it very much. Drums, buckets, whatever, it feels incredible to play music again.
This morning, Margot and Billy took a ride up north in the Champagne Supernova. A few minutes outside the city, the land opens into acreages, and things turn hillier than she would’ve imagined. They parked and then hiked for about a half an hour until they came to a white picket fence outside an enormous horse farm.
“We’re here,” Billy said.
“Where?” she asked. “This isn’t where you murder me, is it?”
“No, not yet,” he said. “I’m saving that for later. I wanna show you something.”
“What?”
“A cow,” Billy said.
“You brought me here to show me a cow?” she asked.
“Not just any cow.”
They stood for a few more minutes eating protein bars and sipping the water they’d brought. For a while, nothing but mosquitoes showed up, but Billy told Margot to be patient. Then, finally, a few horses trotted out from a big barn. Among them was a lone brown cow doing its best to keep up.
“There she is,” said Billy.
“Oh wow,” said Margot. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cow run.”
Billy rested one foot on the lower rung of the fence. “She’s famous,” he said. “Well, locally, anyway. She escaped from a slaughterhouse somewhere in the Midwest a couple years ago. Just bolted, apparently. Found a gap in the fence and made a run for it. Some hedge-fund guy found out about it and bought her. Now she lives here.”
Margot watched, touched by the animal’s story. She was skinnyfor a cow and had pretty white markings across her wide red-brown face. “Do you think she thinks she’s a horse?” Margot asked.
Billy smiled. “Who cares? Look how happy she is.”
—
When they got back to the apartment an hour ago, they had daytime sex like a couple of dumb, carefree twentysomethings. And now they’re relaxing in bed. Margot is on her stomach, nearly dozing, while Billy runs his hand back and forth across her lower back. She loves that his hands are so soft—a piano player’s hands. He told her that he likes how rough her hands are, calloused from her sticks. With his other hand, Billy’s holding a copy ofUs Weekly. It’s not just any copy ofUs Weekly;it’s their copy.
“You’re obsessed with that thing,” she says.
Billy eyes her over the top of the magazine. “Well, yeah. I know you’re an old pro at this, but believe it or not, I’m not. Being in gossip magazines is new for me.”
For this, Margot thinks, Billy should consider himself fortunate.
“Whirlwind” is what they called Margot and Billy’s relationship. It’s a stupid word,whirlwind.Not as stupid asrecluse,but it’s one of those words those magazines use that have the power to diminish.
Margot halted herUs Weeklyembargo last week at Poppy’s request. “Seriously, Mum, you gotta see it!” the girl said.
Featured in the issue was a short article and an accompanying photo of Margot and Billy sitting at an outdoor table at a restaurant by Billy’s old place. They’ve just ordered. Their water glasses sit between them, paper straws dissolving. Billy’s arm rests at the middle of the table, and Margot has, just seconds before, laced her fingers into his without even realizing she was doing it. Billy isonly visible in profile, but Margot’s full, oblivious face is on display, smiling again.
Someone told her once that the tingly, gooey feelings you feel when you first meet someone eventually fade because of a trick of evolution. The reasoning is that all that lovestruck stupidity makes you vulnerable to predators. Margot rolls onto her side now and looks at the photo of herself, and that’s exactly what she sees: vulnerability. The woman on the glossy page looks like she could be attacked by wolves at any second, because liking someone is dangerous.
“Recluse No More,” reads the headline. “The whirlwind romance between former rock star Margot Hammer and everyone’s new favorite music teacher continues in…” blah blah blah.
“I don’t thinkformerrock star is fair,” says Billy. “Once you become a rock star, aren’t youalwaysa rock star? Like a Jedi?”
“That’s a dorky way to say it,” says Margot, “but I agree. They can go to hell.”
