Page 19 of Charm City Rocks
Moments like these lead to so many half sentences and trail-offs. “Hi, Beth,” Billy says. “We met earlier. And I wasn’t following you. This…this is my neighborhood. We came for a drink.”
Margot thinks about this. It checks out. She left, and now she’s back, and apparently Baltimore is the smallest goddamn city in America.
“I’m Gustavo.” The guy with the beard holds out his hand, which is warm, and he smells like butter and salt.
“What are you doing here?” asks Billy.
“She’s drinking some Bohs, that’s what she’s doing,” says Beth.
“Oh…really?” says Billy. “Bohs, like, plural? That’s…do you like them?”
“Oh, stop being such a snob,” says Beth. “Should I get you one of your fancy IPAs, Your Majesty?”
Billy says yes, and Beth gets him and Gustavo beers. She doesn’t ask specifics, she just knows what they want, and for some reason, maybe because she’s mildly intoxicated, Margot finds this funny. They’re regulars here; she’s wandered into these people’s lives. “You live above that record shop?” she asks. “The one from today?”
“His place is really cool,” says Gustavo.
Billy seems embarrassed. Margot can tell the two are friends, he and Gustavo, the way they talk to each other with their eyes, and Gustavo turns to the band, which is about to start. “These guys are pretty good. You should check them out.”
“Looks like you wanted a beer after all,” Billy says.
“Several, apparently,” says Margot. “It’s been a…a day.”
“Can I buy you another one?” he asks. “Maybe one that doesn’t taste like barbed wire and clinical depression?”
“Wow, you reallyarea snob,” says Margot. And then she sees Neil Diamond’s smoldering eyes on his chest. She points, fully prepared to have her suspicions confirmed. “By the way, what’s your favorite song by him? Just answer, don’t think.”
“Oh,” he says, clearly thinking. “Probably ‘Solitary Man.’ ”
Margot was about to take a sip of her beer, but she stops. “ ‘Solitary Man’?”
“I think Neil’s best when he’s a little dark, you know.”
So does Margot. She resumes that sip, surprised to be surprised.
Beth leans on the bar between them. “What are you talking about, you idiot? It’s ‘Sweet Caroline’ all the way. My sister threwher bra at Neil once while he was singing it at the Verizon Center down in D.C. Almost got us kicked out. Apparently, you’re not supposed to do that. Which is bullshit. I mean, how could you not toss your underwear at that man?”
Then, without comment or introduction, the band opens with a loud, uneven cover of a Killers song. Margot and her odd new group of pals watch. The drummer girl and the bass-player guy are messy, lagging on the downbeat, and the dude singing sounds like he needs to clear his throat. The lead guitarist knows her shit, though.
“Can I tell you again that I’m sorry?” Billy shouts.
“Whatever!” Margot says. “It’s done!”
“My son is—”
“It’s done, man!”
Billy recoils, like she’s shoved him.
Shit,Margot thinks. He’s a nice guy, and she can see in his eyes that he likes her—that “crush from back in the day” thing. Of the four members of Burnt Flowers, Margot elicited the fewest crushes, she supposes, but she had her fair share, and they always looked at her like Billy’s looking at her now, like he’s hoping she doesn’t ruin everything by being different than he imagined.
Beth sets a new beer in front of Margot—a colorful label, not Natty Boh. “His royal highness, the Lord King of Baltimore, thinks this beer is more befitting of your station, Ms. Hammer!”
The second song is better, “We Got the Beat” by the Go-Go’s. The lead guitarist has taken over the mic, and she’s very good. Gustavo is bobbing his head, enjoying the show. Billy is pretending to watch the band, but Margot can see that he’s glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, and she wonders if it’s so bad to be liked.
Poppy was back in New York for Christmas last year. Theywalked together through the holiday market at Columbus Circle and talked about men—specifically, the lack of men in Margot’s life.
“But I don’t like very many of them,” Margot told her daughter.
