Page 26 of The River in Spring
As we make it to the door, I get a look from the friend that says, ‘You’ll see.’
“Give me the flowers, I’ll find a vase.”
Dove hands over the bouquet and Deborah disappears into the house.
“Your house is really unusual looking, love the garden,” I say one second before entering crazy town.
I thought there would be a story, and a quick scan tells one. There’s hardly a free space on the walls. Not for one more picture, poster, drawing, or sculpture. It looks like the sixties threw up in here, then came back and got sick again. The only thing I like is the oil painting of Dove. Her face is half in shade, as she sits under a tree. But the eyes. The artist got it right. It goes from the sublime to the ridiculous. Is that a photograph of two old naked people in a hot tub smoking weed?
I don’t know where to look first. Yes I do. Tony sits on a purple print couch, strumming his guitar.
“Hey man,” he offers, hardly looking away from the strings.
“Nobel, check out the photographs on the wall of my grandparents! And you guys, introduce yourselves! I’m going to attend to the feast.”
She heads for the next room, which I think is the kitchen. A giant plant with Christmas lights hanging randomly from the branches covers most of the doorway.
Tony looks up and gives me a smile that the female fans must get off on. I think it’s overkill and slightly fake, but girls might like it.
“I’m Tony. Surprised you made it this far, man, most don’t. Except for me of course. I have an all access pass.” He laughs. He fucking laughed. That was a deep dig. And there is no hesitation letting the prick know how I feel.
“You either just insulted me or Dove or both. Don’t do it again.”
The genuine surprise on his face makes me question my interpretation of the comment. Shit.
His palm comes up, putting a stop to any further response.
“Dude! I only meant this fucking house is usually much worse than it is today. It’s not always easy to navigate through all the instruments or fishing gear, whatever. That’s all. She straightened things up for your arrival.”
I would be happy to melt into the floorboards. To disappear like a bird in a magic trick. Fuck! I look like a man with zero confidence. Not how I wanted to come across the first time meeting the band.
Deborah speaks up. “You have to forgive my brother. He’s going through an emotional crisis.”
“Fair point,” he says, going back to the guitar. And then as a sidebar, “That may be the truest thing anyone has said to me in years.”
I’ve been in the house for thirty seconds and I’m completely confused. Deborah sees it on my face and lets me in in the private joke.
“He just broke up with his boyfriend.”
Oh boy. Did I get that one wrong. Suddenly I like this Tony guy a lot better. His interest in my woman is strictly platonic. It wasn’t a jab he threw at me. It was a compliment.
“Don’t talk about that asshole. I’m over him,” he says.
“Who’s the asshole today?”
The keyboardist I saw that first night walks in from the hallway and makes eye contact with me. He moves forward, hand extended. Now this guy has some smarts.
“Hi. I’m Jimmy.”
“Nobel.”
“Good to finally meet ‘the guy.’” His air quotes are questionable. Then he points and the smile fades. “Treat her right. There’s four of us watching.”
What the fuck? I’m forty-three years old, guy. Is that jealousy behind his eyes? Could be I’m imagining false attacks again. Rivals that do not exist. Calm down, Nobel. You already made yourself look like an ass once today.
“No problem,” I say. “It’s not my style to do otherwise.”
A nod is all I get in response, as he settles next to Tony on the couch. His eyes don’t look away from me though. And I saw Deborah shoot him a look. Like she was telling him to back off. For some reason he takes the hint.
