Page 39 of The River in Spring
“How the hell did you get him to talk that long?” Oscar asks me.
That starts off the rest of the friends retelling of infamous ZZ habits. The recluse tendencies, and how he never wants to talk to fans.
‘Don’t scare my date,” he says after a particularly sketchy story.
She isn’t scared. I’d say she is having a good night by the smile on her face.
I feel the warmth of Dove’s hand as it touches mine. She leans in. “Oh, Nobel. This is wonderful. Thank you, baby.”
“I called all of them. Wanted to make sure your celebration would go smoothly. Besides that, I needed to apologize to those who witnessed my reaction at your house that first day I met them.”
Dove looks surprised. “You didn’t need to do that. Not for me anyway. You don’t realize yet what a bunch of fuckups and hotheads they can be. I guarantee every one of them will piss you off soon enough.”
“Hey you two. Pay attention to us! This is our time!” Deborah calls.
For emphasis, Tony tosses a piece of sushi at my head. But The Invisible Man learned early to dodge whatever Aargon and Van shot my way. Rocks, dinner rolls, baseballs. Dirty underwear. My lightning reflex deflects the food and sends it to the ground.
At this moment it’s painfully obvious I’m dealing with people younger than me. I remember how fun it was. But I notice tonight how my idea of funny has changed. Other things have taken their places. I’m becoming my father. For the first time I realize what a great thing that is. Doesn’t mean I’m old. It means I am getting smarter.
Laughter erupts from Deborah. “That was brilliant hand eye coordination, Nobel. You are outmatched, brother.”
Tony reaches for the tuna roll. “I have no idea what my sister is talking about,” he says to his date.
George, the hot, young, body-builder hasn’t said two words. The guy’s thick head of dark hair is groomed within an inch of his life. The clothes he wears are tailored perfectly. How did he find a shirt that fit those biceps?
“Did you ever hear about the time Oscar and Tony decided to go skinny dipping in the mayor’s pool?”
“That wasn’t my doing!” Oscar protests. “He thought the guy was hot and I was just supporting his urges.”
When his date’s eyes widen, he adds, “You know, like a good friend does.”
One funny memory after another is told as we sample massive amounts of sushi and sake. Lucky for us, the owner is here tonight. She recognized Dove and the other members of Montana. She fangirled all over them and suggested we allow her to choose the feast. Deborah took her address to send autographed pictures.
Okay. I had to force myself to partake in some of the slimier looking choices. And it took a few sakes to get me to the sashimi. But they sort of won me over bite by bite. That, or I’m too pickled in alcohol to make any good choices. I’m probably growing a ten inch worm in my intestine right now.
The conversation turns to music. That must happen a lot. Their animated faces wear a version of the expression. There is a look when people speak of what they love. Energy picks up. And it shows in the eyes. I see it here, all around the table.
“I’ve heard the story how Montana came to be, but what about the future? Do you have long-term plans?”
I ask not only to hear the band’s goals, but to solidify in my mind what Dove is reaching for. It will affect me. I expect Deborah to answer. As I take a bite from the elaborate roll, Jimmy does.
“Same as always, brother. We want to make it on the national stage. Eventually international. Write songs. Make records. Tour. World Domination. Nothing has changed.”
Message received. You hope I have zero effect on Dove’s trajectory. That’s how you see it, now let’s hear from the only voice I care about. I look at her and wait.
“Well, yes. That’s it in a nutshell,” Dove says with a pleased look on her face and a lift of her sake cup.
Shit. She agreed, didn’t hesitate, or make any adjustments to his narrative. There was not a second thought about Jimmy’s conclusions. He looks happy as shit. And for the first time tonight he sends me a smile that’s says he knows her better than I do. Fucker.
“That sounds great. I bet you will be on that stage someday. Someday soon.”
My words settle on the faces of the people at the table. Maybe some believe me. Others know I’m spouting what they want to hear. Definitely Jimmy does. But another might as well. For different reasons though. Deborah. Her eyes tell me she is looking at the whole picture. Aware of both my good intentions and her friend’s feelings toward me. In this moment I understand Dove’s choice of best friends.
How I feel is not politically correct, or loving. I know that. But I do not want my woman to be on the road three hundred days out of the year. Or be around fawning male fans who would love getting in her pants. Not to mention being around a man who loves her. The one that isn’t me, while I sit at my desk reading legal papers. In my house alone, in the middle of Paradise without my Eve. No man would blame me for feeling this way. But the women, they would not share their opinion. Not even my own mother, who would give me a twenty-minute lecture on the importance of supporting your mate. Not to mention that all men should encourage financial stability in women. Then she’d segue into the history of women supporting the dreams of their men. I don’t have a leg to stand on.
But wait. What are the chances of fame ever happening? Am I a huge dick for even thinking that? No. It’s just the facts. I know nothing about the music business, but even I know the chances are slim. Talented singers and musicians are everywhere. Most never know success on that level. That is an unvarnished truth in life. It especially applies to the arts.
I wish them well, and know their talent warrants it, but it’s a long shot. The odds of Montana reaching the heights they deserve probably will never happen.So calm the fuck down and show your support.
