A Kind of Truth (17 page)

I waved my hand over my head and yelled his name in greeting. “Hi there. How’s it going?” My smile was wide and friendly.

“What are you doing here?” Will asked through his teeth.

He took a few steps away from the SUV and the watchful gaze of the lady in pink. He was perfectly pressed in a blue collared designer shirt and khakis. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair and mess it up, but his expression wasn’t inviting. He looked highly irritated with me. And yeah, that kind of got me going… until he shook his head in warning and gave me a fierce stare. A series of tiny facial gestures played out between us in which he begged me to not say anything stupid, and I silently agreed to try my best.

“Sweetheart, who is your friend?” The woman gave me a thorough once-over before sauntering forward. She shot a look at Will, but she seemed more curious than concerned by my sudden presence.

“I’m Rand O’Malley. Nice to meet you,” I said, offering her my hand.

She didn’t take it right away, and when she did, she gave me one of those dreaded “fish” handshakes, the kind that does the talking for you. In her case, it said I wasn’t one of her people, and she didn’t particularly care for this encounter to last longer than necessary.

“Likewise. William, are you ready? I’m exhausted. I have a call in to Martin, but if he doesn’t return it soon, we’ll have to dine without him.”

If there was one thing I hated, it was being dismissed or ignored. Not only had she not introduced herself, she’d turned her back to me after giving me that lameass handshake and immediately brought up Martin the Kink Master as though that wacko was more worthy of her time than me. Will gave me an apologetic look and started to speak, but it was too late. My mouth was already open.

“Oh. I thought we had plans tonight.”

I was treated to a two-way stare. Both looked surprised, but one looked like he wanted to kick me in the nuts. Will cocked his head slightly and widened his eyes before addressing me in a low, careful tone.

“I’ll call you later, okay?”

We held eye contact for a long moment. Everyone, including the icy woman standing nearby, faded away. I swallowed hard, making sure our fingers brushed before I stepped toward the curb.

“What did you say your name was?”

I turned back and lifted my hand distractedly to hail a cab. “Rand.”

“I don’t recall you mentioning a Rand. Are you a student here? Do you know one another from class?”

“No. I never went to college. High school was hard enough to finish. I’m in a band,” I said with a sly grin. “And I work in a bagel shop in my spare time.”

“Lovely.” Her tone and her lingering stare at the swirling designs on my tatted arm clearly said she didn’t think anything was “lovely” about me. “How do you know one another, then?”

I looked at Will. His mom, his story. When a taxi pulled up in front of the Range Rover, I decided that was my cue to leave.

Will stopped me with a hand on my elbow. “Mom, we’re… we know each other from….”

I glanced from Will to his mother to the cab driver, who was busily honking at me to get my ass in gear, then back at Will again. I saw his intent but cautioned myself not to speak for him.

“We’re kind of… seeing each other,” he blurted.

“Seeing each other? Whatever does that mean?” His mother lowered her sunglasses halfway down her nose in true diva fashion.

Silence. Well, city silence. We stared at one another mutely as the cacophony of urban noise echoed around us. When the moment went on a beat too long, I decided it was up to me to end it. I looked from mother to son, willing myself not to unleash my irreverent self and give Mama a blow-by-blow, pun intended, of what he meant. Will wouldn’t appreciate it. But he’d certainly given me the clear to say something.

“It means I’m his boyfriend. Pleased to meet you, Mom.” I extended my hand but wasn’t surprised when she left me hanging. I turned to Will and kissed his cheek before moving toward the waiting taxi. “Call me later.”

THERE WAS
a prevailing air of tension in the studio when I returned to practice. Terry skipped every other chord with a regularity that made me think he was under a chemical influence. Tim and Cory were irritated with my disappearance but were more concerned with keeping the peace once Terry began hacking away at the guitar strings. My plummeting patience exasperated everything. I was pissed at Terry for being a lazy shit, pissed at Tim and Cory for coddling the bastard, and I was pissed at myself for my own lack of concentration and orneriness. Everyone in the room welcomed the diversion when I stepped out of the studio to answer my phone.

“Hey.”

“Who’s the girl?”

I let out a half laugh and began to slowly pace the bland hallway with its industrial-style carpet, low ceilings, and fluorescent lighting.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“That was my mother, Rand. I cannot believe you did that.”

“What did I do?” I infused my tone with levity, but I missed the mark.

“You know exactly what you did. God, that was the most awkward two hours of my life!”

“You mean she didn’t like me?” No answer. “Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time. I’ll try not to let it hurt my feelings. But I will point out you didn’t have to introduce me as your—how did you put it… ‘someone you’re seeing.’ You could have said I was just some weirdo you’re tutoring. I would have played along.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Rand. I’m not sure I would have told her you were my boyfriend exactly, but—”

“What am I, then?” I couldn’t help asking. His words stung and I didn’t know why. I wasn’t sure I was ready to be someone’s boyfriend. My intent had been to get a reaction from his mom. Not make a statement. My mood was off, and this wasn’t a wise discussion to have on the phone.

“You’re an infuriating ass, that’s what you are! Who’s the girl?”

“She’s Terry’s girlfriend. She thinks she can help us with PR stuff and—”

“Hmph. I’m sure.”

“Look, I’m sorry.” I let out a rush of air and let my head hit the wall as I slouched to a kneeling position in the deserted hallway.

“It’s okay. It was uncomfortable, but then again… I expected it. My mom wasn’t ready to hear that I really
am
gay. That’s all.”

“Are you saying she didn’t believe it until I showed up?”

“I don’t know what she believes. You know how it is when someone challenges your view of them? I think that’s what happened when you said the
BF
word. She was so quiet at dinner that even Martin notic—”

“Martin? Fuck. I can’t do this now.”

“Rand, don’t be ridiculous. You know he—”

An eerie red haze clouded my vision. I jumped to my feet and paced the hallway like a caged animal.

“Ridiculous? Are you fucking with me? That old married prick has seen your ass. He propositioned a scared college kid whose rich folks cut him off ’cause he’s a fag. It’s not the kink I care about, it’s the fact he took advantage of you. Plain and simple. It’s crazy that you can sit at a table with that guy while your prim and proper mom takes one look at me and decides
I’m
the dangerous one!”

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to! She said it for you. It’s a fucked-up world, Will. As long as you dress up your sins real pretty, all is forgiven. The minute you start speaking the truth,
bam
! Watch out. Righteousness comes easiest to people who can afford fancy cars and designer clothes. If a fucking LV bag is all it takes to pass sound judgment, then I want me one of those.” I pitched my voice to sound like a madman on a pulpit. I was mad. I was on the verge of the kind of crazy that lent itself to an amazing stage show. Or an embarrassing meltdown.

“What the fuck are you talking about? LV bag? Louis Vuitton?”

A sense of defeat washed over me. What the fuck indeed? I punched the wall and attempted to shake off my fury and indignation. I hated being judged and falling short. I hated defending myself knowing I’d already been tried and convicted. And I hated that Will didn’t understand.

“Hey, I’m sorry I put you on the spot with your mom. I don’t know if I meant to or not, ’cause Lord knows I hate ruining anyone’s dinner but—”

“Will that girl be at the show Saturday?”

“Leah? Yeah, probably. She’s with Terry and—”

“Benny can help you with PR too. I can bring him by on Saturday.”

Huh? “I’d be happy to talk to Benny, but Leah does it for a living and—”

“Yeah, I bet she does.”

“There’s no reason to—”

“What time is the show?”

“Ten. Why?”

“I’ll see you there. And Rand?”

“What?”

“You’re right. Life isn’t fair. But in this case, the problem isn’t Martin. It’s me. I don’t know how to fix where I’m from. I’m trying, but… it isn’t easy.”

He hung up before I could question his cryptic words. I stared at my cell for a long moment, wondering what had just happened.

EMOTIONS WERE
high before we hit the stage Saturday night. It may have been nerves or it may have been a case of simply spending too much time together. Tim was frantic when he couldn’t find his bag of drumsticks and pissed when he realized it was because Cory’s jacket was lying on top of them. I ignored their bickering and tried to stay in a preshow mellow mood by practicing vocal exercises as I strummed my acoustic guitar. I was doing my best not to join their bitchfest, though I couldn’t help checking my watch every few minutes, wondering what the fuck was keeping Terry. We’d left him bellied up to the bar with Leah, Holly, and a few of their friends forty-five minutes ago. Cory had gone to see what the holdup was but came back without him, though he assured me Terry would be back soon.

He wasn’t. And the show was supposed to start in ten minutes. I was tempted to waltz out there and drag his ass back here like a caveman. I had a niggling feeling this was a power play. He’d been out to give me the proverbial finger earlier at the bar by draping himself over pretty girls in low-cut T-shirts and doing shots from glasses perched precariously between their breasts while I tapped my fingers on the bar and checked my cell for messages. I chatted with Leah while we watched her man make an idiot of himself. She didn’t seem overly concerned, nor was she hanging on me the way she sometimes did. Good. Usually I’d participate in a little preshow good-natured silliness and mindless flirting, but tonight was an opportunity. I wanted to remain as clear-minded and focused as possible. Everyone got ready to perform their own way. If he needed a drink and to have his ego and maybe other body parts stroked by a few female fans to loosen up beforehand, I’d be the last to judge. However, if he walked onstage drunk tonight, I was going to fucking kill him.

“There’s a guy out here who’s insisting to see you, Rand. You have ten minutes ’til the lights go down. Should I send him away and tell him to catch you after the show?”

I glanced up at the harried-looking young woman with curly red hair wearing a headset. She’d introduced herself earlier as Michelle, the stage manager. She was a bit uptight and obviously took her job very seriously. If I wasn’t distracted by our lack of a guitarist, I would have tried to make her laugh. Not tonight. I couldn’t crack a smile myself at the moment. Her gaze was locked on me as she typed something into her iPad and furiously chomped on her gum.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Benny!”

Benny was jumping behind the stage assistant waving his arms like he was hailing a taxi at rush hour. I caught a flash of red at each hop but couldn’t see his face until the woman stepped back. He might not be who I was hoping to see, but at least he was entertaining.

“I’ll see him.”

I gave a half laugh as Benny loudly huffed, “Golly, thanks, Mr. Rockstar.”

“Would you do me a favor and track down our guitarist?” I asked Michelle. “He was last seen at the bar.”

Her eyes widened in panic before she nodded briskly and hurried out of the room. Which left Benny standing in the doorway, looking curious and, yes… ultrafabulous. He wore a snug, bright red T-shirt with faded holey jeans rolled up to show off his short, hip black boots. His dark hair was slicked back at the sides and mussed on top. This time his highlights were an impossible shade of red. I didn’t remember him wearing glasses the night I met him at the restaurant, but tonight he was wearing a pair of stylish lenses that amplified his heavily lined eyes.

“I have to cut out right after the show, but I’m here to talk PR.”

“Now?”

“I know. We couldn’t get in any earlier. It’s wall-to-wall people out there!” He lowered his voice conspiratorially as he added, “I’m here at the request of ‘you know who.’”

“Where is he?” I couldn’t say why, but I felt myself relax knowing Will was nearby.

“In the audience,” Benny said, moving his wrist in a flamboyant circular motion toward the door. “I’m sure you’ll see him afterward. He mentioned something about you needing PR help and a stylist.”

“I don’t need a stylist.”

“You don’t?” he asked, giving me a dubious once-over.

“I appreciate it, Benny.” I moved back to the door to escort him out. “But this isn’t a good time. Our guitarist is MIA and—”

The backroom door banged open on cue. Terry stopped in the doorway and clung to the jamb as though he needed its support. He gave a peace sign and stumbled into the room. The stage manager looked at me in a combination of horror and accusation as though I were somehow responsible.

“Five minutes,” she reminded us curtly before turning to leave.

Benny gave Terry a sharp look, then looked back at me and sighed theatrically. “You definitely need a stylist. We’ll talk another time. Break a leg, boys.” Benny waved and moved to the door but stopped in his tracks when Terry opened his mouth.

“Who’s the fag?”

Maybe it was the drunken swagger or the insolent sneer or perhaps it was the offhand homophobic slur. I’d been more patient than Terry deserved for the band’s sake, but it was over. I let out a feral growl and lunged for his throat. He gasped in surprise when his back hit the wall hard. The urge to curl my fingers around his neck until he choked for breath was strong. I waited until he grabbed at my hand desperately with a hint of fear in his eyes before I spoke in a low, menacing tone.