Random Acts of Love (Random #5) (10 page)

“Joe is taking an elephant dose,” I explained.

Joe nodded, eyes wide with mischief.

“Actually, more,” I added.

He nodded.

“Assholes take more.”

He stopped nodding. Liam laughed. Joe glared. 

Darla came back in the room dressed in ratty sweatpants and a sweatshirt from some Internet hosting company. Her mom sent her all this sweepstakes shit. Now that she’d moved in with me, the packages arrived almost daily. How many pens, beer can cozies and sweatshirts could a person need? Not that many, though we did appreciate the numbing lube that Cathy won.

“Is he getting high?” Darla asked in an indulgent voice. “Fine. I’ll just write your contract so you only get ten percent and you have to fuck a chicken on stage.”

“That’s Trevor’s contract.”

I threw a spare pen at his head. He pivoted, then made a strangling sound.

“Damn it, I swallowed by accident because of what you did!” Joe protested.

“That’s what she said,” every single person in the room said in unison. It was a moment of glory. A thing of beauty.

“All right, all right, simmer down,” Darla announced through the ruckus. “Let’s get this here business meeting to order.”

Charlotte took off her shoe and banged the heel on the end table like a gavel. “Order! Order!”

Sam and Amy settled into a chair across from me, Liam and Charlotte. Darla and Joe stood, Joe’s arm around her waist. He liked to constantly touch her whenever he was in town. I liked that. The gesture was a way for him to connect with her, and by extension, with me. Joe would never admit to that in a million years, but I think he realized it, too. We were a threesome for a reason. One on one wasn’t enough. The times when I made love with Darla were special. Amazing. Intense and hot. 

But they weren’t as centered and grounded as when Joe was there.

Joe passed the dropper bottle to me. I held up my beer and shook my head. No way. In fact, I didn’t think Joe had noticed that I hadn’t taken a single drug he had personally handed me in nearly two years. If I scored some pot on my own from a buddy, that was different. Over the years, though, I’d come to wonder if Joe’s stolen peyote and other drugs hadn’t been laced with something...extra.

Extra enough to make me fall in love with a chicken.

People made fun of my chicken obsession, but when you’re in that orgiastic state, a divine religiosity flows over you. The psychedelic component in the drugs Joe gave us all triggered a kind of transcendence in me. I became one with everything. The artificial boundaries between my body and other bodies didn’t exist. Clothing was just another way to be disconnected from other people, so I shed it. Same with money and phones. When love and light are the only real currencies, little plastic and glass machines don’t matter.

Pieces of paper aren’t currency when you’re in that state. They’re dividers. Human kindness and compassion became my trade, and when I rescued the chickens from that evil warden of the flock, they were grateful. They sang to me, a glorious hallelujah that I would still sing from memory if I let myself.

If society wouldn’t call me a chicken fucker for it. Inaccurately, but still.  

These heartsongs were my own. I know, I know—it sounds insane. It
is
insane. I can hold both of those objective realities in my head at the same time.

Most people can’t.

(And again, for the record, I never had sex with a chicken or any other animal for that matter).

It’s like Joe and his insta-jealousy. He’s like that because his judgmental mind has completely taken over his being. He needs to use drugs to unclench. Not to destress or to relax, but literally to unclench the stranglehold one part of him has over the other parts. In many ways we’re just splintered fragments shoved inside a flesh box, expected to make up a whole human being.

Some fragments step forward and take over. Some remain dormant. Drugs are a way of exploring the quieter parts.

“I love each and every one of you,” Joe said out of the blue. “And if you want me to fuck a chicken on stage, that’s cool.”

See? Drugs kicking in.

“But I get fifty percent of the gross receipts.”

Maybe not all the way.

No one else in the room took Joe up on his offer, so the seven of us sat there, some drinking, Joe flying, while Darla pulled out a thick folder filled with our business work.

“First order of business,” she announced. “We have the new tour paperwork here.”

I froze.

Shit. I knew this day was coming, but hadn’t really absorbed the fact that it was coming
now
. Already. Back in December, we’d clinched a national tour. Funded. Not well-funded; we’d be eating ramen noodles and McDonald’s specials while driving our own cars and getting mileage reimbursements. A few flights covered. No sleek new tour bus with a built-in Jacuzzi and room for orgies.

But a tour. Legitimacy and all that came with the stamp of approval from a production company. It came with a price even as it came with a paycheck.

Joe and I would have to leave law school.

Both our schools would allow a one year leave of absence. In theory. Going to the dean to ask for a year off to, say, spend the time studying a foreign country’s legal system, or to get cancer treatments, or to care for an ailing parent was one thing.

To spend a year singing and touring with a rock band? I just couldn’t wait to have that discussion at my venerable institution.

Right.

Liam and Sam didn’t get it. They’d graduated from their undergrad programs and chosen not to go to grad school. The national tour was their big chance. The money was okay—enough to sock away or just have fun with—but if our Internet strategy continued, with good viral videos and online music sales—the tour sites could get bigger and bigger and this could become a true career.

And that was great.

Except that’s not what I wanted.

“The contract provides payment for a road manager,” Darla said in a quiet voice, eyes nervous. My radar tuned in to her suddenly. Joe’s arm tensed around her and he looked at her with concerned eyes. He could be an asshole but he really loved her.

“That’s you,” Sam said from across the room with a smile. Amy, Liam and Charlotte all nodded.

Darla frowned. “I don’t want to assume I’m automatically the road manager. It pays a decent amount, and I just....” She sighed. “If we do this—”

“If?” Liam and Sam said, incredulous.

Darla held up one palm. “If we do this, it means living on the road for a long time. Josie and Laura said I could keep my job and telecommute, but they’d need to hire someone else part-time, which means I’d go down to part-time, which means the road manager gig would be a big help to make enough money.”

My throat went dry. Money wasn’t even a thought for me about any of this. I didn’t have bills other than the apartment. Mom and Dad covered everything for me.

As long as I was in law school.

That was their carrot. Leaving would involve the stick. How hard would they beat me with it?

“How much does it pay?” I asked. Joe’s eyes cut over to me sharply. Was he thinking the same thing? That he’d be cut off, too?

Darla laid the contracts out in front of us, going point by point through the numbers. Expenses on the road covered. Fees for different venues. Bonuses for sell-out crowds, for singles hitting certain milestones, and soon I needed another beer and was wishing I’d taken some of those concentrates.

Joe had gone all fuzzy and vague. He was much easier to be around in this state. If we did the road tour and he took a year off the academic grind, would he be a nicer, gentler Joe? What would that even look like?

“The money’s good,” Sam said. “And we have the YouTube channel. Still making ad money there, but we haven’t had a new, crazy viral video in a long time. We need another one.” 

“Which animal are you going to abuse next?” Charlotte asked. “I’d suggest a sea hawk.”

Beer came flying out of Amy’s nose.

“Already abused them,” Liam said with a big grin. We were Patriots fans, through and through. 

“We’re not going to abuse animals,” I protested. “But we need something outrageous and funny.”

“You could walk down a highway naked carrying a chicken, Trevor,” Amy said, wiping her face with Sam’s t-shirt. The blasé way he accepted this as part of life made me laugh.

They all thought I was laughing about the chicken.

Her ring glittered as sunlight caught it. They were engaged. Sam’s proposal had come after a gig and their wedding date was on hold until we knew what was going on with the tour. 

“We need to make a decision,” Darla said, stone cold sober. She and Charlotte were the only people in the room not drinking. Or in Joe’s case, orbiting Venus.  

“We’ve talked about this ad nauseam,” Joe said in a dreamy voice. “I can take a year off Penn. They won’t be happy about it, but I’ll just lie and tell them I’ll study entertainment law contracts and gather significant industry experience as part of an ongoing effort to improve my law associate skills,” he said, his voice changing into a corporatespeak tone.

“And Trev can do the same. Harvard lets you.”

Joe’s words rang out in the room, rippling out to flow through the walls.

“You can?” Sam asked me. The expression in his eyes was excited. I felt like a piece of shit, because I was about to let every single person in the room down.

“I could,” I started to say.

Joe interrupted. “Done deal, then. Let’s sign. We had a lawyer vet this already and the contract terms are solid. Negotiated higher fees. It’s just ready for five signatures. Ours and Darla’s.”

Liam looked at Charlotte, grabbing her hand. “You’re sure about this?”

She reached up with her other hand and touched his cheek. “Completely. I’ll meet up with you in some of the cities, when school’s out.” Charlotte’s work as a Resident Director at a state school in Mass meant she had an apartment, a salary, and actual benefits. She was basically the only true grown-up in the room. Liam kissed her, a deep, meaningful, slow kiss that made me turn away.

“And you?” Sam asked Amy, his fingers on her engagement ring.

“This is the thousandth time you’ve asked me that. Yes! Go! I’ll meet you on some of the tour sites, too. I can’t leave law school in the fall because of the way the dual program in library science and law works, but I can visit.” She kissed him, a sweet, quick kiss of assurance and happiness.

Darla looked at me, then at Joe. She picked up the pen and handed the contract to Sam first.

He signed.

Then Sam passed it to Liam.

He signed.

Darla took it.

She signed.

Darla stood and walked it over to Joe, who gave her a loopy smile.

“You sure you want the year off?” 

“Hell, yes. Law is boring. I’ll come back and finish. I’m too uptight not to,” he said slowly, face spreading like a Cheshire cat’s. “But this is huge. We get to be rock stars. America, fuck yeah!”

Those concentrates are some potent shit.

He signed.

Darla took the papers and turned, looking at me. I’d hidden my ambiguity from everyone. Not quite a lie, but not quite the truth, either, my standard line was silence. I didn’t say much on purpose, because I didn’t know what to say. 

“Guys, I need more time.” The words came out of me in a rush of air, like a slow leak in a big balloon.

“How anticlimactic,” Charlotte whispered to Liam.

“Trevor,” Liam said slowly, looking at me with an arched eyebrow. We looked enough alike for people to assume we were brothers. “Are you for real?”

“Time. I just need time.”

“We all had the same amount of time to decide.”

“And I need more.”

“Are you saying you might not do this?” Sam asked in a choked voice. “Is there a chance you’ll back out on us?”

My slow inhale through my nose was their answer.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Joe hissed, his languid mood shifting. “Are you out of your fucking mind? We can’t pass this up.”

“It’s a great opportunity,” I blurted out, at a loss for words. My heart pumped so hard it sent a numbness into my toes and fingers, the tip of my nose vibrating with something other than happiness. Something way more painful. Not fear. Not anxiety. Not shame.

Something more. The sheer horror of realizing you’re ruining the lives of the people you love the most, all because you need to do what’s right for yourself.

“You like law school that much?” Amy asked, genuinely curious. Her face was the only one in the room that didn’t seem like it was judging me. Darla wouldn’t even look at me. Liam and Charlotte were huddled in discussion, furious whispers and placating tones peppering the air. 

“I do.”

“Enough to throw away our big break?” Sam’s voice shook with fury. Amy recoiled from him, shocked like me.

“Enough to need some time. I’m just asking for more time.”

“You could have said something sooner,” Darla said, her voice filled with hot steel, like a fireplace poker aimed at the heart.

My body burned. I started to breathe hard, even as I couldn’t move a muscle.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry!” Sam growled, standing. His fists were as tight as could be, chest rising and falling with angry breaths, green eyes glowing with a mix of emotions that all said I sucked.

“I am. Look, I know this—”

“Trevor!” he shouted. “This is it for me. This is my big dream. We’re a team. We’re a fucking team, and when we get a deal like this we go all in. When you’re on a team you don’t bail just because you’re too much of a fucking pussy to disappoint your parents.”

“That’s not what this is about—”

Amy was looking up at Sam like he was an alien. All faces were pointed at him, everyone incredulous. He was always so quiet. I knew this side of him, though. I’d just unleashed it.

“That’s exactly what this is about! You went to Harvard because your parents made you. You said so, all these years. You’re what they hang their hopes on because of Rick. It’s you and your autistic brother, and they need to shine their perfect parenting badge by seeing you at Harvard. And now we have a shot at greatness—a national fucking tour! We get paid at a steady rate to see the country and play in some of the biggest concert venues in the fucking world! And you’re wimping out.”