How We Deal With Gravity (22 page)

“I sorta promised Avery I’d come home. Next time, though,
okay?” I say, and I can tell Ben is more than disappointed.

“Whatever,” he says, flipping me off and putting his arm
around the new blonde he’s with, following Matt and Josh out the door. I feel a
tight pang in my stomach from watching them leave, and for a split second, I think
about saying “Screw it,” and catching back up to them. But that thought passes
quickly, and it’s replaced by wanting to be with Avery as soon as possible.

There are a few people left hanging around the stage while I
pack up my guitar and store the guys’ stuff; I nod at them as I walk by, but
before I get too far, one of them stops me. “You’re Mason Street, yeah?” he
says, holding out his hand for me to shake. I look at it for a good hard
second, and decide he seems decent enough, so I shake it.

“That’s me. You enjoy the show?” I ask, pulling my case up
to rest it on the table.

The guy laughs a little under his breath and looks at both
of his friends who seem equally amused. “Mason, I’m Kevin Quill,” he starts,
and I don’t even think I hear the rest of what he has to say. Kevin Quill has
launched the careers of about a dozen singer-songwriter types like me—as
in multi-million-dollar kind of launched their careers. I’m looking at his card
and reading his name over and over when I realize he’s still talking.

“I’m sorry, huh?” I say, my eyes coming up to meet his
finally.

“I said I was wondering if you and I could sit down and talk
sometime, maybe see if there might be an opportunity for me to work with the
Mason Street Band,” he says, his perfect white teeth shining right back at me,
almost putting me in a trance.

“Uh, sure. I mean,
yes
.
That’d be great,” I shake his hand again.

“Good, give me a call tomorrow. We’ll talk,” he says,
throwing a couple hundreds down on the table to cover the bill, and leaving
with his friends. I look around the bar, and no one is left to bear witness.
The only person who would even understand why my jaw is hanging open is Ray,
and I can’t find him anywhere, so I just throw the guitar in my trunk and head
straight to Avery.

Avery

There was no way Mason was falling asleep when he came home.
He sounded like one of those state fair auctioneers the way he rattled off everything
that happened after I took Max home. I didn’t really know who Kevin Quill was
when he said his name, but I played along to make him feel good. I could tell
that he must be someone important.

I probably fell asleep hours before Mason, so I’m careful
getting out of bed. I sneak into my room to grab my clothes from my drawer, and
I notice Max’s eyes are wide open and looking
almost
at me.

“Good morning. I didn’t want to wake you. We have a session
with Jenny, and then I’ll let you pick your favorite thing to do today,” I
say—while inside, my mind is racing to get two steps ahead of wherever
Max is going to take seeing me slip into the room, not out of it.

“There is a meteor shower tonight. I would like to set up
Grandpa’s telescope,” he says, laying flat on his back and blinking at the
ceiling.

“That sounds like a good idea,” I say, clinging to my clean
shirt, and slowly sliding backward to the door.

“Can I sleep in Mason’s room sometime, too?” he asks, and my
eyes grow wide. This is where Max is different—he’s caught me,
completely, but he doesn’t really question the whys. All he cares about is
figuring out how he can have the same privilege I do.

“You’ll have to ask Mason,” I say, swallowing hard, knowing
that Max is going to ask. I’m going to have to prep Mason for this one.

“All right, I’ll ask him tonight, after he watches the
meteors with me,” he says, sitting up quickly and moving his feet toward the
floor. Max rubs his eyes as he stands and walks to the bathroom, shutting and
locking the door, completely cutting me in line.

Max is slow in the bathroom. He gets distracted, and usually
forgets his purpose. I know I have a good fifteen minutes of alone time, and I
use it—sneaking back into Mason’s room and running my fingers along his
arm to wake him just long enough to warn him about the barrage of expectations
that will be waiting on him when he finally wakes up.

“Hey,” he says, his voice groggy, and his breath smelling of
stale beer and smoke. I pull my cover to my nose, and he covers his mouth when
he realizes. “Oh, sorry. Hang on, I’ll brush my teeth.”

I tug on his shirt and force him back in his bed. “You
can’t. Max is in there right now,” I say, biting at my lip in anticipation of
the next part. “He…he caught me.”

Mason’s eyes are fully open at that, and he turns his head
quickly to me, mouthing, “Oh, shit!”

“I handled it…sort of,” I say, slipping out of his bed, out
of his reach. “So, he’s going to ask to have a sleepover sometime. Like, oh,
probably tonight. Yeah, uh…and good luck with that!”

I race through his door and slam it shut behind me, tossing
my clean clothes to the corner of the hallway, and sprinting down the stairs. I
only make it about halfway before his arm is hugging around my midsection and
my feet are no longer on the floor. “You threw me under the bus!” he says at my
neck, tingles shooting down my entire body from the tickle of his scruffy chin.

“I did no such thing,” I say, and he pulls me close again,
lifting me, and backing me up the stairs and to his room.

“I call bullshit,” he says, a huge grin on his face. “You’re
the one who’s going to end up suffering anyhow. What are you going to do when
Max and I are in here having fun all night, and you’re stuck over there all by
yourself?”

It’s hard to concentrate when he has me pinned to the door,
his tongue working its way up the crook of my neck and his nose tickling the
lobe of my ear. “I’ll just read. Maybe even two books,” I say, and in a way
that thought sounds like a gift from heaven. “Besides, it’s lights out at eight
o’clock. So, I’m not so sure who’s getting the short end.”

He starts to tickle at my sides and I giggle uncontrollably.
“Oh, I’ll show you lights out,” he says, his fingers working their way up my
sides and coming closer to the tips of my breasts, when I hear a loud knock on
the other side of the door, and push his hands away quickly.

“It’s Max. Be nice!” I whisper, and Mason opens the door to
my son, who’s now changed into a bright green outfit. He only likes certain
kinds of shirts, and sometimes for him picking out an outfit that he finds
comfortable requires a little flexibility in the matching category. His shorts
are kelly green today, and the shirt is almost florescent. At least I won’t
lose him at the store.

“Tonight is the meteor shower. Do you want to watch it with
me through Grandpa’s telescope?” he asks, turning to look at the door handle
while he speaks. This must be really important to Max, because usually we have
to bribe him to ask people to interact with him. I kick at Mason’s foot so he
understands how important this is.

“I’d love to, Max. What time does it start?” he asks,
looking at me with a devilish grin. He’s found a loophole to my bedtime rule.

“The best time to start is nine thirty. Mom, I am going to
have to sit up later,” Max says, not really asking.

“Okay,” I say. I let it go this time because I can’t believe
how far he’s getting.

“Got it. Okay, I’ll be there,” Mason says, holding his
breath that Max won’t push for the next part, and when Max starts to walk away,
I think he might have just dodged it.

“I’ll bring my blanket and pillow over later to set up my
bed,” Max says, no longer really engaged with us and now just assuming that the
rest of his plan is already enacted. In a way, Max is the ultimate
closer—he never even gets remotely close to hearing
no
.

All I can do is raise my eyebrows at Mason and shrug, and
while I finish getting ready for the day in the shower, I start to feel bad. I
also know Mason can’t handle Max completely on his own. There are too many nuances,
and I wouldn’t send him into that unprepared. When I finally meet them both
downstairs for breakfast, I lean over to Mason while Max is eating.

“I’m coming too. Looks like the spare room is going to be
awfully full tonight,” I smile, and he visibly sighs with relief.

Mason

At first I wanted to take the meeting with Kevin
alone—having Ben involved in any type of business discussion is usually
non-productive. But playing together last night, the way the four of us were on
stage—that felt more
right
than
any other performance we’d ever had. I feel like something good is beginning,
and I don’t want to fuck it up by being shady and doing things behind the guys’
backs, so I called them this morning to break the news and set the meeting with
Kevin for this afternoon.

Ben’s legs are hopping up and down so much that the whole
damn table is shaking, and I’m just waiting for Kevin to call the meeting off
for fear that our drummer is a coke head. To be honest, I’m not so sure he
isn’t.

“Let me get to the point, gentleman,” Kevin says, pulling
the black-rimmed glasses from his face and folding them on the table in front
of us. “Your sound is perfect for what we’re putting together right now. That
whole rockabilly, folk-rock kind of thing is hot, and we’re scheduling some big
tours. What I’d like to do is have you slated to open for most of the shows in
the Southwest.”

I cough when I swallow my water because what he is saying is
the last thing I expected. I thought maybe we’d get another deal like the
last—tour some small venues, build a base and maybe record an album if we
were lucky.

“We’re in,” Ben says, shaking Kevin’s hand before the rest
of us really have time to process.

“Wait, I have a few questions,” I pipe in, and I can feel
the guys staring at me, just wanting to punch me in the face for even having a
hint of a reservation. “Sorry, but we’ve sorta been down a road before, and I
want to know where this one is leading. When you say
open for a few shows
, what kind of numbers are you talking about?”

“Off the top of my head, probably about twenty or
so—primarily Arizona, Nevada, Utah, Denver, Southern Cal, maybe a couple
in Texas,” he says, pulling up his briefcase to the table to pull out a set of
papers that look like contracts. “You’d be opening for some of our
up-and-coming bands, venues that hold about twenty.”

“Twenty people?” Ben asks, and I want to kick him. Kevin
just laughs it off.

“Twenty…thousand,” Kevin says.

“Fuuuuuuck me. Where do I sign,” Ben asks, perching himself
up on his elbows like an anxious child.

“What about recording? Will there be any possibility of
that?” I ask, not sure how much Kevin really believes in us.

“Absolutely. Let’s see how the shows go. They’ll run through
the end of the year, and if the response is good, we’ll know by late November
if we need to schedule some recording time.”

The guys are already reading over the various points of the
contract, and my paper is sitting in front of me, my pen on top, just waiting
for my signature. I know how big this break is. But something has my hand
trapped, and I can’t seem to get myself to commit.

“Look, Mason. I understand your reservations. I know your
story—I don’t come into deals like this without doing my homework. I’m
going to be really honest, what I’m offering you is the best deal you’re going
to get—and it might be the last,” he says, holding out his hand, just
waiting for me to shake it.

My mind is racing a million miles a second, trying to line
up every last piece of my life into a neat and tidy row. But it’s impossible.
The only thing I know for sure is that my dream is hanging on by a thread, and
Kevin is holding the other end, and that seems to be enough to get me to shake
his hand tonight. I sign my name on that small black line, handing over my
life, and then I wonder what the hell I’m going to tell Avery.

“Hells yeah, man!” Ben says, raising his half-empty glass of
whiskey to the rest of us for a toast. “To second chances!”

“To second chances!” everyone cheers. I’m not sure which
chance I’m referring to, though, and I’m not sure if I’m welcoming one or
saying goodbye.

“Okay, you pussy-whipped son-of-a-bitch. No excuses, we’re
going to celebrate this, and you’re coming with us
right now.
You better have dollars in that wallet of yours because
we’re going to Spanks!

I roll my eyes, but I know I can’t really get out of this
one, not if I want to survive the next two months on the road with Ben and the
guys.

“Fine, but not all night okay?” I say, guzzling down the
rest of my beer. I reach into my wallet to settle up the tab, but Kevin pushes
my hands away.

“This one’s on me. I have a good feeling about you guys, and
if I’m right, then buying you a beer is the least I can do,” he says, and I let
out a big breath, taking in his compliment.

Spanks always goes the same. I don’t know why I thought this
time would be any different. Beers turn to shots, and then the next thing I
know every naked girl in the place is hanging around our table while Ben hands
out everyone else’s money because the fucker never has his own.

“Mason, dude, come on. Just give me one more twenty. I swear
this is the last. I
need
to have a
little one-on-one sesh with MaryAnne. Come on, buddy,” Ben says, leaning heavy
into my arm. I know if I moved too quickly he’d fall flat on his face, and I’m
tempted. But it’s more tempting to give him the twenty so he’ll leave.

Matt and Ben are practically making out with two of the
girls. There’s always been a loose ‘hands off’ rule at Spanks—that’s why we’ve
always come here. It started when we were seventeen, and Ben found a guy to
make us fake IDs. Usually, after a few hours of lap dances, I’ve picked out a
girl and taken her to the bathroom for a little
bonus
, but everyone in here looks different to me tonight—it
all seems sad and pathetic.

“How about you, baby? You want some of this?” one girl says,
running her hands up her body and squeezing her tits together just to jiggle
them in front of my face. I’m pretty fuckin’ buzzed, but I haven’t drank enough
to make me want that. All I want is Avery.

“No thanks…but I tell ya what. I’ll give you this twenty,
and how about you make that guy’s day over there and hang out with him
and
your friend,” I say, tucking my last
bill in the side string of her panties and pointing over to Ben and…what was
her name? MaryAnne?

The girl pulls the twenty from her hip and stashes it in a
small pouch tied to her wrist, then she rolls her body against mine just once
before she leaves, just to show me what I’m missing. I can feel my pants get a
little tighter on instinct, but my head is still on straight, despite how drunk
I truly am, and I keep my hands to myself and watch her walk away.

I have half a beer left, and I finish that off along with
one last shot and then I find Matt to let him know I’m leaving. “I got things,
man. But hey, let’s hook up tomorrow, okay? You keep an eye on that one, make
sure he doesn’t land his ass in jail,” I say, throwing my head backward to
where Ben is now in heaven with two strippers at once.

When I stumble from Spanks, I’m struck by how cold it is
outside. When we came to the bar, it was maybe five or so in the afternoon.
Still in only a T-shirt and my jeans, I beep open the back of my car and look
for a jacket. I find a nasty old gray sweatshirt, so I put that on just to stay
warm and then walk over to the edge of the parking lot to pick up a cab. That’s
always been my line—I don’t drive drunk, and neither do any of the guys.
I drove us here, so someone will give me a lift back to my car tomorrow.

“Hey, I need to get to…” I pause for a second, suddenly not
able to remember Avery’s address. “Ah hell man, you know where Dusty’s is in
Cave Creek? Get me there and then I’ll walk you through the rest.”