Rock'n Tapestries (10 page)

“No!
Not at all!  People
look
for love, you dumb shit!  They do crazy things
to get it, and when they find it, they do their best to hold on to it!  We have
it…God, you make me want to hit something!  We
have
it.  And you don’t
want
it!  Does that make any sense to
you
?”

“No.
Not when you put it that way.”

So
there we sat—Asher and Chelsea— on Christmas Eve, on the floor in front of a
beautiful Christmas tree with candles burning all over the place, making the
air smell of cedar and pine. Two people so close to having it all and yet so
far away. In love but separated by something that had no name, could not be
touched, but could certainly be felt.

Still,
he’d said he loved me. It was more than I’d ever gotten out of him. I sniffed
and gave it some thought.

“Please
don’t cry.  I can’t stand to see you cry.”  He pulled me tighter against him. 
I felt as though I were going to throw up.

“You
women want honesty? This is me being honest.  I don’t want to hurt you. Do you
think you could at least take a stab at understanding?”

Hell
no.
  I didn’t want
to understand. I wanted him to
change
, to get a clue. But I knew
whatever was wrong with him went deep. Nothing I said was going to make any
difference.

 What
was this thing, this pseudo love affair we had? Could I exist in limbo feeling
the way I did about him?  If I couldn’t, the alternative was shit-canning our
friendship altogether, and I didn’t want to do that.

Decision
made, I sniffled and nodded.  “You drive me crazy. I don’t know why I allow you
to do this to me.”

“Just
don’t abandon me, baby girl.” He kissed me on top of the head.  “Please don’t
give up on me.”

The
Dirty Turtles played a Saturday night gig at Tapestries three weeks after
Christmas. I felt a sort of dull excitement, a tickle in the pit of my
stomach.  Now that Asher and I were speaking, I could actually enjoy them.

I
was washing up a few stray dishes in the back room of Tapestries that afternoon
when Asher came hurrying in, a large box in his arms and an equally large smile
on his face.

“I
want you to be the first to have one of these, Chels.  Mr. Dreyfus said all of
the servers could wear these tonight.”

He
dropped the box on the floor and bent over to open it.  I grabbed a towel to
dry my hands and turned my attention to him.

“What
have you got?”

He
plunged both hands into the box, fished around for a bit, then straightened. 
In his hands, he held a light blue T-shirt. On the front over the left breast,
screen-printed in black, was a small flaming electric guitar. He spun the shirt
around. On the back, it said
The Dirty Turtles are Rock’n Tapestries!

“This
is a medium.  Will it fit you?” he asked.

“Yes!”
I mock squealed like a groupie and pulled a Sharpie out of my apron pocket. 
“Will you autograph it for me?”

“Of
course!”  He took the Sharpie and signed on the front, right under the flaming
guitar. 

 When
he handed it to me, I clutched it to my chest, rolled my eyes toward heaven,
and sighed. “Asher Pratt just signed my shirt.  I can die happy now! “

Asher
laughed. “We’re going to throw some of these out into the audience tonight, but
I want the staff to have first pick.  Do you think Marybeth would wear one?”

“I
think she’d break your arm if you didn’t ask. She may not wear it tonight, but
I know she’ll want one.”

What
a great Saturday night at Tapestries that was. The Turtles put on one of the
best shows I’ve ever seen. I didn’t think she would, but Marybeth actually wore
the Rock’n Tapestries shirt Asher gave her. When I think about it now, it never
fails to make me smile.

Asher
was at the top of his game.  When he wasn’t making his guitar smolder with one
awesome song right after another, he was throwing T-shirts to the throng of
people standing at the base of the stage.

 Once
he even took his guitar off and jumped into the crowd. They promptly hoisted
him into the air, passed him around a bit, and then set him gently back onto
the stage. 

He
was so happy, so vibrant.  So fucking
hot.
Pain mixed with pleasure as I
stood behind the bar and watched him, waiting for Marybeth to finish my order.

 Why? 
Why can’t you just be mine?

Asher
chose that moment to speak to the crowd.  “Make sure you tip your waitresses
tonight.  These girls do an awesome job here at Tapestries. Keep your hand off
of
that
one though.” He pointed across the crowd to me. “She’s all mine,
boys.” It seemed like every eye in the place was on me.

My
cheeks flamed hot as I dropped my head to stare at the floor.  Marybeth bumped
me with her elbow, a shit-eating grin on her face.  Willow smiled at me, her
eyes bright.  I said nothing.

My
heart was thumping with pleasure, but my head knew better.  He was a real
showman, my Asher, a consummate speaker of words that meant nothing.  I
swallowed and shored up the wall I’d built around my heart.  It felt as though
it would hold.

We
cleaned up, all of us grinning from ear to ear.  The crowd was one of the
largest I’d ever seen, and the cash register was overflowing.  I made a small
fortune in tips that night.

Willow
jingled like sleigh bells when she plopped into the chair beside me at the bar.
“I have twenty-five pounds of change in my pockets!” She laughed.  “What a
great night! It should be illegal to have this much fun at work.”

“Count
out some change, and I’ll give you paper dollars,” Marybeth said.  “I never
have enough quarters in the till.”

When
Asher finished helping the band tear down, he came to the bar and sat with us.

“How
did we sound tonight?”  He was sweating and sounded winded, but he was happy. 
He knew they’d done a great job.

“You
were awesome, dude,” Marybeth said enthusiastically as she high-fived him. 
“You sure know your way around a guitar.”

“Thanks. 
I’ve been playing since I was four years old.”

“Did
you take lessons?” Marybeth asked, setting an Iron City beer in front of him.

“Nope. 
I’m self-taught.  Played along with my mom’s cassettes, and just figured it out
for myself.”

“Now
that’s talent. It’s an honor to know ya.” Marybeth high-fived him again before
disappearing into the kitchen with a handful of wet dish towels.

Willow
gathered herself up and sat at a nearby table. With a smile, I watched her
empty her bulging pockets onto the table. She started piling quarters in front
of her like a mad king in the counting house.  

“Can
I come over to your place tonight?”

I
turned back to Asher.  “What?”

“Can
I come over to your place tonight?”  He cut his eyes to me and took a long
drink of his beer before he set it down. The grin—that seductive “I’ll make all
your dreams come true” smile—was firmly in place.

“Absolutely
not.” I started to slide down off the barstool. He grabbed my arm.

“Why
not?” 

I
glanced up at him. He was serious. He had no idea why I didn’t want to spend
the night with him.

“Because
I’ve already given you my ground rules, and none of them was ’allow Asher to
spend the night with you if he asks’.”

He
turned his mouth down in a comical frown and stuck his bottom lip out.  “You
make me sad.”

“You
make me crazy,” I countered. 

I
grabbed my purse, slung it over my shoulder, and headed for the door.

“Let
me walk you out to your car,” he said.

“No
thanks.”

“You’ll
be lonely!” Asher called across the wide open space of the dining room and
dance floor.  It echoed back through the room and hit me hard. “I could help
you with that!”

“Yes,
but I won’t hate myself in the morning,” I said under my breath.

It
was three o’clock in the morning by the time I got to my apartment building.  I
strolled down the hall, stopped in front of my door, and went to stick the key
in the lock, when a funny thing happened.

The
door swung open.

I
stood for a second, blinking into the darkness. I couldn’t hear anything
besides the air-conditioning/heating unit out in the alley humming away. 

Pittsburgh
is a big city with its share of crime, but my apartment wasn’t located in one
of those high-crime areas. My initial reaction was that I simply hadn’t pulled
the door closed all the way.  It stuck sometimes, and I was still getting used
to it.

I
pushed the door open slowly. It squeaked in protest.  “Who’s there?” I called,
just to be safe.  I regretted not leaving a light on for myself, but the bulb
over the kitchen sink had burnt out and I hadn’t had time to get another one.

The
refrigerator was running.  It didn’t look as though anything had been
ransacked. In the little bit of the apartment I could see in the moonlight
coming through the kitchen window, everything looked normal.

My
nerves settled.  I just hadn’t pulled the door shut tight enough. 
Don’t do
that again!

Stepping
through the door, I kicked my shoes off and turned around to close it, giving
it a hard shove this time.  I locked it and secured the sliding chain lock in
place.

It
was the usual nightly routine—drop the purse on the table, grab my cordless
phone from the dock in the kitchen, and go through the living room into my
bedroom.

“Chelsea.” 
A soft voice sounded from the couch.  I just about shit my pants right where I
stood.

“Who’s
there? Who are you?”

“Have
you forgotten me already? It’s your old pal, Scott Dreyfus.” As my eyes
adjusted to the gloom, I could see him, or his outline to be more precise,
sitting on my couch in the shadows.

I
can’t even begin to tell you the thoughts that went through my head at that
point. I knew he wasn’t there for anything good, but I couldn’t move.

“What
are you doing here, Scott?”

“We
need to talk.”

“No,
we don’t. I’m going to turn around and leave. I am going to drive around the
neighborhood, and you are going to be gone when I get back.” I tried to sound
firm, but I thought I was going to puke.

“You
aren’t going anywhere, Chelsea.”

Now
I’m not a big gun enthusiast, but I know the sound of the hammer being pulled
back on a pistol when I hear it.  I heard it then. 

Jesus
Fucking Christ on a pogo stick!

I
started to shake so badly I don’t know how I remained upright.  “What do you
think you’re doing?”

“I
got thrown out of my house. Did you know that? My fucking old
man threw me
out
.  All because a couple of stinking cunts couldn’t keep their mouths
shut.”

My
mouth was shut now, so dry I couldn’t speak. 

“Did
you lock the door?” His voice was calm, smooth, the tone of a viper about to
strike.

What
was the right answer here?  Yes, and now I’m locked in here with you?  No, and
I’m lying through my teeth?

I
decided on the truth.  “Yes.”

“Good.
Then come and sit down beside me on the couch.”

No
way was I sitting beside him.  I sat down in the recliner across from the
couch.  In doing so, I accidently bumped the buttons on my cordless phone. It beeped
loudly.

“Give
me the phone.”

Oh
God, no.  Not my phone. Not my lifeline, my link to the outside world
.  I clutched it with desperate
fingers.

“Scott...listen…”

“Give. 
Me. The. Fucking. Phone.”  He leaned forward and extended a hand. He was not
going to take no for an answer. I wasn’t about to refuse him when he was
holding a pistol.  I laid it reluctantly across his palm. He snatched it from
me and sat back.