Less Than Nothing Page 22

  I sigh and sit back, the moment gone. He takes my hand, but I’m still lost in the warm sea of our kiss, and all I can think is that I want him, I want him, I want him now. When he speaks again, he’s so quiet it doesn’t sound like his voice. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  I look at him with rebellious eyes. “I’m not sorry at all. You say it’s wrong, and maybe you’re right, but I don’t care. I’m glad…and I want you to do it again. And again.”

  He nods but looks away. “That makes two of us. But we have to wait, Sage. Three more weeks. That’s all. It’ll be over in no time.”

  “No, it won’t. It’ll take forever. Like every minute’s an hour.” I stop, catching my breath, willing the roaring in my ears to quiet. “How can you be so sure this is wrong? Nothing’s ever felt righter.”

  “God, Sage. Don’t you see? That’s the whole problem. I don’t know whether it’s wrong or not. But if we’re wrong and things change, we lose. Do you really want to risk everything we’ve accomplished now that we’re so close? Our entire future over a lousy three weeks?”

  I can’t think. I can’t do anything but feel the tingling in my body and the warm throbbing in my core Derek’s stirred. I touch my lips with my fingers and then drop my hand.

  “Maybe you’re right, Derek. But right now it doesn’t feel that way. Can we just not talk about it anymore? If we’re not going to…if we have to last another three weeks, let’s do our best to make it easy on both of us, okay? Don’t kiss me anymore. Don’t hug me, don’t look at me like you’re doing right now…just keep it platonic.” I struggle to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Because I can’t keep doing this, and I can’t promise anything if you kiss me again. You may have the willpower of a saint, but I don’t. I’ll admit it. I’m weak.”

  He smiles and nods. “Deal. Again. I’m sorry. I have weak moments, too. It’s not only you.”

  I stare off at the New York streets blurring by, and when I speak, it’s almost a whisper. “But Derek, when you’re weak, it crushes my heart. And I can’t take it anymore.” I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted. “I want this to be over so we can get on with our lives. This completely sucks.”

  He pats my leg gently. “We agree on something. I’ll be counting the seconds till the finals. Guaranteed.”

  I nod, my throat aching. “Me too.”

  Chapter 32

  The next two days are tense. We’re looking for ways to avoid each other, which is easier said than done in a three-hundred-square-foot studio apartment. After lunch, I spend my afternoon shopping with Jeremy, who’s stressing pretty badly over his roommate’s departure. He’s making windfall money from his few appearances, but it’s still not a good situation. I sympathize with him over sushi, and then buy two new pairs of pants, a pair of skate shoes, and three new tops – and a lot of underwear, none of it suitable for daytime TV. Color me optimistic, I think as I pay the cashier, who doesn’t seem to notice how uncomfortable I am.

  We have a day off after the show, and the next night we’re booked on a late talk show with a British host with a wicked sense of humor. We play a song and then banter with him for the usual two minutes, and bam, it’s over. I almost feel guilty we’re getting paid so much for a total of five minutes of time, but only almost.

  The security guard at the stage door holds it open for us, and there’s a small group of autograph seekers waiting. We start signing, and as we’re finishing, I feel Derek stiffen next to me. I look up, but only see a few stragglers waiting their turn.

  “What’s wrong?” I murmur, smiling for the fans. He doesn’t answer and instead sets his gig bag down and rushes to hug a man who’s grinning ear to ear. The guy looks kind of familiar in a vague way, but I can’t place him. I sign another autograph, and Derek turns to me, smiling.

  “Sage, I want you to meet someone special. This is my brother Mike.”

  I see now in the gloom he’s wearing a uniform. Sergeant’s stripes. Mike’s heavier set than Derek, more like a weight lifter, but the same square jaw. I squint to see his eye color but can’t make it out.

  “Nice to meet you, Mike,” I say as we shake hands.

  “My pleasure. Wow. You’re smaller than you look on TV.”

  I take that as a compliment. “Yeah, the camera adds a few inches here and there.” So much for small talk, which I’m terrible at.

  Derek slaps him on the back. “What’re you doing in New York?”

  “I took a few days I’ve been hoarding and decided it’s time to see my rich and famous brother.”

  Mike smirks, and I see Derek in him. Alike, but different. Derek’s way better-looking, I think, but then again, I’m biased.

  “Dude. That’s awesome! Where are you staying?”

  “Some dive hotel that’s charging a fortune for a shoebox near Union Square.” Mike studies me for several seconds. “What are you guys doing now?”

  I shrug, and Derek takes over. “We’re done here. We were just going to go grab a late bite and head home. You want to come?”

  “I flew all the way from North Carolina to see you. Of course I want to come.” Mike looks to me. “Do you mind?”

  I smile sweetly at Derek. “Not at all. One more friend’s always welcome.”

  Mike eyes Derek with a slight frown, but Derek ignores me, which is probably smart. He puts his arm around his brother and pulls him close. “Come on, hoss. First round’s on me.”

  We go to the restaurant where we had dinner with Jeremy, and the waiter recognizes us. He seats us at a corner table, and we order pasta and a carafe of the house wine. My mind darts back to the last time we were here, which was followed by our first kiss, and I feel wistful and a little angry. That seems so long ago, yet it was only three weeks. And here we are again, with no progress made on the Derek front.

  I excuse myself to use the bathroom, and when I come back, half the carafe is already gone. Apparently both Derek and his brother can really put it away. Then I see their faces – Derek’s is tense, and Mike looks like he’s in shock. Mike rubs a shaking hand over his face, and I get a sick feeling.

  “When?” he asks, his voice hoarse, and he looks like he’s going to cry.

  “It’ll be a year in October. October seventh,” Derek says, his eyes moist.

  “God damn it,” Mike spits, and I figure it out. Derek told me he hadn’t talked to his brother since he enlisted.

  Which means he didn’t know about his younger brother overdosing.

  My heart feels like it’s tearing in two, but there’s nothing I can do, and I realize I’m an intruder in a conversation that shouldn’t include me. I mutter something about having to make a call and retreat to the bathroom, where I text Melody.

  Hey. How goes it?

  Melody: Just watching the recording again. Damn, your man’s hot.

  Me: Not my man yet.

  Melody: U better close the deal before I come to New York to visit.

  Me: Are U for real coming?

  Melody: If U make it 2 the finals. Looks like a lock.

  Me: Hope so. I miss U.

  Melody: Me 2.

  This goes on for a few minutes, and then I call Jeremy. When he answers, he sounds perky and chatty.

  “Hey, girlfriend. What’s the haps?” he asks in a singsong trill.

  “Just at Sal’s.”

  “Saw you tonight. Brill, as always, ma cherie.”

  “Thanks. How’s your roommate situation?”

  “I know more men than a proctologist, but they all have situations, you know? So I’m going to be forced to lower myself to putting an ad in the paper. With my luck, I’ll wind up with someone who’s got a head in a jar.”

  “Ew. Pickled head.”

  “I won’t even go there, tempting as it is.” He pauses. “What’s wrong? You sound kinda down.”

  “I’m probably just tired.”

  “Mm mmm. Not good enough. Give.”

  I tell him about Mike.

  Jeremy gasps dramatically, and
I can practically hear him batting his eyes. “Oh, my. I think I’m having a hot flash. Did you say he’s in the army? What does he look like? I’m a pushover for a man in uniform. Just ask the UPS guy.”

  “He looks a little like Derek, but more, I don’t know, meaty.”

  “Lumberjack meaty or fireman meaty?”

  “Drill sergeant meaty.”

  “If I faint, call 911.” He gets serious. “So what’s your plan? You going to sit through that? Sounds like they have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “I know. I’m trying to figure out how to get out of it.”

  “Use me! Tell them I broke a nail or have a bad hair emergency. I’ll play along.”

  That never occurred to me, but now he’s planted the seed… “Are you getting ready for bed?”

  “Sage, I think you’re really sweet, and you sing okay, and maybe we can trade clothes once you get some decent threads, but I’m not interested in you that way.”

  “Very funny. You want to get together for a cup of coffee?”

  “I know a fab little bistro that makes chocolate martinis that are to die for. I think they also know how to make coffee.”

  “Where is it?”

  He gives me the address. About a ten-minute walk, tops.

  “How long will it take you to get there?” I ask.

  “If I don’t take forever freshening my freshness, maybe…fifteen?”

  “I need something better than a broken nail. Think.”

  “Ooh, how about…I’m having a nervous breakdown?”

  “Nothing better?”

  “I got food poisoning, and I need you to help me to the emergency room.”

  Bingo. “See you in fifteen.”

  “Ciao, baby.”

  I return to the table, and the carafe’s empty. Derek and Mike both look relieved when I beg off. Derek puts up a token resistance, but it’s half-hearted. “See you at home later?” he asks.

  “Sure. Sorry, guys. Mike, it was nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see more of you. When do you leave?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  “Great. Then maybe we can do lunch or something.”

  The place Jeremy suggested is dark and all male. Billie Holiday is singing in the background. He arrives two minutes after I do, and of course, knows everyone. I order coffee and he a martini, and I share the latest drama with him – the kiss, my annoyance, the pall that’s fallen over our interactions. His advice is almost word for word the same as Melody’s, which is no help at all. Why won’t anyone tell me what I want to hear?

  I get out of there after an hour and ride the train back to the Bronx, gritting my teeth the entire stretch. It’s way too late for a single female to be riding the subway through that area, but I luck out – there’s a transit cop who gets on at 125th Street and who stays until I’m off.

  The walk home from the station’s nerve-racking, but my senses are finely tuned from months on the street, and I make it back in one piece. I debate waiting up for Derek, but after an hour goes by, I’m just getting angrier and angrier – there’s no question they’re out boozing, which infuriates me.

  I finally drift off to sleep around 2:30, and the sun’s coming up when the sound of the door wakes me.

  I look over at the entry and do a double take. Derek’s there, smelling like a brewery. I’m about to lay into him when I see his left hand.

  In a cast.

  Mike’s voice calls from behind him. “Nice place you got here, bro.” He sounds drunk.

  Derek gives me a sheepish smirk and staggers to the sofa, where he collapses. Mike follows him in. He looks around, and his eyes settle on me. “Whoa. This is it? This is smaller than my hotel!”

  I do my level best to control the rage in my voice. “Mike, what happened?”

  “You should see the other guys,” he says, and a red haze clouds my vision.

  “Derek. DEREK!” I scream.

  He cracks one eye open and grins again. His lip’s split, and he’s got a flesh-toned bandage on his cheek.

  “Don’ worry, baby, it’s all good,” he says, and then his head falls back against the couch and he’s out for the count.

  Which saves me the trouble of knocking him out myself.

  I can’t believe he did this. With everything in the balance, he gets wasted and breaks his hand? That screws our act. Completely. It’s a disaster. A complete nightmare. I’ve gone from the top of the world back to the gutter in no time.

  All the waiting for three weeks, all the sacrifice, and I’m stuck in New York, totally screwed. And it’s all his fault.

  I leap up, not caring if Mike sees me in my gym shorts and T-shirt, and hurriedly stuff my clothes into my bag. Mike watches me and leans against the wall. I glance at him disgustedly as I move into the bathroom, carrying my jeans. “You can have the bed. I won’t be back.”

  When I come out dressed and move to my Chucks, Mike’s sitting on the floor, his head in his hands. He looks up, his eyes red. “This is bad, isn’t it?”

  My tone’s beyond arctic. “You mean being at the semifinals of a show that can change our lives, and your stupid asshole brother decides to get drunk and ruin everything? Yes, Mike. It’s bad.” I sputter to a stop, so furious I can’t inhale. I’ve never been so angry in my life. Not when Ralph hit me the final time, not ever. I finally find my breath and shake my head. “I’m so out of here.”

  “Where you going?” he manages, and I realize how drunk they are. He must have gotten Derek to a hospital, but it’s literally the blind leading the blind. My rage ratchets up another notch and is now in super-nuclear mega-turbo overdrive.

  “Anywhere he isn’t. Tell him to find another partner. I’m through. Maybe he can find one he actually wants to fu–”

  Mike interrupts me. “Don’ go. It’ll be ’kay. Really.”

  I’m done arguing with drunks. I’ve had a lifetime of doing it with my mom. It’s a complete waste of time. “Tell Derek I’m not going to get dragged down with him. He may have decided being a piece of shit’s more important than making it, but I haven’t. I’m going to see if I can finish the show by myself. He can do whatever he wants. Maybe they’ll let him, maybe not. But I. Don’t. Care. Buh-bye, Mike. Enjoy your hangover.”

  I storm out, Yam in one hand, backpack in the other, and remember that Derek has most of our money – I’ve only got a hundred bucks. I try to calm down, but that’s like putting an air freshener in a sewer – the problem’s a little too big to solve that way. I turn, put Yam down, and go back. I feel through Derek’s pockets, and there’s only thirty bucks.

  I turn to Mike.

  “Where’s my frigging money?” I hiss.

  “Oh, shit. Yeah. Uh, hospital cost a bunch.”

  The last straw.

  I’m pretty sure you can hear the door slam clear to Chicago.

  It’s not until I’m on the train headed into the city that I finally start to cry.

  Chapter 33

  Jeremy greets me at the front door in a red silk shortie kimono and fuzzy bunny slippers, with a box of chocolate donuts and a cup of coffee. I’ve stopped crying, but when I see them, I start bawling like a newborn. He leads me inside his apartment and sits me on his couch, where there’s a box of tissues. He sets the coffee and doughnuts down on the table and moves Yam and my bag out of the way and plops down next to me.

  I need the tissues. Jeremy holds the box out for me as I cry some more. After about three minutes, he sets the tissues next to me and hands me the coffee.

  “Get some deep-fat-fried sugar bombs and some java into you, sweetheart. You’ll feel better.”

  I snuffle and shake my head. “No, I won’t. I never will again.”

  He sighs. “Well, maybe not, but it’s worth a try. Come on. Do it for me. Works every time I have a breakup.”

  “It’s…it’s not even a breakup! There’s no us to break up!” I howl and sob some more. He nods as though I’ve made complete sense and explained everything, and then rises and get
s himself a cup of tea. When he returns, he fixes me with a steady gaze.

  “Men are swine, sweetie. Believe you me, I know all too well.”

  “They are,” I agree. “Except you.” I’m getting my crying under control.

  “Well, I am too, just not to you.”

  I try a laugh. It sounds like a croak. “Why do they suck so bad?”

  “Because they’re big children. Men don’t even become human beings until they hit thirty, and a lot never do at all. But we carry stuff and build roads and buildings and 747s, so women and dogs put up with us.”

  I laugh again. Whatever he’s doing is working. I try a doughnut. It melts in my mouth.

  “That’s freaking incredible,” I say.

  He nods. “Yes, Virginia, it is. Call me Santa.” He watches me eat and reaches over to tear a small hunk out of one of the doughnuts. “So tell me all. I could barely understand you on the phone.”

  I give him the rundown. When I’m done, I’m more angry than sad. He can see that.

  “There you go. That’s more like it. Turn that around and use it for yourself. Don’t let yourself become a victim, girl. You can move mountains with those pipes of yours, and much as I like staring at your boy toy, you’re the one I’d put my money on. You’ve got a quality, Sage, what they call star quality. I know it when I see it. Sometimes, on my very best, luckiest day, I have it too. But you? You radiate it. It’s as natural to you as breathing.”

  I blush. He knows exactly what to say. “You should be a therapist. You’d make a fortune.”

  “And listen to people’s problems all day? I’d be all like, ‘Cry me a river, now go get bopped and move on.’ I wouldn’t last long. I hate other people’s problems. Except yours. Yours are always interesting.”

  My face falls. “And he spent all the money. So I’m broke again.”

  Jeremy smiles. “No, honey, you’re only broke for now. You’ve been there before, and you did just fine. This is a temporary setback.”

  I look around. I’ve never been to his apartment before. “Roommate all gone, huh?”

  “Yup. Just me and me.” His eyes light up. “Say, where are you going to stay?”