TIME by Penny Reid

Author:Penny Reid [Reid, Penny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cipher-Naught

11

Failure of Galilean Transformations

*Abram*

Zero months.

Zero weeks.

Zero days.

Fourteen Hours.

And then, finally.

“Why’re you always in such a bad mood?”

I moved my eyes to Charlie, watching him slip inside the green room. Beyond the open door, I spotted Stan. He lifted his chin in greeting, I lifted mine.

Stan was the security guard who’d been assigned to stand outside my door and was part of the team for the stadium. On our first day here, he and I had bonded over pinochle. We both played it. His landlady had taught him, my mother had taught me.

Last night, he’d brought his landlady to the stadium, I invited my mom, and we made a game of it over pizza from Giordano’s. Best night I’d had in a long time.

Charlie closed the door, cutting off my view of Stan and reducing the noise emanating from both the stage and backstage. Lifting two bottles of champagne deftly in one hand, he grinned.

Drummers.

“Come on. Celebrate. We’re in our hometown.” He set one of the bottles down in front of me, right next to my feet propped on the glass coffee table and began removing the foil of the other bottle. “I brought the good stuff to get you started.”

One and a half months. The last time I saw Mona in person. I’d been sick with the flu. She’d come to LA for twenty-four hours. I’d been delirious when she arrived, but only half-delirious when she left. Her visit had made all the difference, but the missed opportunities—to spend actual quality time together—haunted me.

“Nah, man. I’m good.” I strummed three chords on my Dreadnought, the opening to “Hold a Grudge,” but in D minor.

One week. The last time we’d spoken on the phone. Thirteen minutes, a quick call in the middle of the night, her time. She’d been so tired, I hadn’t wanted to keep her up when she needed her sleep.

“No. Man. You are not good. You’re depressing as shit. Ever since Las Vegas, you’ve been a real wet blanket. When are you going to get over that shit? Everyone thought it was funny but you. Come on, that woman was gorgeous.”

Keeping my face carefully impassive, I shrugged, because by now I’d realized Charlie wasn’t ever going to share my ire about the situation in Las Vegas.

It was our first show after I’d recovered from the flu. After the concert, we were all backstage with the VIP ticket group, and this woman who I’d never met grabbed my dick and offered to give me a blow job. Since most people were drunk at this point, her offer spurred others to make similar offers until they started to sound more like requests, and then demands.

And that was the last VIP session I attended. My label was pissed. I told them to eat shit. Attending VIP sessions wasn’t in my contract. Getting groped and propositioned by drunk fans, no matter how attractive they were, wasn’t either. It didn’t fucking matter if she was gorgeous. But everyone—Charlie and the crew who’d been present—made it clear that I was the strange one.

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