"I know, big man." No judgment.
I'm thankful it's Franco here with me because he knows how to talk to me. I couldn't do this with anyone else right now. Not even Ma.
"I don't know how to be Gus without her, dude. I'm fucking lost as shit."
"I know."
I rise up on my knees and look at him.
He hesitates like he was going to say something and thought better of it. And then he says it anyway, "Listen, I know it's none of my business, man. If you're into Clare that's on you, but—"
I interrupt. "I'm not. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with her."
He raises his eyebrows. He's calling me out.
"Okay," I huff, "I know what I'm doing with her. I'm fucking her. Using her. She's a meaningless distraction. That's it."
"But she's been helping you with your meds, too."
That was way too casual for Franco. "Is that what you call it? Meds?"
His eyes narrow. "Yeah," he says cautiously. "I talked to her a few weeks back about you. I didn't go into personal specifics, but told her I thought you needed to see a doctor. She told me a few days later that she'd arranged for a doctor to come by the venue while the rest of us were at dinner and that you got a prescription for anxiety and sleep meds."
"Doctor? I didn't realize Clare had a fucking license to practice?" I don't like the fact that she's been keeping Franco in the dark. But the truth is that I've been lying to him, too.
There's a shift in his features, a vein in his forehead begins pulsing and his eyes turn dark and intense. I know what's coming. "What have you been taking?"
"Coke, pills, whatever she could get her hands on."
He's on his feet in a flash and flying toward the door of the bus. I surprise myself by jumping up after him, and soon it's me holding him by the arm trying to keep him out of her bedroom. He's a strong fucker when he's angry. He doesn't get angry like this often; I've only seen it once or twice in five years. He can be scary as hell when he's pissed like this. He isn't budging. Clare is standing by the bed, wrapped in a thin robe. Her face is pale but unyielding. Franco's screaming at her. "What have you done to him?" When she doesn't answer and stands there defiantly with her arms crossed over her chest, he explodes again. Louder this time. She flinches. "I said, what have you fucking done to him?!"
A smirk emerges and her eyes shift to mine. "Nothing he didn't want, right love?"
I have a grip on both of his biceps from behind now. His arms are shaking violently with rage. "You fucking lied to me!" I don't know how he keeps getting louder, but he does.
No response.
He's pointing at her. "Stay away from him, do you hear me? Stay the fuck away from him. You don't give him anything. You don't talk to him. You don't even look at him."
She looks at me and there's fear behind the icy façade. I know she hasn't been doing this job long, and she knows it could be in jeopardy. "Gustov is a grown man, Franco. I never forced him to do anything. He wanted it."
I don't like Clare, never have, but I have to admit I feel a little sorry for her right now. She's in the direct path of hurricane Franco and it should be me. "She's right, dude," I huff. "She never forced me. If you're gonna be pissed at anyone, it should be me."
Franco turns, breaks my grip, and faces me. His eyes pierce me and I know I'm in for it. "Oh, I am pissed, Gus." I can tell, because he rarely calls me Gus. "Fucking pissed. What in the hell were you thinking? Listen," he pauses, glancing at Clare like he wishes she wasn't within earshot. He turns back to me and continues, "I know everything is shit right now. I know that." He lowers his voice. "We all miss her, dude. But this is no way to deal. Do you know how disappointed she'd be if she was standing here watching this whole goddamn debacle play out?"
She'd hate it. I fucking know that. "Well, she's not here, is she?" I can't have this conversation. I don't need the reminder. I live it every second. "She's fucking dead." I'm not listening anymore. I walk away toward the mini-fridge and pull out a beer.
Franco turns back to Clare and points at me sitting at the table. "Stay the fuck away from him." It's a not-so-subtle reminder. Then he looks and me and points at Clare. "Same goes for you. Stay away from her. Find a new fuck buddy."
Clare closes the door to her bedroom. She's on the inside and I feel some relief having the buffer.
Franco slides into the seat across from me. He looks spent and has calmed down. "Sorry, dipshit. I shouldn't have brought up Kate in front of her."
I throw back half the can before I come up for air. "The cat was already out of the bag, dude. Sounds like I did a stellar job of that last night." I run my fingers through my hair and hold it back in a ponytail. "I can't believe I did that."
He raps his knuckles on the table. "You pretended the person you were with was the person you wish you were with instead. We've all fantasized. No shame."
I look him in the eye. "You don't fantasize about dead people."
"You were higher than a fucking kite." He exhales and stares at me for a while, his eyes begging for honesty. "You loved her, I know you did. Don't play the 'best friends' card with me, man. Do I blame you? Hell no. Kate was the most incredible woman I've ever met. All of us sorry fucks will be lucky if we end up with someone who's half the person she was."