He's always hungry. I can't do much for him, but I do like feeding him. It's something I can do every day. It's a guaranteed connection. I like doing nice things for him, because he's always so nice to me.
"I like Gustov."
He pulls three slices of bread out of the Ziploc bag and takes a bite out of one before he answers, "The maestro is a good dude."
I'm full of questions and this might not be the right time to ask, but I'm going to try. "Do you wish you saw him more often?"
"Mmm ... I don't know, it's hard to say. I mean, it's always just been the way it is, you know? He lives his life on the East Coast and we live ours here. We talk. I know he's always there if I need him and when we see him it's always a big deal. I kinda like that."
"It sounds like he and Audrey have always been best friends."
He smiles. "Always."
"And they love each other, that's pretty clear. I wonder why they never dated?" It's none of my business, but it seems odd given they have so much in common.
Gus is on his second slice of bread and he's talking with his mouth full. "Oh, they did date. They went out a few times when they were in high school, I guess. It didn't work."
"Why not?"
Gus shrugs like the answer is obvious. "Gustov is gay. That kinda put a damper on the evolution of anything romantic."
"Gustov is gay?" I don't know why I'm surprised. It doesn't matter. It's just another twist in their family story.
Gus nods. "Yup. Ma was the first person he came out to. She helped him a lot, from the stories I've heard. I think going through that together is the reason they're so solid all these years later. They always had each other's backs after that." He takes the last bite of bread and goes for the milk in the refrigerator. That's where the story ends.
This family's uniqueness and compassion surprises me at every turn.
Wednesday, December 27
(Gus)
We ran through our New Year's Eve set this afternoon at Franco's place. The first few songs sounded like shit. It was like my guitar was fighting with me. My voice was fighting with me. I felt like my nerves were strangling me at every chord. I think I chewed through an entire pack of gum. Writing is different than performing, that's for damn sure. But after a few times, once I relaxed and let the music just take me away, everything fell into place. We'll do this again tomorrow and the day after. We'll be ready.
Sunday, December 31
(Scout)
I'm nervous. Paxton and I are riding with Gus to Rook's show at a local bar. I purposely never watched Rook play while I was on tour with them. I always told myself I did it to stay disconnected from the hype. I hated the hype. I only had to deal with Gus on a business level. The performer side of him seemed too personal, too artificial, too unpredictable, and I didn't want any part of it. I didn't want to see him in that light, because I thought it would make me dislike him even more. Now I fear it may have the opposite effect. Time and familiarity has completely transformed my opinion of him. And after listening to him write and play at home these past few weeks, I'm more attracted to him than ever. And I'm fighting it, which is difficult because every day I notice something else about him, about his personality, that draws me closer. So, I'm nervous.
"What song are you going to close with tonight, Gus?" Paxton asks eagerly. "I hope it's 'Killing the Sun'."
Gus nods. "That's usually how it goes down, Pax." He seems nervous, too. Not himself.
He pulls into a dirt lot that's packed with cars and parks behind the bar in a spot clearly marked 'No Parking'.
Paxton jumps out as soon as the truck is in park and starts pulling Gus's guitar cases and amps out of the bed. And I take this moment of privacy to talk to him. "Hey?"
He's distractedly searching his pockets. He's not listening.
"Hey? Over here." I wave my hand to get his attention.
He glances at me. "Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
"I need a fucking cigarette." He really wants one. It's the reason he was absently checking his pockets for the pack of cigarettes he used to carry. Old habit.
"No, you don't," I remind him.
"I need a fucking piece of gum."
I dig a piece out of my purse and hand it to him. "Suck it up."
He's motioning with his fingers like he wants more. "Gimme three."
I hand him two more and he takes them immediately, unwraps them, and pops them into his mouth. He talks while he's chewing. "I don't know, Impatient. I thought I wanted this, but now that I'm here I don't know if I do."
"Paxton's really excited to watch you guys play." It's the only encouragement I feel like I can offer that will make a difference. And it works.
He smiles, a genuine grin. "He is pretty stoked."
I nod again and smile. "This is probably the best night of his entire life. And I'm not just saying that."
He nods again. "What about you?"
"I'm pretty excited, too."
"You don't have to lie to me." He doesn't sound hurt, he's just being honest.
I push on, even though it's hard for me. "I'm not." And suddenly, I feel a surge of energy. This is about him finding himself again, and I need to help him believe he can do it. "I want to watch you play your guitar. I want to listen to you sing. This is my first Rook show. I want to be impressed. Show me what you've got, rock star."
He smiles. "That sounds like a challenge." He winks. "I like a good challenge."
"You do?"
The smile remains, but it's transforming into something far more sexy. "Hell. Yes."
I surprise myself when I add, "So do I."
He echoes, "You do?"
I nod. My entire life has been a challenge. But this? This is a different type of challenge, one that I'm beginning to accept, despite my fears.
He stares at me for several seconds, and when his eyes drop to my lips, all I want is for him to kiss me. That's all I want.
But then he turns away and drops his feet to the ground outside the truck. I think he's going to walk away and leave this conversation unfinished, but he turns back to me and says, "You might be sorry you said that, Impatient, because, like I said, I fucking love a challenge." With that he shuts the door and walks to the back of the truck to meet Paxton. And he leaves me sitting here feeling feverish in such a good way. I might be in trouble.