On New Year’s Eve while Will was out with Frank, I made a cake and got ready for our little party. I told Jenny it was going to be a California theme, whatever that means. I cranked up the heater in the apartment and put on a sundress and flip-flops while the snow was falling heavily outside. I drew a palm tree and wrote “Surf’s Up, Wilbur” on the cake. Jenny and Tyler showed up before Will got back.
After they both stripped off three layers, Jenny revealed her Hawaiian-print dress and Tyler had a matching print shirt. “It was the closest thing we had,” she said, pointing to her dress and laughing. She pulled a joint out of her little purse. “Look what we brought. Let’s get stoned—it’s totally California.”
“Oh my god, Jenny, you guys kill me. Will could definitely use that, he’s been a loon the last couple of days. He really hates flying.”
“No… he’s worried about leaving you,” she said, smiling at me.
“Oh, well, it will be fun at any rate.”
Will came through the door looking beat. He patted Jackson on the head before looking up at us with a huge smile. “You guys look ridiculous—it’s twenty-four degrees outside.”
“We got pot,” Jenny said in a singsong voice as she waved the joint around.
Will wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground in a bear hug. “Oh, sweet, sweet Jenny.”
Tyler came over and high-fived Will. “Congratulations, man! You better make us proud.”
“It’s not that big of a deal you guys, seriously. I haven’t’ signed a deal, I’m just doing three shows.”
“But it’s a start. Quit being so freakin’ humble, Will. You deserve to celebrate, you’ve worked hard for this,” I said as I reached up to give him a peck on the cheek. “Now go strip down, you must be boiling in that.”
He came back out dressed in a white T-shirt, long black shorts that hung low on his hips, and the silver-studded belt. With his natural olive skin and disheveled hair, I thought he would fit in perfectly in California.
The four of us ate and had cake and champagne. None of us had any desire to fight the crowds in Times Square, but we thought we should at least watch the ball drop on the Dick Clark special. Our small little TV that we never used was on low as we sat talking at the kitchen table. When we heard the name Second Chance Charlie, we all jumped up and ran over to watch the performance. I knew the music and recognized the lead singer, Sonja, from the many magazine covers she graced. The band reminded me of a cross between the groups No Doubt and Paramour. Sonja jumped around a lot but had a really strong, sensual voice. She was beautiful, small, and graceful, and clearly the fantasy of many a teenage boy, which was the core of her audience. The band appealed mostly to the high school emo crowd. It didn’t really make sense for Will, with his white-boy rock and roll, to open up for them, but I figured his music wasn’t that simple to define and maybe he would capture a younger audience if he were marketed that way. After all, he was not only extremely talented, he was also good-looking and he had that whole sexy, broody thing going for him. After the performance during Sonja’s interview, she mentioned that she was flying to California first thing in the morning and that it would be long night.
“Are you guys on the same flight?” I asked.
“Yeah, we’re flying private. The record label chartered a plane.”
“Oh,” I said, wondering why he hadn’t shared that little tidbit with me.
“Hey, Will, why is the label having you open for them? It seems like kind of a different crowd.” Tyler said.
“I guess it is. I don’t know, the girl saw me play at the string festival and asked the label if they could get me to open for her. I kind of agreed to it just to buy more time before I have to make a decision.”
“I didn’t know she requested you—why didn’t you tell me?” I narrowed my eyes but tried to hide my jealousy.
“It seemed irrelevant,” he said, straight-faced.
Tyler tried to intervene. “So do you have a band you’re going to play with?”
“Yeah, basically pickup musicians and Nate. I got him, so I’m happy about that, but the other guys I barely know except from the few practices we’ve had.”
“Good for you, man. It sounds like a great opportunity; you have to keep us posted.”
“Definitely,” he said, but he was looking at me, trying to decipher the look on my face when he said it. I went into the kitchen and Will followed. “She’s a child, Mia; she’s eighteen years old, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Eighteen is an adult, not a child, and you can do whatever you want. We’re not together; I don’t even know why you’re saying this to me.”
“I’m saying it because it seemed like it bothered you.”
I looked into his eyes for a long second. He seemed troubled and concerned. “It doesn’t bother me, I promise.” I smiled and walked past him, grabbing the joint off the counter. “Let’s do this, people, it’s eleven o’clock. We have one hour until 2009!”
We sat on the couches and passed the joint around while Will dropped the needle on Patti Smith’s Horses from my father’s collection. He sat down on the couch next to me, taking the joint and inhaling. He blew a lungful of smoke out while simultaneously tapping his foot and singing the line Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine. We all burst into laughter.