Page 79 of The Last Special Thing

“Why do you keep questioning what I am saying?" She laughed nervously. She had thought he would agree immediately. One of their first conversations was about his wanting to be in L.A.

He folded his arms across his chest as he leaned against the wall. He must have concluded that she was, in fact, quite serious.

“I want nothing more than that. I just… financially…” He tucked a lock of brown hair behind his ear and dropped his gaze.

“My question isn’t how we can afford it. The question is, will you come?”

This was the only path she could see. If she could get him to L.A., he could work on his music, and best of all, they could be together. While they discussed seeing each other on the weekends, he didn’t have a car, and who knew how much free time she would have? It would be best for both of them.

After she visited L.A., she also desperately wanted to avoid an apartment-dorm situation. She didn’t want to be stuck in a crowded place without her stuff, assigned to a random roommate.

“I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.” He looked back at her.

A smile erupted on her face. Everything would be okay. “Great! Now show me around.”

His hand engulfed hers, and he led her toward the back door of the building. Art nodded to a large, bald man with a shirt that read "Security," who opened the door for him without a word.

“You even have security. How impressive,” Amelia teased.

“Pretty sure that’s more for the venue than for us, but yeah.”

The bar counter was located to the left, a stage was situated in the center of the back wall, and tall cocktail tables lined either side. A few patrons leaned against the edge of the bar, talking with the bartender as alternative music played from the speakers. The dive bar was precisely how she’d imagined it from the movies. It was dark and moody, with fairy lights strung overhead. Obscure picture frames decorated the wall.

Amelia immediately liked it, her imagination running wild with all the places Art and his music would take her. He’d play a sold-out show in Italy, and they’d elope in Tuscany on a Tuesday. They would make it back in time for her to walk the carpet with him by her side for her movie premiere. Together, they would be unstoppable.

Art wrapped his arms around her from behind. His sunset colored drum set was in the corner of the stage nearest the bar. A mic stand was front and center.

“Ready to go to the green room?” Art murmured to her neck.

Goosebumps trailed under his warm breath.

“You’re so fancy,” she said.

He led her down a short hall to a back room with a table and a few worn couches. The rest of the band was already there, and she was the only girl. One day, she was certain, this room would be filled with groupies. She was a day-one fan, the bracelet on her wrist with the Honey Cat logo serving as proof.

Art introduced his bandmates, sitting on the couches beside the table.

Jake, the singer, was a bit older. He had a beard, light brown eyes, and a sleeve of tattoos. They were far more artistic than anything she had seen on Max. He grumbled a hello.

Logan had tousled platinum blond hair. “Thanks for coming!” he chirped.

Evan was pale and freckled. He nodded a hello before his eyes wandered around the room.

After introductions, Art pulled out a baggie from his jeans pocket, and each of the guys threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table.

Amelia’s throat caught. While she wasn’t surprised by the whiskey, she hadn’t anticipated this. Maybe it made sense. A way to celebrate his first show. But she couldn’t pretend he didn’t deal now. He wasn’t just generous with drugs. This was a job for him.

She took a seat on the far end of the couch and willed herself to calm down. She knew he did this.

Art cleared the table and shook a white substance onto it. He pulled out his wallet and slipped out his ID card. With the thin side, he used the ID to chop the clumps of white and smooth them into a horizontal line. Then, he sliced into the powder again, smoothing it more and scraping his ID against it vertically, reforming the line.

After ten lines of cocaine were arranged, he peered at Amelia.

She could do this. She had done the ketamine. She could be part of his group.

He rolled up one of the twenties and then offered it to Jake. Amelia used to think Art was a gentleman when he opened doors for her. The gentleman's act apparently permeated all areas of his life.

Jake pushed himself off the couch and knelt next to the table. He put one end of the dollar to his nose and the other to the chalky substance. He inhaled. He rubbed his nose and passed it to Evan, who inhaled the following line with ease. Evan passed to Logan, who moved slowly. When it was Art’s turn, he took his line with an overly dramatic inhale. She usually found his theatrics endearing, but she was too focused on her upcoming turn to feel anything but the rising uncertainty. It was the line she said she would never cross, yet now it was the next step. Not so far from the things she had already done. Once you’ve snorted something, does it matter what the substance was?