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“I smell like Jack
Daniels,
bitch.”
“Tell me you didn’t drive.”
“No, got a cab.”
“I’d offer you a drink, but – ”
“I brought my own.”
“I see that. You want a glass?”
A derisive snort. “Since when do I ever use a glass?”
“How was New York?”
“Cut the crap, Ry.”
“What?”
“Have you talked to Derek?”
“No – have you?”
“NO.” Her boots paced clunkily across the hardwood floors. “That’s what fuckin’ worries me.”
“Why? He’s in rehab. He can’t talk to – ”
“No he’s not. He just got out a couple hours ago.”
That bit of information filled me with dread. The rehab place was in LA; that meant he wouldn’t be back here for at least another five or six hours, minimum…
But he was coming.
I started down the stairs. If I couldn’t control my fate, I could at least face it head-on.
“What?!” Ryan exclaimed. “How do you know that?”
“Miles sent us a text. Check your cell phone once in awhile, dumbass.”
“Since when do you check your cell phone,
ever?”
“When I might be out of a job any minute.”
“Riley,” he sighed. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Oh yeah? How do
you
know?”
“Because Ryan won’t let it happen,” I said as I got to the bottom of the stairs.
Riley fairly jumped at the sound of my voice. She stared at me like she’d just seen the dead rise.
Then she turned to Ryan. “Why the fuck’d you bring
her?”
“Nice to see you, too,” I said crossly.
“Shut the fuck up, Yoko,” she snapped.
“…Yoko?”
“Ono,” she spat. “As in ‘broke up the fuckin’ Beatles.’”
Ouch.
“Riley,” Ryan warned.
But Riley was too far gone to pull back now. “How big of an idiot are you, Ry?! He’s going to lose it for
sure
when he sees her here!”
“So?”
“SO?! So then he quits the band, and it’s OVER!”
“If it comes to that,
I’ll
quit, and you guys can just keep going.”
She stood there in shock, her mouth hanging open – and then she launched herself at Ryan, swinging her tiny fists into his chest in a flurry of blows as she screamed, “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!”
Her outburst took Ryan by surprise, but then he grabbed her wrists. Once he had pinned her arms, he looked directly into her face and spoke like the world’s most patient parent talking to a hysterical three-year-old. “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s going to be okay.”
“It’s NOT going to be okay!” she howled.
I finally realized that she was crying. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, darkened from the mascara and eyeliner fright-mask around her eyes.
Riley crying?
That had to be sign of the impending apocalypse.
“Yes it will,” Ryan said soothingly. “You guys can get any number of great bassists to fill in for me. As long as you keep Derek, you’ll – ”
“What the fuck are you TALKING about?! You write the songs! You ARE Bigger, not that stupid asshole!”
My heart swelled with affection for her – especially from the next thing she said.
“Besides, I’m not gonna stay in a band with that douchebag if
you’re
not there, you fuckin’ idiot! What the fuck kinda friend do you think I am?!”
Ryan smiled at her. “Alright… fine. We’ll just replace Derek, then.”
“Yeah, like
that’ll
work,” she scowled.
“Lots of bands have replaced their lead singers and gone on to be even better for it.”
“Name
one.
”
“Genesis, when Phil Collins replaced Peter Gabriel.”
