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"Yes. Why?"
"If I'm able to answer that, what will you do? Haul my fucking ass to AA? Lecture me like you're doing now?"
"Whatever it takes to get you back on your feet."
"And writing and recording and singing. Fuck that. I don't care anymore."
"Ramiro - "
This time, he leered at her. Carmen would throw one of the bottles at him if she were at the breaking point of her temper. She knew he was trying to intimidate her. So she stared back at him, disappointment all over her face.
"Ramiro," she tried again. But he shook his head.
"I'm not in the mood for lectures or anything that has to do with the band. I will rather be left alone if you're not going to lose that nice sweater and kiss me and fuck me."
"You're drunk," she told him. "And you sound like an idiot."
Ramiro's smile was mean. "That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time. Get out of here, Schwartz."
There was no reaching him. She gave it to him straight.
"The band saw me and told me they want to fire you. They wanted me to do it, and I told them to go fuck themselves. I'm here because I believe in you, Ramiro. At least, I did until a few seconds ago. I came here to talk to you, help you if you let me. Since that's not going to happen, I'm leaving. I can't watch you destroy yourself. It's too painful."
Ramiro went back to bed. "Fine. Go. That's what everyone does, anyway."
Carmen watched him curl on his side and draw the blanket over his head. Then she turned on her heel.
As she grasped the doorknob, Ramiro spoke.
"No one's getting rid of me. I quit."
* * *
CHAPTER2
One year later
Ramiro blinkedas the too-bright camera flash lasered right into his eyes. He rubbed his eyes as he was led away toward the jail cell. No handcuffs bound him anymore since he had become a frequent visitor of police stations within a hundred-mile radius of his house. He still had to be fingerprinted and photographed. Still, the police officers were friendly and even offered him a cup of coffee before subjecting him to the dull, tedious process.
"Why are you on duty tonight?" Ramiro asked the officer guiding him. He was an awkward, fat guy with cow-like dark eyes. His badge read Keith. "Isn't it your wife's birthday?"
"I took Rita out to lunch earlier," Donald Keith replied as he opened the steel door. "She understands. We'll celebrate this weekend."
"You should take her to The Platinum Bar," Ramiro said as he entered the cell and stepped away for Donald to lock him in. "She seems a special girl."
Don blushed. "She is. I'd like to, but you must reserve for months in advance."
Ramiro waved his hand, the motion lost. "Allow me to make the call. They always have a table for me."
Don looked flabbergasted. "Really? That's really nice of you, Mr. Brandt." He smiled hugely. "Wow. If you could, please. That's - Rita would love it. Thank you."
Ramiro lowered himself gingerly onto the bench. His steps were wobbly, but his mind was still quite clear despite the breathalyzer indicating his alcohol level was well over the limit. "As soon as my rescuer picks me up, I'll call them."
"Thank you, Mr. Brandt. I'll look out for your lady friend." Don blushed suddenly. "I mean, she's always coming for you."
"She's a loyal employee, nothing more."
Don waved goodbye, and Ramiro leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.
