The Boy from the Band

H is for Smack

It's the night before I return to work. I'm picking out what I'm going to wear when the phone rings. I'm not expecting any calls, so I figure it's a crank call or something.

"Can I come over—now?" Rick asks. He's slurring his words and he doesn't sound like his usual happy self. His new thing is positivity but right now positive is the last thing he sounds like.

"Sure, I'm just getting things together for work tomorrow. Someone told my parents I'd been in the hospital, and they sent me some money. Guilt money, I'm guessing."

It isn't long before a car pulls up in the parking lot, a car I'd recognize anywhere. The wheels screech to a halt because he's pulled in too fast, he's done this before but for some reason, this time it worries me.

I listen to his footsteps coming up the stairs and he opens the door, shutting it a little harder than necessary. I come out of my room as he sets down his guitar and go into his waiting arms.

He's bear-hugging me, swaying a little on his feet. I can smell alcohol in addition to leather and tobacco. He doesn't say anything, he just stands there holding me as if he's using me for support.

"Hey," I say, gently pushing him away, "Let's sit down, hmmm?" I lead him to the couch and try to put a little space between us because the smell of alcohol and cigarettes is overwhelming but he's having none of it.

He takes me in his arms and I sit quietly, waiting, there's something he wants to tell me but maybe the alcohol and something more is keeping him from spilling it out.

Finally, it comes out. "Robbie's leaving the band, he's out. We've finished the last album we're ever going to do as a band."

So, the rumors were true. I'd like to be surprised but I'm not, but I'm also dismayed. They need Robbie, he's written 90% of their songs, and any hit they had has his signature on it. Even when the others wrote songs they didn't have Robbie's magic touch.

There's a part of me that doesn't understand it. They've been together since they were teenagers, for crying out loud. They've gone to each other's weddings, helped celebrate the arrival of each other's children. They have history, how can they let that go?

I'm guessing the drugs are tearing the band apart. I suspect that Rick has moved on to heroin though I don't have any way of proving it. Outside of the little private world we inhabit, I don't know if he's changed, if the drugs are catching up to him. With me he's constant but our relationship is only a year old and we're still learning each other.

"So, what are you going to do now? You've talked about doing your own album, any chance of that happening?"

He shakes his shaggy black head. "Robbie has this idea of doing a farewell concert and doing it big. He wants to invite a bunch of people to participate. He wants to record it and release it as an album.

"Sort of a Lost Boys and Friends?"

"Yeah, something like that. He has a director friend who wants to film it and make a movie out of it. Is that crazy or what?"

"Yeah, it's crazy all right—one big "going out of business sale" crazy. Will you get paid?"

"We better. We'll get some kind of stipend or something, then that's it, we'll go our separate ways."

"Rick, this isn't good. Shit, you're a band, a team, a brotherhood—and he's going to let it go just like that?"

He nods, "Excuse me, gotta use the bathroom." He stumbles a little as he goes into my bathroom then comes out after a few minutes. It's only later that I realize that I didn't hear the toilet flush and I wonder what that means. I'm sure Elizabeth has trained him too well for him to forget to lower the seat and flush the toilet.