Graffiti Casanova

Lily White

I slumped into a chair in the corner of the now transformed room. Due to Davey's allergies, and my sense of self-respect-- however lacking it seemed to be these days-- we convinced Jared that we needed to give the place a deep cleaning before setting up our gear. Besides, we owed Otto for the favor, whatever Jared said about Sarah.

So, after a few hours, a whole lot of pine sol, and a mop dance party with Davey worthy of a chick-flick movie montage, the place was functional and presentable. The boxes were shoved to line the back wall in neat stacks, and the furniture was arranged to accommodate our gear, which we'd loaded in from the guys' trailer outside after a quick meal break. It was actually a pretty ideal practice space, and I was impressed we'd managed to do it all in one evening.

Of course, I now had extremely sore muscles to show for it.

Davey was stretched out on the couch, twirling a drumstick in the air, while Jared sat fiddling with his pedal board.

I checked my phone. Dad's friend James was at our house, but I wanted to make sure I got home before he left. I didn't like leaving Dad alone. What if he had some sort of panic attack? Or decided to spontaneously go somewhere and not tell me, or forgot he was cooking something on the stove? I'd heard the horror stories; and maybe I was being too paranoid, but it was my responsibility now to take care of him, and I was going to take it seriously.

"It's getting late."

Jared didn't look up from his spot on the floor. "Party's just getting started." He gave his pedal board a final once-over and, satisfied with the setup, slid it across the hardwood floor towards his mic stand.

Davey twisted around and gave Jared an upside-down glance from where he was lying on the couch.

"Maybe we should start on music tomorrow, Jar," he said. "I forgot my drum key at home anyway." It was the one thing I'd seen Davey get even close to worked up about-- if his drums weren't tuned well, he couldn't stand playing them.

I could tell Jared wanted to keep working-- this was serious for him. He really wanted this record deal. But I needed boundaries. Just because I'd decided to go along with this didn't mean it was my life.

"Tomorrow sounds good." I stood up. "As long as there's coffee." I grabbed my guitar.

"Okay, okay, tomorrow." Jared scrambled to his feet. "Just be here by ten."

"Coffee?" I drilled him with a stare. When he just looked at me like I was nuts, I narrowed my eyes. "You're not the only one who can hold favors over someone's head."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine." He drew out the word like it was torture.

I smiled sweetly and brushed past him to the door. "Bye Davey!"

"Ten, Claire!" Jared shouted after me, but I just shut the door instead of responding.

I clomped down the wooden stairs as quietly as I could in my chunky boots. A different bartender was behind the counter; Ian's shift ended ages ago and it looked like Otto was gone too. Guess he didn't need his keys back tonight.

My gaze fell on the stage. It was empty now, and unlit; the shadows and the full room of patrons made it look smaller than it had felt from up there. I slowed at the bottom of the stairs, gazing at it. Thinking of Sam. And strangely, thinking of Casanova's lily, the lily that meant death.

I bit my lip. It was only a few minutes away, the location of Casanova's newest piece. Out of the way from the route home, yes, but it was so close.

I wanted to see it.

I should get home to Dad...

I pushed out the door while I slipped my phone from my pocket and dialed his cell.