Epilogue
The LA club gets filled to the brim early in the evening, the small stage set up and ready, and so various musicians entertain the guests with surprise performances. Everyone steadily gets drunker and louder, and people tell me to have a good rest of the year, then chuckle and check their watches, and I give them a sly smile and tell them to fuck off without too much bite to my words.
Every now and then I look around the crowded place and spot Brendon talking to his friends, my friends, our friends.
Our eyes meet, and he smiles. Raises a beer bottle.
Jon and Spencer come off stage after a simple guitar plus tambourine cover of American Pie, laughing and shoving each other's shoulders. They join me in getting beers from the bar. We've agreed not to talk about work tonight, and so I bite my tongue not to ask Jon about the bridge in one of the new songs. Brendon said that maybe the original idea was better, and now I'm starting to think that he was right. We've got a lot of songs floating around, finished and half-finished. Soon enough it will be an album's worth of music.
"I called Haley earlier," Spencer says, taking a sip of his beer. "It's New Year's over there already. Suzie stayed up for it. She's got spirit for a five-year-old."
"Thank god I've got someone to kiss when the clock turns," Jon notes, lifting his left hand where the ring's been for a while now.
"Alison had to fly back," Spencer says defensively like he doesn't want Jon thinking he's sad and single – Alison was here for Christmas.
Jon's busy looking around for Cassie, who's around here somewhere though I can't see her either. "Excuse me," Jon says, going to find his wife.
Spencer and I watch him go, and I note, "Some couples are attached at the hip."
"Some are," Spencer says lightly but adds a smirk, and I choose not to react to it. We're not clingy; we're free to come and go as we please, no nosy questions asked. We just often choose to be by ourselves. It's the natural state of things, of life. Me and him.
"So how is Haley?"
"Good. She's been seeing some new guy called Roger. Works in insurance or something."
"And you're fine with that?"
"Just want her to be happy," he says with a small shrug. It's a good kind of a love he's got now, selfless and well-meaning. Much like Spencer himself is. It doesn't work that way for all of us, though.
I hear my name being called, then, and spot Sisky snaking through chattering musicians, socialites, what have you. I groan, having successfully avoided the kid the entire night. It's great that he's in town, it's great to see him, but he is bringing new definitions to the word relentless.
"Ryan!" he beams, a grin plastered on his face. He hugs me like he always does when he meets me now, not caring if it's been a week, two days or ten minutes. "Check it out!" he says and hands me the book that I knew he'd have with him tonight.
I take one look at the black and white cover, seeing my own face and recognising the photo as having been taken back in '75 when I was taking refuge in London. I'm wearing a thick, black winter coat, my face framed by too long, unruly curls of hair, and I'm standing in an empty street with a few sad looking London taxis out of focus behind me, and I'm looking ahead of myself and not at the camera, and maybe the black and white shot is meant to evoke mysticism of some kind, I'm not sure, but I look alone and closed off.
"Would you look at that?" Spencer says, taking the biography from Sisky. "Alienation: the Life of Ryan Ross." He turns it around to study the blurb. I don't even want to touch the book. Spencer looks up at Sisky. "It's all in here?"
