The Boy from the Band

Beautiful Bobby

Rick rang me last night and my heart did flip-flops when I heard his voice.

"Hey, how's my girl?" he asks, and I get chills as his voice caresses my ear.

"I'm doing a lot better—and that six weeks is up," I reply.

He laughs and his laugh tickles me, "The tour is just about over, one more show and it's done. I can't wait to see you, babe, I love you."

He's coming home—at last! I can't wait, it seems like he's been gone forever. I hate the fact, though, that I will have to wait to see him. He'll go home to his girlfriend and kids, then as soon as he can he'll steal some time for me, and we'll enjoy some long overdue stolen lovemaking.

I look at myself naked in the mirror. The scar has distorted my stomach and it makes me feel self-conscious, but the doctor is happy with the way it has healed. There's no vertical scarring crossing the old scar making my stomach look like a tic-tac-toe game. I've become skinny, six weeks have not been sufficient to gain back the weight I lost after surgery. He loves my curves, will he love me thin, too?

Robbie came to see me one more time, to "check on me" as he put it. He says he's trying to make his marriage work, so he can't be hitting on me, can he? I'm angry with him, I can't help but blame him for the band breaking up, but he might not be totally at fault. I love all the boys, I do, but I realize how hard it's been on him.

Levon is angry. As the official songwriter, Robbie collects most of the royalties.  I think there should be a more equitable way to spread the money around because sometimes the songs are group efforts, even if Robbie wrote the main melody and the words.  I think it's unfair, what good are songs with no one to play or sing them?

I'm back at work now and it's almost a relief. I get lonely and bored, with nothing to do, and I miss the people I work with. I could never be like Rick's girlfriend, stay home all day with nothing to do but cooking, cleaning, and watching the kids. I'm not "Susie Homemaker", I am a just-adequate housekeeper who keeps my apartment neat enough to fool people into thinking it's cleaner than it is. Dishes don't sit on the counter, my bed's always made, and things are put away.

The boredom starts to get to me so, after work, I hit the clubs. I see people I know at the Whisky and London Fog. It's kind of strange the number of people I've gotten to know in the LA music scene. I get invited to parties by people who were just names to me before. I'm not a big partier but it's helped me pass the time, and I've gotten some interesting offers I have no intention of accepting.

I'm counting the days until I see Rick although I shouldn't. There is something about our relationship that is strong and true, as corny as that sounds. As much as I struggle at times to have faith, I have learned to believe in his feelings for me.

Most of the time I come home from work tired. The doctor says to be patient, my body's gone through a lot and it will take time to heal, though he assures me I am doing well. I wish I could feel it.

Like tonight. I come home and change into shorts and a tee-shirt and collapse on the couch. The cats jump up, jockeying for position and I close my eyes and pass out.

He's careful not to let me hear him come in, it's one of his favorite games. I am wakened, like Sleeping Beauty, by the touch of his lips against mine but I do not open my eyes and gaze at my Prince Charming. No, I jump up, startled, and see him laughing at me. He thinks it's funny as hell; in theory, it should be romantic, but it doesn't work that way.

"What the fuck?" comes out of my mouth, followed by, "Sorry." He's laughing and after I gather myself together I am laughing too. Besides, it's good to see him, I've missed him.