Words I Might Have Ate

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“Holden Caulfield.”

I’m halfway into the crowd by the time the words register in my mind and I come to a rather halted stop before I swivel about and look behind me for the speaker. It had definitely been a girl, the voice had been high and soft—my mind was buzzing, like I should remember the voice for some reason. But whether that was from all of the alcohol and weed in my system at the moment, I really had no idea.

My eyes land on a girl just a few feet away, watching me carefully. I start at her bare feet and work my way up, taking in the faded jeans and the tanktop, the creamy white skin and the wavy red-brown hair that falls just past her shoulders. And then I make eye contact with her and I notice her emerald eyes before it finally clicks in my head.

“Blondie’s friend,” I intended it to be more of a statement, but it ends up sounding more like a question as I step out of the crowd and closer to her. I close my eyes, thinking back to that day in the bar and concentrating on our conversation. We had talked about Catcher in the Rye, my lack of education, Berkeley and my band. She had said her name, I remember her saying it. “Rilla,” My eyes open and I look back down at her with a hopeful smile. “Right?”

She nods, looking impressed, passing the beer can to her free hand and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her ears are pierced twice in each lobe, I notice. “I didn’t think you’d remember me. We didn’t speak long.”

I’m half tempted to announce that it would be impossible for me to forget eyes as deep and mesmerizing as hers, but I refrain and settle instead for smiling down at her. “Of course I remember, you saved me from dying of boredom that day.”

“Did I?” She laughs, revealing her straight white teeth. I’m reminded of my own crooked smile and unconsciously, my grin dims just the slightest bit. “I was worried that I was boring you to death. I tend to ramble when it comes to literature. It isn’t often I find someone who’s still willing to read the classics.”

Automatically I open my mouth to correct her, to tell her that I really don’t read literature in my non-existent spare time but for some reason, my lips never move to form the truth. I duck my head and smile, pulling at the skin on the back of my neck in a vain attempt to occupy my hands. “So,” I raise my head up and meet her eyes once again. “What are you doing at a party on the pier? I thought good little college students stayed inside and studied all the time.”

“Well technically,” She begins in her soft voice, her eyes flashing brilliantly. “The term hasn’t started so theoretically I’m not a college student. So I feel completely justified in coming down here; I’m not breaking any rules just yet.”

I raise my eyebrows up at her words. “Yet? So you’re planning on breaking the rules often then? Spunky, I like it.”

She waves my words away, laughing easily. “I don’t ever plan on breaking the rules. I just tend to bend them to meet my needs. But tell me, Bartender, what are you doing at a party on the pier? I thought it was just a college party.”

I smile amusedly at her as I realize her new nickname for me but I choose not to comment on it, taking in her wide glassy eyes and her unsteady stand in the sand. “I’m here with my band mates; we’re celebrating tonight and Mike, my friend, heard about this and so here we are. The beach is fair game for anyone in Berkeley, Red.”

“What’re you celebrating?” She asks curiously, her head tipping to one side as she squints up at me.

“The band had a meeting with a representative from a major record label and they’ve offered us a recording contract. I’m no lawyer, but I looked over the contract and it sounds pretty solid. We get a significant advance from the label and we get to put out six records with them,” I admit, my entire body brightening as I go over the news for the millionth time in my head. “If everything works out, we’ll be in the studio recording our first major album next month.”

Her entire face lights up at my words and her eyes begin to sparkle, reminding me of fireworks going off in the night time sky. “Congratulations! That’s really exciting. You’re going to be famous and I’ll be able to brag to everyone that I once discussed a novel with you at a bar before you made it big.”

“Thanks,” I can’t quite keep the wide smile off of my face and so I busy myself with taking a healthy drink of my sweating beer. “It’s been a long time coming,” I admit, shrugging my shoulders a bit. “And we deserve this.”

“I’m sure you do,” She nods, looking out past me into the ocean and a bit of a silence descends upon us. But neither of us make the move to break it. For some reason, standing in complete quiet with her doesn’t seem awkward or tense, like it would with any other girl.

I take another drink out of my beer just as she turns to me with her mouth open, like she was planning on saying something. But her mouth closes with a bit of a snap and her brow furrows together as she falls into a thoughtful trance. I raise my eyebrows up at her sudden change of mind and she smiles ruefully, running her fingertips down the cool sides of her beer can and flicking the water into the sand.

“I was just going to say that if you’re getting signed to a major recording label, than I better have a listen to your band, shouldn’t I? That way I know what I’m talking about when I start to brag to people,” She flushes a bit at her words, like she was embarrassed that she had actually said her thoughts aloud.

I laugh, an amused smile on my face as I take in the blush that’s settled in her cheeks. “I suppose you should, it would probably help your credibility quite a bit. We play every Friday and Saturday night at Gilman’s,” I pause at her confused face and motion in the vague direction of the club. “It’s on the corner of Gilman and 8th Street. You can’t miss it, you’ll hear the bass from three blocks away.”

She nods, looking thoughtful. “Every Friday and Saturday?”

“Yeah, it’s where we got our start—Gilman’s is like home to us,” I explain, looking down at the sand and kicking at a clump of grass lazily. “And then every Monday and Wednesday night, you can find us at Mario’s down on Ghent. We play for college night.”

“I’ll have to check you out then,” Rilla nods as if she were reaffirming her words in her own head. “You’re probably fantastic, especially if you have record labels fawning over you left and right.”

Just as I open my mouth to speak, I hear my name being called from somewhere to my left. I don’t look right away, caught up in Rilla’s reaction. Her face brightens and she mouths my name to herself, as if fixing it into her head so she wouldn’t forget it. It’s then that I realize that she never used my name tonight and the reason she was calling me by these strange nicknames was because she didn’t remember my real name.

I turn to hide my laughter and spot Tré waving at me from across the beach just as I hear Rilla’s name being shouted from behind her. She turns just as a tall slender girl with long blonde hair steps out of the crowd, followed closely by Blondie, and smiles at Rilla happily.

“Hey, we’re going to grab something to eat so we’re getting out of here,” The girl comes to a stop next to Rilla and glances at me curiously. “Hi,” She sticks out her hand and I smile as I shake her hand politely. “I’m Louisa.”

“I’m Billie, one of Blondie’s co-workers,” I explain distantly, waving my hand a bit just as Tré pops out of the crowd rather breathlessly.

He slings a hot arm around my neck and smiles cheekily at the three girls. “What a good night. What’s up, ladies?” He opens his mouth to say something else as another girl slips up to our group, falling in place next to Louisa easily. “Holy shit, how much have I had to drink tonight? I swear I’m seeing double.”

Louisa laughs, glancing over at the new girl. “This is my twin sister, Allison. Don’t worry, you’re not seeing double.”

Tré looks both relieved at her news and intrigued at the prospect of meeting twins. Just as he starts to make what’s sure to be a rather perverted comment, Blondie clears her throat and takes control of the situation.

“Well, it was lovely bumping into you, but we really need to be going. This one,” She ropes an arm around Rilla’s waist lightly. “Really needs to get something into her stomach. She’s not eaten since lunch this morning and who knows how much she’s had to drink on an empty stomach.”

I’m torn between being irritated with Blondie for being so bossy and controlling and concerned for Rilla. She had been swaying a bit during our conversation but I hadn’t thought anything of it, passing it off as just as the alcohol pumping through her system.

The twins murmur their goodbyes before setting off towards the boardwalk and Blondie begins to move Rilla right along, already discussing what was still open so they could find something good to eat. But Rilla stops walking, almost throwing Blondie completely off-balance, and turns around so she can see my face again.

“Bye Billie,” The smile on her face is wide and her voice is rather triumphant, like she was proud of herself for finally using my proper name for the first time tonight.

I raise my hand and give her a half-wave and a nod before she turns and allows her friends to guide her up the hill of sand to the sidewalk where I watch as Blondie brushes off Rilla’s sandy bare feet before handing her a pair of sandals and helping her put her feet through the straps. Eventually the group of four sets off towards University Avenue and I watch until I feel a rather sharp poke in my side.

I turn and see Tré staring up at me with a knowing smile on his face. “What?” I ask, rubbing at my tender side gingerly.

Tré wiggles his eyebrows cheekily, nodding towards the girls’ retreating backs. “So which one have you got the hots for?”

“None of them,” I reply automatically, turning in the sand and beginning my search of the beach for my best friend’s familiar brown hair. “Just because I talked with one of them for a while doesn’t mean I have the ‘hots’ for any of them.”

“When you’re in the middle of one of the biggest end of the summer parties, it does,” Tré announces, following me as I start to merge back into the crowd. “I wonder what Abigail’s going to say about this?”

-X-

“So let me get this straight,” David places the piece of paper down on the kitchen table squarely and folds his hands over it demurely, looking more like the school principal than I had ever seen before this. He’s still sporting an intense case of bed-head and he hasn’t shaved yet, a rather heavy shadow of facial hair on his cheeks. “You rushed over to my house at,” He checks the clock over the kitchen sink since he hasn’t put his wristwatch on for the day yet. “At eight in the morning on a Saturday before your shift at work just to have me go over this?”

I nod, looking at my brother seriously. “Dave, it’s a recording contract with Reprise Records. We’ve had offers from record labels before, but this one is different. Rob told us that we’ll be allowed to hold the copyrights to our Kerplunk! album and that’s what the most important to us as a band. We want to be in control of our career.”

“Well,” David looks back down at the paper. “I’m not a lawyer, Billie, I have no idea—“

“Yeah, but you can at least tell me if this is reasonable before we go around trying to find a lawyer,” I must have sounded extremely desperate because Dave sighs resignedly and begins to read over the contract closely.

The only other noise in the house is the ticking of the clock. Heather and Lizzie were still sleeping peacefully in their beds upstairs. I had nearly woken up the entire house pounding on the door and I’m sure I’d be receiving a stern look or two from Heather when I came back on Tuesday for my school work. But frankly right now, that was the least of my worries. If the contract seemed reasonable enough to David, one of the smartest guys I knew, than I’d feel more comfortable with bringing the contract to a lawyer.

Finally, after seemingly ages, Dave lowers the paper and glances up at me. “Well it says right here that you have to put out six records with them, you’re associated exclusively with Reprise Records, you’re allowed creativity freedom to a certain extent—meaning that all major decisions must be approved by your A&R representative. Aside from that, it all seems to be standard business to me—you get an advance from the label to record that needs to be paid back, you’ll collect royalties for every record sold, and you give the label permission to use your songs in any way they see fit for publicity and merchandise.”

“But we still get creative freedom, right? And we own the copyrights to all of our songs on Lookout!,” I repeat myself to reaffirm what was really important to us as a band.

David nods, scratching at his cheek carefully. “I’m almost positive that’s what it says. But I would really have a lawyer look over it before you sign anything, Bill.”

“I am, I will,” I rise from the table. Suddenly sitting seemed like too much at the moment. I pace around the kitchen like a caged animal, my heart hammering in my chest wildly. “I just need to find one first. We only have a couple hundred dollars tops if we all pool our cash together. We need someone cheap, who will do a good job.” I trail off, a million different thoughts running through my head.

Suddenly all of this seemed so overwhelming. Yesterday when Rob had broken the news to us over our dinner, it had all seemed so glamorous and exciting. We were getting the chance to sign with a major record label and to have our music put out all over the world. It was what every musician dreamed of, it was what we had been working towards for the past four years—playing smoky bars and working mindless jobs that slowly sucked our souls out to scrape together money for instruments and transportation to and from gigs. But now the suits had brought all of these frightening legal things into our music and now I was walking around town with a giant dollar sign over my head. I felt so conspicuous, like everyone would be able to tell that I had corporate practically chomping at the bit for my signature on the dotted line.

“If you’re really worried about finding someone, Billie,” Dave begins quietly, watching me closely from his seat at the kitchen table. “I have a friend who’s a partner at a firm in Oakland. I’m sure he can look over your contract or find an entertainment lawyer who would do it. And I’m sure he’ll cut the price too, if I say you’re my little brother.”

“You’d do that?” I ask hollowly, turning towards him with an expressionless face.

David nods, smiling at me. “Of course I would. You’re my little brother and you’ve been working towards this since you were five. It would be ridiculous of me to not help you out.”

I’m struck suddenly with an irresistible urge to tackle Dave from over the table and hug him as tightly as I can. But he holds up his hand before I can make a move and shoots me a rather serious look and I know right then and there that there is a major stipulation attached to this favor.

“As long as you promise me that just because you have a major record deal, you won’t give up on finishing high school. You’ve come so far since we’ve started and I’d hate for you to throw all of that away again.” He looks up at me seriously, his eyes wide and concerned. “At least carry on until you get your degree and then I’ll never bring this up again.”

I take a moment, weighing out my options in my head carefully. If we were to sign this contract, no doubt the majority of my time would be spent in the studio slaving over our debut album. I would be busy nonstop with the album and touring, so when would I find time to work on my school work?

But then the little voice in the back of my head pipes up, announcing that my brother hadn’t said anything about when I had to finish my high school work. I could agree to finishing it up and David would help me out with the lawyer and eventually, one day, I’d get my high school degree.

I feel rotten for thinking about double-crossing my brother, who’s bending over backwards to help me and my band out. But all I can think of is being able to secure a comfortable life for myself in the future by being allowed to do what I love the most in this world.

So I begin to nod my head and start to cross the room to accept his outstretched hand in a handshake. “It’s a deal then.”