Words I Might Have Ate

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Every single time it’s a beautiful day and the sun is shining, I get stuck inside at work. Normally this wouldn’t bother me because usually I’d just walk home after my shift and enjoy the last few moments of summer before the sun set and yet another August day drew to a close. But today was different from all of the other ones.

Today I get off of work at 4:15 and Mike would be outside waiting for me in the Volvo with Tré in the passenger seat. Both of them were able to fix their schedules out and pawn their shifts off on someone else but I was stuck in the bar for another half hour until my relief came in for the evening shift. Under any other circumstances, I would be relieved that the pub was empty because that meant that I had a chance to sit on my ass and do absolutely nothing.

But today it was driving me up a wall. I had been antsy all day, hurrying through counting inventory and dropping so many bottles that Rosie eventually sent me out on the floor so I could keep an eye on the register while she finished up my tasks. I had taken care of a handful of customers and then I had flipped through the stations on the television so many times that when I close my eyes, I’m still able to see the grainy pictures fly by at warped speed. Boredom had been so overwhelming that I resorted to cleaning and I had scrubbed the wood of the counter until I could see my face in it.

The radio plays a Def Leppard song and I tap my feet in time with the music as I stare out the open door at the busy boardwalk with my face in-between my hands, smashing my cheeks together comically so my lips puckered out attractively. I discovered that I can go almost forty seconds without blinking if I concentrate deeply enough.

“Could you at least look busy?” Rosie comes through the doors from the back and sighs when she sees me practically horizontal on the counter. “So when they check the cameras, I look like I’m in charge?”

I shake my head slowly, my eyes still wide open as I stare out into the sunshine. If I were to speak, I’d lose my concentration and then my eyes would blink automatically and I’d lose my winning streak. I’m on a roll now—hell, I might even challenge Tré to a game because I’m so good at this.

“What’re you all worked up over?” Rosie asks, her hands on her hips as she looks down at me purposefully.

I blink and immediately a searing pain comes from my eyes and I blink a few more times to put the moisture back in my dry eyes. “What?”

“You’re spacey today,” Rosie explains, rolling her hands as she speaks. “Not that you’re not spacey every other day, but today it’s more than usual. Have a hot date tonight or something?”

For some reason, Abigail flashes into my mind with such frightening clarity that I jump a little in my seat. I hadn’t thought of her since the night I left her in the alley to talk to Rob about our recording contract and that was nearly a week ago. Obviously I felt guilty for just leaving her there, but this was something for the band, for Green Day, and I wasn’t about to just let this chance pass by without taking advantage of it.

Then I realize that Rosie is still waiting for a reply, so I shake my head and push away from the bar. “No, I don’t have a ‘hot date’ tonight, Rosie.”

“Then why are you all jumpy?” She prods me along as she walks to the cash register and begins to take money out for a cash drawer banking.

I shrug and swing my feet back and forth as I glance up at the clock. Just a little over twenty minutes to go until I was out of here. “I have a meeting to go to at five. I’ll just barely be making it since I get off forty-five minutes beforehand.”

“A meeting for what, like a youth group thing?” Rosie looks skeptical as she drops the money into an envelope and seals it up. “I can’t see you being in a special group for anything. You’re too apathetic.”

I open my mouth to reply but the sun is temporarily blacked out and we both turn to see Blondie standing in the doorway. She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head and steps across the threshold, bringing with her the salty tang of the ocean air and the scent of sunshine.

“Hello,” She greets us quietly, coming back behind the counter and walking straight through the swinging doors that lead to the back of the bar without waiting for a proper reply.

Rosie only raises her eyebrows before she shakes her head and starts to fill out the front of the banking envelope. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” I raise my hands up defensively. “So quick to accuse, Rosie. I’ve been nothing but nice and welcoming to Blon—Faye,” I save myself luckily at the last moment, smiling sheepishly up at my manager.

She rolls her eyes before putting her hands on her hips and surveying me closely. “So what is this meeting for, if you’re not in a youth group of some sorts?”

“It’s a meeting with a lawyer,” I begin, the smile on my face quickly turning proud. “He’s looking over a contract that a record label has offered us.”

Rosie doesn’t look impressed, though she does look highly skeptical as she nods her head slowly. “You have a recording contract and yet you’re still working in a bar.” She looks around her for emphasis. “I guess the music business isn’t as fabulous as they say it is.”

“I don’t have a recording contract yet,” I correct her, resisting the urge to glare at her for being such a downer on my good news. “But after the lawyer looks it over and if everything is in order, than I will have a contract and I’m getting the hell out of here.”

“You know most people would kill to live in California,” A soft voice comes from my left and I turn to see Blondie leaning up against the back counter, a green uniform apron tied around her lean waist tightly and her arms crossed over her chest loosely. “I mean isn’t that the American dream? Move to California so all day, every day can be spent lying on the beach because apparently, that’s all we really do here.”

“I am living in California,” I retort, frowning over at her. For some reason, she just always seemed to have a disapproving look on her face whenever she happened to see me and that pissed me off. It's not like I had given her a reason to dislike me. Yet. “And I will continue to live in California, but I want to get out and see the rest of the world.”

Blondie nods her head, though she doesn’t look convinced and Rosie bustles through the doors, muttering something under her breath that I can’t quite catch. That leaves the two of us behind the counter together and a few moments of tense silence pass before I shove away from the counter and rise to my feet.

“I’ll be in the back,” I murmur as I brush by her and stroll through the swinging doors. I don’t wait to catch her reply as I turn to the right and start to make my way towards the break room.

Rosie was filling out paperwork in her office, humming along with the radio as she works and I take a moment to try to identify what she’s singing before I give up. She was butchering the song so horribly that I don’t think even the original singer would recognize the melody.

My jacket is hanging by the hood from a corner of one of the metal lockers and I tug it off before I go through my cubby for the worn novel that seemed to accompany me everywhere and my wallet. There were six or seven employees here at Martin’s Pub and everyone knew each other so well that they were comfortable leaving their personal effects in their lockers without bothering with combination locks. Plus there were security cameras and it’s not like I carry around loads of cash anyway, so I wasn’t too worried about leaving my things unattended.

I shove the book into the pocket of my jacket and slip my wallet into my back pocket before I start to shuffle my way towards the front of the store once again. The clock above the desk Rosie is working at reads 4:10 and unconsciously, my steps hasten as I shove open the swinging doors to return to the bar.

Blondie has taken my seat up at the bar and is amusing herself with what looks to be a thick college textbook. She has highlighters and a notepad out as she reads, taking notes in painstakingly neat cursive.

“Are you in classes already?” I ask suddenly and she jumps at the sudden noise, her highlighter screeching as it runs across the page. I resist the urge to snicker at the long hot pink line that runs across the page and onto the bar counter.

Blondie looks like she’s counting to five before she answers and when she speaks, her voice is low and even, like she’s trying to keep her temper in front of me. “No, classes don’t start for another week. I’m just getting a head start on my work.”

I nod just as I hear a familiar bass line just outside the bar. Then comes the guitar part and the shouting lyrics. I glance out the window and see the Volvo parked in front of the bar door, despite the painted red curb that clearly means no parking.

“What is that?” Blondie asks, her nose wrinkling a bit as she follows my gaze to Mike’s shitty car.

I hop over the bar, not even bothering with lifting the partition so I can escape faster. “That would be Suburban Home by The Descendents. It’s punk rock, look it up. Bye Rosie,” I shout as I walk out the door, not even bothering with saying goodbye to the girl behind the counter who was no doubt still watching me.

Mike is behind the wheel and Tré is in the passenger seat, big black sunglasses on his nose as he drums along with the song, his green hair flopping forward into his face as he dances in his seat.

I toss my jacket through the open window before I open the back door and throw myself into the backseat. Before I can close the door, Mike is accelerating and we’re pulling out into traffic with screeching tires. The player switches over to an Operation Ivy song and Mike blatantly runs a red light, the calm look on his face never even flickering as we hurtle through traffic.

“It was pink,” He replies to Tré’s incredulous look. Of the three of us, it was no surprise that Mike was, by far, the safest and most cautious driver. It just goes to show how serious this has to be if Mike is willing to risk wrecking his precious car in order to get to this meeting on time.

We fly through San Francisco quickly, going well over the speed-limit as Mike takes us through the back roads to avoid the heavier traffic. The ride was spent in silence because not only were all of us incredibly nervous, but the music was up so loud that even attempting a conversation was pointless.

By the time we pull up outside of the office building of the lawyer we had a meeting with, we had a little under ten minutes to spare. Mike pulls into the parking lot and throws the car into park before we begin to roll up our windows. He turns off the player and takes the keys out of the engine before exhaling heavily.

“So,” He turns so he can look into the backseat at me.

I look back at him and somehow muster up my own faint grin to match his. “So.”

“So-o-o,” Tré chimes in, twisting about in his seat so that he can see the both of us.

As always, the tension is diffused by our drummer and I can already feel the tightness draining out of my shoulders as I laugh. Mike pockets his keys before opening his door and stepping out into the parking lot. Tré fights with the seatbelt for a moment before he climbs out and I stretch as I straighten out my shirt.

“Do you have any idea what we’re supposed to be doing?” Tré asks quietly from my left and I shrug, looking up at the building in front of us.

“Dave faxed over a copy of the contract and said that we had to show up here at five o’clock to discuss it,” I answer, shielding my eyes as we start to walk towards the entrance of the building. “So I guess we just walk in and ask to see Dale.”

Our trio is silent as we step into the marble lobby. Soft classical music is playing and there is a large waterfall in the center of the room. A cluster of plants go in the corner among the glass tables and low black leather chairs.

For some reason I feel out of place in my worn jeans with the torn-out knees and the dark green tee that I had thrown on this morning in my rush to get out the door since I overslept. There was a mustard stain on the hem and I wonder suddenly if this lawyer would somehow be able to smell the bowl that I smoked on my break.

I can tell that both Mike and Tré feel the same way so I stick my chin out defiantly and march across the lobby purposefully, my Converse squeaking against the tiles loudly. If I definitely look out of place in this building with just my clothes, the least I can do is make it up with my attitude.

The girl behind the desk looks up as we approach and her thin, penciled-in eyebrows go up so high that they disappear behind her stiff, heavily hairsprayed bangs. “Can I help you?” She asks in a soft voice, eyeing Tré’s green hair and my own blue hair warily.

“Yes, we’re here to see Dale Smith,” I reply in a level tone, watching as she reaches for the phone on her desk and dials a number with the eraser of the pencil she was holding at the moment.

She speaks quietly into the receiver for a moment before replacing it in the cradle and motioning towards the elevators. “Take those to the fourth floor and his secretary Jane will meet you.”

I nod and start to walk towards the elevators and distantly I hear Mike murmur a polite ‘thank you’ to her. Tré is just on my heels and when I reach out to press the call button, he smacks my hand out of the way and presses the up button enthusiastically.

“It’s my favorite part,” He confesses, grinning widely as we wait for our ride up.

I roll my eyes just as the doors ping open and waits for us. Again, I let Tré press the button for the fourth floor and our short ride up is silent until we walk out and are greeted with a heavy-set woman with dark hair and an unflattering black suit.

“Are you William Armstrong?” She asks me in a nasally voice, since I was the closest one to her. Her beady eyes are mere slits in her head as she looks down her long hook nose unapprovingly.

I muster up the brightest smile I can, just to be an obnoxious jackass, as I shake my head. “I don’t know of any William Armstrongs, but I’m Billie Joe Armstrong. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes, well Mr. Smith has been expecting you,” She carries on in her annoying voice, turning on her heel and motioning for us to follow her into a spacious, neat office. “He’s managed to squeeze you in between meetings, so don’t take up too much of his time. He has more,” She hesitates as we file into the room past her and hang around awkwardly as we look back at her. “More important issues to attend to,” She finishes up and closes the door behind her.

“What a bitch,” Tré states bluntly, staring at the wooden door in awe. “I don’t like her.”

Mike sinks down into an empty chair and sighs heavily, closing his eyes as he leans his head back. “Yeah well, she looks like she hasn’t been laid in years, so I’d say no one else likes her either.”

I muffle my snort of laughter into my hand as I sit down next to my best friend. Tré throws himself haphazardly into the seat next to Mike just as the door opens and a tall, thin man strolls through wearing a light gray suit and shiny black dress shoes.

He has salt and pepper hair and in his hands, he carries a manila folder that he reads through as he walks—something that I would never be able to accomplish as I can just see myself toppling over something in my way because I wasn’t looking.

Finally he snaps the folder shut and tosses it down onto the desk that he now stands behind. “Hello boys, I’m Dale Smith and you must be Billie,” His eyes land on me. “You look like Dave; well actually, a lot more, err, blue than Dave,” The corners of his mouth twitch as he takes in my neon hair. “So you two must be Michael and Frank, correct?”

Both Mike and Tré nod, completely cowed into submission by the man before us. We weren’t even in any trouble and his very presence in the room had us all on pins and needles. If this is how he commands the attention of a room just by walking into it, I’d hate to be on the receiving end of his court-room face.

“Right well,” He sinks down into his overstuffed leather chair and spreads out the papers before him importantly. “I’ve had a chance to look over the contract that Reprise has sent to you and we have some things that we’re going to need to discuss if you’re truly serious about signing on the dotted line.”