Awkward

Six days.

Billie Joe had managed to curb his curiosity and keep from mentioning Benny to Tré for six days. Six days before he found himself at Tré’s front door, waiting for someone to let him in.

He hoped it would be Benny.

After the third ring of the doorbell, he’d kept his finger pressed against the button as it rang on and on for nearly a minute. Humphrey was going wild, scratching at the other side of door and whimpering helplessly. When he heard Tré shoo the dog away, Billie Joe stood up straighter and tangled his fingers behind his back.

“Fuck,” Tré mumbled when he swung open the door and was met by a smile Billie Joe was trying to pass off as innocent.

“Frank Edwin Wright the Third, that’s no way to greet your best friend.”

“Fuck. Do we really have to do this now?”

Billie Joe let himself in, pushing past Tré and patting Humphrey’s head as the dog pattered in behind him. “Where’s your little houseguest, Tré?”

“Billie…” Tré’s voice came out as a tired sort of groan, mixing with the slight creaking sound and then the sharp snap of the front door being closed. “Seriously. Come on…don’t do this now, okay?”

That he’d been expecting this only made Billie Joe’s unease grow. Maybe he’d been right…maybe she wasn’t just a houseguest. The thought made the singer’s stomach churn, but he continued to force his faux-smug expression when he spun around to face his friend again. Hands on his hips, he attempted to look confident—and perhaps a little condescending, though this was mostly unintentional—and when he spoke he assured himself it was without hesitation.

“Spill. Where’s the teenager?”

“She’s not a teenager.” The reply was a little icier than Billie had imagined it would be…somehow, this managed to surprise him. “Not that that’s any of your business…”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“For god’s sake, Billie…” But it wasn’t denial. Tré refused to look away from Humphrey, who was still pattering around in a circle around Billie’s sneaker-clad feet.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The singer nodded, forcing back a lump in his throat. “So yes, it is my business! I wanna meet the new girlfriend. Benny!” As soon as he managed to spin around, hands cupped over his mouth as his voice rang throughout the foyer and the adjoining hallways, Tré’s panic seemed to increase threefold and he practically leapt forward. “Little...readheaded…girl! Come here, please—Tré!”

Billie Joe’s next words were a series of muffled mumbles, both aggravated and kind of amused, and spoken against the drummer’s suddenly very sweaty palms. He had his arms wrapped around the other man from behind, and with Tré’s mouth so close to Billie’s ear, the former heard every next word with crystal clarity: “Don’t do that.” He dropped his hands away slowly, but surely. “Seriously, Billie. She’s not my girlfriend, and if you call her that she’ll probably take off through the back door and not stop running until she’s back in LA. Just…chill out, okay?”

“Whoa…seriously?” Suddenly, the mood seemed that much more somber. Billie turned those green eyes on Tré in shock, their color mixed with confusion and inquisitiveness, and meeting those wide blue irises that only seemed to be begging for preemptive forgiveness. “Wait…I’m confused. Are you sleeping with her, or not?”

“That’s…not important.” Tré got quieter and quieter with every word. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this…”

“Dude…for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never really…I mean, there was always a relationship first…”

“Billie, please…” Footsteps were coming down the main hallway, leading in from the kitchen, and he pleaded with his friendly quietly: “Please just drop it, okay? You’re going to freak her out.” He couldn’t have looked more lost and pathetic if he was on his knees and clutching at the hemline of Billie’s jacket. He opened his mouth to say more, probably another “please”—filled plead for silence, but just as quickly shut it again.

Benny was standing in the wide entranceway dividing the foyer from the furthest hallway. She’d responded to Billie’s call, but tentatively. Her bare feet stayed rooted on light-colored carpeting, not daring to step down to the cool linoleum but testing it like it was a puddle of water, toes curling just over the small metal line that separated the flooring and twitching slightly. With her hands behind her back and her big brown eyes so wide and unsure, she looked even younger than usual. Tré held back a small cringe when Billie Joe’s gaze fell upon her.

“Uh,” Tré muttered loudly, deciding to say something before Billie Joe could, “Benny…you remember Billie…”

“Yeah…” was her response, her eyes darting uncertainly between the two men standing before her. Suddenly, she felt as though she was a kid again; standing before her parents and knowing she was in trouble, but not sure of exactly why this was, or how deep she was in. She rocked slightly back on her heels and waited for Tré, or Billie Joe, to take lead of the conversation.

Neither did.

Instead, the three stood in the hallway, Tré staring nervously at Benny, Benny staring doe-eyed at Billie Joe, and Billie Joe quietly avoiding them both. Humphrey, who had gotten used to and grown quite fond of Benny over the past few days, volleyed between the two groups, unsure of where his loyalties should lay; taking a few steps towards Benny and stopping just short, turning back towards Tré and Billie Joe and stopping yet again. He did this a few times, whimpering all the while, and finally decided on Benny. Nudging his nose at her legs, he circled her twice and then resided himself to lay at her feet, barking once at Billie Joe and Tré and then covering his snout with his paws in shame.

“You’re making my dog uncomfortable.”

“Your dog’s a traitor.”

Billie Joe eyed Benny once more, gauging her expression, deciding she looked guilty, and then wondering why that was. Instead of voicing his suspicions, he smiled and walked towards her and the dog. “You got Snausages in your pocket?”

“What? No.” There was something in his demeanor that made Benny nervous. He was trying to be nice, she could see that, but beneath the façade there was something that worried her…and that worried her.

The way he was watching her, the way he approached, he was being so cautious. Benny couldn’t help but take it as patronizing and that made her feel about an inch high, and quite frankly, it kind of pissed her off.

She realized, with sickening clarity, that Tré never made her feel that way. He never treated her like she was some little girl and he her elder, and even though Billie Joe wasn’t necessarily trying to do so, she felt intimidated.

Again Billie Joe studied her, watched as she folded her arms and held her elbows. He caught the discomfort in her eyes and backed off, taking a moment to rethink his approach, and then, deciding that maybe she was just too skittish, turned to Tré for help.

The whole exchange between the two, seeing Billie Joe so out of his element and Benny so hesitant and reserved, was baffling to Tré. He knew it was bound to be a bit awkward when things were finally (almost) out in the open, but he hadn’t thought that either of them would be at such a strain. It was kind of funny, he thought, that he had to be the one to break the tension. Wasn’t he always the nervous Nellie?

“Well, I’m starved.”

--

In the kitchen, at the marble-topped isle, Benny sat and watched as Tré and Billie chattered away. They were all seated strategically at the ends of the counter, centered around the opened containers of Thai food that had been surprisingly quick in arriving; Benny on one side, Billie sitting opposite her, and Tré seated at the end, somewhat separating the two.

Quietly, having given up after a few half-assed attempts to rejoin the conversation, Benny picked and prodded at a slimy piece of eggplant on the plate in front of her.

The conversation had started out well enough. Trying to get them all talking and comfortable, Tré —who was starting to remember that he’d never really been good at this sort of thing—had launched into a story about his recent tour with Pudding. This, of course, sparked Benny’s interest. She sniggered quietly to herself when Tré spoke of Max, that tattooed and somewhat unbearable lead singer, and the time he’d walked in on him, ass bared with some black-haired “chick” bent over the van’s second row of seats. And when he spoke of Cliff, the band’s guitarist, and his fierce love of all things New York, she chipped in with some nostalgia of her own, and Billie politely chuckled at her story about how Cliff had ignored her for three days straight when she’d insisted the Blues Brothers were from Chicago, and not New York.

Billie listened, laughing when was appropriate and shaking his head in sympathy, but stayed otherwise uninvolved. He mostly watched; intently observing Tré and Benny and the way they interacted; took note of how when it was just the two of them conversing, the atmosphere in the room was instantly far less tense; she didn’t fiddle with her food as much, and he didn’t subconsciously wring his fingers together in front of his plate. How their smiles to one another were genuine, but whenever they were directed at him hers were mostly tight-lipped and nervous, and his seemed to be asking for some sort of respite. She rarely, if ever, met Billie’s eyes and after a while he learned not to stare too much because he could tell it was making her uncomfortable (and, he couldn’t lie, it was vaguely insulting how often she’d notice him looking and jerk her eyes away from him).

When Tré noticed this, noticed Billie Joe’s lack of enthusiasm and participation, he moved the conversation in a different direction; jumping into “first tour” stories—it was something of a last resort, and it always had been. If there was one subject that always got Billie interested in a conversation (besides how “damn fine” he thought he wife was), it was falling back on nostalgia and the “good old days.”

“Remember that tour up in Canada, when we were just really getting into things? Holy shit, man,” Tré laughed, smiling between the two with as much genuinity as he could muster. “God, this tour was just like that. Living in this fucked up vehicle, lugging our own shit, selling our own merch. Remember when the car died along that shitty backroad? Where were we headed? Vancouver?”

“Ontario, dude.”

“Right, right.” Tré shook his head, and gave Benny a funnily exasperated look, eyes rolling and a sigh punctuating his next words. “You should’ve seen this shit, Benny. We had this tiny-ass little car to get us everywhere, and it barely even had a trunk, so we had to drive with our instruments in our laps, literally.”

There Billie joined in and it was Benny’s turn to sit quietly and simply react appropriately. “Fucking awful, so much of that whole tour,” he said, shaking his head and laughing along with his friend. “I remember, like half of our shows gigs ended up cancelling on us and we wouldn’t even know about it till we’d get there. Do you remember the fliers Mike used to make, when that happened? ‘Free show, bring booze! We’ll be the dirty looking kids playing next to that dumpster over there!’ Thank god we travelled light, at least.”

“Didn’t need anything else ‘sides our instruments, right? Have geetar,” Tré started, in what Benny could really only think of as a manly sort of giggle, and Billie Joe joined in and finished in unison, “will travel,” before the both of them burst out in laughter.

Benny didn’t really know what to say to this; this inside joke that inadvertently excluded her…so she said nothing at all, as was becoming usual tonight. She managed to smile meekly when Tré momentarily turned his gaze upon her as he laughed, but it dropped from her lips the second he turned away again. This shouldn’t have bothered her so much, she knew; she was being silly, and it wasn’t like she was jealous of Billie or anything, for now getting the most of Tré’s attention, but he just…irked her, still. He was still giving her those odd little looks, and he was still being quiet whenever she spoke, and he was still being…Billie, as she knew him, and she was beyond feeling just a little pissed off about it.

“So, Benny…” She was vaguely aware that Billie Joe was speaking to her, and reluctantly she turned her attention away from her plate and fork. It was kind of funny, though, she noticed; Billie was doing that thing where he was smiling while trying not to look condescending, and Tré was back to looking between the two nervously, ready to jump in again at any given moment if he felt that he had to. “How’d you come to be in your band? Tré told me you were a late addition, or something.”

“Uh…yeah, I was. I replaced their original guitarist right after their first album came out.”

“How’d that happen?”

She couldn’t tell if he was actually interested in the schematics, but decided to humor him anyway—more for Tré, if anything, who was looking more than a little anxious. “I, uh…don’t think there was much to it or anything. I was filling in for another local band while their guitarist was unavailable, and it was a gig right downtown…met Sicily and Oliver that night, and after we got to talking things just kind of fell into place. They’d just lost their guitarist, and he skipped out on his apartment that he and Sicily and Lucy had together, I needed a new place to crash…so it worked out pretty well.” She smiled somewhat, a little sadly. “Sicily used to joke that it was fate, it worked out so perfectly. I moved in, and he and Zach started teaching me the songs, and I was playing live with them within a month.”

“So you don’t really have much to do with any of the current songs you guys play live? Or at least the writing process for them…”

Her expression soured. Tré sighed, and resisted the urge to let his head fall and smash against the counter. “Just a couple,” she said finally, expelling a deep and calming breath with her words. “Uh, the EP we just came out with last year…a lot of those were songs that didn’t make the cut the first time around, but we re-recorded a few of them. Only two of them were new new, and I helped write them. Otherwise, no, I guess I don’t have ‘much to do’ with it,” she added, her voice barely above an irritated mutter.

“Though,” she continued, now looking a little worried, “we were supposed to go and start recording again, after the summer…we have a lot of things written, and I helped out a lot with it. I don’t really know what’s happening with that, now…I should probably call our…their…manager soon and talk about that, or something…”

“If they record anything that you helped to write, you’re still owed royalties for those songs,” Billie pointed out, in a gesture that he probably did mean as a sincere bid of concern. Benny didn’t say anything to this. She simply shrugged, eyes downcast to her plate as her fingers fiddled around with her fork and that lone bit of eggplant.

It was time to change the subject, Tré decided. Though she was doing her best to pretend otherwise, the girl was clearly becoming upset. The subject was one that she barely even liked to discuss with him, so he couldn’t imagine that she was at all uncomfortable talking about it with a man that she barely knew (especially one that seemed to irritate her by default, for whatever reason).

“So,” he said, clearing his throat and bringing the focus back to himself, “uh…” He realized he didn’t have anything to say, and fell silent for a few seconds as the two stared at him. “How about…that weather…?”

--

Billie left about an hour later, much to what seemed like a shared sense of relief between Benny and Tré. In the end, they really had run out of things to talk about while sitting around that little countertop isle, their leftover food mutually stirred around and around on their paper plates, eyes cast downward thoughtfully. The most exciting thing that happened that night, really, was when Humphrey came bounding into the kitchen with one of his many chewtoys clasped between his teeth, and proceeded to run in circles around the group in an effort to get one of them to play with him. (Billie Joe did for a few minutes, initiating a game of tug-of-war with the mutt, but even that seemed a little half-hearted.)

After he left, things went back to normal in the house—normal being the loose routine that they’d become comfortable with over the last week or so, at least. Cleaning up after dinner (Benny had come to accept his clean-freak habits by now; it was easier than complaining about them), television or movie time, and then…whatever happened would happen. That was always the thing that was a little up in the air, but it was still something that fit into the routine. She knew better than to expect it tonight, though, nor prompt it.

To her disappointment, Tré announced that he was tired and was going to bed earlier than usual. In her head she could hear herself protesting petulantly, ‘But, but…I was going to make you watchVelvet Goldmine tonight, finally!’ but she stayed silent. As he let Humphrey outside for the last time for the night and stood at the door, watching as the dog ran all over at least half of the property, she sat on the couch with the television on and tried not to look too sullen.

If his temporary farewell to her was a little lacking in enthusiasm, she doubted that he meant for it to be so purposely. She forced a smile when he did, to be dropped only when he walked out of the room, the dog happily trotting after him. She sighed, slouching down as far as she could on her overstuffed couch cushion and trying to get immersed in the unfamiliar show.

This was unnerving. She wasn’t used to being in his house at night in a place other than her guest-room, while alone. Yet she wasn’t remotely tired, so she supposed there was no use in joining Tré in sleep just yet. Still, this just sucked. Nothing on the television interested her, she didn’t want to watch a movie alone—who was going to make hilarious and snide comments about the characters the whole time, if Tré wasn’t there?—and she was bored.

She sighed, and just decided to make herself comfortable on the couch, even if the television wasn’t doing much to entertain her. A half-dozen different positions later, though, and she was discovered that this was decidedly an impossible task. Her mind was far too wired to allow her to sit in silence for more than a minute or two at a time. She needed to get up, she needed to do something, but what was there to do?

Her eyes were drawn to the shiny white phone that sat on the end-table, nestled in its holder. They were always drawn to the device, this was nothing new. He had a few of them scattered around the house; in the kitchen and in here, and she thought she had seen one on a table in one of the hallways, too. It was a bit weird whenever someone would call his home line, because she heard it echoing through the house through three different ringers. She was always aware of these phones, even if she didn’t want to be.

A quick glance to the cable-box next to the television told her that it wasn’t yet all that late—barely half past ten, and so still early by her standards. She frowned, and glanced back to the phone.

It was a hastily-made decision, and one acted upon then and there for fear that she would end up chickening out if she put any more thought into it. She knew the number by heart and dialed it with shaking fingers, then falling back on the couch with the device pressed to her ear while it rang on and on from the other end.

Maybe it was too late for this, she decided. No one was picking up, and she was actually sort of fine with this—less for her to face right now, even if she felt that it had to happen sometime. But finally, just as she was about to click the END CALL button:

“Hello?” followed a small click, and Benny instantly felt herself tense up.

“Uh…” She felt herself started to choke up, and forced the next few words, “I, uh…hi, Mom.”

“Bernardette Elizabeth Gallo!”

“Ugh.” Starting a conversation with her mother that began with her full name was never a good sign of things to come, Benny knew. “Look, Mom, before you start—”

“No, before you start,” the older woman sharply cut in. There was a pause, and a small intake of breath—Benny could see her in her mind now, closing her eyes and forcing herself to count to ten in an effort to calm herself. Indeed, when she next spoke it was with far more composure than before. “Benny, out of all the stupid things you’ve done in your life…”

“I know, I know, you don’t have to say it…” But Benny was far more at ease now that her mother wasn’t calling her by her full name anymore. “I’m sorry, I know it was stupid to just take off like that…I didn’t know what else to do, though. Everything just kind of happened, and I freaked out and I ran…”

“Usual story, with you.” But it was said with just a hint of fondness.

“Yeah, I know…”

“But…you’re safe, right? You’re not hiding out in some seedy truck-stop motel this time?”

“No. I mean. Well…sometimes the guy I’m staying with dresses in big flannel shirts and he kind of smells like a trucker sometimes, but no, no motels. I’m staying with a friend from the tour right now,” she added hastily, before her mother could say anything. “I’m down in Oakland, at his house.”

“Oakland?” Benny could hear her mother’s impending panic attack starting up again. “Oh my god, Bernardette. You didn’t actually drive that car of yours all the way down to Oakland, did you?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe it made it, either.”

“And I thought you said in one of your letters that everyone else in the other bands on your tour were all older?” Ah, there it was; that accusatory tone that Benny’s mother had practically patented over the years. The girl could feel herself getting upset again, but she forced herself to not say anything scathing. They both knew what the older woman was thinking, and admittedly it wasn’t like it was completely unfounded or anything. Even more, it sort of bothered Benny that she couldn’t very well deny it anyway.

“They were. And he is.”

“…Benny…”

“Oh jeez, Mom,” Benny groaned into the telephone. “Please don’t start. He’s my friend, and he’s just doing me a favor by letting me crash at his place until I figure out what to do. He’s kind of cool like that.” That sounded all right, Benny thought. Not lying even a little bit, but simply omitting a few key details. Because somehow, just coming right out and saying ‘By the way, we’re totally fucking,’ didn’t seem like the greatest idea right now.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

Damn it.

“Mo-om,” she groaned again, stretching out the word in the most annoying, cringe-worthy way that she could. “He’s my friend, I told you that.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, Bernardette.”

“What do you think?”

“Oh, for goodness sake…just…never mind that. I’d rather not even know about this, honestly.”

“Well, you’re the one that asked…”

“Don’t be a smartass.” The woman sighed, and adopted a slightly softer tone. “But…really, you’re safe, right?”

“Yeah,” said Benny quietly. “Real safe. Dude’s got some money, so it’s in a good neighborhood and everything. No drive-bys that I’ve seen, or anything like that. Uh…really responsive police force, definitely.”

The woman sighed again. “As long…as long as you’re all right. I wish you’d called me to talk about this sooner—and yes, I know, you did once, but you should have tried again a lot sooner. Put yourself in my shoes, Benny—I call Sicily to see what’s going on because I hadn’t heard from you in a few days, he tells me that you and Lucille got into some sort of brawl and you weren’t living there anymore, as far as he knows, you don’t have a cell phone so I have no way of getting a hold of you, no one has seen you since…”

“I know, I know…” Benny closed her eyes, the guilt washing over her as she breathed her apologetic words into the phone. “I’m so sorry, Mom…I freaked. When it comes to that whole fight-or-flight thing, I’m definitely a ‘flight’ sort of girl. I just need a little space from L.A. right now while I figure stuff out, that’s all. I’ll be back. You know that.”

“I know,” the woman sighed. “But fair warning, when you come back here if you don’t come straight to my house first I’m coming after you, Benny. You just can’t pull this sort of stunt and not expect there to be repercussions. And I know you say you understand this, and I kind of believe that you do, but just…I want to say that this isn’t you, but it is, and that’s what scares me about it.”

And Benny couldn’t really say anything against that. She just nodded, grumbling or whispering a small sound of grudging approval whenever she thought that it was appropriate in her mother’s ongoing rant, not daring to say a single word—or make a single sound—that would attest to her annoyance…or her guilt. She kind of was a horrible daughter, she knew, even if her mother would never actually say it (or probably even think it).

After a while, she became vaguely aware of her mother’s voice tapering off a bit, losing that dramatic and irritated edge that it had before held with such vigilance. Benny made herself tune in again, and managed to catch a sighed, “I do love you, you know. Even if you are being stupid right now.”

“Yeah, I…feel that love. Really.”

“Can I at least have a phone number so I can reach you if I need it?”

Benny hesitated at this one, for more reasons than one. Eventually, though, she knew that there wasn’t any way she could actually say no, and even though her mother couldn’t see it she shrugged. “Yeah, that…yeah, I guess that’d be fine. Except I don’t really know the number…you know how I am about phones and that stuff. Um. Let me ask him tomorrow, when he wakes up. I don’t think he’d mind or anything, but just to be sure…”

Clearly, the woman wasn’t a fan of having to wait, but after a few sounds of annoyed huffing and puffing, she agreed. “Fine. But please call me tomorrow and tell me. I don’t like only being able to talk to you while you’re so far away when just you call me. At least when you were touring, I could call Sicily’s phone and talk to you that way, and I had your letters…”

“I’ll call you tomorrow. I promise.” And she meant it.

“Good. I love you. Now stop being stupid. And go to bed, it’s late.”

“Love you too, Mom,” sighed Benny, rolling her eyes. The click on the other end of the phone told her that her mother had already hung up. “Ugh,” she said, rolling over on the couch and reaching over the overstuffed arm so she could shove the phone back on its cradle. “Well, that was only a little torturous, I guess…”

No matter of how she tried to play it off, however, Benny couldn’t get her mother’s voice out of her head. The woman was right, of course. She always was. Benny was being pretty stupid about things, but at this point she didn’t know if she could have chosen a better path to take anyway. She liked being at Tré’s house…most of the time. The company wasn’t bad, and it was nice to get away from the problems now awaiting her back home. But it was stupid. So, so stupid…

Oh well, she thought, rolling over again and curling up in the smallest ball possible, eyes caught on the glowing screen of the television. As far as all the stupid decisions she’d made in her life went, this was still probably one of the better ones.