Ruby Rooms

He hadn't left his apartment in weeks. He wouldn't answer the door; or his phone. He'd also missed rehearsal after rehearsal, much to the dismay of his band mates.

"They wouldn't understand," he'd mutter to himself when he ignored yet another call. "They just wouldn't understand."

In the end, they stopped calling him altogether. Every now and then, they would go round to his apartment, but after half an hour of futile knocking; they eventually gave up that idea too.

He didn't care that he was pissing his friends off. He didn't care that he was putting his band's career in jeopardy.

Locked in his apartment, he'd successfully managed to decimate his liquor cabin. Vodka, whiskey, rum---he didn't care what he drank so long as it stopped him from thinking. Which unfortunately, most of the time, it didn't. All he could think about was her.

He couldn't believe he didn't recognise her in the first instance. For two years, she was such a significant part of his life. He had written her countless songs, and in return she had made endless promises that she would love him forever. But then it all went wrong, and for fifteen years their lives were split into two very different paths. Now she was back, and he'd touched her hair and tasted her lips and she didn't even realise the truth. He didn't even know if he WANTED her to realise the truth seeing as he couldn't quite believe it himself.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face; a bright, young, twenty-something girl with deep, brown eyes and a mischievous smile. Then every time he opened his eyes, her face was still there; but it was as she was now---a beautiful, thirty-something woman with deep, brown eyes and a mischievous smile.

One day, the thoughts of her got too much, and he cracked. After such a heavy intake of booze over such a short space of time, his voice had become low and rough. Even his own best friend questioned his identity when he finally returned his calls.

He had only to say one word: Adrienne.

"I'll be right over."

Sure enough, not even five minutes after putting the phone down, there was his best friend---armed with yet another bottle of vodka.

"Talk to me," the tall, blonde bassist of his band ordered. He knew more than anyone just how much the girl had once meant to him.

"Adrienne."

"You already said that. What about her?"

"She's here."

The bassist choked on his vodka. "What?! You've got to be fucking with me?!"

"I wish I was."

"Well when did you see her?! Have you spoken to her?!"

"I fucked her."

His friend didn't flinch at the bluntness of his expression. They were like brothers; they knew they didn't have to pussy foot around one another.

"Oh---"

"I fucked her and she didn't even know it was me."

"Well why should she? You're a totally different person now to who you were back then."

"I know---"

"When did it happen?"

"The night before our last show at The Ruby Room."

"But you told me about that night! You didn't say it was her!"

"That's because I didn't realise who she was, either."

"When did you find out?"

"I walked her home after the show and I ended up with this stupid melody in my head that was driving me crazy---I tried to write it down but it just wouldn't come together. Then it hit me when I was in bed---I couldn't turn the melody into anything because I'd already created it into something."

"Dude---you're talking crazy."

Again, all he needed to say was one word. "80."

"Oh---"

"And then I got hit by all these emotions and it felt like a train had ploughed straight through me. I locked her away a long, long time ago and then as soon as I linked the melody to her face, it all came rushing back. And now I don't know what to do."

His friend slammed a definitive fist into his thigh. "You cannot tell her. It'll fuck everything up."

He lowered his own green eyes to the floor, afraid to meet his friend's blue eyed gaze.

"You can't seriously be considering spilling the beans?!"

"I don't know---"

"Dude---listen to me---Adrienne fucked you up. Big style. And if you tell her who you are, you're just going to be fucked up again---"

"It wasn't her fault and you know it."

"Whatever---all I'm saying is that, it's taken us thirteen years to get the band back together! And I'm not ready to give Foxboro up just yet seeing as we've only been together now for two years. She'll just fuck your shit right up if you blow your cover."

"But don't you think that she has a right to know?"

"Maybe---fifteen years ago! But like I said, you're a totally different person now. She's probably a totally different person too. It's not going to do either of you any good if you open that big, fat can of worms."

His friend filled both their decanters with vodka and both drained it effortlessly.

"Now I'm going to leave," the bassist announced, moving towards the door. "And I want you to promise me that you won't try to see her---not yet anyway---"

"But I'll be careful, Mike."

"Like hell you will!"

He was annoyed. "What makes you say that?!"

"Because you're Billie Joe Armstrong," Mike Dirnt answered, matter-of-factly. "And you're never fucking careful."