A Dustland Fairytale

"It's amazing that a girl like you could affect a guy like me." - Valencia

I had spent most of the day working on my dad’s Corvette, trying to bring it back to perfect condition. Late in the afternoon, I’d finished working on the car and thanked Leo for letting me use his shop.

“No problem, kid,” he said, cleaning his hand on an oily rag before shaking my hand. “Hope to see you around again. If you need a place to work on a car, just call me, alright?”

“Of course,” I said, smiling. I picked up the keys from the hook where I’d left them that morning, started the car, and drove home. I didn’t even bother turning on the radio; instead, I just listened to the rumbling of the engine. It was much later than I’d thought it was, but I still had time before picking up Juliet around seven. I quickly showered, washing away the smell of motor oil and exhaust before changing into a clean pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. I ate a quick dinner of a burger and fries, leaving the house at five minutes to seven.

Ten minutes later, I parked the sparkling Corvette in the Hanson’s driveway and walked up to Juliet’s house. When I rang the doorbell, I heard hurried footsteps racing down the stairs. A second later, Juliet threw the door open and looked at me, a nervous smile on her face. For the first time since I’d met her, she wore pants. Normally Juliet wore simple dresses and soft printed skirts; this evening, she wore tight jeans and a red t-shirt.

“I’m going over Dean’s to work on our English project,” she yelled as she closed the door.

“Why aren’t you driving?” Her mother’s voice drifted from somewhere inside the house, suspicion evident in her voice.

“Too tired,” she replied quickly, still trying to shut the door and leave quickly. Her mother continued to question her.

“Then why are you going at all?”

“Project’s due soon. See you later,” Juliet answered, closing the door with a resounding slam and stepping out onto the front step to stand in front of me.

I smiled at her and said, “I see your parents are also under the impression they work for the LAPD interrogation squad.” We walked down the driveway to where I’d parked the car, which Juliet stared at questioningly. “It’s my dad’s car,” I explained. Juliet slid into the passenger’s seat and shut the door, her gaze on her hands. I started the car and backed out of the driveway, driving quickly towards the highway. As we drove south, the ocean glittered from the sun that was quickly setting.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” Juliet asked, turning her blue eyes from the brilliant sunset to my face.

“You’ll see,” I answered with a smile. The Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” was on the radio, so I turned up the volume and drove faster, putting more and more distance between us and the place we called home. I tried to keep quiet, but I decided to tell Juliet pretty much everything I knew about Rosie’s band. “They’re not really famous,” I explained, proud of my sister’s career. “But they’re absolutely brilliant. I can’t even describe them to you, but believe me, they’re good.”

“If you say so,” she said, sighing softly before turning her gaze again at the sunset. She fell silent for the rest of the trip, so I didn’t talk either. Instead, the music on the radio filled the car for the few minutes it took for us to reach the club.

As I turned the car into the parking lot, I glanced at Juliet. A small frown was on her face – not the expression I’d imagined. “You don’t look happy,” I commented as I turned the car off.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I feel like I made a mistake coming here. Like I’m letting people down.” She twisted her blond hair around her fingers and stared out the window, refusing to meet my gaze.

“Who are you letting down?” I asked. Her statement was ridiculous, but I knew it was true. “Your parents expect too much from you. They’re not expecting you to be yourself, and that’s wrong. Are you letting down Hunter? I don’t know what he expects from you, but it’s probably the same thing your parents do. Something tells me it’s not Poppy you’re letting down.” She bit her lip, still refusing to look at me. “You shouldn’t think you’re letting yourself down. The only way you can let yourself down is by completely ignoring what you want.” I ran my fingers along her hand, gently squeezing her hand. “Come on. You’re here. Sitting in the car the whole time would be stupid. I promise you’re going to have fun.”

I got out of the car and Juliet followed me, past the nearly nonexistent line of people waiting outside, to the door of the club. “Why are you cutting all the lines?” she asked me, her hand gripping mine tightly.

“You could say I’m an insider,” I said, smirking lightly as I led her through the crowd towards the small stage in the back of the room. “It’ll probably make more sense after the show. It’s gonna be great. I haven’t heard them in a while, but from what I’ve heard about them, they’ve only gotten better.”

“Who are they?” she asked. From the tone of her voice, I guessed she’d wanted to ask that question for a while.

“They’re called Wilson Shot Gatsby,” I replied. “They’re kind of indie, kind of rock – they don’t have a label, but they’ve got a lot of talent.”

“Wilson Shot Gatsby,” she repeated, “as in – ”

“Myrtle Wilson’s husband killing Jay Gatsby, yeah,” I said. I remembered the day they came up with the band name, back when Rosie still lived with us in New York. “They were arguing about what to call themselves while the singer was studying for her English final the next day, and she just kind of shouted it out. They went with it.”

“How do you know so much about them?” Juliet asked, causing me to grin. Before I could answer, the band jumped up on stage. Rosie had dyed her hair again; it was now dark red instead of platinum blond, but she still looked like my sister. Everyone cheered, and they started to play. They were the band I’d heard grow from a bunch of teenagers in our Brooklyn loft to a fairly popular, unsigned band playing clubs and beach parties in California.

“They’re good, right?” I asked Juliet, who had a huge grin on her face. Her eyes sparkled and her whole body moved with the beat of the music. She nodded, completely lost in the music. I sang along with the song I knew and listened to the newer songs, still amazed at my sister’s talent for writing lyrics. The huge smiles never left our faces.

When they finished their set, the small club emptied quickly. People talked loudly and hummed parts from the catchier songs, reliving the best moments. I led Juliet to the stage, eager to talk to Rosie.

“Dean!” my sister yelled, jumping off the stage where she had been sitting with the band and throwing her arms around me. “I’m so glad you came. I haven’t seen you in forever! I missed you!”

“I missed you, too,” I said, letting go of my sister.

She glanced over my shoulder and noticed Juliet, standing a few feet behind me. “Little brother, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!” She smirked, nudging me a few times with her elbow. Juliet’s gaze shifted from Rosie to me and back, recognizing our similar features: our green eyes and dark hair, more obvious when Rosie didn’t dye her hair.

“Not exactly, but Rosie, this is Juliet,” I said, introducing them. “Juliet, this is my sister, Rosie.”

“Hi,” Juliet said, smiling and stepping forward. “Great show.”

“Thanks,” Rosie responded, glowing. “We’ve gotta get going, though, and if you’re not gonna help us clean up, you should probably get going, too.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I said, throwing my arm around Juliet’s shoulders. “See you, Rosie.”

“Bye, Dean,” she called. “Don’t wait so long before you come see me next time.” He smiled at her. “Bye, Juliet!” she yelled, coiling cables on the stage. We waved and left the club, walking across the parking lot to the car.

“You never said you had a sister,” Juliet said.

“Yeah, well, Rosie left as soon as she turned eighteen to go on tour with her band,” I said. “She came out here three years before we did.”

“Oh,” she said, rolling down the car window as I turned onto the highway, driving back home. We talked about the show the entire way. Juliet asked me to explain some of the lyrics, so I told her stories from when Rosie and her band had been in New York.

When we rolled into the driveway, I asked, “Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” she responded, smiling as she got out of the car.

“Good,” I said, following her, planning on walking her to the door. In the dim light of glowing windows and streetlights, she looked gorgeous. Suddenly the driveway was flooded with light and I jumped back, surprised at setting off the motion-sensitive light. “See you Monday, Juliet,” I said, grinning as I got back into my car. She smiled and closed the front door, leaving me remembering my sister’s songs and Juliet's beautiful face.