Take It With Me
Coattails Of A Dead Man
Tom cracked his eyes open, his head pounding and his back aching.
He needed a cigarette.
The hotel room was quiet, all except for someone's quiet breathing. He looked to his right. Wayne wasn’t in his bed. He looked to his left.
The breathing was coming from a tiny redhead laying next to him.
He chuckled, leaning over and brushing her hair off her face. She was pretty. Tiny. Pale. Big blue eyes. He remembered that much. Plopping his head back down on the pillow, he closed his eyes, letting his hand rest on the girl’s hip.
He frowned.
It didn’t feel right. The girl was pretty, but her hip was bony. A little too bony. He opened his eyes, looking her over again.
Her skin was pale. Pretty, but not as appealing as the café au lait skin he’d grown used to. She was thin. Which was okay, but she was a little lacking in the bosom department. Her hair was pretty; straight and red, cropped short into a bob. He tried running his fingers through it. But it wasn’t as satisfactory as getting his hands tangled in thick, coarse, dark curls.
The girl was cute. He knew they’d had fun last night.
But she wasn’t Kitty.
Feeling a little sick, Tom slipped out of bed and pulled on some clothes, leaving the girl sleeping in the hotel bed. She’d leave soon enough, he thought. As he stalked down the hall, flipping the lid on his silver cigarette lighter, he bumped into Wayne.
“Well, man, I hope it was worth it,” Wayne grumbled. Tom scratched his head.
“What?” Tom asked, confused.
“Sleeping with that chick. I had to sleep on the floor last night. And you know Anthony snores. Next time I want a girl, I’m damn well gonna take her and then you’ll have to sleep on the floor,” he mumbled, brushing past Tom.
“Sorry!” Tom called after him, making his way to the courtyard. Wayne was always getting his panties in a bunch.
Wayne looked back, then stalked back over, pulling his own pack of cigarettes out.
“Nuh-uh. You ain’t following me, Wayne. This is my meditation time,” Tom warned, shaking his head. Wayne busted out laughing.
“Who are you, Jackie Chan? You don’t need stinking meditation time. You need a cigarette and someone to set you straight. Now come on.”
Wayne jerked his head around and made his way into the tiny, overgrown courtyard of the hotel. Pulling a cigarette out of the package, he lit it, then lit into Tom.
“You’re still pining after that girl, aren’t you?” Wayne said, blowing smoke rings into the air.
Tom bristled.
“The redhead?” he asked, playing dumb. He lit his on cigarette and let the menthol tinged smoke roll around his in mouth. He loved the taste of menthol cigarettes. The cold burn that went all the way down your throat and into your lungs. He loved it. And he wished he could enjoy it without Wayne there, asking questions.
“No, you ass. Kitty,” Wayne said. Tom shook his head, feeling even sicker now that Wayne had said her name out loud.
“Why you wanna know?” Tom questioned coolly, trying not to let Wayne see how it bothered him.
“Because, when you were wasted last night, before the redhead, you kept blathering on about how perfect Kitty was and how much you missed her and how you needed to get back to New Orleans or at least call her and damn, she was a good lay. You ain’t one for keeping secrets when you’ve been on the bottle, Tom,” Wayne laughed, taking a drag off his Marlboro.
Tom could have just sunk into the ground. His heart felt like someone had it in a vice grip. And so did his head.
“Well, I was drunk. Everyone knows I say stupid stuff when I’m drunk,” he said weakly, not really knowing how to reply.
“You ain’t that stupid of a drunk, Tom. You’re more of a honest drunk. But I want to know when you’re gonna go back and get her. You should bring her along. It wouldn’t be that much trouble, would it?”
Tom rolled his eyes.
“Yes, Wayne. I’ll bring a girl along with me on tour. It’ll be great. She can sit by me in the van and join in on the fart jokes and beer runs and she’ll just fit right in. Why haven’t I thought of that before?” he snapped.
Wayne held up a hand.
“Easy, Kemo Sabi. I have the feeling that I haven’t said anything you haven’t already been thinking about.”
“Go to hell, Wayne.”
Tom sat there, hunched in his jacket. Finally, after a while, Wayne got up and left, and he was finally alone. He mulled over what Wayne had said over a few more cigarettes. He hated Wayne sometimes.
Especially when he was right.
He needed a cigarette.
The hotel room was quiet, all except for someone's quiet breathing. He looked to his right. Wayne wasn’t in his bed. He looked to his left.
The breathing was coming from a tiny redhead laying next to him.
He chuckled, leaning over and brushing her hair off her face. She was pretty. Tiny. Pale. Big blue eyes. He remembered that much. Plopping his head back down on the pillow, he closed his eyes, letting his hand rest on the girl’s hip.
He frowned.
It didn’t feel right. The girl was pretty, but her hip was bony. A little too bony. He opened his eyes, looking her over again.
Her skin was pale. Pretty, but not as appealing as the café au lait skin he’d grown used to. She was thin. Which was okay, but she was a little lacking in the bosom department. Her hair was pretty; straight and red, cropped short into a bob. He tried running his fingers through it. But it wasn’t as satisfactory as getting his hands tangled in thick, coarse, dark curls.
The girl was cute. He knew they’d had fun last night.
But she wasn’t Kitty.
Feeling a little sick, Tom slipped out of bed and pulled on some clothes, leaving the girl sleeping in the hotel bed. She’d leave soon enough, he thought. As he stalked down the hall, flipping the lid on his silver cigarette lighter, he bumped into Wayne.
“Well, man, I hope it was worth it,” Wayne grumbled. Tom scratched his head.
“What?” Tom asked, confused.
“Sleeping with that chick. I had to sleep on the floor last night. And you know Anthony snores. Next time I want a girl, I’m damn well gonna take her and then you’ll have to sleep on the floor,” he mumbled, brushing past Tom.
“Sorry!” Tom called after him, making his way to the courtyard. Wayne was always getting his panties in a bunch.
Wayne looked back, then stalked back over, pulling his own pack of cigarettes out.
“Nuh-uh. You ain’t following me, Wayne. This is my meditation time,” Tom warned, shaking his head. Wayne busted out laughing.
“Who are you, Jackie Chan? You don’t need stinking meditation time. You need a cigarette and someone to set you straight. Now come on.”
Wayne jerked his head around and made his way into the tiny, overgrown courtyard of the hotel. Pulling a cigarette out of the package, he lit it, then lit into Tom.
“You’re still pining after that girl, aren’t you?” Wayne said, blowing smoke rings into the air.
Tom bristled.
“The redhead?” he asked, playing dumb. He lit his on cigarette and let the menthol tinged smoke roll around his in mouth. He loved the taste of menthol cigarettes. The cold burn that went all the way down your throat and into your lungs. He loved it. And he wished he could enjoy it without Wayne there, asking questions.
“No, you ass. Kitty,” Wayne said. Tom shook his head, feeling even sicker now that Wayne had said her name out loud.
“Why you wanna know?” Tom questioned coolly, trying not to let Wayne see how it bothered him.
“Because, when you were wasted last night, before the redhead, you kept blathering on about how perfect Kitty was and how much you missed her and how you needed to get back to New Orleans or at least call her and damn, she was a good lay. You ain’t one for keeping secrets when you’ve been on the bottle, Tom,” Wayne laughed, taking a drag off his Marlboro.
Tom could have just sunk into the ground. His heart felt like someone had it in a vice grip. And so did his head.
“Well, I was drunk. Everyone knows I say stupid stuff when I’m drunk,” he said weakly, not really knowing how to reply.
“You ain’t that stupid of a drunk, Tom. You’re more of a honest drunk. But I want to know when you’re gonna go back and get her. You should bring her along. It wouldn’t be that much trouble, would it?”
Tom rolled his eyes.
“Yes, Wayne. I’ll bring a girl along with me on tour. It’ll be great. She can sit by me in the van and join in on the fart jokes and beer runs and she’ll just fit right in. Why haven’t I thought of that before?” he snapped.
Wayne held up a hand.
“Easy, Kemo Sabi. I have the feeling that I haven’t said anything you haven’t already been thinking about.”
“Go to hell, Wayne.”
Tom sat there, hunched in his jacket. Finally, after a while, Wayne got up and left, and he was finally alone. He mulled over what Wayne had said over a few more cigarettes. He hated Wayne sometimes.
Especially when he was right.