Beating The Clock

"David called."

I tuck my towel around my waist when I hear her voice. I look over to where Vivian is sitting next to the window. I would have expected to be alone long enough to get dressed, but it seems as if she's taken up residency in my room for the time being.

"What'd the fucker want?" I ask gruffly, trying to make sure I stay decent as I walk across to my suitcase near the closet to find something to wear for the day. I don't mean to be so rough when I talk about David, but this early in the morning I almost expect him to be asking me for bail money.

He's not a lackey or a leach despite what most people think about him. And he's not my evil twin. He's my friend and has gone to hell and back with me. David usually is my traveling buddy; now that I think about it, to be in New York without him is odd, but this week he's gone to Spokane visiting his mom for her sixtieth birthday.

I know that I'd be the first to fly out to see her for her birthday, so I can't really fault him for going to see her, but it seems like she picked the worst week to be born and the worst week for David to feel a sudden family connection and a need to actually be with all of them. He knows that this is the first week I'm doing promos on my own and knows that I need someone here with me, but he's left anyway.

I pray that everyone doesn't feed on me like piranhas. I know there are A LOT of rumors circling around about me. With my and Adie's separation and who I've been seen with lately. I'm already not looking forward to the interviews and going to them alone isn't going to help the situation.

"The FUCKER-" She looks up at me from where she's sitting to emphasize that she's not impressed with my vocabulary. Her eyes leave mine as she goes back to work. "wanted to know if you had his car keys. He seems to think that you borrowed his car the other night and didn't return it."

"Thank you Miss Manners." My eyes stay on my area of the room as I reach for a pair of jeans and a gray long sleeved shirt.

I can already hear everyone telling me that I look like a bum, but really I don't care. I can see from the window in the bedroom that it looks gray outside and I know I'll freeze my ass off if I don't put on at least two shirts and a sweatshirt and a jacket.

I'll be on the radio I'm sure this morning with a stop by MTV for three interviews and a spot on TRL so the theme of the day is comfort and not style. If it were a business day I'd dress up. The executives at Reprise may have a low opinion of how I dress when I face the rest of the world, but if I can throw on khakis and a shirt for meetings with them they never can get a complaint out to me.

As I pull on my boxers and my shirts I walk across the room and stand next to where Vivian is sitting and find myself shivering from just looking at the weather out there. Being in Berkeley has turned me soft. Now the wind hits me in New York or Chicago and I'm done for the day.

"Dumb ass must be drunk," I say looking at the clock and seeing that it's just after one in the morning on the West Coast. I know that his cousins are in town so he's probably gone out and gotten drunk off his ass again.

"Huh?" she asks.

"He must be drunk," I say and then realize I don't have my watch on. "It's probably what--one thirty there?" I pick up the watch I got for my last birthday, the one with the diamonds around the fact of the watch and secure it in place.

Her arm turns and she looks at a very small Swatch brand watch. It's one of those jelly looking style-the ones that Mike's girlfriend now seems to wear and everyone thinks is cool again. Why do I instantly feel the need to buy her a watch that reflects her paycheck? I know I may be an ass with my money and the budge, but I figure that her salary is enough for her to pay her expenses and actually have some kind of style.

She looks at her watch and a low voice comes out from where her hair has fallen in her face. "About that."

"Is that really your watch?" I ask not being able to help my curiosity.

"Yes." Attitude covers her voice and she glares up at me. "Unlike you I don't like to wear rent money on my wrist."

"Hmm," I say, making sure to use extreme amounts of sarcasm, "From the looks of that thing you must live in a mansion."

"That's it!" She pushes her phone, pad of paper, and palm pilot to the floor and stands up. "You know what Armstrong. If you and I are going to continue working like this then you need to understand something. I'm here to be your assistant, not your whipping boy and certainly not the person that you get to bully around during the day-"

I love it. Despite her really telling me that I'm an asshole, she's finally cracked.

She points her finger at me, pressing it into my chest. "Don't fucking smirk at me either Billie. I'm not in the mood to deal with your bullshit right now."

Now I'm taken aback. It's one thing to make a point with a comment, but its now turned into an insult.

"I should just walk out the door and never come back and leave YOU to deal with your schedule-" Suddenly it seems as if she realizes what she's doing and she backs away from me. She practically snorts with her anger.

"I'm going to get coffee. You'd better be ready to walk out that door when I get back or I swear to God I'm going to tell Carson every thing he's ever wanted to know about you and let you deal with the consequences."

"Fine. Fine." I hold up my hands to surrender and watch her stomp out the door.

"Bring me back a latte!" I yell after her and smile when I hear her groan in the hallway.

Laughter soon fills the room.

"What was that all about?"

I'm a good, but skinny, five foot seven inches tall and this guy makes me look like a kid. He's probably just less than seven inches tall and weighs a good buck and change more than me. Someone might think that at three hundred twenty pounds, he'd be a fatty, but really he's all muscle. Mom thinks that he should be called Brick instead of Wes, but the name never took. At thirty-six, he's an ex-USC linebacker who played in the NFL for a half season before he messed up his back too bad to play again professionally. I've never seen footage of the man play, but I can imagine that he'd demolish anything in his path.

He watches me with a smirk on his face knowing that I've already gotten myself into trouble this morning. "Are you torturing Viv already this morning?"

I shrug my shoulders and try not to bring too much attention to myself as I pull my fly together and zip my pants. Wes is one of the only people that will actually tell me that I'm an asshole and actually mean it so I have to be careful not to piss him off too much. "A little."

He chuckles in only the way that a three hundred-pounder can chuckle, that deep-deep laughing noise that sounds evil even if he doesn't want it to. "You know one of these days one of these girls is going to kick you in the balls."

"That's what you're around for," I say trying not to sound too snotty about it. "Viv will never do anything to me because she knows you'll kick her ass." My ass hits the bed and I pull a shoe over.

People always are amazed at how OCD I am.

Wes leans against the doorway messing around with his cell phone. Sometimes I wonder if he even knows that his phone is for calling people. He's got one that is more high tech than mine and last I heard was trying to get copies of Playstation games to upload on it so he could play anywhere.

"Having fun this morning?"

"Just hanging out. The fans were pretty tame last night. From what I hear from hotel security they cleared out just after midnight and were back this morning after they'd all eaten breakfast at Krispy Kreme," Tiny says. His voice goes higher. "They thought you might be at KK so they headed over there." He smirked. "Like they think you snuck out the back door to get doughnuts in the middle of the night or something and they missed you."

"Fuck off," I say knowing that Wes won't shut up about this for the rest of the day if I don't.

"You ready yet Armstrong?" Vivian says coming back into the room with two cups of coffee in her hands. The white cups bear the ever-so present Starbucks seal. I swear Starbucks should be considered part of my house. I spend more time there than in my own kitchen. That's Mike's influence. I mean how long does it take to get milk and cereal out of the fridge. I guess that's a wrong thing to say.

"I'm almost there," I say as I pushing my shoelace into the bottom of my shoe.

"I just need to pack up my bag."

My backpack basically is my life at this point. If I want anything it goes in the bag and gets dragged around on my back all day until I need it. It's strange to see what crap people take with them during the day. I think Tre and I top the charts for strange things that we bring along with us on the road.

Today I have a novel called "Going Low: How to Break Your Individual Golf Scoring Barrier by Thinking Like a Pro" -this probably won't get read, but in case there is a lag at least I have something to look at.

"We've got a long day ahead of us," she says setting down the cups of coffee on the dresser near me then disappears for a moment coming back with her pad of paper, her phone and palm pilot which she then slips into her backpack that had been left near the front door. She began to go into a huge list of words that I had yet to understand.

"Whoa there turbo," I say to her as I throw my bag over my shoulder. I look around to make sure I haven't forgotten anything before I go in search of my room key. "I know it's the first day back and all and I'm ready for it, but throw them at me one at a time, okay?"

She nods, strangely calm considering her earlier blowup. "Get your coffee," she says nodding to the cup that now is sitting alone on the dresser. The other one is in her hand, being lifted to her mouth as I slide across the room to retrieve my cup.

"Thanks," I mumble to her feeling the slight guilt of being upset with her before and her response being one of kindness.

"You ready?" Wes asks finally look at the both of us.

"I'm ready if he's ready," Vivian says.

"I'm set," I say kicking my toe into my shoe again as I grab my hoody on the way out the door knowing it might rain that afternoon.

Wes leads our small precession down the hallway to the elevator. I pull on my black skull cap as we walk, using my whole hand to move it around as I balance my coffee in my free hand. As routine dictates, Wes dials the driver to pull the car around to the front door then calls hotel security to tell them that we're on the way down.

My eyes follow Wes's hand as he reaches to press the button again. Elevators are a bitch. I swear I spend half my life waiting for them when I'm in New York. This morning is no different. I don't know if I'm cursed or if this is just some kind of strange backwards luck. As if on command, the stupid thing seems to hit every floor on the way up. Why the hell do we have to say on the fifteenth floor of a twenty story building? I mean why can't we get a break and stay on a lower floor for once.

This is another reason why I love California more than New York.

I sip my coffee listening for a moment to the sound that the top makes when I breathe into the opening causing the plastic top to expand for a moment before I drink the coffee out of the cup. I move to the wall to lean against it making sure that my backpack is out of the way so my shoulder doesn't crush anything.

Everyone glances at me as if me putting my hood up and closing my eyes means that I'm sick or something. I think that it's just jet lag. If I was in LA I'd still be asleep; hell if I was anywhere else I'd be asleep until at least ten in the morning.

I hate five in the morning. I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes.

I've been good this morning. I used my shower time to think about what I'm going to be doing the rest of the day so that I don't dwell on the emotional roller-coaster that I've been on the whole summer. It's been five months now and while I've avoided this topic for a few weeks now, I know that today is going to dredge up a whole bunch of feelings, comments, and rumors that I clearly and rightly, I might add, do not want to deal with it.

The break-up.

I almost groan as the word enters my mind. I know that this is going to be something that I'll have to talk about. People assume that's why I went on a vacation, because she broke my heart or whatever. Yeah, okay, she did roll over me with a steam roller. It's evitable that a woman will break my heart, I've broken too many at my young age, it's only me getting paid back for what I've done in the past. I mean I'm not completely innocent in all this. I had a hand in the demise of our relationship.

The quiet hallway is the worst. I can't get away from my thoughts at times like this. I can't help but to think about it. The last time I was here was the weekend after we broke things off and I probably was standing right in this very spot doing the same thing that I'm doing now. It's funny how so much time can go by and I'm still in the exact same place I was months ago.

The weight that had been temporarily lifted off my shoulders settles again and I feel the pressure on my chest as if someone is sitting on my chest as I try to pull breaths into my lungs.

To compensate for this I start to recite lyrics in my head. I never knew that technically talking to myself like this would be so calming, but it's the only thing these days that can get my mind completely off things I don't want to think about.

I am soon awakened by Vivian tapping my arm to show me that the elevator is here. I must have really dozed off because she stares at me a little too long and makes eye contact with me. I blink a few times then follow everyone into the elevator and stand in the corner again putting my head on the wall. My brain is still processing the fact that my phone isn't ringing off the hook.

At the beginning of the summer and before when we were still together and the band was still on the road, if I was out and about like this I'd be on the phone with her half the time or trying to figure out when I'd get a moment to call. It's not just the loss of a person in my life, but also the lifestyle that I'd gotten used to over the last 10 years and I think it's THAT behavior that is hardest to get over.

"Don't fall asleep too soon," Vivian jokes.

"I'm not," I say slowly and sip my coffee again, hating that it's already getting cold.

Maybe I'm getting sick or something. I force a cough to see if it will come out sounding strange and so far I sound okay. I open my eyes and look around just to make sure that things are going well. Vivian gives me a look and I sigh. "I had something caught in my throat girl. I'm not sick."

Well there goes the first lie of the morning. I close my eyes again. One of many I'm sure that will pass my lips considering the schedule for the day. Interviewers never have figured out that half the stuff I tell them is a lie. I word it in a way so that it's more of a half truth than anything else. I'm not usually one to throw out a whole bunch of them in my personal life, but keeping the general public and my little entourage happy seems like my biggest priorities today. I mean what would happen if I just yelled at everyone and told them exactly what I thought of them.

I'd be back at home with a family.

Despite feeling like I want to crawl under the covers I know I must go on. Don't start sending your money to any charity for me. I know this definitely isn't a hard life to be living, but the pressure sure is laying on thick lately. Too much is riding on my back and too many people's jobs are on the line if I mess up. Before it didn't seem like that big of a deal. I always had someone else to blame for stuff going wrong, and someone to share in the stuff that goes right. Today it's just me.

Right now I'd like to go back up to my room, crawl under the covers and hide from the world for a while.

Wes's voice is the next to bother me. "You okay?"

"Jet lag," I say not opening my eyes.

"Well get it together." He shrugs his shoulder and pulls out a baseball. I love the fact that he can be totally serious about my safety and still be able to wear jeans and a starter jacket. "D says that there are about fifty girls on the curb waiting for you."

"Yeah yeah," I say knowing full well that when these doors open I'll be overly excited to see them, just like I am every other day of my life. I hate to seem so phony about it, but really, if you have someone tell you that they love you and cry at you over and over again, it kind of looses its appeal.

I hear Vivian next to me stifle a comment.

It's not the first time she's done something like this, but it seems as if this is one time where I can actually comment back at her, or at least explore why she seems to always do that when I am sarcastic.

"Did you have something to share with the class Miss Manners?" I ask with a snide tone turning my head and opening my eyes to stare at her.

She looks up at me from her smaller five eight frame and frowns, "Nothing that will actually teach anyone anything so I'll keep it to myself."

"You do that," I say.

"Both of you need to quit it." Wes moves to stand in between us. "I don't want Reprise breathing down my neck saying that I need to protect you from each other."

I instantly stand up straight and look at Wes praying that he'll take my side this morning. I need all the support I can get today. "It's not--"

Vivian starts to defend herself as if he is our father and we need to keep score of who is winning which arguments. "It's his--"

"Both of you quit it." He smirks at us. "Or I'll turn this car around and no one will get ice cream for snack."

I shiver at the mention of ice cream and I tuck my chin to my chest, count to ten and then look up at the rest of the people around me. Is this what my life has really come to? I'm just about thirty-four years old and I'm standing here arguing with my assistant and my bodyguard about comments that weren't even made!

In the lobby we cross the room quickly and head for the front door. I can see the girls waiting for me outside and as I walk I casually make sure that all the pockets of my backpack are closed. God knows that greedy little hands will do with my bag if I let the girls near me.

On the curb Wes motions for me to engage in a little conversation with the girls while Vivian contradicts his comment. "We only have a few minutes girls. Billie has to get over to z100 for an interview."

I don't even take in any of the conversation around me. I've gone through it too many times to be able to keep track of it. I try to pick one thing to talk to them about and this time it's the baseball hat that the tall girl in the back has. It's a DEA hat, blue with yellow letters like the cops wear.

"Nice hat," I say.

She touches the brim and blushes. "Really?"

"Want to trade?" I ask and move to grab out my hat from my bag. Vivian takes my coffee from me and I thank her with a nod. I know that this will make the girl's year, put me in better with Vivian, and it seems like a good trade because her hat is cooler than the Volunteers hat I've been carrying around with me lately.

"Really?"

"Yeah," I say and pull out the hat I have for her. "I'll sign it and everything." I grab someone's permanent pen and start to sign the brim. "If you promise not to throw this up on EBAY or something."

She laughs nervously and removes her hat and hands it over just as I hand her mine. "Can I get a picture?"

"Sure," I say. I turn so that someone can take our pictures then tell the person to hold on. I slip my skull cap off and put her DEA hat on and I motion for her to put on the Volunteers hat. Together we make quite a pair as our picture is snapped.

"Thanks," she says.

"No trouble." I tuck the skull cap into my backpack and smile for the rest of the group so that they can take pictures before Vivian finally calls the meet and greet to a halt so that we can get to the radio station.

"Bye Billie Joe!" the girls all say to me.

The door is held open for me and I throw one last wave at the girls on the curb before I slide into the huge SUV, moving to the far seat so Wes can take two seats near the curb and so that Vivian can have the front seat. When I'm finally in my seat I put my skull cap back out. I want to wear the DEA hat, but not until later when it gets a little warmer.

"Hey D," I say slapping the driver's shoulder.

Normally I'm not that friendly with my drivers, not due to me being an ass or anything, but due to the fact that drivers come and go. If you count up all the cities I've been in and all the cars I've ridden in, I'm sure you can see how it would be impossible to remember them all.

Doug--"Big D" --Stone, was the driver our first day in New York with Green Day when we came to New York in 1994.

"How's it going B?" he asks turning sideways to look at me. He keeps a hand on the wheel and his feet on the brake, but totally disconnects himself from the driving aspect of the job to talk to me. "I heard the CD last week. Thanks for the copy."

"No problem." I sit back and turn so that I can look at both Wes and Vivian in the front seat. "What'd you think of it?"

"It's good." He nods. "Definitely not Green Day like everyone says. I may not be all up in that style, but your voice really has come along."

Not Green Day. I hate that.

"Thanks," I say praying quickly that this is what the rest of my day will be like. It'd doubtful, but at least it puts me in a good mood to start my day off with.

"I got with ESPN--" D pulls the car into traffic and uses the rear view mirror to talk to me. "I got you copies of the 'AND-1 show' to watch when we go off to Philly."

"Really?" I try to focus on that instead of the few hours that I'll be stuck in the car today no doubt doing phone interviews. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get to go through the drive through and get a burger or something. Isn't that pathetic to be looking forward to going to McDonald's?

"Yep," he said, "I saw it the other night and called up Marry up at the station and he sent it down all for you and says that if you want more tapes you can email him--"

He hands me a business card. "Tell him I sent you over to him and he'll get you anything they have on tape from the station whenever you want it."

"Dang," I say and stare at the card. "Thanks D." Sometimes it's fun being famous. The perks aren't that bad when I think about it.

I hit his shoulder with my hand and give his shoulder a squeeze to thank him then notice the look on Vivian's face. She looks stressed.

*****

Paul "Cubby" Bryant was waiting for me in the sound booth when I walk up onto the floor of the station. I know we're not late, but it seems as if he's running early, something I barely ever see when someone is interviewing me. This business is all about hurry up and wait.

"Billie!"

The sound of the live broadcast fills the hallways. They're playing a commercial for their upcoming Christmas Concert that's going to happen about two months away. They asked Green Day about performing there earlier in the summer, but the contracts are in negotiations so I don't know yet if I'll be there. I hope that's not something he's going to want to know about today.

Suddenly my adrenaline shoots up. I know that this day is just about to start and I know that I'm going to get asked the worst and most boring questions of my life, but I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. At least this is the first one and not the last one. Cubby is too hyper to really be handling at the last part of the day.

"Billie," Vivian says again. She pulls my bag off my shoulder and takes my coffee from me. "Give me your phone."

"Billie Joe Armstrong is here!" Cubby yells into the microphone. I hate when he does that. This guy can grate on a person's nerves early in the morning.

I turn and wave to him and tell him with a wave to stall for a minute as I throw my jacket and everything at Vivian.

I walk into the room and take my seat. "I don't get a headset?"

Cubby turns his head and widens his eyes. "Do you like my headset?"

I look at him again and then look back at the lobby area where girls are now lining the small window that is outside. "I don't get a headset?" I ask again as the girls scream.

Cubby ignores my comment. "Yeah, I want to be a sportscaster so, I have this."

I want to throw him the finger, but instead I compliment him. It's the only way to not strangle people like that. "Well, good luck."

Cubby turns to the microphone and leans in with an evil smile. "Too bad this isn't TV 'cause you'd see my head set ladies and gentlemen. I've got a cool head set with a microphone attached."

I settle myself in and laugh a little seeing that Cubby has two empty cans of Jolt Cola in front of him. "I think it's better for everybody at home that this isn't TV, Cubby."

"What because of me? Are you dissing me?" He puts up his hands into fists.

Vivian appears in the window and I turn away from her. She's already glaring at me if she knows that I want to wrap Cubby up in his headphone wires. "I don't know."

"We're live! Billie Joe Armstrong and our live studio audience!" He flips a switch and the girls out in the hall can be heard screaming. "And we've got the next oh 4 or 5 hours..."

"They're very well behaved." I wave to them. "Very well-behaved."

"Yeah they're very well behaved. What is it with you? I mean around me they're like acting all crazy throwing stuff at me. With you they're like Oh Billie's here." He makes some faces and the girls laugh.

I shrug and look at the girls. They don't seem that bad behind all that glass. "I don't know."

"Finally, what's up with the bling-bling?" He reaches over and looks at my watch. "Good lord I have like a Swatch watch and look at this watch. Turning from the punk-scene, Billie? Where is the red tie?"

I hate when people focus on what I have on. I wear it to get noticed of course, but really an okay, working watch, is all that I need. I have to wear stuff like this or people will think I'm a bum like Mike with his Jelly bracelets and jelly watches.

"I don't know. I don't know. It's just..." I turn my wrist over and pull it back into my hoody's arm. "I don't know man!"

"You look good!"

"It's just a watch."

Cubby plays a song and I sit there and listen to it and sign some promotional posters that a PA brings into me. I don't know what the deal is. The posters are from a photo shoot that I did a few weeks ago for the album. They aren't that bad, but I hate staring at myself all day.

"Billie Joe Armstrong is back ladies and gentlemen and uh you have a new CD coming out tomorrow? American Idiot?"

I nod again and keep signing. "American Idiot. That's it."

"What kind of preparation has gone into this new CD?"

"Well um." I stop signing and look at him across the table and wonder how this guy is THE VOICE of New York. "I mean obviously I spent the last few years writing"

"Congratulations."

"Thank you sir."

"Actually rumor has we have clips from the CD that we're going to play." His hands move over the computer in front of him and a moment later he has a screen up with the list of the songs on the album. "Now how come we can't play the whole songs? Tell everybody the legal reason."

I shrug. There are a million and one reasons why I don't want people to have the songs before the CD comes out.

I sit back a little in the chair and keep signing the posters, moving the microphone closer to me. "That's a record company thing man. I don't know, I just write the songs. I don't know all that."

Cubby just laughs and takes a drag from his cola can.

As "American Idiot" plays over the air I sign more posters and pray that this is almost over.

It's funny how much I've been praying lately. Praying that the songs come out good, praying that the CD sells. Praying that I can get out of New York alive. It's getting to be a bad habit. These aren't the things I should be praying about.