Christie Road

His first thought was that Lani looked like hell.

She hadn't answered on his first knock, and he had almost decided that she must not be home when she finally snicked the lock and the door swung slowly open. She was in a tee shirt and blue sweats, hair in a bedraggled ponytail and yesterday's makeup smudged around her eyes. The lids were puffy, as if she'd been crying.

"I guess we need to talk," he said without emotion. "Is it okay if I come in?"

She didn't answer, but opened the door all the way and swept her hand limply in front of him, motioning him inside. His guitar case and gear bag still sat in the middle of the living room floor where he had left them, and he could smell the acrid scent of burned toast.

They sank into separate chairs opposite each other, and he fidgeted with his key ring for a moment to try to buy time to think. She sat staring at him, feet curled underneath her, and the tension between them hummed like a hornet's nest.

"I waited up for you," she finally said, the anger barely contained. "Until after 4 o'clock."

It was easier to look at the floor between his feet, so he didn't raise his eyes. "I figured you knew I wouldn't be back," he said calmly.

"Why would I think that? This is our home, and it was your first night back. I had no reason to think you'd blow up at me over some redecorating and then stay gone all damned night." A scolding tone was creeping into her voice, and he tried not to let it irritate him.

"Whatever. Lani, this is about more than the apartment, and we need to just get it all out on the table. I think we--"

"So where did you go?" she interrupted, ignoring him. "Did you go crawling back home to your mother? Or did you sniff out that street urchin you seemed so fascinated with?" Her mouth twisted in a nasty, sarcastic half-smile.

She might as well have spit in his face--the explosion of anger inside him wouldn't have been any more intense. He felt his hands shaking, and bit his lip until he felt his teeth break the tender skin, trying to hold back the face-melting rage she had triggered.

"The best thing you can do is shut the fuck up with that shit," he said, his voice deadly calm. "I'm not here to argue this with you. All I want is for us to decide who stays here in the apartment and who moves."

"Really? And what about the commitment you made to me? I guess you're ready to just walk out on that, too."

"What commitment?" he snorted. "I've never asked you to marry me, never given you a ring, I didn't even put your name on the damned lease to this place! Explain to me exactly what commitment I've ever made to you!"

Her eyes widened in shock for a moment, but she recovered quickly, shaking her hair back over her shoulder. "You won't really leave," she said with a barely concealed smirk. "I know you've been out there getting all kinds of attention, and you're a big star now, so you think you can walk out of here and have some new girl on your arm before you get to the parking lot. But you and I have history, and I know you, Billie, better than you know yourself."

The laughter exploded out of him, making him fall back in the chair. "You know me? Lani, you don't know shit about me! You have this image of me that has nothing to do with who I really am, and you're killing yourself trying to make me live up to your expectations. But news flash, darlin', it ain't happening! If you can't handle who I am, then you need to find yourself some hot shot doctor or stockbroker or something, somebody who wants this fucking lifestyle you seem so set on. But it's not me!" He was still laughing, unable to believe she had deluded herself so badly.

"If we're so incompatible, then it won't make any difference if I do this--" she said, slowly lifting her tight tee shirt over her head. She wore no bra, and as the fabric slid up and away, her breasts lifted and fell, bouncing perkily. She rose out of her chair and walked toward him, her fingers sliding into the waistband of her sweatpants and sliding them off her hips. Underneath, she wore a pale green thong, and she pulled it down as well, exposing the triangle of downy blond fur underneath. When she stood in front of him, she cupped her hands under her breasts, bending down so they rested only inches from his face.

There had been a time when his body would have reacted instantly, uncontrollably. But the spell had been broken, and now as she waited for his reaction, he realized that she just seemed pathetic.

"Lani, put your fucking clothes back on. You think that fixes everything, and it doesn't. It just makes you look desperate and cheap." He stood, almost knocking her down, and pushed against her shoulders, making her back away from him. Turning his back on her, he started down the hall to gather some of his belongings. Wherever he was going to end up staying, there were things he didn't want her to have in her possession, even temporarily.

A kaleidoscope of emotions flickered across her face, but the hurt gave way to indignant anger, and she flew at him, digging her nails into his arms. "Don't you dare ignore me!" she screamed, leaving long red scratches in his skin. She slapped his chest, his shoulders, and just before her hand reached his face, he caught her wrist, pulling it away almost effortlessly.

"I'm warning you, don't touch me again," he hissed.

"What'll you do if I do?" she asked, her chin high and defiant. "Hit me?"

His palms itched to do just that, but he shook it away. "Don't test me and you won't have to find out." He flung her hands away from him and turned away again, striding quickly to the "den" where she had relegated all his belongings. Rummaging through the closet, he found a box and threw as many of his CD's inside as he could, followed by his lyric notebooks. His most precious recovery was the battered case that held his first guitar, Blue, and he snatched it as well.

Returning to the living room, he headed straight for the front door to load his things into the car. Lani had switched tactics, and now lay sobbing on the sofa, her hair hanging off the side in a blond tangle. He barely looked at her as he elbowed the door open and stowed the box and case in his trunk. Then he returned for the gear bag and his other guitar, and closed the trunk lid, slamming it shut harder than he had meant to.

When he came back inside, she had put her shirt back on, and was sitting with her face buried in her hands, crying silently.

"I'm keeping my key," he said, his voice cold and flat. "If anything turns up missing, I'm holding you responsible. I'm giving the complex my 30 days notice on the lease, and if you want to take over, it's fine with me. I don't think I want to live here after all."

The little mascara that had survived the night was streaking down her face now, and she held one fist pressed against her mouth to hide her trembling lip.

"Billie, please, I'm--I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to freak out on you. Let's really talk, okay? Sit down and we can figure this out. I know I've done a lot of things to upset you, and I want to fix it. Just give me a chance, let me show you I can be who you want me to be." She was begging now, babbling in her desperation to keep him from walking out the door. She got up and took a few hesitant steps toward him, her head lowered penitently. "Please don't leave me, Billie. I love you so much. We can be good again, I know it. Just come back and give it a little time, that's all we need."

She touched his arm gingerly, afraid he might slap her hand away, but he stood frozen, looking at her with no trace of pity.

"I'll be back tomorrow to get the rest of my things," he said dispassionately. "Don't worry about being here--I'll let myself in." He lifted his hand in a detached wave that drove home to her the hopelessness of trying to change his mind.

Her head turned slowly back and forth, denying what she was hearing, denying the truth. As he disappeared for the last time, she sank to her knees, shock and devastation turning her face into a stricken mask.

***************************

With a new cell phone--and a new number--tucked safely in his pocket, he headed down the sidewalk to find something to eat. It was a tossup between Burger King and Thai, so Chi Thai it was.

As his khao pad gai sat cooling in front of him, he pulled the phone and the Razor business card with an extra number scribbled on it out of his pocket. His fingers danced lightly over the buttons as he mulled over his options, weighing each one carefully. Finally, he punched out a familiar number from memory--he'd have to reload his phone book later on.

"Lawrence speaking."

"Hey, Larry, it's Billie. How the fuck's it hanging?"

"To the left, man, to the left," he laughed. "How's it feel to be home?"

"Still got a road buzz, to be honest. Ten months is a long time in that damned bus. Listen, got a question for you." Larry was a man of few words, and Billie wasn't in the mood for small talk either.

"Sure--shoot."

"What's the odds of getting us booked at Gilman one more time? Just for old time's sake, kind of a 'good to be back' thing. We'd even do it for free, if they'll have us." He was feeling particularly generous, and went out on a limb assuming that Mike and Tre would feel the same way. If not, they'd sure let him know.

Larry cleared his throat. "Well..." he said noncommittally.

"You think it'll be a problem?" Billie asked. "Are they booked up?"

"Bill, it's like this. You know how they are about big acts. Once you get a label--even one as small as Lookout!--and start touring, you start becoming one of 'them'. Doesn't make much sense to me, but they're really protective about the local identity."

"Are you telling me they'd refuse to let us play for nothing? Man, we've done--I don't even know how many shows at that club!" He sounded pissed, but it stung to be pushed out of a place that had meant so much to them.

"Look, I can call them and ask, no harm in that. I'm just letting you know I can't guarantee anything." Lawrence sounded apologetic, even though it wasn't his fault.

"Yeah, I know," he grumbled. "Just--well, just call them for us, okay? I mean, hell, we've been part of that place for six fucking years! Tell 'em not to cut our nuts off just for doing a tour!"

"Like I said, I'll try. Just don't cut my nuts off if they don't jump at it." He'd known Billie for long enough to know it was a distinct possibility.

"Like you have any."

"Funny, Armstrong, real funny. Next time you want the bus with cable I'll remember that."

"Hey, we can't take those buses for personal use, can we?" he asked, only half joking.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Larry said in disbelief. The guys were crazy, but these were quarter-million dollar vehicles!

"Don't go shooting your mouth off, but I kinda need a place to stay for a while. Just till I get some stuff worked out," he added quickly.

He could hear their producer grinning through the phone, the smartass. "Whatsa matter, BJ, Lani find somebody better looking while you were gone?" he cracked.

"Fuck you." He hated being embarrassed, especially over girls.

"The answer isn't just no, it's hell no. Are you mistaking me for someone who's never met you guys? There'd be nothing left but a smoking chassis by the time you got through with it, and the body count would be staggering!" Lawrence was obviously enjoying this.

"Fine, keep your fucking bus. I'll call Courtney Love and see if she'll let me shack up with her!"

"You do that. And when the National Enquirer gets through with you, don't come crawling back to me wanting me to clean your image up!" It was a running joke with them, how much Lawrence despised Courtney. "Seriously, though, if you need somewhere to crash, I can look around and see what I can find. You just need something temporary?"

"Yeah, just for a little while, until I decide what I want to do."

"You try Mike or Tre?"

"Larry, I've been on the road with those idiots for most of a year now. I love 'em, but I'm sick of them and vice versa. Look, don't worry about it, I'll find something. I can get a room for a few days until something turns up."

"Bill, you know you're welcome to stay with me if you want." It was a sincere offer, but Billie couldn't quite see himself obligated to his producer.

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it. I got a new phone, so just jot my new number down and let me know if you hear of anything, okay?"

"What happened to your old one?" Larry asked curiously.

"Bad reception," Billie growled.