Communion

Sometimes I feel like screaming,
Sometimes I just can't win,
Sometimes I feel my soul is as restless as the wind,
Maybe I was born to die in Berlin...

Now back at home, a forty year old Billie Joe paced the memorabila room of his seven thousand square foot villa. With frustration and his work plaguing his head, Rose was probably the last thing on his mind at this moment.

Although, roses were on his mind.

He had his thoughts set on his band's new album and where they would be taking it in the next two years. That's one thing that could be said for Billie Joe Armstrong:

He was selfish and ignorant when he wanted to be.

Adrienne stood in the doorway just off the kitchen quietly, watching her husband intently. She knew something had happened that day, because her husband had barely spoken a word since he'd come home hours prior.

Billie Joe stopped his pace and gazed up at the ceiling fan, high above him like an angel's halo. It was as though he were deep in thought and took no notice to anyone else in the room. He began to bob his head as he found a seat on top of a Marshall amplifier and rested his elbow on top of another taller amplifier on wheels.

"Is it Mike?" Adie quirked quietly as she slowly kicked her bare feet across the carpeted floor. She watched her husband cower his head as though he suddenly had been struck by guilt. "You've been friends with that man for a long time now Billie...best friends."

Billie Joe looked up and into his wife's deep brown eyes with subtle apathy. She returned and offered him a sympethetic grin of a smile and found a comfortable spot leant up next to the taller amplifier.

"What Adie?"

"Honey, what's on your mind?"

"A lot of things. Mostly just the album though," Billie Joe replied with an expressionless face as he scratched his shoulder blade.

"William...I've known you for a lot longer than I can really remember anymore. Something happened today, I'll tell you that much. And it wasn't good. What's going on?" Adrienne asked liked the concerned loving woman who had been standing by Green Day's frontman for the past twenty years.

"I know Adie. You're my Minnesota Girl. You know everything about me. I'm so glad I still have you," Billie Joe murmured as he sat up off the amp and embraced his wife. Adrienne was a bit shocked by her husband's cheesy gesture but quickly let her wide-eyed expression fade to a smile.

"William...Billie...I love you," Adrienne breathed in the musicians ear. Brushing back her husband's shaggy dark hair she began to nibble at his neck.

"Adie?"

"Hmm?"

"What would you do, if you had this friend...and he did something major and it was behind his friend's back and you were caught in the middle?" Billie Joe asked in a very confusing manner.

"What?"

"What would you do?"

"Who are you talking about?" Adrienne asked as she pulled back from her husband and stared him in his piercing green eyes. She raised her eyebrows and pouted her lips as she awaited an explaination.

"I don't wanna say who. Just a friend..." Billie Joe exclaimed.

"Billie Joe Armstrong, what have I always told you to do in situations like these?" Adrienne asked her husband in a mothering type voice.

"Wear clean underwear and look both ways before crossing the street?" Billie Joe laughed with smugness in reply.

"Honey!" Adrienne shrieked, hitting him in the arm soft enough to be considered playful. "Don't twist around my words! Don't act like I was trying to parent you, 'cause I wasn't..."

"Sure Ade," Billie Joe giggled. "I just...I feel really stuck right now. I'm really fucking confused and I'm not exactly sure what to do. I guess that's why I'm asking you...'cause you're the person that's guided me across so many rough roads. The girl that was there at the beginning of all things in my life. The woman."

Adrienne sniffled and teared after hearing her husband's sincere and genuine words. She placed her hand on her chest as though she could feel her heart glowing with the love of a high school sweetheart. Removing her palm from the left side of her chest plate, she replaced it over her husband's heart. "This is the way you make me feel Billie..." she whispered as though she were relieving her own pent energy into his chest.

"I already knew that feeling..." Billie Joe murmured with a smile.

Adrienne just nodded with a smile in return and watched her husband's eyelids droop over his emerald pupils.

"You know it's Mike, don't you?" Billie Joe inquired like he had assured himself of that very fact.

"Maybe..." Adrienne giggled out quietly in reaction before settling down and bearing a face of visage and seriousness. "What did Mike do?"

"Adie, it's fucking terrib-" Billie Joe began before his wife placed her index finger up over his lips.

"Wait...don't tell me," Adrienne decided suddenly. "It's not my business. I know things will be set straight eventually. They will Billie. They always do..." She removed her hand from his lips and replaced it back over his heart.

"Adie I know! But I'm fucking scared this time! This time it's too big of an in-band slip-up. I'm so afraid that Green Day might be almost done. All this time...I just hope my band can get its shit together, and soon. I really do Adie. I really do..." Billie Joe trailed off, "...germanicroses."

Adrienne took her hand off of Billie's heart and placed it softly on the stubble of his upper chin. "What did you say hon?"

Billie Joe closed his eyes as a several images flashed through his mind. A dozen faceless people laughing as they ran across a moor of roses on the fringes of the city. A clouded sky dropping its everlasting life giving chalice of water upon their souls.

"Germanic Roses..." Billie Joe repeated with a breath as he reopened his eyes slowly and tried to relocate where his wife's gaze was.

"What?" Adrienne asked quizzically as she lowered her eyebrows with an expression of confusion.

"That's it! That's the name of our album! I just saw it all. It's so clear in my mind. It all makes sense to me now!" Billie Joe gasped in excitement.

"Germanic Roses..."

* * *

The silence of Mike Dirnt's house on that evening was eery and lonely. The skies about Oakland were lit with only that of the light pollution and the mist hidden moon in the oceans of cloud.

The walkway on the westerly side of his home echoed the confident footsteps of someone in high heels. Mike sat at one of his living room windows; open to the freshness of the warm July air caressing his skin with its comforting luxury. His heart thumped in his chest with irregularity as he thought about and reflected on events of his life. Reflected on things he would have done differently had he been given the chance and the opportunity now.

The man was almost brought to tears, but forced it to subdue when the doorbell rang off in the front foyer with a melody as eery as the lonely night. He placed his index finger to the corner of his eyes of sapphire; wiping away any remaining shards of crystal tearlets.

He stood up from his post by the window and gazed out across to where the outside of the foyer could be seen in the shadows. He gasped and swallowed back a nervous lump in his throat as he tried to calm his nerves and simply go through with what he knew would do him a lot of good.

The 5'11 man sauntered out into the grand entrance, otherwise known as he foyer to his eight thousand square foot house and slowly reached for the doorhandle on the front door. He took in another deep breath before he realized the door hinges were beginning to draw back at his descretion.

Whilst hiding half his face behind the door, Mike looked down at the sidewalk and was met with the site of two tiny feet adorned in the sexiest white high heels. He gasped another breath that would not hit his lungs and slowly let his eyes trail up this stranger's body.

"Hi..." a short woman with auburn brown hair and a smokey tone spoke with little assurance of the man standing before her.

Mike let his gaze draw upwards and he was met with the most beautiful hazel eyes you could ever imagine anyone having. "Hi..." he replied in a squeeked tone as his cheeks turned red with humility.

"You left your front gate open," the woman in her early twenties qued to Mike as she brushed her long hair back over her shoulder.

"Huh, uh yeah, thanks. I left it open for you..." Mike explained as he bowed his head again and looked up at her through his broad eyebrows.

"Oh, well thanks a lot. So...uhh...are you gonna invite me in? Hmm?" the woman asked in a seductive tone.

Mike shook his head as though he were shaking off a trance and his cheeks turned all the redder and flushed. "Shit...yeah, I'm so sorry. Please come in." Mike stood away from the door with manners and let the woman enter his house.

"So, what room?" she asked as a smile took her face and she began to look around the spectacular entrance to Mike Dirnt's luxurious home.

"Upstairs..." Mike pointed as he scratched his chestplate with the other hand and began to lead the way.

"Sounds good..." she giggled as she followed Mike upstairs and into what is considered the room for the master of the household. His bedroom on the second floor.

Mike sat down on the edge of his bed and planted and rooted his feet on the floor as he looked down nervously. He rested the backs of his hands on his knees and dug his short bass-player nails into his palms nervously. He closed his eyes as he felt a weight sit down on the other side of the bed and knew it was her.

"What's your name? This is a really nice house...you look familiar to me," the woman spoke all at once as she began to russle around on the bed behind Mike; slowly taking off her high heels and already revealing clothing.

Mike swallowed back another nervous lump in his throat as the warm night air brought perspiration to his forehead and his heart continued to beat irregularly. "Mike...Mike Pritchard," he replied her in a soft voice.

"Mike. Mike Pritchard. Hmm...that's a nice name," she laughed subtly as she began to knee her way across the bed and gently placed her arms over Mike's shoulders.

Mike squinted his eyes as he looked down upon her tiny feminine hands eagerly trying to unbutton his dress shirt from behind him. "Here..." he offered as he slowly took her hands away and unbuttoned his shirt for her.

"Hmm...you're an eager man, aren't you Mike Pritchard?" the woman giggled as though she were portraying a role she knew would be pleasing to her clientele's urges and senses.

"Very..." he murmured before she claimed his lips willingly and the two began to roll about in the silky deep blue sheets upon his king sized bed.

Mike no longer felt any of the feelings he had been feeling for so long. Not insecure, lonely, restless, worried or even that he had something missing in his life. This woman, this prostitute, she brought him security and a feeling of well-being.

Something Mike thought he could never feel again.

As he gazed upon the stunning beauty of her nude hourglass form with pleasure, a smile spread across his face. She rode him at the hips with contentment as she watched their shadows make love coincidingly on the wall.

"Mmm...Mike!" she screamed as she bit her bottom lip trying to contain her moans of pleasure.

Mike was equally overjoyed as he too looked upon their shadows cast on the wall and revelled in only the undescribible sensation his body was feeling. His heart had maintained a normal heartbeat for the past several minutes but quickly skipped a beat once he climaxed and lightly let his weight down on top of hers.

"Oh God..." he gasped as he kissed her neck softly.

The prostitute lay dormant but with non-the-less a smile on her face. As Mike rolled off her she turned her gaze to where he now lay beside her. She stared at him contently and like she had never stared at any of her clientele before. "That was good," she gasped as she watched the blue-eyed bassist sit up on the bed.

"Yeah, I really needed that," Mike incited as he ran his hand over his dark brown hair.

"Hmm...you a single man, are you Mike Pritchard?" the nameless woman asked him with curiosity.

Mike nodded his head as he opened his mouth to answer her, "Uh yeah...but I have a son."

"Oh, so you're a single daddy? That's brave," the woman laughed as she sat up off the bed and redressed herself in her undergarments.

"I make do," Mike replied in a tone that made it sound as though she were touching on a subject he'd rather not discuss with anyone.

"Sore subject?" the woman asked as she hooked her own bra back on.

"Kinda," Mike nodded.

"Do you have the time?"

Mike threw on a black tee he found sitting on the top of his dresser. It had a Rudy's Can't Fail Café logo on the back and read "No Puede Fallar" across the front. As he shoved his arm though one remaining sleeve he gazed down at a random Rolex watch sitting atop his dresser. "Ah yeah, it's 3:30 AM," he informed her.

"Hmm, I gotta go soon," the woman sighed as she threw back on a chic Juicy Couture tee that read "Who The Fuck Are You?" across the front and refixed her gaze on Mike and the shirt he was now wearing. "Rudy's?"

"Hmm?"

"Oh my gosh...are you the guy that owns Rudy's Café?" the woman asked as she relocated to her original spot on the bed and pulled up a knee-length black suede skirt.

"Yeah...that's me," Mike laughed subtly as his cheeks became flushed once again.

"I love that place. Hmm...Mike Pritchard..." the woman whispered to herself again in thought as she pulled a cigarette out of a pack of smokes she had stuffed in her bra. "You gotta lighter?"

Mike looked down and away from the woman and picked up and handed her a hefty weight sterling silver lighter adorned with a bald eagle, from Tiffany Co. in New York.

She lit up and took a greedy drag off her cigarette; exhaling it in a thick cloud across the room in Mike's direction. "Thanks. So, I don't usually pry into my customer's lives...but what's a handsome wealthy stud like yourself doing calling upon a lady of the evening?"

Mike sighed and scratched his chest plate nervously as he slowly sauntered back over and retook his original spot on the bed. "I'm in love with this one woman, but I can't have her."

"Oh, she has a boyfriend?" the woman inquired.

Mike shook his head and his face smiled with that nervous boyish expression, "No actually, she's married to my best friend."

"Wow, that's rough. You must be lonely then Mr. Pritchard. Well...most are," she laughed with subtlty.

"Please, just call me Mike," the bassist insisted with a smile. "Can I ask you a question now?"

"Fire away hunny, I've got nothing to lose or gain," the woman replied with a self-confident grin.

"What's a pretty woman like you doing working for an escort service?"

"Well hun, basically things just didn't work out the way they were supposed to. I used to reside in Buffalo, New York, and I moved out here in early 2009 to pursue a folk music career. I had a hard time finding a job and place to call my own, since rent is so damn high out here and there often isn't positions open for folk singers. I was at my lowest, bumming fags off of college kids on the corner of Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley, when I had decided I had enough. Nothing mattered to me anymore...so I went in this direction and there have been little times when I've ever regretted it," she finished with a prideful smile.

"Oh," Mike cooed as he scratched his head of thick brown hair, disconcertingly. "Well you know, I know some people in the music biz..." Mike began before he was cut off by his two year old son's distinct cry flooding the upstairs with its joyous sound. "Oh shit..."

"Okay, I'ma going!" the woman shrieked as she sat up off the bed and snatched her high heels off the floor.

Mike threw on his pants hurridly and lead this woman downstairs into the front foyer. "I'm sorry, he just passed out earlier from the heat. Usually he doesn't wake up like this..."

"That's cool hun," the woman insisted as she opened the front door casually but stopped to look back with a smile. "That'll be six-eighty."

"Right, yeah, just a sec," Mike issued as he took off to the living room in search of his wallet. The woman stood at the door gazing up the tall staircase in the direction of the toddler's weeping. Mike reappeared in the foyer with his face stuck in his wallet as he searched for the right amount of money. "I don't usually keep bills on me," he informed her but managed to scrounge enough hundreds.

"Thank you sugar," she replied as she took it and stuffed it in her bra before stepping out onto the front walkway. Licking her bottom lip she turned back to look Mike in his deep blue eyes intently.

"No, thank you," Mike laughed as he adverted his gaze to her hazel eyes and bit his bottom lip with a wink. As he lent on the inside of the door he turned his head back to look up the stairs where his son was crying in his room.

"You better go comfort him," the woman suggested intelligibly.

"Yeah thanks, I know."

"You're the first customer I've ever spilled my heart on before, Mike Pritchard. That makes you somewhat different. Thanks for listening..." she smiled as she made down the walkway, slipping on her high heels as she went. "Oh wait!" She got her second high heel back on her foot and began to run back towards the door. "Here..." the hazel-eyed woman said as she looked as though she were searching for something. She pulled what appeared to a card out of a pocket in her skirt and handed it to Mike.

"What's this?" he inquired as he savored looking at the way her long auburn hair shimmered in the dim-lit morning like a ribbon of road spread across a prairie field.

"Thanks for fucking with Benicia's Escort Service," she recited like she had said it a million times. "Night Michael..." she winked.

"Michael?" he inquired as he flinched his nose at the sound of that name and looked down upon the business card in his hand.

It read: Your special girl is Holly.

He looked up from the business card and the very attractive woman, he now knew as Holly, was nowhere to be seen. He sighed as he stepped back into the foyer and stuffed the card in his back pocket; confused by everything in his life.

Little could he do, but resume his fathering duties to his son and live with that which plagued his mind each day.

Rose.

Except now it wasn't all about Rose. It was about bettering himself as a man and a father to his son. It was about rekindling the fire of the candles on the cake of romance. It was about a forty year old man with a glowing heart of newfound love. It was about another woman.

He closed the front door and turned around, placing his back flat against its oak surface. Gripping his hand around his neck, he felt his pulse steady as a smile spread across his face.

"Holly..." he sighed.