Yoko
Priorities.
Jorah curled her legs up under her as she settled herself on his couch.
She looked so out of place within the clutter of his apartment, yet she seemed completely comfortable. Tre blinked a few times, then smiled at the thought of waking up beside her tomorrow.
Then his cell phone went off.
Billie.
"Shit. Jorah, that's Billie."
She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Is it important?" she asked, the beginnings of a pout on her beautiful lips. Tre placed the phone face down on the kitchen counter and plunked down next to her.
"Course not. Nothing's more important than this."
And he began to kiss her, while his phone lay forgotten in the kitchen.
***
"He's not answering," Billie reported bleakly.
"Well...why the fuck not? It's early!" Mike asked.
"I don't know...He's never done that before. He ignored my call twice, and now he's just letting it ring. This is ridiculous."
Mike's brow furrowed.
"Billie, he's never missed a band meeting either. Especially not one about the tours."
"Yeah...He's always been so involved...I don't understand."
The two band mates sat in silence, pondering their friend's behavior.
"Mike...suppose...suppose that Tre's priorities are changing." Billie said slowly.
"What are you talking about?"
"He's always put the band first. Before food, before sleep, hell, even before sex. He sacrificed his marriage for the band."
"Billie, where the hell are you going with this?"
Billie paused, running a hand through his hair.
"I'm just...I'm just wondering if this girl he's with, Jorah...I'm wondering if she's going to change everything. I just look at her and I get a bad feeling. I see how Tre acts around her, he's totally infatuated."
"He's had crushes before," Mike reasoned. "This will fade out in a few weeks or so, and everything will be back to normal."
Mike clapped a reassuring hand on Billie's shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. Billie smiled half-heartedly; it was almost impossible not to return Mike's dazzling grin.
"Look, I'm going back to the table. You finish your drink, and join us when you're ready, alright, buddy?"
Without waiting for Billie's answer, Mike picked up his Corona and slipped easily off his barstool.
Billie sighed, and picked up his drink. He shot a quick glance at the promoter, sitting at the table and checking his watch with an annoyed expression on his thin face.
"I hope you're right, Mike," he whispered, watching as his tall blonde friend returned to the table.
"God, I hope you're right."
***
Jason White stepped off the plane and stretched. He felt stiff, tired and cranky. The plane ride from New York had taken hours, and all he wanted to do was crash.
After collecting his baggage, he rammed the suitcases into the backseat of his car and gleefully exited the airplane parking lot with the Sex Pistols exploding from his speakers.
Don't ask us to attend 'cos we're not all there
Oh don't pretend 'cos I don't care
I don't believe illusions 'cos too much is real
So stop you're cheap comment 'cos we know what we feel
Jason called Billie, got voicemail. Called Mike, got voicemail. Called Tre, got voicemail. Called Adrienne, got voicemail.
Frustrated, Jason slung his phone into the passenger seat of his car.
"I leave for a week, and the bastards forget about me." He fumed.
With a sigh, he pushed down the gas pedal, and sped off to a house that he knew was dark and cold, and another night alone.
***
He threw his suitcases up the stairs into the spare bedroom. He knew that he wouldn't be unpacking anytime soon.
Jason ordered a pizza, and was told there was a forty-five minute wait. Cursing the pizza delivery man soundly, Jason padded upstairs to take a shower.
Stepping into the warm spray, Jason relaxed. He felt the strain of travelling and recording drop away momentarily as steam filled the bathroom.
Long, hot showers were something Jason enjoyed. When he was standing there, naked, under the hot water, he could forget about everything. He could forget about his divorce, about the band, about the loneliness that cut into him every time he opened the door to another empty house, another dark hotel room, another vacant apartment.
He could forget about his life for a little while, wash away the sweat and dirt that came from travelling. He could rest, tranquil and silent in the steam-filled room.
But the shower was over all too soon, and Jason rested his head against the cold tile, listening to the steady drip of the faucet.
And every drop seemed to echo, screaming the word, 'Alone.'
She looked so out of place within the clutter of his apartment, yet she seemed completely comfortable. Tre blinked a few times, then smiled at the thought of waking up beside her tomorrow.
Then his cell phone went off.
Billie.
"Shit. Jorah, that's Billie."
She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Is it important?" she asked, the beginnings of a pout on her beautiful lips. Tre placed the phone face down on the kitchen counter and plunked down next to her.
"Course not. Nothing's more important than this."
And he began to kiss her, while his phone lay forgotten in the kitchen.
***
"He's not answering," Billie reported bleakly.
"Well...why the fuck not? It's early!" Mike asked.
"I don't know...He's never done that before. He ignored my call twice, and now he's just letting it ring. This is ridiculous."
Mike's brow furrowed.
"Billie, he's never missed a band meeting either. Especially not one about the tours."
"Yeah...He's always been so involved...I don't understand."
The two band mates sat in silence, pondering their friend's behavior.
"Mike...suppose...suppose that Tre's priorities are changing." Billie said slowly.
"What are you talking about?"
"He's always put the band first. Before food, before sleep, hell, even before sex. He sacrificed his marriage for the band."
"Billie, where the hell are you going with this?"
Billie paused, running a hand through his hair.
"I'm just...I'm just wondering if this girl he's with, Jorah...I'm wondering if she's going to change everything. I just look at her and I get a bad feeling. I see how Tre acts around her, he's totally infatuated."
"He's had crushes before," Mike reasoned. "This will fade out in a few weeks or so, and everything will be back to normal."
Mike clapped a reassuring hand on Billie's shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. Billie smiled half-heartedly; it was almost impossible not to return Mike's dazzling grin.
"Look, I'm going back to the table. You finish your drink, and join us when you're ready, alright, buddy?"
Without waiting for Billie's answer, Mike picked up his Corona and slipped easily off his barstool.
Billie sighed, and picked up his drink. He shot a quick glance at the promoter, sitting at the table and checking his watch with an annoyed expression on his thin face.
"I hope you're right, Mike," he whispered, watching as his tall blonde friend returned to the table.
"God, I hope you're right."
***
Jason White stepped off the plane and stretched. He felt stiff, tired and cranky. The plane ride from New York had taken hours, and all he wanted to do was crash.
After collecting his baggage, he rammed the suitcases into the backseat of his car and gleefully exited the airplane parking lot with the Sex Pistols exploding from his speakers.
Don't ask us to attend 'cos we're not all there
Oh don't pretend 'cos I don't care
I don't believe illusions 'cos too much is real
So stop you're cheap comment 'cos we know what we feel
Jason called Billie, got voicemail. Called Mike, got voicemail. Called Tre, got voicemail. Called Adrienne, got voicemail.
Frustrated, Jason slung his phone into the passenger seat of his car.
"I leave for a week, and the bastards forget about me." He fumed.
With a sigh, he pushed down the gas pedal, and sped off to a house that he knew was dark and cold, and another night alone.
***
He threw his suitcases up the stairs into the spare bedroom. He knew that he wouldn't be unpacking anytime soon.
Jason ordered a pizza, and was told there was a forty-five minute wait. Cursing the pizza delivery man soundly, Jason padded upstairs to take a shower.
Stepping into the warm spray, Jason relaxed. He felt the strain of travelling and recording drop away momentarily as steam filled the bathroom.
Long, hot showers were something Jason enjoyed. When he was standing there, naked, under the hot water, he could forget about everything. He could forget about his divorce, about the band, about the loneliness that cut into him every time he opened the door to another empty house, another dark hotel room, another vacant apartment.
He could forget about his life for a little while, wash away the sweat and dirt that came from travelling. He could rest, tranquil and silent in the steam-filled room.
But the shower was over all too soon, and Jason rested his head against the cold tile, listening to the steady drip of the faucet.
And every drop seemed to echo, screaming the word, 'Alone.'