I did not want to think. I wanted to sleep.

    I ignored another call from Holly and turned the television on to some great cartoon series.
    "Don't fuck up this film," I scolded myself as I pulled the covers up over my head, "Everyone needs for you not to fuck up this movie. Everyone needs something."
    Noah had been giving me these looks that said everything. That said, that we had managed to co-write, get funding for and go through all of the red tape imaginable to green light this film and, though I was his friend, I was quickly becoming his number one enemy.
    I had handled every minute detail up until filming with ease but the second that the cameras started rolling, my focus was gone. Noah was poised to do his part, his concern was that I was incapable of doing mine.    
    After Noah had fixed my television and before he left the apartment he once again half-heartedly begged me to get some sleep and,
    "Quit boy chasing."
    I had never once before been accused of chasing boys. It was always the furthest thing from my mind after records and gear, especially having spent the greater part of adulthood confined in a small space with two of them.
    But I had seen the moment of relief on Noah's face when he found out that christian would be gone for awhile then the frustration when he saw Adrian on set.
    Noah was losing me; his vision and his film were dissolving in his hands.

    And yet, I could not sleep.

    I turned and sweat and shivered nervously. I wanted to think of the film, of the radio show, of the Headrush pedal, of Christian, of the Suzi Quatro book, of...but I thought of Adrian, almost to the point of obsession.
    The even tone of his voice, the shape of his face, the green of his eyes, the length of his hair, the lack of dirt under his fingernails, his just slightly crooked teeth...
    I wanted to run away to anywhere but Los Angeles. I wanted to run away with Adrian? No, that couldn't have been right. I picked up my phone as though I were going to call him but fell short.
    I imagined myself asking him to come over.
    But what would I want with him there?
    I dialed his number.
    "Hello?" he answered.
    My heart jumped at the sound. I hung up. My phone rang. It was Adrian. I ignored it. He called again. I couldn't avoid him.
    "Adrian?"
    "Hi, did you just try to call me?" He asked.
    "No...yes, but it was an accident. I dialed the wrong number."
    "Oh... should I let you go?"
    "Come over," I blurted. I never was good at suppression.
    "Now?"
    "Anytime," I attempted redemption.
    "How about now?"
    I swallowed, "Now is no good. I should sleep before I watch Sophie," I forced a laugh, "Unless you want to watch me sleep?"
    "That might be awkwardly entertaining but I'll pass for now. What time should I be ready for our date with Sophie?"
    "Six."
    "See you then."
    "Goodbye."
    No sooner had I hung up, did I call him again.
    "Hello?"
    "I don't like saying goodbye to you," I confessed.
    "Most women hang up on me. It's effective."
    "I know that isn't true."
    "How would you rather we said it?"
    "I don't know. I just feel uneasy about the way that we part. It sounds wrong."
    "Maybe we should start our conversations by saying goodbye and end them by saying hello?"
    "You're winding me up."
    "No, I'm not," He countered, "Hang up and call me back."
    "Adrian..."
    "I'm serious," he insisted.
    I did as instructed. He allowed the phone to ring three times.
    "Goodbye?"
    "This is silly. I'm hanging up on you. I'll see you at six."
    "Hello, Audrey," Adrian continued. I hung up again. I tried to sleep and still I couldn't.

***

    Adrian met me at the bottom of the long-winding driveway that lead to the top of the hill where his huge house overlooked the Pacific Ocean.

    "Some fortress you got here," I ogled the house as he sat in the passenger's seat.
    "I don't go out often."
    "How much was it?"
    I knew that it was a personal question but I wasn't uncomfortable asking him.
    His cheeks flushed, "C'mon, don't ask me that."
    "Why?"
    "Because I don't want you to think that I'm some asshole."
    "I won't think that."
    "Are you sure?"
    "I'm sure."
    "Six million."
    I guffawed, "Oh my God! That's so much money!"
    He covered his face with his hands, "I know."
    "I've never known anyone with six million dollars."
    "What about Holly?"
    "She doesn't count, really. It's mostly her dad's money and I don't know her dad... but six million, really? Do you know how many little UNICEF kids that you could feed with six million dollars?" I teased. He didn't take the joke well, he turned horribly pale and rested his head on the dashboard.
    "Oh God. Don't say that to me. Please."
    I touched the top of his head.
    "I was only kidding, Adrian. I'm sorry. I don't think that you're some asshole... I do think that you should own about fifteen more record players, though."
    He lifted his head with a coy smile.
    "Right."
    I noticed the boxes in his lap. Candy Land, Hungry Hungry Hippos, Operation and a small stuffed white bunny with a pink thread nose.
    "Where do you get all of these board games?"
    He shrugged, "One thing about not having television growing up is that my sister and I played a lot of board games. It's kind of a habit to buy a good one when I see it."
    "You're too wholesome."
    "I can get pretty wild. You've never seen me amped up on Tab playing Connect Four. It gets ugly."
    "What about the rabbit?"
    He picked it up, "This is for Sophie. She said that she likes bunnies."
    "You remembered what a five-year-old said?"
    "Sure. She's a person like any other. Her feelings are valid," Adrian said it so offhandedly that it was as though he didn't have to think about it. It was natural.
    I was surprisingly affected by his response. Sophie was a person with thoughts and feelings, her age wasn't a factor. Few people would consider her the same way.

***

    Sophie was in the midst of a childhood that I had only experienced glimmers of in my own youth; a childhood I would've given anything for.
    
    Adrian's parents had still been together when he was Sophie's age and I wanted to know what that part of his growing up was like. Did he remember it? Were they like a family? Were they happy or did his parents hate each other even then? How did he treat his little sister? Was he protective of her or jealous of her?
    I couldn't remember ever having played a board game with my siblings (though, it had to have happened at least once, right?). I do remember one incident when my sister was supposed to be baby sitting me and she took me to a high school party. I sat in the back room with a guy in a lettermens jacket and he played checkers with me. He was a nice guy and I wonder if he just liked little kids or if he owed my sister a favor.
    My brother and my sister were never just my siblings, they were like little parents. There were more my parents than our parents had been. Eugene and Jane took on the responsibility of me (and each other) because no one around us was capable. Alcoholism, drug addiction, divorce, violent boyfriends (mom), multiple failed marriages (dad) and being shipped off between mom to the grandparents to mom again to two weeks with dad until he ran away from the responsibility to an aunt and uncle for a semester of school and my dad's parents (never seeing or speaking to dad but being forced to stay with mom on weekends and holidays)... these are not the growings up of children, these are the travels of Samsonite luggage.
    I observed like a patron at a movie as Sophie sat on the floor in full princess attire and peel off nail polish with Adrian cross legged and slouched so that he more closely resembled her size at her side.
    Though Adrian was easily old enough to be Sophie's father (or, God, how I was quite old enough to be her mother), I couldn't envision him as her father or her uncle, I could only see him as her brother.
    It was in the playful way that he gave her nudges as he rolled dice as if bragging in advance about the good turn he was about to get or the way that he shook his head in joking sympathy and said,
    "Tough break, Soph."
    When she was forced down a chute, or how he cheated for her by getting the Adam's apple in Operation, giving her enough pieces to win.
    
    "Do you have an Adam's apple?" Sophie asked Adrian.
    "I do," Adrian pointed to the bump on his neck. Sophie moved closer to get a good look at it.
    "Why didn't you chew it?" She asked.
    "Chew what?"
    "The apple when you ate it."
    He smiled, "Just really hungry, I guess."
    "Can you breathe?"
    "Yep."
    "Can you eat?"
    "Yep."
    "Does it hurt?"
    "Nope."
    "Can I touch it?"
    "Sure."

    Sophie extended her small hand and cautiously, gently, stroked the length of Adrian's neck the same way she would've pet a neighbor's unfamiliar dog.
    
    "Can you say something?" She urged.
    "What would you like for me to say?"
    Sophie quickly retracted her hand, mouth wide open in shock.
    "It moved!" She exclaimed then quickly set her hand back at his throat, "Do it again."

    The two of them sat like that for upwards of a half an hour with Sophie placing requests that Adrian make every sound imaginable from growling to whispering to singing a song off of Top Ten radio, which Adrian didn't know so he kept making up words that used the title of the song she had given him to his own tune.

    "Stop! Stop! Stop!" Sophie scolded him, "That's not how it goes!"
    "It's not?"
    "No! Now sing it right!"
    Adrian went about singing as he had been.
    "Noooooooo!" Sophie yelled.
    "How does it go again?"
    "It's the one that goes like..." Sophie sang the chorus of the song. Adrian mimicked her.
    "Sing more," She demanded.
    "I don't know any more."
    "You have to. It's on the radio."
    "I don't listen to the radio," Adrian paused, "Don't tell your dad. I know some poetry... do you like Keats?"
    "What?" Sophie questioned, confused.
    I frowned, but couldn't hold it. Adrian smirked at the joke.

    I ran by and swept Sophie into my arms.
    "C'mon lady, let's get you into a nightgown."
    "No, no, no..." She whimpered, arms reaching back towards Adrian, his neck and the board games.
    "If you put on your nightgown and brush your teeth, I'll let you stay up and watch a movie."
    "Really?" She became enthused.
    "Really."
    "With Adrian?"
    "Totally."
    Sophie squealed, leapt from my hold and sprinted to her room. She grabbed from the dresser drawer a floral printed flannel nightgown that she pulled over her head and slid into the bathroom. She stood on a step stool, brushed her teeth for five seconds then rushed back into the living room taking a place on the couch beside Adrian.
    She was asleep in his lap before the title of the movie came onscreen.
    "My arm's asleep," Adrian whispered in a pained way. His arm was being used as a pillow to prop Sophie's head up.
    "I can take her," I scooped her from Adrian. She opened her eyes, stunned.
    "What's going on?" She whined.
    "It's bedtime," I told her.
    "Mama?"
    "They're on their way."
    "Adrian?"
    "He's here."
    "Where?"
    I turned her so that she could get a look at him. He waved.
    "I want to say goodnight," Sophie insisted.
    I heard my own voice as a child begging for my brother to put me to bed.
    Sophie wrapped her tiny arms tight around Adrian's neck and kissed his face.
    My brother used to throw me onto the bed when I wanted to be tucked in but I knew no fear. My brother could not hurt me.
    "Goodnight, Adrian."
    "Goodnight, Sophie."

    I put Sophie to bed, pulling the blankets around her as she hugged the stuffed white bunny to her chest. I saw the way her long dark hair fell into her sticky round face, how large, sparkling and brown her eyes were. Sophie looked exactly how I had looked at her age, We could've been past and future selves in the same room and as I closed the door, I wished for her only the very best.

    "Yet another woman completely taken with you," I spoke of Sophie as I took a seat beside Adrian.
    "I was wondering how I could get into the grade school market..." He paused as he looked at me, "You're tired, aren't you, Audrey?"
    "I'm leaving," I responded, blankly. Fortunately with Adrian, I didn't have to explain what that meant, I only had to explain why I was doing it.
    His eyebrows lifted slightly and disappeared behind his hair in an expression of both concern and curiosity.
    "The party didn't help you want to stay?"
    "A party doesn't change that I'm a fuck up."
    "Audrey, you're tired..."
    "It's not that I'm tired, being tired doesn't change that Noah has put a whole film on me and it's pretty simple but for some reason I can't hold myself together enough to do it or these people who are supposed to be my friends... I can't bring myself to speak to them. I can't recognize myself anymore. It's like I'm falling apart for no reason. I mean, what reason do I have?"
    "Can you have faith in me?"
    It was an unusual question but the answer didn't require thought.
    "I do have faith in you."
    "Give me a few weeks and don't make plans to go back to Seattle until then. I can get you everything that you need... I just need a few weeks."
    "Why are you helping me?"
    He glowed pure and good, "Because you're my friend."

    It was without reservation that I rested my head upon his shoulder and closed my eyes. I took in his scent, a mixture of earthy laundry detergent, chamomile bar soap and men's sport deodorant. It was warm like comfort. The last thing that I heard before I fell asleep was Adrian murmur,
    "I would never sell you out, Audrey."

***

    The calibers unlocking in the deadbolt jostled me from sleep. I jerked my head from Adrian's shoulder. He was wide awake and flipping through television channels. Once I moved, he shook his arm.
    "It's asleep again."
    "I bet you wish that you could blame poor circulation," I pushed hair away from my face, "If you're lucky Emily will put me to bed."
    "You owe me dinner."
    "Where are we going?"
    He patted his stomach, "Let's see here. You're buying so... where can we acquire caviar at midnight?"
    I scowled.
    "IHOP?" He suggested.
    "Caviar pancakes?"
    "I'd settle for blueberry saying that they're out of caviar."
    "IHOP," I agreed.

    Jared insisted upon paying us like real babysitters with a twenty dollar bill and two popsicles from the freezer in the garage.

    I drank three cups of coffee at dinner but it didn't push away the exhaustion. Though I wasn't sleep driving, by the time I drove Adrian home everything in my vision was blurred.
    "Would you like to come in?" He offered.
    "Actually, do you have somewhere that I could lie down for a bit?" I scratched my head, "I don't know what's wrong with me."
    "Not a single place, actually. I only allow for standing in the house... of course, I have a place, Audrey. Did you want to stay the night?"
    "What?"
    "We're going record shopping tomorrow and I do have at least one guest room in there," He gestured with his head, "One with a television, even."
    "Cable?"
    "Of course it's only basic."
    "Good Lord, Adrian! Most hotels have HBO."
    "Small steps make for a more enduring rebellion. If you'd like to see the humor in it, it's the room that I have my sister stay in when she comes to visit."
    "Where do I unpack?"

***

    "You're in luck. I went to the dentist last week," Adrian said as he rummaged through bathroom drawers.
    I sat on the marble counter between two wash basins, unscrewing and smelling any product that my eyes laid sight on. I picked up a tube of herbal organic after shave balm that boasted to be lanolin-free. I sniffed it. It didn't smell like much of anything. I read the label again. Fragrance-free. I replaced the cap and put the tube back where I had found it.
    "How is that lucky?"
    "It means that I have a spare toothbrush-- somewhere," he opened and closed another drawer, "I must be losing my mind."
    "I don't really need a toothbrush. Do you have mouthwash?"
    I peeked into his medicine cabinet. There was a clear bottle of clear Spearmint mouthwash. Alcohol-free and all natural.
    "Every product you have tells you what's not in it, but what's in it? Zinc lozenges, licorice root, grapefruit seed oil extract, 100% natural and vegetarian multi-vitamins-- give me chemicals! Plastic packaging and too much of it! Robitussin!" I spotted a packaged toothbrush and grabbed it, "Is this
what you were looking for?"
    "Yes!" He handed me a metal tube of fennel toothpaste.
    I feigned a grimace as I read the ingredients,
    "It's like brushing your teeth with food."
    "If I should ever have the occasion to stay the night at your house, I would gladly brush my teeth with Comet and scrub my face with an SOS pad... or whatever it is that you're into."
    I looked at him with wide eyes and wonder, then quickly turned away and unwrapped the toothbrush.

    We crowded around one of the wash basins and brushed our teeth, throwing each other auspicious glances.
    Adrian spit out foam and studied it.
    "When did I eat that?"
    "Gross," I mumbled as I removed the toothbrush from my mouth. I covered Adrian's eyes with my right hand, spit and rinsed it from the sink before I dropped my hand so that he might see.
    He moved to the other wash basin and turned on warm running water. He took handfuls, splashed himself in the face and tucked hair behind his ears, then reached into a drawer, pulled a washcloth out, pumped soap onto it and scrubbed his cheeks. Adrian paused, holding the washcloth to his neck and looked at me in the mirror.
    He smiled.
    "What?" he asked, lightly.
    "What, what?"
    "You're looking at me."
    "I'm not."
    His mouth sort of opened, "You're looking at me right now."
    I shrugged, "I don't know. I'm fascinated."
    "Fascinated?"
    "On tour you spend a lot of time with other people until having them around becomes old hat. You do things in front of them you would normally only do by yourself but because you can't escape them you start to take for granted that they're there-- like brushing your teeth, washing your face, changing, bleeding, sleeping, using the bathroom... most of the time you have limited opportunities to do things so you eventually do them no matter who else might be there.
    "It's strange to me that we aren't being forced by circumstance to do these personal things in front of each other and yet, it comes natural. I can't tell whether it feels right to do it around you or if I've lost all of my inhibitions over time."
    I reached into the drawer that he pulled a washcloth out from and pulled one out for myself. I wiped eyeliner clean from my eyelids.
    "I don't think that your inhibitions have gone. You wouldn't even spit in front of me.'
    "The make up is coming off now so we'll see how bare that I can handle being."
    "It could just be my ego speaking..."
    "What ego?!"
    "The one that would like to think that it's just me."
    I paused.
    He wrung his washcloth out and hung it from the faucet.
    "About eight years ago, Spencer and I were sharing this studio apartment that was, at most, half the size that yours is and we had these bunkbeds. I had the top bunk because I'm a few inches shorter than he is and it was easier for me to stay under the 160 lbs weight limit. As you get older you begin to realize what a raw deal top bunk is because there isn't as much room from top bunk to ceiling as there is from bottom bunk to top bunk, plus the person below you is aware of every movement that you make. Not to mention that Spencer thought that the best way to get my attention was to push up on my mattress when he wanted something.
    "The whole situation was intrusive. He made things worse because he hung blankets around his bunk and here he was with his own makeshift room and privacy when I couldn't even roll over without him giving me hell about it."
    "What did you do?"
    "Much like your situation on tour, you take for granted that the other person is there or you get too tired to care."
    "Are you saying that I'm too tired to care right now?"
    "PBS must sound pretty good to you."
    "C-SPAN sounds pretty good to me."
    "You are desperate to sleep. Let's see if we can find you a t-shirt or something."
    "You're wearing a t-shirt."
    He looked down at his chest and pinched the gray fabric,
    "So I am. There must be more where this came from."

***

    "You are singlehandedly keeping the Keds corporation in business."

    I stared at the twenty pairs of Keds shoes that lined the floor of Adrian's closet. Six different colors, two pairs in each color, then four pairs each of black and white.
    "There's one pair to accommodate any possible outfit."
    "There are several pairs to accommodate any possible outfit," I countered, "I've seen less Kleenex in a box than shoes that you have."
    He stood beside me and looked down at them,
    "I agree that it's excessive but I have reasons."
    "Such as?"
    "I won't have to go shoe shopping for the next twenty years. It frees up time for other things."
    "It can't free up that much more time."
    "Oh yeah?" He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, scrolled his contacts then hit send.
    My phone rang in my pocket. It was Adrian. He nudged me to answer it.
    "Hello?" I asked and felt absurd for doing so.
    "Hi Audrey. I was wondering if you'd like to come over and... oh fuck!"
    "What is it?"
    "There's a hole in the bottom of my shoe. I should take care of this straight away."
    I laughed and shoved my phone back into my pocket.
    "Is that a conversation that you want to be a part of?" He asked.
    
    I looked up at a row of winter coats. A couple of black leather jackets, a brown leather jacket, a beige overcoat, a black peacoat... this time Adrian covered my eyes with his hand and lead me away.

    "And before you ask... I'm never cold."

***

    I laid awake between the clean sheets of a comfortable full size bed.

    I tried watching a PBS documentary on roadside motor inns and how they were facing extinction. A part of American culture that America no longer cared for.
    I could neither concentrate or sleep through it.
    I got up and pushed the curtains back on the window, looking down into a flower garden that ended on a ledge, everything beyond this was an infinite view of the ocean. I quickly grew weary of watching the water in her constant pushing/pulling movement.
    I went into the guest room's private bathroom and found items left behind by Adrian's sister. A bottle of cruelty-free herbal shampoo that was supposed to help straighten hair, witch hazel, a pink toothbrush, a tube of mascara and a small tin of petroleum-free lip balm.
    I was curious of what it was like when she came to visit. What did they look like standing side by side? What did they talk about? What similar habits or gestures? What did they bicker over?
    Grace Braughtigan. It was a sweet name that went well with her brother's.
    By 3:30 am, I was tired of snooping, sleeplessness, nerves, obsessing... It made me crazy. I got dressed.
    I left the room with the intent of waking Adrian to tell him that I was okay to drive home, but his bedroom door was open and his bed was empty.
    I was surprised to find him down the hall in what looked to be an office, wide awake. He was sitting in front of a notebook computer, typing rapidly and chain smoking cigarettes. The only light in the room came from the computer screen.
    "I didn't know that you smoked."
    He gave a startled jump as he looked over at me.
    "Hey," He spoke quietly, "What are you doing up?"
    "I have the same question for you," I took a few steps into the room.
    There was the modest desk that Adrian sat at with papers strewn about its surface and an old Smith-Corona Coronet electric typewriter in the corner. It looked to be free of dust and in good working order. I figured that to be what he used when there was no one around to wake.
    On the bookshelves, there were stacks of scripts mixed in with books on 'Shot by Shot' directing, writing screenplays, ancient books on Christianity and classic literature, Henry James, Oscar Wilde, James Joyce...
    "I only smoke when I write," He answered my first question, "It's something for the hands to do between thoughts."
    "It looks like you write all the time... so you don't sleep? You stay up all night working?"
    "I take naps on and off."
    I touched a small pile of 3x5 cards beside the computer. There were words scrawled on them as well as diagrams and in bold letters at the bottom of one,
    "...in this case. DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ANYTHING!"
    "Spencer's index cards?"
    "Sadly, they are a life line," Adrian took notice of the keys in my hand, "Are you sneaking out?"
    I blushed, "I was going to wake you. I'm well enough to drive home."
    He was confused, "Were we still going tomorrow... today?"
    "We are."
    "Why not stay here, then?"
    I reached out and slid the cigarette from his fingers. I took a drag then handed it back. I liked my lips touching where his lips had touched. It was thrilling, like a disjointed kiss.
    I exhaled smoke, "I can't sleep. I'm in a weird space."
    "What kind of weird space?"
    "I'm obsessing over things."
    "What kinds of things?"
    
    You.

    "Do you have another one of those?" I pointed to the pack of cigarettes. He shook one out for me and lit it, "I don't know. Anything, I guess."
    "Everything?" He smirked.
    "Yes-- everything," I returned the smirk.
    There was a pillow on the floor. This was from, what I could guess, Adrian's naps. I stubbed my cigarette out in the crystal ashtray beside the typewriter, then laid on the floor, tucking the pillow beneath my head.
    "I might have something for you. Wait here," Adrian rose to his feet. He returned to the room, disc in hand, and, after much consultation with the index cards, placed it in the computer.
    A film flashed to the screen.
    "Nights of Cabiria," Adrian answered before I could ask, "One of Fellini's finest. Black and white, Italian and almost painfully long. You'll get so tired from reading subtitles that I'll expect you to be asleep within moments."
    He sat in the desk chair and opened a notebook.
    "Tell me about Audrey Moriarty," He said, "From the beginning."
    "Are you going to write it down?"
    "Maybe-- it's important that someone does."
    So I started from the beginning and I kept talking until I talked myself into sleep.

***

    I woke up to find Adrian laying beside me on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. It was morning.
    "How far did I make it into my life story?"
    "Your brother took you fishing when you were seven. Then you were out."
    "Boring, huh?"
    Adrian looked to be deep in thought. He shook his head.
    "Not at all. When was the last time that you talked about any of this?"
    I shrugged, "I don't know. Probably not since it happened."
    "Since the actual events happened or since Eugene died?"
    A pain struck when he said my brother's name. A stab with a dull blade into tender organ tissue. Adrian did not know my brother. He had not met my brother. He would never know my brother and yet my brother was familiar enough to him that he could call him by name. I couldn't remember the last time that I had said Eugene's name aloud to anyone. I couldn't even remember murmuring it to Adrian as I neared unconsciousness.
    Since the suicide, Eugene was just that. He was my brother that committed suicide. He no longer had a name, he was not a person, a man, he was this thing, this act, this means to his own end.
    I was born from his suicide, nothing that happened before it felt relevant. I no longer thought of my brother; I thought of my brother being dead. Every second of every minute of every hour of every single day, my mind did not cease to remind me of Eugene's death... and every second of every minute of every hour of every single day, I refused to believe it.
    Not since it happened didn't mean fishing with Eugene or Christmas or his high school graduation. It meant not since Eugene shot himself. Before Christ/ After Death. Eugene Breathes/ After Suicide.
    "Not since Eugene died."
    Adrian rolled onto his side and carefully place a hand on my arm as if to comfort me. His bright green eyes were full up of sympathy and understanding.
    Neither of which I wanted.
    I moved his hand from me.
    "I'm alright. It was a long time ago."
    Though I had said it, I felt far from alright. I felt inexplicable fury. Who was Adrian to try to help me? Like I was broken, like he was going to fix it. It was offensive the way that he was understanding because he couldn't possibly understand. How could anyone understand how I felt about Eugene's suicide when I couldn't even comprehend it.
    "Who are you?" I demanded of Adrian as though he would've been able to tell me what I wanted to hear. The savior. The saint. The thing that is meant to heal you.
    I was wrong. I didn't want to hear any of those things.
    "I shouldn't bring home women that I meet at parties. It makes for an awkward morning... nevermind that the party was ages ago."
    "Adrian."
    "You do remember."
    "I have an errand to run. It'll only take a minute and I'll come right back."
    "Do you want me to come with you?"
    "No, it's okay. I intend on using Colgate, Noxzema, a Flintstones chewable vitamin and if I find a Pop Tart... I'm going to eat it."
    "I can't figure you out, Audrey. Are you rebellious or self-destructive?"
    "When did you realize that you liked me?" I asked him.
    He smiled, "The title credits."

***

    The reflection in my rearview mirror showed Adrian waving goodbye to me as I pulled out of his driveway. I watched him do it but I did not see him.

    Eugene.

    I remembered the way that my brother felt in my arms. Warm and thick like muscles built from years of hard labor and heavy lifting. Pale blue eyes narrowed like squinting against the sun, always squinting even when there was no sun. An oval face with thick, sharp stubble and skin reddened from wind burn.
    There were caramel colored curls tucked under that black baseball cap.
    My brother had a funny laugh that was deep and rolled up to his mouth from his stomach and when he stood it was with feet firmly planted on the ground parallel to his shoulders and arms folded across his chest.
    The last words that I spoke to my brother were over the telephone. I said,
    "I love you."
    To which my brother's last words to me were,
    "Love you, too, Aud."
    It was a natural thing to say, it was neither special or unusual.
    He died five months later...no, he did not die, dying is neither special or unusual.
    He shot himself, he killed himself, five months later.
    Five months is a long time not to speak to somebody. A lot can happen in five months but I was on tour...US, Canada, Japan, England, France, Germany, Spain... I couldn't be bothered with my brother or anyone else. I couldn't be bothered with my brother's mental deterioration, his failed marriage or the horror that he felt as he witnessed his life slipping away from him and the light slowly going out.
    I couldn't have checked in on my brother because I was too busy trying to replace pedals that someone had spilled a beer on, screwing necks on to smashed guitars, counting merch, arguing with US customs or kissing strangers.
    He didn't tell any of us that he was fading because he didn't believe that it was important.
    I called him on his birthday and he never called me back, not even to wish me a happy birthday which was two days after him.
    Three months after our birthdays, he was dead.
    As I drove to Christian's house, I calculated the date.
    Saturday, February 16th.
    My brother's birthday would've been on Monday. My own birthday was to be on Wednesday. I was to be twenty-five, my brother would be nothing. The gap between our ages was bridging and someday, without my wanting it, I would be older than Eugene.

    Eugene. Eugene. Eugene.

    We let him die. We watched him do it.
    
    I pulled the car to the side of the road. I curled into a ball on the passenger's seat and screamed. I punched myself in the stomach, thigh, hip and shoulder until the flesh felt soft and sore.

    "WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!"

    And I cursed God for taking him from me and I cursed God for not taking me instead. Then, once all of the breath had been expelled from my body, I sat up, wiped the snot from my nose with the back of my hand and carried on up to Christian's house like nothing had happened. It was no different than any minute of any day in the past five years.
    I just pretended that nothing had happened.

***

    If there was one aspect of Adrian that could not be contained it was his enthusiasm.
    I couldn't make out how someone who slept so little had such enthusiasm without the aid of something stronger than coffee. He seemed to enjoy living and did as much of it as possible, putting his whole self into everything that he decided to do. But, though he was enthusiastic, there was nothing abrasive about him. He was cool and I felt completely relaxed around him.
    The backseat of Adrian's car was piled with supplies more suited for a weeklong vacation than a day trip two hours south. There were stacks of CDs, a thermos of coffee, bottles of water, bananas, apples, crackers, chocolate bars, beach clothes and towels, sunscreen lotion, a change of clothes, the dark brown leather jacket and a Super 8 camera with about ten color film cartridges.
    I grabbed the camera and inspected it. A Minolta Autopak 8 K7. I removed the lens cap and focused on Adrian, going back and forth on the tele/wide switch.
    "I like this one because it takes double A batteries," I told Adrian, "The ones that need battery packs are nothing but crushing disappointment."
    Adrian held his palm up in front of the lens even though he knew that I wasn't recording.
    "We should make a film today," He suggested.
    "Not with your hands covering the lens."
    "Where is your artistic vision?!"
    "What kind of film?" I pulled the camera from my face.
    "Clean, obviously. I've already explained the chest hair situation, once."
    "I'd expect the camera would only add more complications. Who gets to hold it? Who stops to change the film cartridges? Your 'disability' seems minor in comparison."
    "I suppose it would... Have you seen Cleo from 5 to 7?"
    "Oh, who hasn't!"
    "You haven't seen it, have you?"
    "No," I admitted.
    "Okay, another example... a Smiths video."
    "Shut up."
    "I can't say that your reaction is unjustified."
    
    I slid two fingers under his orange friendship bracelet. It pinched our skin together. Adrian dropped his right hand from the wheel and steered only with his left.
    I spied the word 'HOME' on the slim muscle of his forearm.
    
    HOME
    
    I slowly moved my fingers to the inside of his wrist. His blood steadily pulsed to his hand. Warm. Alive. My fingers touched the bottom of his palm. His fingers curled over and pressed down on the tips of my own.
    "Adrian," I breathed his name to myself, as though it were mine, as though it were something that could belong to me.
    He heard my breath and slid his green eyes to my face.
    I hated my face, what was it doing? Was it smiling? Was it worried? Was it betraying me because I could not see what it was saying. I could only feel it.
    I felt a smile. An awkward shy smile that tugged at the corner of my mouth. I brought my right hand to my face to touch the expression.
    "Audrey?"
    "Huh?"
    "Are you alright?"
    I let my fingers slip from his pulse and held them to my bottom lip. The salt of his skin burned into the tiny cracks of the fatty flesh.
    "My birthday is on Wednesday."
    "Really?" This thrilled him for some reason, "How old are you going to be?"
    "Twenty-five, but I've been telling everyone that I'm twenty-five for at least a month now."
    "Quarter of a century-- do you have plans?"
    "No. I work on Wednesday so I plan to go through it unnoticed."
    "That will never do... when is your next day off?"
    "Next weekend."
    He frowned, "That won't do either. I'm booked up... unless...well, maybe..."
    "No unless, well or maybe, Adrian. Please forget that I said anything. I only mentioned my birthday because I was touching my face to see if it felt different and that in itself sounds completely crazy."
    "Are you one of those people who hate birthdays?"
    "Not at all. I'm fond of them, actually. You just have to see my perspective on it."
    "Which is?"
    I sighed, "I'm far from home but I'm not on tour. I'm on my own and in that case it's better to go down without a warcry."
    "This is precisely why we should do something. Can we at least pretend that today is your birthday until I can plan something better?"
    "Now you're trying to age me prematurely as well... great, I hope you know what you are in for. Once Holly finds out, you'll be in fierce competition."
    "Or alliance..." He furrowed his brow in thought.
    "Oh, what are you plotting?"
    "Don't give it a thought, Audrey. What's in the cards for today? Anything that you want."
    The pads of my fingertips recalled the memory of his throbbing blood. I hid both of my hands, flat, beneath my thighs.
    "You mentioned a film."
    "Yes--."
    Adrian's phone hummed and chimed. He rolled his pretty eyes and groaned.
    "How does he do that? He's not even here and he's interrupting me."
    "Who?"
    "Spencer."
    "You should answer."
    "I'll call him back when we get to the record store," The phone fell silent, "There. Back to my idea..."
    The phone chimed and hummed.
    "If you don't answer it, I will."
    "I'm sure that he'd love that. I hate talking on the phone while I drive."
    
    Adrian squirmed as he struggled the phone from his front jeans pocket and announced to the caller,
    "You're on speakerphone."
    "You say that as though I'm not always on my best behavior," Came the response, "Are you with Audrey?"
    "I am."
    "If I had said that and you had been with someone else, that could've been embarrassing for you... both of you, I suppose."
    "It was a safe bet."
    "I've been reading your diary. You really should get something that can't be broken into with a hairpin, though I know how you cherish those kittens on the cover... Hi, Audrey."
    "Hi Spencer," I answered, "I'm glad to meet you."
    "It's nice to meet you," He replied, "You look pretty."
    I blushed, taken aback.
    "Uh-- thank you."
    Spencer chuckled, "I said that because I thought that it would be awkward seeing as how we can't actually see each other. Though, I'm sure that you do look pretty. I saw the film and it was quite good. You looked pretty then.."
    "Thank you."
    "What are you two up to today?"
    "We're on our way to San Diego," Adrian answered.
    "What for?"
    "We were going to do some record shopping and maybe make a film or whatever Audrey decides to do. It's almost her birthday."
    "That sounds fun. Can I come?" Spencer asked.
    "We're more than halfway to San Diego now," Adrian said.
    "I know. I'll drive down and meet you somewhere."
    "It's two hours, Spence."
    "So. Gillian is at her mom's house and I don't have anything else going on."
    "It's Audrey's call."
    "I'd hate to miss your almost birthday, Audrey," Spencer pleaded.
    I believed him.
    "It would be nice to have you along," I told him.
    "Yes! Give me a few hours to get situated and I'll meet you at the zoo around, let's say... four-ish?"
    "We weren't going to the zoo," Adrian stated in confusion.
    "But the zoo is the only place that I know how to get to in San Diego."
    I shrugged.
    "We could meet him at the zoo," I whispered to Adrian.
    "Thanks, Audrey," Spencer answered, having heard what he wasn't meant to.
    "We'll meet you there at four," Adrian said,
    "--ish."
    "Four."
    "You can say four all that you'd like, Adrian. We both know that I'll end up there on the ish part of four."
    Adrian hung up the phone.
    "What time is four-ish?" I asked Adrian.
    "Anytime before five or shortly there after," He looked over his shoulder as he changed lanes, "I'll warn you, Audrey," he smiled, "You've invited him and now you're never going to get rid of him. He's bound for life."

***

    Adrian's film was really quite simple in concept. It was to be one of solitude. An awkward, lone young woman, polished up and dressed immaculately as though she belonged in a different era, or had come from one (in this case, the mid 60s and mod to the teeth). She walks amongst a backdrop in which she does not seem to fit: on a beach where girls are wearing the latest fashion swimwear, buying fruit at a farmer's market amongst people communicating on cell phones, sitting in an art gallery beside someone using a laptop computer and feeding the animals in a petting zoo as a family takes photos using a digital camera. Just when it is about to be believed that this is the most desperately out of place person in the world, she walks into a bar to find a booth full of her friends. They greet her with smiles, handshakes and hugs.
    "In the end it turns out that she was only killing time until she could meet up with them," Adrian explained.
    "But isn't that predictable?" I asked him.
    "I think it's fitting," He said, sincerely, "She might not belong anywhere but there are people who care enough about her to wait."

    So after the record store we set about to make a film befitting Adrian's clear vision.

    We acquired cosmetics at a drug store and costume was pieced together from a series of antique shops: black patent leather shoes, nylon stockings, a short sleeved cream colored cashmere sweater dress and plastic pearl jewelery.
    Adrian had qualities as a film maker that were missing from Noah. Where as Noah had a tendency of taking someone aside and giving them direction in a way that was like, "telling it how it is" or "giving little brother a life lesson", Adrian was capable of giving direction in the form of a story, a very clear picture of what was going on in his head that was relatible to anyone that he was speaking to.
    I got into the mind of out-of-place lone woman quite easily and despite the incessant clicking of the camera, managed to forget that Adrian was there a lot of the time.
    Eugene.
    Since his name had been spoken, I couldn't forget it.
    Eugene.
    He was supposed to be thirty-eight this year-- but with me, there was no supposed to, because I lived and breathed, I had no choice but to be twenty-five.

***

    I knew that it was Spencer that I was looking at before I was informed as such.
    
    He was about three inches taller than Adrian and wiry, a man with the awkward charm of a teenage boy that had not fully grown into his limbs, yet. He had shortish brown hair that swept across the middle of his forehead but didn't come close to touching his big brown eyes, a long neck and a mouth, that when open (and it almost always was open saying something) was almost too large in proportion to the rest of his head.
    He was wearing a brown sweater over a green t-shirt, blue jeans, a brown leather belt and beat-to-hell white hi-top Converse but there were two things that were dead giveaways to this being Spencer. He had a neon green friendship bracelet secured around his right wrist and he was carrying a clear container of homemade cupcakes.
    
    "Where have you guys been? I've been waiting for ages," Spencer greeted as he approached us.
    "You said four-ish," Adrian countered.
    Spencer looked down at his white plastic watch.
    "It's 5:05, Adrian. Clearly, that's five-ish. I've already been in to see the pandas and feed the petting zoo animals."
    "Hopefully not those," Adrian gestured to the container of cupcakes.
    "No, I had to get my hand stamped and take the cupcakes back to the car. Apparently, something about me doesn't seem trustworthy enough not to feed wild animals junk food."
    "It could be that you're a grown man wandering the zoo alone carrying a tray of cupcakes."
    "Obviously, this is a container not a tray and I wouldn't have been wandering the zoo alone had you been here at four-ish... like I said."
    Adrian feigned a look of annoyance. Spencer's mouth went agape in false offense.
    "Sooo... who brought thee uh--," Spencer let out a whistle and jutted a thumb in my direction.
    "Ah yes!" Adrian replied, "Forgive my manners. Audrey/Spencer. Spencer/Audrey."
    "How do you do?" I offered my hand for a shake.
    Spencer bypassed this and hugged me.
    "It's a real pleasure, Audrey. Here," He handed me the clear container, "Happy almost birthday."
    I looked down at the nine tiny cakes in their colorful wax paper cups. The tops were coated in pink frosting that had been applied with a butter knife and garnished with rainbow sprinkles.
    "I made them myself. You aren't allergic to anything, are you?"
    My heart turned to syrup; so soft that it almost hurt. I smiled up at him.
    "No, I'm not allergic to anything. Thank you very much."
    Spencer beamed in return.
    "I wouldn't thank me very much. They started out as twelve but I got hungry at about four-ish."

***

    "Please, Jesus, no," I stopped short of the bar door and pleaded to the sky, "Not karaoke night."
    
    There was a palm resting flat on the middle of my back. I looked behind me. It was Spencer, unlit cigarette dangling from his smiling lips, who was trying to guide me into the bar.

    "Come on then," he muffled, "In you go."
    "It's karaoke night," I countered, as though it were conceivable that he had missed the fliers plastered outside of the establishment or the off key notes cutting through the air.
    "Really? You're kidding!" He mocked surprise, "How lucky we are that it's your almost birthday and karaoke, too!"
    
    He laughed and gave me a push forward. Adrian, no longer looking like my co-conspirator but Spencer's, gave a shy smirk as he held the bar door open and plucked the cigarette from Spencer's mouth as we stepped past him to get inside.
    
    "Adrian, did you hear that? It's karaoke night!"
    
    Spencer tapped the rhythm of the song currently being massacred on my shoulders as we approached the bar. The barman asked to see ID and as I fished it from my pocketbook, Spencer nudged me and said,
    "Well, go on sweetheart. Tell the gentleman how old you are," He leaned over me and whispered loudly to the bartender, "It's almost her birthday."
    The bartender scanned us as I handed him my driver's license.
    "Is that what the cupcakes are for?" he asked.
    "'Fraid so," Spencer answered.
    "Would you like one?" I offered. He gave me back my driver's license.
    "I'll pass. What will it be?"

    In the same way that it was impossible not to be completely taken with Adrian, it was impossible not to like Spencer.
    
    He was energetic. He bound about but he also slunk and though he was thoroughly mischievous, he seemed totally innocent in doing such. Spencer was clever to a fault, personable enough to have a thoughtful discussion with, while at the same time obtaining a rare child-like quality in which one wanted to wrap their arms around him and hug him all of the time.
    
    Already at the bar and waiting for us in a booth, were my close friend, Anne and her boyfriend, Henry. I had known Anne since a brief stint she'd had living in Seattle and we'd managed to keep in contact over the years. I had called her earlier that afternoon to tell her that I was in San Diego and that we required extra persons to finish Adrian's short film. Anne and I were thrilled at the prospect of even just seeing each other so we agreed on a time and a meeting place.
    Apparently someone failed to inform Anne and Henry that it was karaoke night, as well. Both of them had their eyes fixed on the stage with mixed expressions of amusement and horror.
    "It's karaoke night," Anne announced as she spotted me. The same flat chagrin laced her voice that had laced my own.
    Adrian threw a hand over Spencer's mouth to silence him before he could make us all aware of it being karaoke night.
    "We can go somewhere else," I suggested, hopeful.
    "I don't mind either way," Anne said, "You just got drinks," She looked at the container in my hand, then smiled, "And cupcakes."
    Henry shrugged his indifference at leaving.
    "Didn't you have a film that you needed help with?" He asked.
    Spencer pulled Adrian's hand from his mouth.
    "Yes. And parking was just a nightmare, wasn't it? We'll stay... I'll go get the book."
    Adrian caught Spencer by the sweater before he could walk away.
    "Parking was a nightmare," Henry agreed as though he hadn't considered it until Spencer said it.
    "What book?" Anne asked.
    "They have a book that they list all of the songs that you can sing in," Adrian answered.
    "You can't keep me from singing," Spencer threatened Adrian.
    "I wouldn't dream of it, Spencer. Let's get the scene first, though-- before the riots break out."
    "Surely you mean adoring fans. I haven't sized up the crowd, yet, but they could be a good bunch. You might be pleasantly surprised."
    "I would be."
    "You can't keep me from having you sing, either."
    "That's debatable," Adrian refuted, calmly.
    "I won't work for anything short of scale."
    "I'll forfeit any cupcakes that I might have coming to me," Adrian removed the lens cap from the camera.
    Spencer gave his hands a solitary gleeful clap.
    "Where do you want me?"

***

    For a major US city at eleven-ish on a Saturday night in a place where scene kids were the target clientele, this bar was dumbfoundingly vacant.

    There were maybe thirty people in the bar (including our group of five and the employees) and everyone seemed to have their focus on something different, whether it was pool, arcade games, drinking at the bar itself or conversing. Only a small percentage of the patrons were even vaguely interested in the karaoke and in the little over an hour that we had been there, we had finished shooting the film and Spencer had already been on stage three times.
    He exited the stage after a unique rendition of Werewolves of London in the style of Warren Zevon and made a straight shot for the bar. He returned to the table holding a pint of dark beer with the black karaoke binder tucked under his right arm.
    "Who's going next?" Spencer asked, "Anne?"
    Anne fervently shook her head in the negative.
    Spencer's mouth drew into a straight line.
    "Henry?"
    "I'm still trying to feel out the crowd," Henry said with a swig of his beer.
    Spencer frowned, slightly.
    "Audrey?"
    I coughed, "Well, you see--."
    Spencer's frown deepened. His disappointment so bitter that it was almost palpable.
    He turned to Adrian.
    Adrian let out a long dramatic exhale.
    "Remember that time that I saved your life?" Spencer questioned.
    "I can't believe that I'm about to say this--," Adrian lamented, "Spencer, if you go get me a beer and sing another one on your own-- I'll get up and sing one with you."
    Spencer's frown shot up to a grin.
    "I'll buy us all a beer."
    "You just got a beer."
    Spencer looked around the room.
    "Then I'll buy that guy one."
    He pointed to a man sitting at the bar. Spencer pulled the binder out from under his arm and set it down in front of me.
    "Audrey, as it is your almost birthday, I will have you select the song. I'll sing anything that you want."
    
    The four of us kept our eyes on Spencer as he approached the man sitting at the bar and we strained our ears to hear him say,
    "Sir, I'd like to buy you a drink."
    Adrian smirked and shook his head.
    "When did Spencer save your life?" I asked him.
    "Spencer has never saved my life. In fact," Adrian opened the binder, "I think that he has me committing social suicide."
    
    He slid closer to me so that we could both see the book, our shoulders pressed up against each other, our hair touching as we hovered over the extensive song listings.
    I tilted my face towards his in an unnecessary way.
    His smile broadened and he touched his finger to a song.
    "Is this the one that you want him to sing?" Adrian teased, quietly.

    How soon is now? in the style of The Smiths.

    "Don't be mean," I scolded.
    "It's weird the things that they have in these books, isn't it? Things you never would've dreamed of--," Adrian quickly shut the book on his finger and held it closed with his other hand on top.
    "I wasn't done looking at that," I told him.
    "That doesn't matter. I found the song."
    "That you and Spencer are going to do?"
    "No, that Spencer is going to do for you."
    "But I was was supposed to choose."
    "Please let me pick this one. Trust me."
    Adrian slid from the booth and walked over to Spencer who was now seated beside and conversing with the man who he had purchased a beer for. Spencer introduced Adrian to the man, handshakes were exchanged, then Adrian whispered something to Spencer with urgency. Spencer had an expression of intent listening, gave a solitary nod once Adrian was finished to reflect his understanding of the situation, then he rose from his bar stool and gave the man a parting handshake and wave.
    Spencer flashed me a brilliant grin as he approached the karaoke DJ.
    "What are they doing?" Anne asked me.
    I shrugged.
    "I don't know," I opened the container of cupcakes, "Cupcake, anyone?"
    Each of us grabbed one.
    Adrian returned to the table with the pitcher of beer that Spencer had promised us and filled each of our pint glasses before sliding back into the booth.
    The karaoke DJ announced Spencer to the stage.
    Adrian gently removed the cupcake from my hand.
    "You'll want an empty stomach for this one."
    Spencer tapped the microphone then blew into it. There was no music playing and this concerned me.
    "I'm here with my friend, Audrey..."
    "Oh God," I moaned feeling dread.
    "She's sitting over there," He pointed to the booth, "Wearing the white dress."
    "Nooo..."
    Everyone in the bar craned their necks to get a look at me, even the guys playing pool stopped their game to gawk.
    "Why don't you give a wave to everybody, Audrey?"
    My hand made it as far as my face so that I could cover it.
    "Today is her almost birthday and I think that we should sing Happy Birthday to her..."
    "Why would you put him up to this?" I questioned Adrian.
    "I didn't. He's adlibbing."
    While a majority of the bar broke into a chorus of Happy Birthday, Adrian's arm outstretched and covered the back of the booth where I was seated. He wasn't touching me, the arm merely rested behind me. I couldn't read into it. Was he stretching or being affectionate? Why did what I was feeling suddenly depend upon this gesture?
    "This is what I put him up to."
    Spencer bounced back and forth on his feet, wiggling his whole lower body to the same rhythm, as the first few fuzzy bars of guitar blasted from the speakers. He shook out his arms as though he were limbering himself up before the big show.
    "No," I whispered, incredulous.
    I flashed a look at Adrian, his expression was quite proud.
    "Yes."
    "No!" I exclaimed, but there was no doubting it once Spencer half-screamed;
    "YeahYeahYeah!"
    My head dropped down to the table as I went into a fit of hysterical laughter.
    
    Personality Crisis in the style of The New York Dolls.
    
    I tried to lift my head to watch Spencer but it was almost impossible to keep it up. He was taking himself very seriously, adding high kicks to his stage moves and singing as though David Johansen, himself, were in the audience to critique it.
    I made it for some time but lost composure once Spencer started peppering the song with howling and whistling in the appropriate places.
    I laughed so hard that my sides ached and I was blinded by tears at the song's end.
    I excused myself from the table, purchased a pack of cigarettes from a machine and stepped outside to get some air.
    
    Eugene.
    
    Eugene. Eugene. Eugene.

    My brother loved to embarrass me and relished in the opportunity to do so. He would have loved this.

    My. Brother. Would. Have. Loved. This.

    When we were kids, or when I was a kid, rather, because Eugene was so much older, our family didn't have much time or money so there was often just one birthday cake between the two of us. It was a good idea, honestly, we probably weren't capable of eating two cakes in a matter of days. I think that if our grandparents could've gotten away with it, they would've convinced us both that we were born on the day between our birthdays.
    If he were alive, he would've loved this. I could've called him, he could've laughed. He probably would've been having a birthday party of his own. Someone would've made him wear a big stupid paper hat because they always did.
    If my brother existed, he would have loved this.
    "I love you."
    "Love you, too, Aud."
    Hang up the phone and go back to your friends inside of the bar. Eugene would hang up the phone, shut off the lamp, pet the dog and retire to bed.
    This is what should have happened. This is how things should have been.

    I called my mother.
    
    "Hello?" Her voice was a meek squeak, too old and weak to belong to my mother. My mother was young and overly energetic-- surely, this was not my mother's voice. She sounded too sickly to be my mother but-- this was my mother. This was my mother after Eugene.
    "Mama--," My voice cracked.
    "Jane?"
    "Audrey."
    "Audrey-- honey, it's late. Is everything okay?"
    "I'm fi--," I cleared my throat, "I'm fine. I'm sorry to call so late. Did I wake you?"
    "What... no, no... I  was just... what was I doing? I can't remember. Where are you? Do you need a ride?"
    My mom forgot that I was in California. My mom was fucked up on pain pills and psych meds. She wasn't well, she wasn't the mother in this situation; I was... and I was too far away to take care of her.
    "No, mama. I just called to say hi."
    "Do you need anything? Do you want to come over?"
    "I don't need anything. I just... called to say hi. I'm, uh, out of town but I'll stop by when I come back, okay?"
    "When?"
    "Maybe a month or so. Soon."
    "Soon..." She sounded to be fading either from thought or consciousness.
    "I love you."
    "I love you, too, Audrey."
    "Take care, mama," I was about to hang up.
    "Audrey--,"My mother said.
    "Yeah?"
    "You'll come over soon?"
    "I'll come over soon."
    "I feel like I never see you."
    "I'll come over as soon as I'm done."
    "I love you."
    "I love you, too, mama."

    I closed my phone and blew smoke up towards the sky. It's strange but it didn't seem like there were as many stars over California as there were over Washington. I stubbed out my cigarette and chalked it up to city lights.
    A small group of people leaving the bar wished me a happy birthday upon exit, I thanked them and wandered back in.
    I looked over at my friends sitting in their booth, laughing-- conversing. Henry was telling a story and Adrian and Spencer were leaned forward with smiles and nods of interest, heads tilted back or to the side in charmed laughter.
    I did not deserve these friends, this life, this night. They were so good and I was not so good.
    I ordered myself a shot of whisky, threw it back, touched my hand to my forehead and imagined that my brother was warm, safe, content and asleep in his soft bed.

    Spencer and Adrian slid out of the booth so that I could slide in next to Anne.

    "I have something for you," Anne whispered to me. She reached into her purse.
    "Oh Anne, you shouldn't have--."
    "It isn't much," She assured as she placed in my hand a slim beautifully wrapped package.
    I tore at the magenta paper to reveal a black hardbound Moleskine journal.
    I hugged her small frame.
    "What did you get?" Adrian asked. I handed him the journal. He pulled a pen from his pocket and asked,
    "May I?" as he gestured to the book.
    "Write something in it?"
    "Yes."
    I shrugged, "Sure."
    He did not hesitate or pause for thought. He knew exactly what he wanted to say to me and wrote so, quickly.
    He closed the cover and handed it back to me. I tried to open it but he stopped me.
    "Don't read it now."
    "When can I read it?"
    "Later," He gave a soft smile, "When you don't have to look at me after."
    "What tale of horror did you write me?"
    "It's a secret," Adrian turned to Spencer, "Speaking of horror..."
    Spencer opened the karaoke binder with an ominous grin.
    "What'll it be, mon frere? A little duet? Reunited and the like? Our Endless Love?"
    "Don't call people names. It's not polite," Adrian looked over the song list.
    "What names?!"
    "Mon frere."
    "Christ, Adrian! It means brother!"
    "I know what it means," Adrian flipped the page.
    "Doubtful," Spencer muttered, "Your French is atrocious."
    Adrian opened his mouth to speak but Spencer cut him off,
    "And if you repeat that business about cicadas, I'll punch you in the face."
    "You'd like that, wouldn't you? ... to punch me in the face?"
    "Yes, trouble is, I think you would, too... pow!" Spencer tapped his fist to Adrian's jaw, "And why must you always mumble? I thought children of the theatre knew what it meant to project."
    "Iwasn'tmumbling," Adrian intentionally mumbled towards the song book.
    "You just did."
    "Then I can't be bothered... what about this one?"
    Adrian pointed to a song title. Spencer leaned over Adrian's arm to get a look at the song then shrank back, aghast.
    "My God, there is nothing more shameful than two skinny white boys getting up to sing Biz Markie's Just a Friend!"
    "We're going to do it, aren't we?"
    "Oh, of course!"

    Spencer began to write down the song title with it's corresponding number but came to an abrupt stop, his pen thoughtlessly falling free from the karaoke form.
    "Holy! Fuck!" He exclaimed loudly enough to turn a few heads and attract fleeting interest.
    His brown eyes went wide and glassy. They sparkled as though someone were holding a flame to them.
    "Everybody up!" He commanded, "Everybody up! Grab your beers. I'll take the cupcakes," He shoved the karaoke binder under his arm, took his beer into one hand and the container of cupcakes into the other, "Ladies, get your purses."
    "Where are we going?" I asked as we all scrambled from the booth, gathering our personal belongings as we went along.
    We moved like he had screamed Fire! without questioning why and I realized that in Spencer's own way, he was quite persuasive. It was easy to trust the goodness in him.
    "The stage."
    "Why?"
    "Why does anyone go to the stage, Audrey, my dear? To sing."
    "All of us?"
    "It requires all of us."
    Anne and Henry went pale with terror.
    "Why are we taking our things with us?" I was suddenly suspicious and rightly so.
    "Because there is a good chance that when we are finished, we'll have to make a quick exit... because we'll no longer be welcome here."
    "Spencer," Adrian tried reason, "What's this about?"
    Spencer begrudgingly set down his beer and the cupcakes, then removed the binder from under his arm. He opened the book and pointed out his selection to Adrian.
    Adrian tucked in his lips, lifted his eyebrows and began to nod very slowly.
    "Hmmphf," He let out a noise of surprise. It was clear that he, like Spencer, was in awe and disbelief of what he was seeing.
    "And if you put your hair in your eyes, no one will recognize you and your publicist won't have to do any extra work in the morning," Spencer assured him.
    "Spencer, you do realize everything that could be socially, ethically, politically and possibly, eh, morally questionable about this, right?"
    "Why else do you think that I'd have everyone gather up their personal affects? Besides, how questionable could it possibly be? The man's been out of prison for eighteen years... and he shouldn't have even been there in the first place. We're doing the world a great service when you think about it... or at least the people sitting in this bar."
    "I know that I have blindly agreed to this and therefore owe you but you might care to inquire with the other people that you'll be humiliating."
    Spencer threw his arm around Adrian's shoulders.
    "You sound brilliant, Adrian, and I love you for it. I'm sure that the other people involved won't have a problem with it. Henry, do you support apartheid?"
    "What?" Henry asked, making sure that he had heard the question correctly. It was not a question that one expects to hear on any day and especially not spouted off so casually.
    "Are you for or against apartheid?" Spencer repeated.
    Henry froze, not sure of what to make of this.
    "See, he's dead against it," Spencer gestured, "So, obviously, Henry is in and Anne will do it because it's Audrey's almost birthday."
    "And what about Audrey?" Adrian inquired, "What purpose does she have for contributing?"
    They both looked over at me. Spencer studied me then smiled.
    "She adores me and that's reason enough, isn't it, Audrey?"
    I couldn't disagree with his statement, so far I did adore him.
    "What have we lent ourselves to?" I questioned.
    He rested his finger on the title. Anne, Henry and I crowded around to get a look then each lifted our head with an uncertain frown.
    
    Nelson Mandela in the style of The Special AKA.

    "Spencer..."
    "If they didn't want us to sing it, they wouldn't have put it in the book and there wouldn't even be a karaoke version of it had someone not wanted to sing it in the first place," He explained, "I mean, I can't see what the problem is. It would be vain of us to assume that we were the first and, Audrey, are we not beyond such vanities?"
    He winked at me. I took Anne by the hand and lead her forward, we had no choice but to go on.
    Spencer held the karaoke book open for the DJ.
    "We'd like to do this one. Can we go on right away?"
    "Maggie's Farm?" The DJ asked.
    "No, the one below it."
    The DJ read the title and looked taken aback.
    "Nelson Mandela."
    "Yeah."
    "Really?"
    "Yeah."
    "The five of you?"
    "It requires at least five. You do have it, don't you?"
    The DJ chuckled and shook his head.
    "Oh, I have it. Go on up."
    "Thanks. Cupcake?" Spencer offered.
    "No thanks."
    Spencer and Adrian climbed the stage followed by Henry. The DJ took a look at Anne and I, then smiled.
    "I see you have your drinks-- probably need them."

    We arranged ourselves on stage. Anne, Henry and I on stage left, sharing one microphone on a stand. Adrian and Spencer stood center stage with Spencer holding the microphone.
    As the DJ went through his files to find the song, I sort of practiced shifting my weight from foot to foot and snapping my fingers in intervals.
    "What are you doing?" Anne asked in embarrassed bewilderment.
    "I'm trying to remember how the back up singers did it in the video, don't you remember? It was like a shoop shoop dance."
    "Oh yeah," Henry recalled, then attempted to match up with his recollection, "Like this."
    We attempted to get our rigid, thin, pale American bodies to match up rhythmically.
    "You're always in it for a good show, Audrey," Anne laughed.
    "I've been reading this Suzi Quatro biography and I really think that this is what she would've done were she in this situation."
    "You mean, facing bar bannishment?" Anne replied as she tried to match Henry and I, who didn't even remotely match each other, "You're lucky that you don't live here. This is going to narrow down the places that we're allowed to hang out."
    The DJ interrupted us.
    "Please welcome back to the stage, Spencer and, now, his friends performing Nelson Mandela in the style of The Specials."
    
    At first the crowd wasn't sure that they heard correctly. Some paused in their drinks, some shot up confused looks but the eyes didn't grow wide with shock until we started to murder the harmony.

    "Frrrrrrreeeeeeeee Nelson Mandellllllllaaaaaaaaaaaa..."

    Anne went high, I went flat, Henry half spoke, Adrian sounded smooth and drawn out like a lounge singer and completely inappropriate given the material at hand and Spencer... well, Spencer put us all to indescribable shame either because he was so horrendous that he was good or that he was so good that he was, in fact, actually good.
    Spencer pushed Adrian's hair in front of his face then fucked us all when he tried to do a talk down during the first instrumental section.
    "We're here tonight to talk about a cause that is very close to our hearts..."
    People's looks turned from shock to utter disgust. There were scattered Boos and some woman yelled out,
    "It was not a fucking joke!"
    To which Spencer replied,
    "I don't hear you singing for the betterment of anything."
    And a man yelled in response,
    "I wish I didn't hear you at all!"
    In my line of work, I was well acquainted with heckling and yelled back,
    "We wish we didn't hear him, either!"
    Adrian looked over his shoulder at me and smiled, though his eyes were completely obscured by his hair.
    Spencer went straight into the verse.
    We were all in for a treat because it so happened that Anne, Henry and I weren't the only ones who remembered the music video for the song. While we stood in back doing our little shoop shoop dance, Adrian shuffled his feet (sometimes tripping over them) and Spencer attempted to breakdance, falling to his knees, propelling himself into circles while balancing himself on his hips and using his feet and hands to complete the motion. Halfway through the song, he had exhausted himself and spent most of the remainder on his back, singing up at the ceiling.
    The whole while Anne, Henry and I were shoop *snap* shoop *snap* shoop *snap*-ping and Adrian was soft shoeing in his blue Keds.
    Spencer clambered to his feet during the last forty-five seconds of the song as the fade out started. He placed the microphone on the stand, drained what was left of his beer, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, stuck one between his lips, handed the container of cupcakes to Adrian then picked me up and carried me from the stage and out of the bar... chortling the whole time.
    The rest of the gang was not far behind us, laughing and rowdy with exhilaration, catching our collective breath on the street corner.
    "I believe this belongs to you," Spencer said to Adrian as he set me to my feet beside him.
    Spencer lit the cigarette in his mouth on a match and exhaled smoke.
    "That was amazing, Spencer," I gushed.
    "Yes," Anne agreed.
    "I've never done anything like it," Henry snickered.
    Spencer waved a hand as though it were nothing. He looked at his watch.
    "I better get home before the little lady changes the locks," He said, "It's been a real pleasure."
    Spencer shook Henry's hand and gave Anne a hug.
    "Happy almost birthday, Audrey," He hugged me and kissed my cheek.
    He hugged Adrian, ruffled his hair, kissed the top of his head then ruffled his hair again.
    "Give me a call when you get home, Ad."
    "I will."
    Spencer started to walk away, he made it down the block then called back to Adrian.
    "I'm serious!"
    "I will!"
    "Okay!"
    Spencer rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

***

    "Half of the bar closed out their tabs," Adrian smiled.
    
    The car climbed up the hill to his house. We had spent the better part of the two hour drive from San Diego reminiscing what might have been the best five minutes of our lives.
    "No," I countered, "It couldn't have been that many."
    "My hair might have been covering my eyes but there were quite a few of them. I'm sure of it."
    "Is it one of those things that you can feel?"
    "Rejection cuts to the bone," He parked the car, "Would you like to come in for awhile?"
    "I can't."
    He pressed his hand to his heart.
    "Talk about rejection. Straight to the sternum."
    I pained a smile.
    I thought about poor old Mr. Mittens suffering starvation and this, of course, lead me to thinking about Christian.
    "I can't."
    "Okay," He gave a crooked smirk, a sign of understanding without questioning. A sign that he understood more than I had wanted him to.
    We got out of the car, I pulled my cardigan on.
    "Do you want me to help you carry anything in?" I asked.
    "Ah! But that would mean you coming in..." He teased, "No, I'm going to leave it until daylight. Thank you, though."
    
    We stood before each other.
    I looked into his face and was left perplexed by it. He appeared warm and familiar, yet, I was stunned as if I were seeing his face for the first time. It was absolutely flawless, breath taking, and he had absolutely no comprehension of it being as such.
    "You don't look thirty-one. You're so baby faced."
    "I haven't told anyone this but I have this portrait of myself that I keep locked away in the house..."
    "You joke but you don't understand," I moved a dark curl from his face and tucked it behind his ear.
    His cheeks went rose. It wasn't the cold; he was blushing.
    "You're incredibly beautiful," I explained, "Pretty, almost. Handsome, obviously, but really... pretty. If I had your face..."
    "You can look at it any time that you'd like."
    "I wish that were true," I lamented, "Oh, to be able to sleep with my eyes open..."
    He lifted his eyes upwards, not in a rolling motion, but away from mine in shyness.
    I touched my hand to his neck and brought my face in towards his. I made it close to his mouth but when my nose grazed his, he froze and his breathing ceased.
    If I had continued, this would not have been reciprocated. Adrian would have stopped me. Yes, rejection cuts to the bone.
    I pressed my lips to his hot cheek and wrapped my arms around him in a warm embrace.
    This he reciprocated, this he allowed to linger for slightly longer than necessary.
    "Hello, Audrey," He spoke against my hair.
    "Hello," I felt myself tremble at the embarrassment of my behavior and what I was about to do.
    I had wanted to kiss him and had he let me, I would have done it. Had I felt that he even remotely wanted me to, I would have but he had given me no sign, no signal or reason to believe that he wanted that from me.
    I was mortified at the actualization that he was exactly what he said that he would be... my friend.
    The way that Holly was my friend or Noah was my friend or Anne was my friend.
    The way that Spencer was his friend.

    I stepped backwards and gave him a sweet parting wave.

    I got in the car and drove to Christian's house, cursing myself all the way. I had been stupid; idiotic. Adrian had been the perfect gentleman and any shot that I might have even remotely had at him, I had wasted long before in the insistence that I adored Christian, in the insistence that Adrian and I be friends.
    Friends! What a despicable, disgusting term! I had enough friends and I did not need one more, especially not one that could be so distressing to my emotional stability as Adrian had the potential of being.
    I mean, what would happen if we were friends and he met someone-- a woman? I would probably kill myself. Ha ha ha.

    I would probably kill myself.

    Suicide.

    Eugene.

    Eugene. Eugene. Eugene.

    I gave Mr. Mittens fresh water and filled his dish with dry food.
    I crawled into Christian's bed with a bottle of whisky that I had found in the kitchen cupboard and an Environmental Chemistry textbook that I had found on the bookshelf.
    I decided that I should take notes. I pulled the journal that Anne had given me from my purse and opened it.
    There in Adrian's legible round scrawl was written:

    'In the sort of honesty that all midnight confessions should be made of, I will say this to you. Audrey Moriarty, you will always be better than you believe yourself to be.'

    I closed the journal and shoved it back into my purse.

    Then I vowed to myself that I would never see or speak to Adrian again.