11: "Gone Out The Window"
"What the hell are you talking about,
Frusciante?" Michael hollered, taking a step toward the musician. John raced
across the room, skid into his closet, and shut the door. "You can't quit! We
have a show tonight!"
"I quit anyway!" John's muffled voice called
back.
With wide strides, Michael crossed the room. He rattled the knob of
the closet door. "Open the door!" he demanded.
Anthony glanced from Kevin
to Brian, on either side of him, each standing with their mouths
open.
Michael rammed his left shoulder into the door, hand on the knob.
The door popped open, and Michael dragged John out of the
closet.
"Michael..." was all Anthony needed to say to fuel Kevin, who
strode into the fray.
"Lay off him already!" he exclaimed, pulling John
from Michael's grasp. Kevin crossed his arms. "If he wants to go, that's his
call. We should let him."
"Yeah," Brain squeaked. Anthony ran a hand
through his hair, catching on a tangle.
Silence. Michael raised a hand to
his forehead, his icy blues darting to Kevin. "Lou won't stand for this," he
commented.
"He's gonna have to," Anthony piped up dryly. Flinging an arm
in John's general direction, he added, "Not like John's giving us a
choice."
Scratching the back of his head, Brian squinted. "Is this really
what you want?" He looked to John, who snatched a pair of slacks from the
closet. John folded them in half and in half again, then lay them inside his
suitcase.
"It's not want so much as need," John explained, wagging his
head. He reached for a shirt and tore it off the hanger. "It's like, it's like
creative forces are around and they're, they're trying to make contact but there
aren't many receptive people around right now to, to understand them. And, and I
know I'm capable... I can hear them. But something here is corrupting, is
interfering with their signals and I, and I need to get out." His eyes looked to
the ceiling and shifted as he spoke. He then made eye contact with Brian.
Brian's eyes were wide, staring back at John, and lines creased his forehead. He
opened his mouth and closed it. Pursing his lips, he nodded.
Michael
snorted. He paced about the room, across the floor space in front of John. "This
is ridiculous!" he scoffed. And, with that, he marched out of the
room.
Anthony watched as the door slammed shut. Wagging his head, he
heaved a sigh. "I don't know, John," he breathed, and rubbed his chin. "You're
not really making a whole lot of sense."
"Yeah!" Kevin grimaced. "I've
got to agree with Anthony on this one."
Brian stood chewing on his lower
lip and, through slitted glossy eyes, gazed upon John.
"Are we
talking...," John dropped the shirt into his bag. "Are we talking, like,
empirical sense here? Is that the kind of sense I'm not making? Because I know
at that level what I say doesn't, it doesn't fit that definition. It makes..."
John took in a deep breath. "It makes another kind of sense, like from the
fourth or fifth dimension, and it is not something that can be spoken. I can
try." John smirked, shrugged, and removed another pair of pants from the closet.
"I can try to explain it, but it's just not going to do any good."
The
room fell into silence. Anthony folded his arms across his chest and stared
after John, who folded a suit jacket.
"Do you need any help?" a tiny
voice piped up. Brian braved a step forward.
Flinging his arms into the
air, John said, "I just don't know how to pack. I've never gotten used to
it."
Leaning over the bag, Brian retrieved the jacket crumpled across the
top. He slipped it over a hanger, then pulled a suit bag from the closet. He
tucked the jacket inside. Then disappeared into the closet.
"I can pack
your clothes," Brian's voice traveled through the open doorway. "Just take care
of your personal items."
Kevin checked his watch. "What about tonight's
show? Should we go ask them to announce that it's cancelled?"
"To hell
with that!" A voice boomed behind Anthony. Jolting, then swirling around, he met
with a snarling chunky man at the door. He trembled. "What Michael just told me
had BETTER not be true!"
John knelt beside the bedside table. He opened
the bottom drawer and pulled out a discman. "If he said that I'm leaving, then
it's true."
"Frusciante, you're not going anywhere!"
"Lou, I have
to." John turned to his manager, who extended his right foot and drove it into
the musician's side. John grunted and clutched his abdomen.
"How dare you
defy me!" Lou raged, hovering over John with his hands about his padded waist.
"I've given you everything! I've given you riches and fame, and this is the
thanks I get? Women adore you all around the world, who would have never even
looked at you before. Without me, you are NOTHING! You sold your sold your soul
to me, boy, and when I tell you to jump..."
"Please," John rasped, his
forehead at Lou's shiny loafers. "Just take it all back. I can't handle it
anymore."
"Why, you ungrateful little bastard," Lou muttered, grabbing
onto the nape of John's T-shirt. "You are playing tonight! You hear me,
boy?"
Anthony held his breath and took a step back, catching from the
corner of his eye Kevin drawing a hand to his mouth.
"Lou...," Brian
whimpered. Anthony had to lip read to make out the rest. "Please just let him
go."
With lion fury, Lou glared at the trembling Chili Pepper.
"Littrell!" he roared. Through clenched teeth, he hissed, "Shut the hell up!
I'll deal with you later!" He tightened his grip on John's shirt and dragged the
young man's face closer to himself. His eyes bore into John's. He spoke evenly.
"You will get yourself ready. And, when you do, I am going to personally escort
you to the concert where you will sing your little heart out to those girls. I
don't care if you feel like singing. I don't' care if it's really from the heart
and all that nonsense, so long as it sounds like it is. You will do exactly as I
say, because you are nothing but a marionette like the other Chili Peppers, and
I am your puppeteer." Lou let go of his shirt. "Kevin! Anthony!... Littrell!"
Lou barked, gesturing toward the door. "Out!"
The three jumped and
scrambled for the door, right into two security guards just outside. Anthony,
the last of the trio to slip out the door, turned around as Lou stepped into the
hallway. The manager drew the door shut. Just before it was about to slide into
the frame, a hand jutted in its path. The door slammed on the unphased
hand.
"I have to leave!" a voice from within demanded. "I HAVE
to!"
"Frusciante!" Lou hollered as another hand accompanied the first.
Palms and fingers wrapped around the door and pulled it toward the inside. Deep
pink lines marred the knuckles. Lou rammed the door into the hands until they
retreated back inside, and the door clicked shut.
Lou turned to one of
the security guards as he grasped the doorknob. "Lock him in! Quick!"
The
guard opened the electronic lock box with a key and ran his fingers across the
keypad inside. The red light blinked and beeped rhythmically. Lou sighed and let
go of the handle. The doorknob rattled, pounding emanating from the
door.
"I have to get out!" a muffled voice cried. "Let me out! Let me
out!"
"You get yourself under control and dressed for the concert, and
I'll open this door!" Lou called. Thumping his shoe against the carpet, he
hacked up phlegm and spat at Anthony's foot.
The knob stopped rattling.
The pounding ceased. Footsteps fell heavy inside and lightened with each one. A
faint WHOOSH! drifted through the door, accompanied by horns and traffic.
Anthony's eyes grew wide.
"The window!" Brian cried. "He opened the
window!"
"Open this door!" Lou hollered at the guard. Jumping, the guard
scrambled for his key. He fought to get it into the lock, jammed it inside, and
pounded the keypad. Red blinking to
green.
BEEP!
"Ahhh!"
Anthony shuttered as the woman's cry
resonated from outside, his heart for a moment stopping when he heard a
sickening, bone shattering SPLAT! Horns blared.