12: New Kid On The Block
A crisp breeze pelted against Anthony's
downtrodden face. Sitting Indian-style on a bench, he stared into his lap, at
the limp stem interwoven between his fingers. A black rose adorned the top. His
eyes locked upon a petal, and he caressed it with his forefinger. Velvet,
delicate, and sheer. Slipping his thumb over its silken underside, he petted the
petal. And it snapped. Anthony sighed. The rose tear slipped from his fingers
and fluttered across the breeze. Ascended. Then skipped down the sidewalk. He
monitored its bouncy trek across the cement path...
And cringed when a
sneakered foot tread upon it. Anthony turned away.
"Hi, Anthony!" a soft
voice greeted. Swiveling his head around, Anthony gazed upon a strained smile
and familiar basset hound eyes. The individual glided down a path hewn between
rows of grave stones. His shoes thumped against the pavement. His black suit
jacket billowed out around him, revealing the blindingly white button-up
beneath.
The individual eased himself onto the bench space beside
Anthony.
"Hey, Bri." Anthony plucked another petal from the rose. He
grinded it between his fingers, and its pieces disappeared into the
wind.
"So, um...," Brian pursed his lips, clasping his palms flat against
one another. He jiggled his hands. "How are you holding up?"
Anthony
snatched a third petal from the victim and crushed it. "I don't know." He
shrugged. "How am I supposed to be holding up?"
Sighing, Brian replied,
"There's no one way for everybody." He gave Anthony a wry smile. "Everyone feels
different, and there's no right or wrong way to deal with death..."
"You
wouldn't be saying that if I held up a liquor store." Anthony fisted the head of
the rose and decapitated it.
Brian gulped. "I, I'm just saying that
um..." He swallowed again. "That you have a right to feel whatever way you
do."
Twiddling the headless stem in his fingers, Anthony smiled. "Thanks
for the pop psychology, Dr. Littrell."
Brian hung his head and licked his
lips. "I didn't mean to come off like that. I..."
"You're asking how I
feel," Anthony breathed. He tossed the stem at his feet. "I don't know how I
feel. I barely knew John. He was just some kid Michael found, who could play a
mean guitar." Chuckling, Anthony sat back. He wagged his head. "He WAS an
excellent guitar player, though I can only remember his sound vaguely. But I was
really never friends with John. We barely ever exchanged words."
Anthony
sighed. Overhead, birds chirped and fleets of cumulous clouds drifted. The
setting sun illuminated the freshly mowed grass, the flittering leaves of
surrounding trees. It lit up all, save the dismal grave markers, which cast
long, narrow shadows.
"Actually," Brian voiced. And Anthony turned to the
boy. "There's another reason why I went looking for you." He bit his lower lip.
"Lou wants to see us all. Immediately."
*****
A goateed individual
peered out the hotel room door. He glanced left to right before beckoning the
pair in front of him to step inside.
Anthony entered the room first,
following closely at Kevin's heels. Brilliant sunshine, cascading off glossy
beige walls, blinded the Chili Pepper, and he squinted. Adjusting his sights, he
met with Michael's hollow stare. The latter glanced away, and Anthony scanned
the other side of the table. He watched as Lou got to his feet. The manager's
left hand reached for the shoulder of the boy beside him, a broad smile inching
his shades over the bridge of his nose. Anthony stared at the individual to
Lou's left.
"Anthony! Brian! Come on in and sit down!"
Anthony
studied the boy beside Lou. Golden, brown-rooted spikes crisscrossed crazily
across the crown of the boy's head; the same bizarre colouring adorned his
brows. The boy's stare made Anthony shutter, its emptiness accentuated by
cerulean shades. Bright pink lips lay horizontally over his smooth jaw line. His
hands he held clasped before him, just below his waist.
Holding an even
gaze on the newcomer, Anthony eased himself into the seat to Michael's left.
Brian seated himself between Anthony and Lou, and Kevin occupied the spot
between the boy and Michael. Anthony barely noticed the seating arrangement in
his peripheral vision as he stared at the newcomer. His eyes widened, and he
smiled.
"You're Nick Carter!" Anthony grinned.
A smile swept
across the boy's face, one sophisticated yet simple. He nodded. "Yes, I'm Nick.
I must say, it's an honour to finally meet you and the other Chili
Peppers."
"It's great meeting you!" Anthony exclaimed. Thrusting a thumb
over his shoulder, he added, "Your CD is actually in my discman right
now!"
Nick showed a little teeth.
A belly laugh erupted from
beside the boy. "Perfect!" Lou chuckled. "I was hoping you all would get
along!"
Anthony noticed Brian's back stiffen from the corner of his eye.
Brian furrowed his brows and looked to Lou. "Does this mean that... Nick is
John's replacement?"
"Well, don't sound so enthusiastic,
Littrell!"
Brian hung his head. He shook it, and a sigh escaped his lips.
"It just... seems a little soon."
"What the hell did you expect?" Lou
raged, glaring at the Chili Pepper. "We've already had to cancel two shows
because of... all this!" He drew in a deep breath, and it hissed out through his
teeth. "Now John's death was difficult, but according to the poll on our
official website, John was only the favourite band member of three percent of
fans!"
Kevin's eyes bulged in their sockets, and he whistled. "Who got
the highest percent?"
Shrugging, Lou grimaced. "If you must know, it was
Kiedis!" He sneered and glared at Anthony. "That's GOT to be solely based on
looks though! In any case, we NEED a replacement if we want this band to
continue! Would anybody rather go back to flipping burgers?"
Silence
reigned. Anthony and Kevin exchanged shrugs before Lou continued.
"I
didn't think so," he huffed. He wagged a finger at the Chilies. "Now, tomorrow
night, we're scheduled to play in San Diego. And we are GOING to perform!"
Clapping his hands together, he got to his feet. "So let's get a move on, kids!
Get packing!"
*****
Anthony sat on his suitcase and clipped its
two metal clasps into place. He slid off its hard leather surface and flopped
back on the bed. And sighed. He blinked his eyes a few times, and realized just
how dark it was in his room. Shadows lorded over the walls, interrupted
intermittedly by stretching, narrow parallel streaks from the window. Silence
painted the room, disturbed solely by whooshing cars outside the open
window.
Window.
Anthony turned his head away from it, and squeezed
his eyes shut. He rubbed his temples, caressing them in round, even and deep
strokes. They throbbed beneath his fingertips. His entire brain pulsated in his
head, pounding, threatening to crack open his skull. He moaned quietly to
himself.
RAP! RAP! RAP!
Was that coming from his
head?
"Anthony?"
He rolled off the bed and dragged himself to the
door, his stockinged feet swishing across the carpet. His fingers swept across a
door handle. They fumbled over its slippery metal and slid off it. His hand
slapped to his side. He raised it again, turned the knob, and pulled the door
toward himself. It glided open a few inches, then jerked against his grasp. He
gave it a tug.
"Anthony," the outside voice drifted through the crack
between the door and its frame. "You still have the chain
latched."
Anthony scrunched up his face. "Oh," he mumbled. He closed the
door, undid the golden chain, and swung the door open. A figure leaned against
the door frame, blue eyes darting down either end of the hallway. He stuffed his
hands in his trouser pockets. And his eyes met with Anthony's.
"You're
not busy right now, are you?" he asked, eyes eerily bright yet hollow. "Are you
packed?"
"Yeah." Anthony nodded. His head reeled. He stepped back, but
the other remained. "What's up, Michael?"
The Chili Pepper shuffled where
he stood. He kept his eyes steady on Anthony's. "I... I have something that you
might be interested in. I know the others wouldn't be. Want to take a
walk?"
Shrugging, Anthony stepped out of his room. He followed the other
down the hotel corridor, finding himself staring at the back of Michael's neck.
He studied the bristles that arched over his neck like fuzzy fangs. His eyes
strained and stung. He let them slip out of focus and plodded after Michael's
blurry form.
Gray, fuzzy Michael before him for several minutes, the only
sound the pat-pat-patting of Michael's sneakered feet against the pavement.
Anthony felt gravel beneath his feet, stabbing into his socks. He stumbled and
swayed, darkness consuming his peripheral vision.
Michael halted, and
Anthony slammed into his dress shirted back.
"Oof!"
A black bead
plinked across the pavement.
"Damn it!" Michael leaned over his knees. He
gathered the bead with one hand and stood up straight. He drew his other hand to
it, to the elongated, shiny object he held between his fingers. Anthony squinted
and furrowed his eyebrows as Michael dropped the black bead into the end of a
thick glass pipe. Drawing it to his lips, he pulled out a cigarette lighter. He
lit the beaded end. The flare lit up the dark green leaves inside the palm-sized
pipe. Michael inhaled a puff of its life, then handed both it and the lighter to
Anthony.
"Want a hit?" he asked. Shrugging, he added, "I know it's
nothing like you're used to, but it's all I have right now."
Anthony
accepted the pipe from Michael. He stared at it as he clenched it between his
thumb and two fingers. And took the lighter with the other hand.
"You
know I haven't done this sh** in years," he commented. His eyes ached, and he
shut them.
"Yeah, but it's still going to seem like you're smoking
paper."
Shrugging, Anthony lit the pipe and breathed in the herbs within
it. He and Michael alternated hits until the pipe's life was spent. Anthony
shook his head at the empty glass with a scowl.
"The reefer buzz didn't
even take the edge off my headache," he growled, handing the pipe to his
bandmate. "You think we can find a pusher around here?"
Michael pocketed
the pipe. "It's mainly just tea heads around here," he shrugged. "But, if
nothing else, somebody's bound to have some goofballs."
Anthony held a
hand to his throbbing head. "Yeah, let's go."