Like Blood from a Stone: Ch. 01

Chuck Billy had several irons in the fire, one of which was the world of real estate. An unstable world nonetheless, but it had the right trappings for someone looking to make a great deal of money should he find his way through the proverbial maze. His first big deal was selling off a big house to Zetro and his new wife right within the coziest avenue of Dublin, a good-sized hillside town due south of the San Francisco Bay Area. Though he never wore the red blazer at any one time, he may as well have had one on: the man was savvy with the houses and the neighborhoods of the Bay Area, a place that he knew like the back of his hand.

"A nice and stout little commission for us," he was telling me one evening over dinner. The way in which he said the word "us" sent a chill down my spine until it manifested itself right in the pit of my stomach. I wished that I could add to it at any given notice, especially since a healthful marriage required equally as healthy communication with one another, at least that was my perception growing up with my mad professor parents. But I had no idea if it came from my own naïveté or if it came from the fact that this Chuck wasn't the one for me.  

It didn't help matters that he took some of the money he had made out from the deal and brought the bills together into a single brick, and then he ran the edge of it along the bottom of his nose. The sweet, sweet smell of success, as I saw it.

Each and every commission was a step closer to my own fate, to be hitched only mere days after I turned eighteen and then set for life should the whole tour thing stop dead in its tracks. I never believed for one minute that I would have a sugar daddy of his own, especially given my own streak of independence to accompany the stubby little gray streak upon the crown of my head. There was in fact a strange comfort to it, however: my knowing that I was about to be taken care of for the rest of my life, but I still couldn't help my own reticence.

The way that Chuck looked on at me from right across the table with those pearly whites contrasted with his sun-kissed skin: his luminous eyes dug deep down into my soul, the biggest holes I could possibly imagine for the front of my head and all to accompany my silver streak. His long fingers curled around the base of his wine glass, and it was as if each and every day we saw each other, he had a brand-new ring on each of those fingers as well.  

One that always caught my attention was that large polished orb of turquoise on his right ring finger: the way the stone carried a soft glimmer to it from underneath the warm lights suspended over their heads. The silver which comprised the ring itself only reminded me of the silver on the crown of my head.

The silver of age. The silver that told me that my childhood was no more.

I was still the same boy as always, still the little man, still little Alex. But the sight of the silver only made me wonder about the clock ticking away over me, taunting me, laughing at me, telling me to hurry up and make a name for myself.

I knew that I should have been happy to have a husband in my life soon enough, one with a fair amount of money in his nest egg as well as one who supposedly loved me to the ends of the earth, and yet something was amiss for me. Something needed to fill the void in my heart, as well as the scar on my own sky.

I kept thinking about the hole in my heart as well as the one on my right as I took my seat on the floor of Chuck's guest bedroom with my one acoustic guitar rested on my lap. Though we were recording our first album together, there were some other things that I had to air out, outside of Eric and Louie's prying ears.

The metronome over my head clicked in continuous rhythm and yet I found it rather difficult to strum the guitar along with it. I spread my fingers across the guitar neck; I had put down a few notes, when I rubbed my eyes with the side of my free hand, left followed by the right. I peered up at the small metronome half the size of my palm, and the needle as it swayed and clicked in perfect harmony.

"I have to get my shit together," I muttered to myself. I nodded along with the metronome and I set my fingers back down on the guitar neck.

Something to follow along on every third ghost note.

Something entitled "Ghost Notes". But I had to focus on getting it written, however.

Despite my hammering heart, I went ahead with this particular piece of music, and I wondered if I should write it down instead of leave it out in the open like the singular note that would torment a singular classical musician. I leaned back against the wall with my slender bare legs extended out before me and the hollow body of the guitar rested upon my lap. Slight tendrils of inky black hair sprawled down over my left collar bone and down onto my chest: some stuck onto my shoulder and my upper arm. But I needn't be caught up in something as trivial as my own hair as I strummed at the strings with the very edge of my pick. Right on the spot, I had comprised a bluesy riff that went along every third note of the metronome.

I was such a nerd, but the more I thought about it, the more I enjoyed seeing myself as such. My childhood may be gone but that didn't mean I had to stop with having fun, however.

"Alex?" Chuck's gruff voice resonated through the door panel on the other side of the room.

"Yes?" I stopped the guitar, and then I reached up and stopped the metronome needle dead in its tracks with the sides of two fingers.

The door cracked open and he poked his head into the room: his long wavy dark hair cascaded down over his right shoulder and he showed me a warm smile. I shifted my weight and kept my back to the wall. I liked him, but this was too much for me to bear.

"There's my lovely fiancé," he declared. "I was just wondering where you were at--you know, it's almost one o'clock, right?"

"Oh, shit, really?" I set the guitar down on the floor next to the table and I clambered up to the edge of the bed. I was to spend the night there that weekend, and then I had to make my way back for my birthday and then that Friday. That next weekend, I had to be out of my parents' house and into Chuck's place there outside of Dublin.

I lay down on the bed with my feet stretched down by the left poster.

"Want me to tuck you in?" he offered me; at first, I thought he was joking.

"Nah, I'm good," I assured him as I rolled over onto my side. "Maybe we should make that a ritual after this Saturday, though."

"Maybe we should," Chuck suggested to me sleepily. "Maybe we in fact should."

"The wedding is in a week, Chuck," I reminded him.

"I know! I'm excited, too."

He crawled over the right side of the bed and kissed me right on the rim of my ear, the soft feeling which made my toes curl.

"By then, I'll have the left side of the bed cleared out for you," he softly vowed to me.

"Sounds like a plan," I told him, as I closed my eyes and stuck my hand between my thighs. Though it wasn't very warm in the room, I wanted nothing more than to sleep atop the covers. I didn't feel like being cozy and comfy that night.

"Gonna be a big week for us, little man," he told me with a caress of my hip and then a light little pat of my ass. I swallowed and tried to keep my eyes shut at the sensation. "A big, long week."

He doubled out of the room and I knew he had switched off the light because I opened my eyes and I was surrounded by total darkness.

I sighed through my nose. "The wedding is in a week," I repeated in a louder voice. "Seven days."

Seven days. Seven long days and my fate would be sealed.

A big, long week indeed.