on, even though the bartender was already walking away. “Galapagos, ten o’clock.”
Jeremiah giggled. “I can’t believe you just invited him to our show – what the fuck is goin on with you today? That guy hates you.”
“Hey man, when a guy like that hates you then you’re doing something right. I can’t stand his hair.”
“You said that already, dude,” Jeremiah pointed out.
“I know that pretentious motherfucker,” Nathanial ranted. “Comes to the cafe every day and never tips – how can a bartender never tip? I bet if I kicked him in the stomach worms would shoot out his mouth.”
Nathanial calmed down when he looked up and saw Clair coming down the wooden staircase. There was something about her that calmed him down. He’d known her longer than Jeremiah, longer than anyone in this city. She carefully made her way down the stairs, a bit too self-conscious as always.
“Clair,” Nathanial called her name out. “Ladies and gentlemen…” he raised his voice so the whole room could hear, slapping one hand on his chest and stretching his other arm out in her direction. “Tonight’s first guest got her start at Dark Coffee in the crappy neighborhood of Bushwick, but tonight we are very, very pleased to say she’s come a long way and is now The Wrist Bands favorite groupie – folks, please give a huge welcome to CLAIR…BIRMINGHAM!”
“I hate you so much right now,” Clair said as she sank into the leather bench, horrified. She covered her face with her hand.
“Oh come on, Clair, it was funnneee,” Nathanial said. She reached into her Strand bookstore bag for the hat she always wore at work and put it on her face to shield herself from everyone staring at her.
“You didn’t like my Jay Leno impression?” Nathanial sounded genuinely brokenhearted.
“I really hope that wasn’t your Jay Leno,” she said, trying not to laugh.
“What the fuck took you so long? You’re late,” Nathanial sulked. “Its not like you’re one of those girls that gets all dolled up before they go out.”
“Hey!”
“No, I just mean you don’t need to, you’re a tomboy and shit, I like that about you Clair. Hey – good news – that dickhead is bartending tonight so feel no need to leave a tip.”
“I have to tip, always, you know that,” she reminded him.
“Yo, your boy is ten times himself today,” Jeremiah informed. Clair turned to observe Nathanial, who was attempting to wear his most innocent face. His sloppy curly blue hair, which was naturally blonde, was even unrulier than usual this evening.
“I wanna blow Galapagos apart,” he said to no one in particular, for no apparent reason.
“You stoned?” Clair asked him.
“Noooo,” Nathanial gave his drawn out answer. “Just excited! Aren’t you excited? To be getting away from all the bullshit? Clair, you know how many people do what we’re about to do like ever in their whole lives? Three. And they’re sitting right here.”
“Tragically beautiful, man,” Jeremiah said, making a toast as they clanked their beer glasses together. Clair was very quiet. Clair appeared geeky at first glance – she dressed like a boy, with whatever girlish curves she had hidden under baggy clothes. She wore glasses and dyed her hair whatever color Nathanial dyed his. Sometimes Nathanial found that cute – how he’d dye his hair a certain color and the next day she’d arrive at the coffee shop with the exact same shade. Other times it totally annoyed him. She had very cute features – delicate soft skin, long eyelashes, pretty blue eyes, and zero confidence.
The bartender came by to check up on things.
“Can I get a Heineken?” Clair asked. The bartender nodded.
“I got you on that,” Nathanial said to her, slapping her in the arm. She was a bit concerned about him. “It was the first beer I got her to drink,” he explained what he meant.
“Oh, right…” Clair said.
“Remember that night?” he said, smiling brightly.
“I remember,” Clair said. She remembered it very well – going to bar after bar, wondering how many beers it took to get Nathanial drunk – five? Nope. Ten? A little. Maybe. She remembered how he kept putting his arm around her and she thought she was going to get laid – if not that night then at some point, but it never happened. Apparently they were just buddies. They were still just buddies – three years and counting.
“I said…” Nathanial started to say, looking at Jeremiah, and then backtracked. “She said she never had a drink before and I said you need to try Heineken, it’s the best beer.”
“Heineken is not the best beer,” Jeremiah quickly stated. “But okay.” Nathanial’s oddness was starting to tire Jeremiah.
“I gotta pee,” Nathanial said, standing up and stepping over the table, nearly knocking a drink over. Jeremiah was quick to catch the glass and smooth things over. Clair watched Nathanial with great concern as he went into the bathroom. She leaned into Jeremiah.
“Is he okay?”
“I don’t know, man,” Jeremiah shook his head. “Think he’s on something – think he’s nervous about the show.”
“What do you think it is? That he’s on, I mean.”
Jeremiah shrugged. “Hard to tell. We’re talking about a kid that’s been on his own since he was fourteen, been introduced to every drug available. You think he’s just gonna stop taking that shit? If he ever gets famous, it’ll be the other side of drugs – the better kind.”
Clair had no idea what to say. She looked over when Nathanial came back out of the bathroom. The way his curly blue hair snuck out from under his hat would always make her smile. He was tragically beautiful, and even more lost. He sat down and guzzled down his beer. Clair watched him, almost too intrigued by how fast he could drink that to be concerned.
“Nathanial?” she requested his attention, making a funny face as she watched him closely.
“Um hmm…” he breathed into the glass but looked up at her with his eyes.
“Like seriously are you okay?”
He nodded as he put his glass down, making a crazy thud with it.
“I’m just ready Clair, I’m ready. I want the world to know I’m ready.” He drummed his hands on his knees. “I wanna be the next Axl Rose. I wanna scare L.A.”
“Well if you were there tonight, you would,” Jeremiah commented. Jeremiah had this nice ease to his voice that even when he made a remark that was slightly crude, it sounded almost like a compliment.
“I can do it too,” Nathanial said, raising his glass of beer to his mouth. The glass was almost empty. He talked into it so his voice sounded strange, like Darth Vader, when he said, “I got big balls.”
Jeremiah started laughing.
“And confidence comes from my dick – cumfidence,” Nathanial ended, sounding like a rapper. Jeremiah was speechless. He looked at Clair and they both burst out laughing simultaneously.
“Yo, let’s get out of here, with your crazy ass,” Jeremiah said, standing up.
“Wait, I’m not done with my beer yet,” Clair informed. Then Nathanial got playfully hostile.
“Well you would be if you hadn’t been late.”
“I wasn’t that late!” Clair argued back. “Chill out, good Christ!”
“You’re not acting very excited, Clair.” Nathanial went on. “I mean we’re driving to L.A. tomorrow. We’re starting a week long adventure together. This is the stuff Kerouac talked about.”
“Kerouac?” Clair laughed, looking at Jeremiah in confusion. “Kerouac didn’t talk about starting a punk band.”
“He had punk spirit, he did what the fuck he wanted though. That’s fucking punk rock. You know nothing, Clair, if you don’t know that.”
“I’m excited Nathanial.” She wasn’t very convincing.
“Okay,” Nathanial said, put off by her behavior. “This is not how one acts the night before a road trip to L.A. to see the greatest punk band in the history of punk bands.”
“Okay, now you’re like really on one, I mean really, Nathanial? T
he greatest punk band in history? Better than Sex Pistols? Better than The Pixies?” She looked back at Nathanial.
“The Pixies were not punk,” Jeremiah said in his casual voice. Clair’s jaw dropped in reaction.
“Here we go again,” Nathanial sighed, throwing his hands up and slapping his knees with them. He checked the time on his phone and killed his beer.
“Clair,” he held her drink up to her face. “Drink this.” She waved it away and scrunched up her face. When Nathanial stood up she tugged on his leather pants to get him to sit back down. She was always finding an excuse to touch him. It had been that way since the first day she met him three years ago. He stared down at her.
“Sit down for a minute,” she pleaded. He was as restless as puppy tonight. He sat down, but didn’t lean back.
“What?” he said. All he could think about was the open road, how many different smells he’d take in from here to California. Oh man. This was really going to happen, it was finally really going to happen. All the money they saved up, all the planning. All the talking. All he had to do was wait for the sun to come up. He would not sit down – he was feeling way too rambunctious, but he did keep his eyes on her when he stood back up to let her know she had his full attention.
“Look, Nathanial,” Clair started whatever she was about to say. “It’s just…I’ve been thinking…remember when I met you? How we helped each other out? Like two…kids that found each other in a dark tunnel. I mean I was standing over one…anyway, I wanted to go home but you said, ‘No, Clair, stick it out,’ at