safe as houses: part 2
Thursday Night Movie Night is a tradition for them, even when they’re on tour, and Neal’s determined to keep things the way they are. He heads over to David’s because David’s got the bigger tv, and he brings Sixx, some popcorn, and an entire box of milk bones. Neal lets himself inside and calls out to Dave that he’s there, and Dave’s in the kitchen, hollering right back at him.
“I’ll be out with beer and nachos in a second,” he says. “Set up the movie? What’d you pick?” And Neal just laughs because he brought The Lone Ranger on dvd, and Dave’s not going to fucking know what to do with that.
So they lay on the couch underneath a blanket that Dave’s grandmother made for him when he was born and Neal’s a little warm, but David’s spread out on top of him, his thumb idly stroking the patch of skin on Neal’s hip from where his shirt rode up, and so Neal can’t bring himself to care.
“You could totally be the Tonto to my Lone Ranger,” Dave says sleepily after a few episodes.
“Fuck that shit,” Neal tells him. “If anyone’s Tonto, it’s you. You’re shorter and tanner.”
“Alright,” Dave says, and then he laughs. “Alright, alright, I can accept that.”
“See that you do,” Neal says, and then he nudges Dave into a seated position. “Well, I guess I’m gonna head out now.” Dave blinks.
“You’re not going to spend the night?” he asks, and he genuinely expected Neal to stay, it seems, and that thought sets Neal off again, making him go from perfectly comfortable to suddenly on edge. Neal’s not what Andy says he is. He’s not.
“Nah,” he says. “You know, I wanna-well. I haven’t been at my place for a while. C’mon, Sixx. See you later, Dave, yeah?”
And Dave stands up and says, “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He walks Neal to the door. “Hey, Doc-everything ok?” Neal shrugs and looks down at Sixx, scratching him behind the ears so he doesn’t have to look at Dave.
“Yeah,” he says. “Top fucking notch.” He tries to make his smile look as real as possible, but he’s pretty sure that fails, so he turns to David and jokes, “Hi-yo, Silver, away!” to try to cover it up.
In the rear-view mirror, Neal watches Dave stand on his front step until he can’t see him anymore, and drives white-knuckled the entire way home.
Neal still feels weird about whatever happened last night, so when Monty calls seeing if he wanst to go out looking for headstocks, Neal jumps to say yes. Something had happened, Neal doesn’t really understand what, but Monty snapped the neck on one of his bass guitars and has decided that it would be a good undertaking to attempt to re-neck the guitar himself instead of just buying a new one. Neal gets that, gets that it’s not about the guitar so much as it is about not being bored.
“Holy. Fucking. Shit,” Monty says. “Neal? Come here.”
Neal’s all the way on the other side of the store, this real old antique music store, but he hears the tone in Monty’s voice and he knows, just knows that Monty found something good.
“Is it-?” Neal asks when he’s closer. He can barely see the guitar that Monty’s looking at-it’s in the corner and partially blocked by a stack of old drums-but he wants it to be what he thinks it is so bad, so fucking bad he can barely thing straight.
“It fucking is,” Monty says, and a part of Neal knows that they must look like idiots, standing around just staring at a guitar that neither of them have ever played, but Neal can see the headstock and part of the body and it looks just fucking like a 1955 Gretsch White Falcon and Neal can’t even believe his luck.
“I’ve been in love with that guitar since high school,” Neal says. “Since tenth fucking grade.” And of course Monty already knows that, has to know it with the way Neal and Andy go on and on and on about this guitar, but Neal still feels the need to say it again.
Neal runs his fingers down the body of the guitar. He looks it over as he lifts the guitar off the hook and it is, it is the one he’s wanted for so fucking long and everything just goes silent in the room.
Holding it-holding it is even better than just looking at it, but even that’s blown wide open by Neal playing it, feeling how it sits in his hands and on his knee as he plays.
“I have to buy this,” he says. “I don’t care how much it costs. I need it.” And maybe, if it were anyone else, they’d say, Neal, you already have nine guitars; you don’t need another one. But it’s not anyone, it’s Monty, and Monty knows music and knows Neal and just says, “It’s not even a question, dude.”
It’s an old woman named Margaret running the store, and when Neal tells her that he’s interested in the guitar, she tells him that it was her late husband’s and she had only just recently decided to sell it.
“How much?” Neal asks, and he’s prepared to drop a shit ton of money, more money than he’s spent on anything except for maybe his car.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Margaret says. Her hair is grey and flying out from where it was tucked into a bun at the top of her head. Neal thinks that she must have been real beautiful when she was younger. “How much do you think sounds fair? Twenty-five hundred?”
And Neal’s entire body just stops because-twenty-five hundred? Twenty-five hundred shouldn’t even buy him the tailpiece. Monty’s bouncing on his toes next to him and Neal knows he’s just real fucking excited, but Neal can’t. He just... can’t.
“This, um,” he says. “This guitar? Costs about seventeen thousand dollars, low end.” Monty’s head whips to the side as he looks at Neal, his wide eyes screaming, What the fuck are you doing? Neal doesn’t know, doesn’t have a fucking clue.
“Oh, honey,” Margaret says. “Of course it does.”
“But then I don’t-I don’t get why-”
Margaret just smiles at him and says, “You got something about you,” and that’s it.
In the car, Monty says, “Twenty-five hundred dollars,” and that says it all.
“Twenty-five hundred fucking dollars,” Neal says, and he sucks a lip ring in between his teeth to keep from smiling.
“You better not let Dave play it before me,” Monty says, and when Neal laughs, he says, “No, I’m serious. Hey-stop laughing! I’m fucking serious.”
Neal says, “Okay, okay, alright,” and he feels lighter than air.
Dave comes over a few days later, after all Neal’s been doing has been playing the Gretsch and and cleaning the Gretsch and tweeting photos of the Gretsch.
Dave jokes, “Should I be worried?”
Neal kisses the side of Dave’s neck and says, “No. Besides, look at that body-all white. That’s one fucking virginal-pure guitar right there.”
“Good,” Dave says. “Good.”
And they don’t really do much of anything in particular, although Dave blows Neal and Neal comes apart quickly, too quickly almost.
They lay on the couch for the next few hours, talking and not talking and just breathing.
Dave says, “If you weren’t successful musician, what would you be?”
Neal says, “A struggling musician. If you had to have a black eye, which eye would you want it on?”
“What kind of bullshit question is that?” Dave laughs, and then says, “Left, probably. I see worse out of that one anyways.”
“I have twenty-twenty. It’s a hard life.”
Dave laughs again, low and the kind that starts in his stomach, and says, “Fuck you.”
They lapse into silence and Neal feels himself falling asleep, so he stands up and stretches and says, “I think I’m going to head to bed. See you tomorrow, though?”
Dave stands up and Neal walks him to the door, and Neal can see that he’s confused, that his brow is furrowed.
“Hey, Doc?” Dave asks.
“Yeah?”
He waits a beat and then says, “Never mind.”
Once he’s gone, Neal lets Sixx out and then goes to bed.
Neal’s not doing much of anything when Kira texts him, still from the same number after all these years.
I could probably murder someone for a Panini right now, she says, and Neal knows what she wants him to say back.
Panera? I could meet you there in 20.
Kira writes, Yes, please, and Neal goes to find his shoes.
The first thing she says to him once they sit down is, “Your boy is too cute.”
Neal stares at her dumbly and says, “What?”
“Your-” she falters, obviously not knowing what world to use. “Dave. I thought he was going to bite my head off when I kissed you the other night,” she says. And there’s something in that, in your Dave, that Neal likes. He likes that Dave is his; Dave shouldn’t be anyone else’s.
“What do you mean?” Neal asks. Dave had seemed alright to him.
“Oh, you know,” she waves a hand. “The whole getting-the-same-drink-as-you thing, and the no-concept-of-personal-space-between-you-two thing. Believe me, I got the point loud and clear, not that I was looking for that.” She pauses. “Not that I would have minded, though.”
Neal says, “Shut the fuck up,” and it’s more out of embarrassment than anything else, really, because he and Kira aren’t that anymore, aren’t ever going to be that again. It makes Neal feel bad for her, although he doesn’t really have reason to.
“No, seriously though, you’re really cute together.”
Neal says, “Shut the fuck up,” again, but this time it means a whole different thing. Kira laughs and takes a sip of her drink, and Neal notices that her mouth leaves lipstick around the straw. That’s something he’s missed, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, the ladylike quality of lipstick stains. They remind him of his mother.
Kira continues to grill him about Dave under the pretense of that’s what friends do, Neal. She asks him how long they’ve been dating and Neal tells her, Since, just that one word, and she gets that what he really means is, Since you. She asks how they met and what he’s like and if he’s good in bed. Neal’s rather tight-lipped. Things are strained between him and Dave, just a little, and he doesn’t want Kira to know because it’s none of her fucking business. She takes everything the wrong way.
“No way,” she says. “Neal fucking Tiemann, you’re acting all shy and shit! I thought I’d never see the day.” And that’s not it, not even a little bit, but he lets her think that because it’s easier and steals a bite of her sandwich.
It’s a big deal, a big fucking deal, that they’re finally finished and getting to hear the final cut of their album. All five of them show up to the studio earlier than they have it booked for and they’re restless, unable to sit still. Beside him on the couch, Dave’s knee jumps up and down, up and down, but Neal can’t blame him. This is their record, their baby, and it’s all done.
They pop champagne and they don’t get drunk or anything, but they’re all moving at a hundred miles an hour anyways. Neal thinks that he can’t wait to get home, that fair is fair and it’s his turn tonight. Sex with David is always a high point in his day, but after all of this, and considering that Dave leaves for LA the next day, Neal just expects it to be unreal.
On the table, Neal’s phone buzzes with a message and Monty goes to hand it over. “Kira,” he says, then quickly follows it up with, “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to look.”
Neal says, “No problem, man,” but if the way Dave tensed is anything to go by, Neal thinks there might be one.
“Oh, yeah, dude, how was that?” Andy says. “My sister said she saw you two at Panera. She moving back here or something?”
“No,” Neal says. “No, just visiting some people. She still lives in California.”
“Well, fuck,” Andy says. “Tell her that if she’s-” Kyle reaches over and pinches Andy’s nipple through his shirt.
“Congratulatory titty twister!” he yells, and then makes a mad dash for the door, knocking over a couple of chairs on the way out.
Andy sprints after him screaming, “Get back here, motherfucker!” and that’s the end of that.
Dave’s quiet in the car. Neal thinks maybe he’s just ready to fuck, that maybe he’s just caught up in thinking about what he wants to do, but he’s not entirely sure.
“You alright?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Dave says. “I’m good.”
Neal says, “Alright.”
They get to Neal’s place and go inside. Neal throws himself down on the couch and Dave says, “So Kira, huh?” Neal groans.
“Kira what?”
“Nothing,” Dave says. “Never mind.”
“Don’t do that shit, Dave,” Neal says. “Kira what?” He watches Dave bite his lip and run a hand through his hair. This is not how he saw the night going.
“Move in with me,” he says.
Neal laughs, thinking he’s joking.
“Move in with me,” Dave says again.
“Dude, I-what?” Neal says. “Come on, Dave, don’t do this. Not now, come on.”
“I don’t get why we can’t just-” David says, and he doesn’t bother to finish the thought. They’ve had this conversation before, a million times before, and they both know what David is thinking and they both know what Neal is going to say.
“I just don’t want to,” Neal says. “I don’t get why that’s such a big fucking-”
“Big fucking deal?” Dave cuts in. “You don’t get why it’s such a big fucking deal? We’ve been dating for two years, Neal. We don’t get any time to ourselves on the road and I barely have any free time when I’m here, but God forbid I want to spend as much time as possible with you. God forbid I suggest we live together, Neal. God fucking forbid.”
Neal shrugs, and he’s fucking mad, mad as hell, but he says as calmly as he can, “You have a key to my apartment, you know.” Dave’s quiet for a minute and then he’s laughing one of those laughs that are really just air out of the nose more so than anything else.
“So that’s it, then?” Dave asks. “I’m just going to have a key to your apartment for the rest of my life?”
And Neal doesn’t know why, but before he even realizes it, he’s saying, “Who says I even want to be together for the rest of my life?” And it’s a stupid thing to say, a stupid fucking thing, because Neal doesn’t want anyone but David, not ever. Dave has to know that.
David’s quiet for a full minute.
“Oh,” he says. He looks dazed and deflated and he just repeats himself, “Oh.” David stands up and Neal watches him wipe his palms off on the front of his jeans.”I didn’t-didn’t realize we weren’t on the same page.” And then he’s heading out the door, saying, “Sorry, I just-I have to-sorry.”
And Neal just lets him go, watches his car back out, and he wants to say something, anything, but his mouth won’t move and then David is gone. It’s a cold night, but Neal sits on the front step for the next two hours in case David comes back.
He doesn’t, and Neal goes to bed alone.
Dave calls the next morning and Neal figures that at least that’s something.
“I just,” Dave says, “I just don’t want to fly out to LA without us figuring this out first.”
Neal says, “Okay,” and then, “I don’t-I don’t know-”
“And that’s okay,” David says, and he doesn’t sound mad or anything, just real down, real bummed out. “I just thought we were at the same place, you know? I just… thought we were both in this for the long haul, and that kind of just, um. Messed me up a bit.”
Neal wants to say, Just wait while I figure out how to do this, or maybe, This is hard for me, don’t you get that? or maybe even just, I’m trying. Instead he says, “Oh.”
“I think maybe we should take a break,” Dave says. “Just for a while, at least. I need to think things through and figure-figure everything out.” And Neal thinks that’s bullshit, such bullshit because if you actually wanted to be with someone, you’d never go on a break, because that’s basically the same as breaking up.
He’s pissed that Dave doesn’t even sound like he’s crying.
“If that’s what you want.”
Dave says, “It’s not what I want, but I don’t know what else to say.”
He hangs up and Neal goes back to bed.
When it finally hits Neal that Dave’s gone, gone and maybe not coming back, there’s this feeling in his stomach that keeps building up and threatens to spill out his throat. And Neal gets it, gets that he’s a fucking idiot, and so he calls Dave. He doesn’t really know what he’s going to say because he still doesn’t want to live together, but it turns out it doesn’t matter because Dave doesn’t answer. He waits a half an hour and then calls Dave again. No answer.
He takes a shower and brushes his teeth and then he calls Dave.
He buys beer and listens to classical music and paints his nails. He goes to sleep and he wakes up and he restrings his guitars. He gives Sixx a bath.
He calls Dave. No answer.
Neal thinks, Fuck him, that fucking bastard. Two fucking years and he screens my calls like a little bitch.
Neal’s pissed.
Dave’s been gone for eight days when Neal and Andy take Mr. Sixx to the dog park. It’s hot out, real sunny and shit, and Neal’s still wearing those same sunglasses from all those ages ago, the ones he thinks he accidentally stole from Kira. Neal unhooks the leash and Sixx goes off running.
Andy says, “Dave finished shooting the cover art. Says it went alright.”
Neal says, “Good,” but he doesn’t mean it, not in the slightest. There’s a lit cigarette hanging from his lips, and it bobs dangerously every time he talks.
“Have you talked to him since he left?” Andy asks.
“No.”
“Neal,” Andy says, and Neal hears something in his voice that just pisses him right the fuck off.
“Don’t you fucking Neal me,” he says. “Dave’s the one avoiding me.”
“Look, it’s just.” Andy takes off his sunglasses and rubs his eyes. “We were best friends for a long time, right? A long fucking time.”
“We still are,” Neal says, and he takes drag from his cigarette.
“We’re not really, though,” Andy says. “I mean, we’re still close and everything-fuck, you’re my brother- but somewhere along the line, Dave happened, and that’s cool, I get it. I’m really, honestly, super fucking happy for you guys. It’s just, you’re going to lose more than a good fuck when you ruin whatever this is you think you have with him.”
Neal says, “I’m not ruining anything.” The sun is in his eyes and it’s hot out, really fucking hot, and Neal can feel the sweat on the small of his back and between his shoulder blades.
“Shut the fuck up, man,” Andy says. “We both know you are. If you don’t move in with Dave? That’s it; game over.”
“Shouldn’t be that way,” Neal says.
“But it is.” And Neal thinks, Fuck that, because everything’s not about what Dave wants, what Dave needs.
Neal tells him, “But I like living alone.”
Andy motions to his chest and says, “No you don’t. You don’t even like going to the dog park by yourself.”
“Well, what if I just don’t fucking want to?” Neal asks. “What if I don’t fucking want to move in with him?”
“What’s not to want?” Andy asks. He’s all calm and shit and Neal’s just sitting there, getting angry. “Look. You know him, right? Your parents love him. You stay at his place a majority of the time already. He cooks for you and fucks you at night and he loves you. What the fuck is not to want, Neal?”
And Neal doesn’t know what to say. He knows that Andy’s right; of course Andy’s right. But it’s still there, deep in his chest and the pit of his stomach and the back of his mind, this irrational fear that moving in with Dave will cause him to hate Dave, or cause Dave to hate him, or cause them both to hate each other. He licks his fingertips and puts out the cherry of his cigarette.
“Living together will change everything,” Neal says.
“I know.”
“I don’t think I can do it,” Neal says.
“You can.”
“I’ve never done it before,” Neal says.
“You’ve never been with anyone like Dave before,” Andy says, and then Sixx is there, dropping a slobbery rope into Andy’s lap, and Andy’s picking up the free end and then they’re playing tug of war and Neal’s just sitting there and sitting there and sitting there.
Kyle says to him, “You need to get out, man, come on. Let’s go to a bar.”
“Yeah,” Andy agrees. “Come on, it’ll make you feel better.” Neal doubts it will, but he goes anyways.
The place turns out to be pretty empty-for a Thursday, anyways-but Neal doesn’t mind that. He can feel his feet stick to the floor as he moves and it’s one of those things that simultaneously grosses him the fuck out and makes him feel at home. Andy buys the first round of Stroh’s.
Neal says, “You should buy every round; I’m depressed and shit.”
Andy just says, “Fuck you,” and steals one of Neal’s cigarettes. Neal lets it slide.
And he’s not having a good time, not really, but he’s having a good enough time, and that’s all that really matters. The three of them shoot a few games of pool, Neal wins a majority of them, and Kyle accidentally gets a pool cue to the nuts. It’s pretty sweet, actually, but Neal’s also pretty drunk.
Of course, every good has its bad and halfway through the night, Neal hears someone yelling, “Kyle! Yo, Kyle!” and of fucking course it’s that asshole Joey. It makes Neal’s skin crawl to think that he ever called that piece of shit his band mate, his friend. Neal slams down his bottle harder than strictly necessary.
Kyle says, “Come on, man, I get it, alright? He said some stupid shit. But he’s my friend.”
Neal ignores him and says, “I’m going outside for a smoke.”
“Don’t make me choose,” Kyle says.
Neal tells him, “I shouldn’t have to,” and leaves the table. He hears Andy’s chair drag along the floor as he backs away from the table, and Neal knows Andy’s going to follow him outside and Neal’s glad that he doesn’t need to ask him to.
They stand outside, leaning against the bricks of the wall and smoking cigarettes and the cold does nothing to sober Neal up.
“I don’t feel better,” Neal says.
Andy just says, “I know,” and Neal goes back in for more beer.
Later that night, when Kyle’s talking to Joey and Andy’s taking a piss, Neal goes against his better judgment and calls Dave. He gets Dave’s voicemail.
“I don’t get why you won’t fucking pick up your phone and it’s pissing me off,” he says. “You need to pick up because I need to tell you that-that I can’t fit into that fucking mold of yours. I need to tell you that I can’t be what you want me to be just because you want it, and that it’s pretty fucked up that you’d ask me to. And I need to fucking tell you what a huge-ass fucking pussy you are for breaking up with me and then running away to fucking California, of all fucking places. And I especially need to tell you that I fucking hate you, you sad piece of fucking shit, don’t call me back.”
An hour later, Andy takes him home, drops Neal on his bed and talks to him.
“What’s the prognosis, Doc?” he asks.
“I think-I think we might be done. Done done.”
“No, come on,” Andy says. “Don’t say that shit. It’s not true.”
But then Neal just looks at Andy, and Neal’s drunk as shit and his head is swimming and there’s this pressure building up behind his eyes that has him blinking real fast as he says, “Dave’s breaking up with me.” And Andy-Andy’s got this look on his face like it can’t be true, only it is-it is-and Neal turns over onto his side so Andy won’t see. But Andy knows him, has seen him through far worse, and so Neal’s not surprised when Andy lays down next to him, when Andy’s shoulder presses solidly into Neal’s back.
“Get some sleep, Doc,” Andy says, and Neal thinks that’s the best fucking idea he’s heard in a long while.
Part 3