Word of Mouth Read online

  He shoved that thought out of his mind. He didn’t need to go there tonight. Tonight, he was all about playing for this crowd, for enhancing the event without standing out. He wasn’t the focus, he was window dressing, and he knew it.

  If they noticed him too much, he was doing it wrong.

  Didn’t mean he didn’t have a business card holder of his cards sitting on his amp for anyone to take—and a few people did. If the past pattern held, he’d probably end up with a couple of nice wedding gigs after tonight.

  At least a little peace filled him today. He could play his favorites and not want to break down crying while remembering how he used to have someone who loved to play some of these songs as a duet.

  * * * *

  When Gordon returned to his apartment that evening, he was a thousand dollars richer, had booked two wedding gigs and the next cocktail party, and was ready to kick back with Netflix.

  He resisted the urge to grab his phone from where it was charging on the kitchen counter and scroll through Facebook or Instagram. If he did, snakes would tangle in his brain and send him back into an emotionally dark place he didn’t want to be.

  He needed to move on.

  He wasn’t coming back—ever.

  Moving into his new apartment had been a bittersweet event he’d cried buckets of tears over. No more beater car with all the memories.

  No more apartment where, despite the crappy location, the little patio balcony had been perfect for playing. Remembering the hours they’d spent sitting there together and doing just that, earning applause from other residents, who’d come out and listen to them.

  No more Jonah.

  He hadn’t changed his phone number, though, despite two phone replacements since the man’s departure. Or his e-mail address. He hoped one day maybe Jonah would reach out to him, his ginger-haired boy. The way his beard and mustache felt against his flesh—

  Shit.

  There he went, right where he knew he shouldn’t.

  He could sometimes go weeks without giving more than a cursory thought to how much he missed him, without delving into the deep pools of pain still filling his soul. Without giving in to reliving sweet memories.

  Or, like tonight, he could helplessly get sucked in and down.

  I need to date.

  Except he couldn’t bring himself to do that yet. Not even three years later. He’d lost friends who’d drifted away when they realized Gordon wasn’t the fun, carefree guy he once was, and would basically sit and mope and turn the conversation around to talking about memories of things they’d all done with Jonah around.

  * * * *

  By the time he fell asleep that night, Gordon had managed to turn his mood around by listing his blessings. Which, when he tallied them, were expansive and increasing.

  Maybe I need a meeting.

  He hadn’t been to one in a couple of months, and maybe that was his problem. Eight years sober wasn’t a time to start fucking around and slacking off. He’d come close to blowing it a few times, especially right after—

  Stop.

  He couldn’t think about him. Not tonight, not alone in bed, not without a meeting to go to.

  He had work in the morning, because his first class of the day at Sorrellson was at nine. They were talking about possibly making him a full-time teacher next year, depending on how this year went. The music classes were really popular and in-demand. Enough so that Darryl Holman, head of their music department, had been given permission to bring in musicians who were specialized to supplement the classes he taught in keyboard and music theory. Gordon specifically taught classical guitar, they had an orchestra class that focused heavily on bowed instruments, a jazz class with plenty of horns and sax, and a modern guitar class, with both acoustic and electric methods. But if they expanded Gordon’s role next year, he could add mandolin, banjo, and ukelele to his class offerings.

  That would be a dream job for him, to finally have stability, security.

  Knowing that he didn’t have to sweat every month’s bills and pray he could make ends meet. Just having this job part-time had been a huge boon for him. No, it wasn’t some make-believe dream of being famous, but he was, overall, happy.

  Well, mostly.

  He was lonely, but that was on him. He couldn’t bring himself to date yet. He’d tried, once, a year ago, and realized he wasn’t close to being ready.

  Although, now that he had health insurance, he was seriously considering seeking out a counselor to talk to. His insurance would actually pay for it, miracle of miracles.

  Maybe now I can start to move on.

  Besides, he was still second-guessing himself, everything he’d done. What kind of damn Dom was he, really, if Jonah honestly thought he was jealous and trying to hold him back?

  He’d just been…scared for him.

  And scared of losing him.

  For all the good the concern had done him, because obviously he’d fucked things up between them, and Jonah had never reached out to him.

  No, it was best to do what he was doing and stay his steady course.

  Maybe, one day, it wouldn’t hurt so damn much.

  Chapter Five

  Monday morning, before his first class even started, Gordon was waylaid by his boss, Darryl Holman.

  “Do you have a minute?” Darryl asked.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “You still doing work on the side? Like studio gigs? Recording?”

  “Yeah, but I haven’t done one of those in a while. Why?”

  “Would you be interested in a short-term studio gig? You could do it after classes on the days you teach. A friend of mine whose name you’d likely know if I told you needs someone to fill in for a few weeks. They have a studio at their house locally, and the group is working there before touring. Their regular player broke their hand and wrist.”

  “I-I…sure!”

  Darryl smiled. “Don’t even need to know how much, huh?”

  “Is it legal and pays money? Then yes, I’m in.”

  Darryl walked into Gordon’s classroom and handed him a business card. “You’ll have to sign an NDA and a contract. Routine. Call them when you get done today, and they’ll give you directions, if you need them. They’ll have the paperwork ready for you to sign when you get there.”

  The card was for a film production company with offices in Venice. Gordon held up the card. “Who are they?”

  “They’re other friends in common,” Darryl said. “Once you sign the NDA, then they’ll tell you more about the gig. Trust me, it sounds like overkill, but it’s not.”

  “Um, okay, sure.”

  “Excellent.”

  So that afternoon, Gordon found himself heading out to east Venice. He knew whoever it was couldn’t be someone A-list, that’d just be crazy.

  Wouldn’t it?

  I wish I could tell Jonah.

  Even three years later, those thoughts hadn’t gone away. He still caught himself wishing he could call or text him with something funny or crazy, or just to tell him he missed him like hell.

  That he was sorry he hadn’t been better for him.

  That he hoped he was happy and doing well.

  Fuck, I really need a meeting.

  He’d already looked that up, too. There was one in a meeting room at a local hospital at five, and he planned on having his butt in a chair when it started. He’d have just enough time to skate out of there and make his gig at the coffeeshop.

  He found the office and parked, taking a deep breath before he walked in.

  A very pleasant woman at the front desk smiled at him. “Gordon?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She giggled. “I’m not a ma’am, but you’re sweet.” She handed him the first form and a pen. “That’s the NDA. I’m authorized to give you a little more info after you sign it. I’d suggest reading it. It means that, without express permission, anything you learn or do or see while bound by it is private. Breaches of the NDA can be punishable by $25
0 thousand dollars per incident.”

  He read through it and signed it. “Now what?”

  She took that form and smiled. “Ever heard of Mevi Maynard and Portnoy’s Oyster?”

  He laughed. “Sure, everyone’s heard of them.” Her smile widened, and then his eyes widened as he realized what she was saying. “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely. Should I text Mevi your info so he can talk to you? He told me he went to your website and looked up your videos you have linked, and he was impressed. Darryl suggested your name to him.”

  “Darryl knows Mevi Maynard?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, we’re all friends in common. Is that a yes?”

  “Yes!” He laughed. “Absolutely, yes!”

  “Good.” She handed him more forms. “You fill these out for me, and I’ll send him your info. He actually has a Florida cell number.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  He sat in one of the chairs to fill out the contract and employment forms.

  Then he got to the one for the drug test. “Ma’am, it’s asking about drugs and alcohol. I’m sober, but I used to drink. Is that okay?”

  “That’s fine, but for the duration of this, you’ll have to stay that way. Sober, that is. I’m actually to send you to a lab when you finish with me, and they’ll take the samples for us at our expense.”

  “Okay.”

  Whew. Even better reason to hit a meeting today. He didn’t want to do something stupid and blow his sobriety and lose this opportunity.

  Once Gordon was finished, his cell rang from a number he didn’t recognize.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, is this Gordon Pope?”

  He recognized the man’s voice. “Um, yes. Yeah, th-that’s me.”

  “Hey, it’s Mevi. Welcome aboard.”

  “Um…thank you. Thanks. I mean—”

  He laughed. “It’s okay. I’m just a regular guy. I’m looking forward to working with you…”

  Ten minutes later, Gordon stood there in the office, staring at his cell phone while the lady behind the desk smiled at him.

  He was in shock.

  “Am I really awake right now?” he asked her.

  She grinned. “Yes, you are. And yes, it happened as weirdly and easily as you think it did. You’re in the right place, at the right time, and coincidentally knew the right people.” She handed him a slip of paper. “Here’s the lab info. They’re expecting you.”

  “Thanks.”

  On the way there, a lab fortunately only a block away from where he needed to be for the meeting, he literally pinched his arm.

  I’m going to be working with Mevi Maynard!

  Mevi—who’d said to call him Mal—told Gordon that he couldn’t say anything about the gig until after the tour started in four weeks. They’d be dropping at least two singles then, and he’d be listed in the credits. But it was to stay a secret until that time. Only their official PR people could release social media info about what was going on, and they’d start dropping teasers in about a week.

  He was in and out of the lab in less than fifteen minutes, leaving him nearly an hour before he had to be at the meeting.

  Grabbing himself take-out, he opted to head over to Venice Beach and sit there eating while watching the sunset. Some days, he would come here and sit and play as evening rolled in.

  Didn’t hurt he could usually earn a few extra dollars doing that, either.

  Mostly, he did it to let his mind unwind and try to soothe the longing ache in his soul.

  Maybe I should try to find him and apologize.

  The one time he had, a few months after Jonah left, Gordon realized Jonah had blocked him on Facebook and Twitter. Gordon didn’t have Jonah’s phone number, either. His phone had gotten stolen, and all his contacts had been wiped by the fuckers before he could log in and change his passwords.

  At least he’d had backups of his photos on his laptop.

  Then again, three years on, maybe it was best to let it go.

  I just wish I knew how to let him go in my heart.

  * * * *

  There were at least twenty-five other people in the meeting. He hated that it was a podium instead of a circle, but still, he got up and spoke, because he felt he needed to.

  “Hi, my name is Gordon, and I’m an alcoholic.”

  “Hi, Gordon.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’ve been sober for a little over eight years now. I landed a part-time job today that will last for four weeks that requires I be sober, so it’s like fate, you know?

  “But along with that, it brings back a lot of memories of a relationship I had that ended three years ago. I loved them very much, but I guess I wasn’t doing as good a job of showing them that as I thought I was. They left, moved away, said I was trying to hold them back. I didn’t think I was. They’d been offered a job in LA, and I wanted them to be careful and check it out first. But…”

  He sighed. “I guess I was so scared of losing them I must not have made that part clear. They blocked me and I haven’t talked to them since. This job is in the same field, though, and like I said, lots of memories to deal with. I haven’t had a relationship since then. I started a new job not long ago, and this new one will work with that, and it feels like my life is finally on the right track, right?

  “But why does it hurt so much now? Even more than back then. I know I should move on, but I still love them and can’t. Even if I tried, I’d be doubting myself. I don’t know how to move past that.”

  He thought for a moment. “I guess I just needed to get all that out. I know I’m not going to drink, because I refuse to give up my sobriety. I got sober because of…the person I lost. They told me to choose, them or drinking, and I chose them. And now they’re not here and I wish I could talk to them. At least apologize and find out what I did wrong so I can either make amends or, at the very least, know what not to do the next time.” He blinked back tears. “Thank you.”

  Soft applause as he returned to his seat, and then the next person stood and walked forward to speak.

  “Hi, I’m Janet, and I’m an alcoholic.”

  “Hi, Janet…”

  He tried to listen to the rest of the meeting but kept finding his thoughts drifting back to the past.

  Maybe I should write the letter I wish I could write him.

  So many times he’d started to do that and gave up.

  It hurt too much.

  Acknowledging the finality of it all, that he’d never see Jonah again, never hold him, never love him…

  It hurt too much.

  He wasn’t ready to unpack all that pain yet. It fit too comfortably in his heart and soul, and he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to live without it.

  Chapter Six

  Tuesday afternoon, Jonah felt desperately glad they were flying on a charter. It meant he’d been able to bring everything with him. He’d literally packed all his shit into four large suitcases, in addition to his instruments and amps, and was now homeless.

  But since he’d be staying with Mevi and Doyle in Florida, that’d be okay. It was money he didn’t have to spend staying somewhere else, and it’d keep him around sober people.

  Finding out Doyle was a counselor was an additional bonus.

  A guilty thought flashed through his mind, and not for the first time, either.

  I hope Gordon didn’t relapse because of me.

  He’d never had the problem Gordon had, but he’d never forgotten the lessons he’d learned while watching Gordon struggle, either. That it’d be too damn easy to slide over that edge into a bad bunch of decisions.

  Sobriety was easier as a lifestyle, for him to maintain, even though it wasn’t a requirement for him. Not to mention, water was cheaper than booze. But he’d sat through enough meetings with Gordon to know the drill.

  Frankly, he owed the man an apology. Now that they were here in Florida…

  He really needed to find him and make an attempt to make amends. If for no other reason than t
o stand there and let Gordon take all the verbal potshots—hell, literal ones, if he wanted—that Jonah rightfully deserved.

  Gordon hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been worried for Jonah, and rightfully so, as it turned out. At the time, Jonah had been too damned angry at himself—and later ashamed of himself—to admit it, though.

  There were several SUVs and a box truck waiting for them when they landed at Venice Municipal Airport.

  “You can ride with us,” Doyle said. “All the gear is being brought to our place, anyway.”

  “Okay, thanks.” He grabbed his carryon and messenger bag, and then grabbed his mandolin case and the case for the classical guitar.

  Yesterday morning, he’d paid for an Uber to take him to the pawn shop where he’d sold the guitar, and found to his amazement it was still there, hanging on the wall.

  He’d waited until he was alone in his shitty little apartment to take it out of its case, tune it, and play it, crying as he did. Which was fair, because he’d cried himself to sleep the night he’d pawned it.

  Was that a sign? That it was still there?

  Or was he being a sentimental dumbass and working himself up in his mind for, what, some impossible reunion, just to have Gordon tell him to go fuck himself?

  Yeah, he’d paid twice as much to buy it back as he’d sold it for in the first place, but it was still there.

  And he’d never let it go again. It, or the mandolin.

  He could replace anything else, even though it’d hurt to lose more, but those were precious and he couldn’t replace them. In fact, he needed to buy himself instruments for the tour and recording sessions, ones that he didn’t mind putting through the rigors of heavy use.

  These two were his.

  He climbed into the SUV first and made his way to the very back seat, leaving the middle for Mal and Doyle.

  “So how long’s it been since you’ve been to Florida?” Mal asked him.

  “Years.”

  “Any family around?” Doyle asked.

  “No. Not anymore. My parents disowned me. Last I heard, they moved to the Carolinas somewhere, with my brother.”