Chasing Death Metal Dreams (34 page)

Nate laughed. “Do we look like preachers?”

“Lots of church folk come around.”

“Oh. Well, I’m kind of the opposite. I’m a friend of Patricia Durand’s, you remember, PatTheBoss from the good old days?”

“Oh, sure, haven’t seen her in years. How is Patty?”

“Doing okay. Living less than ten minutes away.”

“Cool.” Shawn nodded several times, blearily, and scratched his stomach.

He looked bored and half-wasted, but Nate plunged on. “Anyway, I’m doing this article on the legalization movement, and I want to include your blog,
Better With Grass,
in the article.” Nate paused, trying to spot any sign of guilt or worry. If Shawn was a blackmailer you’d think he’d be nervous.

Shawn just smiled. “Seriously? That’s sick. Sure.”

Nate saw Carlos make sure his phone was aimed as well as he could at Shawn. “So there’s just one thing,” he said. “I’m willing to pay you a hundred bucks for letting me use posts from
Better With Grass.
But I need to know that everything on that blog is your own work, and that nothing’s been changed or edited that would affect the historical value of the posts.”

Shawn frowned slowly. “A hundred?”

“If it’s all the original authentic stuff, yeah.” Nate held up a small wad of twenties, then pulled out a rough contract he’d come up with in the car. It was probably useless, legally, but Shawn didn’t look like a lawyer. “Just sign this saying it’s all original, pre-legalization.”

Shawn took the page from him, squinting down at it. “What, like, would be the problem if I’d edited a post or two? I mean, that wouldn’t be a big deal, right?”

“That depends.” Nate put on a stern face. “If you changed a lot of things, then it’s hardly authentic anymore. I want a truthful retrospective.”
Okay, that didn’t sound pompous or anything.
But Shawn was looking worried. “I like your blog, but I don’t want to use it if I can’t trust it.” He paused. “On the other hand, if it was something minor, and you can tell me exactly what it was you changed, that might be okay.”

“Sure. I get it.”

Carlos held out a pen. Nate watched Shawn, but there was no sign he recognized Carlos. He took the ballpoint and scribbled his name on the contract. “Look, I did add something to a couple of posts, for a friend. It was no big deal. He had some poems he wanted me to stick into old posts, and I did it. But it has nothing to do with pot or legalization. It was just some weird shit he wanted online, and I stuck it way back in 2011.”

“I see.” Nate held his breath until his vision sparkled. He could feel Carlos moving restlessly and wondered if he’d manage to keep quiet.

“That’s no big deal, right?” Shawn said. “I could still get the hundred bucks?”

“Do you remember which posts, and who asked you?”

Shawn hesitated.

Nate began unfolding the twenty dollar bills slowly, one at a time. When he got to five, he folded them together again and raised one eyebrow coolly at Shawn.
Spock for the win?

“Ah, sure. Yeah. I mean, I don’t remember which posts, but it was summer of ’11. I could find it if you like. And it was Foster who asked me. This guy, Foster, um, Simpson. He’s a buddy of mine.”

Nate held out the bills but didn’t let go of them. “Did he pay you for it?”

“No! I mean, he brought some good weed and we smoked. He said there might be a little money in it later, but he didn’t pay me nothing. Why?”

Carlos growled, “Stupid motherfucker. Did you even ask why he wanted it?”

“Nah. It’s an old blog. I don’t bother no more. Weed is all legal now, and shit, so why would I care? I just never bothered to take it down.” Shawn snatched the money out of Nate’s hand.

Carlos was huffing like he wanted to go off on the guy, so Nate said quickly, “If we paid you another hundred, would you take the poetry out again?”

“Sure, I guess. Although Foster’s kind of a scary mofo when he gets mad.” Shawn stuffed the money in his shorts pocket and peered blearily at them. “What’s going on?”

Carlos said, “He’s trying to get you mixed up in blackmail, is what. You’d better take it down for free, if you don’t want to end up arrested.”

“Hey! Weed is legal now! Cops can’t arrest me.”

“Blackmail isn’t.” Carlos moved around Nate to crowd the guy on the doorstep. “You get that shit down, before we sue your ass for every penny you’ve got.”

Shawn gave an odd laugh and waved the bills in his hand. “That’d be a hundred bucks, right now. All right, all right, don’t get your panties in a twist. I’ll take those bits out again.”

“Today!”

“Okay! Jeeze, you’re tense. Hey, dude.” He looked over at Nate. “Are you really writing an article?”

“Um, I might,” he said quickly, then in the face of Shawn’s resigned slump added, “I don’t have a publisher for it.”

“Can I keep the hundred?”

He said, “Sure,” over Carlos’s negative grunt. “Keep it, but if the posts are still there tomorrow we’ll be back.”

“Should’ve known,” Shawn grumbled, as if to himself. “When idiots get off smokin’ the good weed and onto the other hard stuff, you can’t trust ’em anymore. Fuckin’ Foster.”

He backed up and shut the door in Carlos’s face. Carlos thumped it loudly with his fist, then turned away. Nate reached over to Carlos’s pocket, pulled out his phone and turned it off.

Carlos brushed past him and, without looking at him, stomped off to the car. Nate sighed to himself. “Getting messy.”
Getting painful.
He remembered Aunt Lisa saying softly, when Carlos was off getting changed, “
I’m glad he has you. If you’re going to stick with him.
”

And he’d said, “
That’s my plan. First I need to help him with this mess.
” And he’d done that. He was torn between feeling thrilled at how well this mashed-together scheme had worked, and feeling bad for Carlos.

When he reached the car, Carlos was already sitting in the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers on the wheel. Nate slid in beside him, trying to be calm, and supportive— the guy who was going to stick. “Now what? It’s your friend, your call.”

“Fucking Foster,” Carlos muttered.

“Yeah.” Nate sighed. “At least it’s not some shady gangster blackmailer.”

“Just a friend screwing me over.” Carlos sighed. “You know, he also knows I’m gay and trans. He can threaten to shout that all over if he wants something from me.”

Nate said, “That
would
be blackmail. He didn’t say anything about that in the email. Maybe we shouldn’t borrow trouble?”

Carlos started the car. “I think I want to go home. I think maybe we should talk to Eli first, and I should get some sleep so I don’t strangle Foster with his own guitar strings.”

“Sleep sounds good,” Nate said. “Last night sucked.” He wondered if he should apologize again, more, better, but once Carlos pulled out of the parking space, he silently rested his hand on Nate’s knee, not like sex, but like it was a comfort. So Nate just traced the back of that hand, running a soft touch over the knuckles and tendons, and said nothing.

The drive back to Carlos’s place felt anticlimactic. They had an answer, one even Eli would probably believe. But Carlos’s misery was thick enough to be felt, and Nate didn’t have any idea how to make that better. He knew very well that blank, painful, hollow feeling of knowing someone you’d trusted had screwed you over. Carlos and Foster had a lot of history, and all Nate could do was stand with him and hope they’d get through it without Foster wrecking Carlos’s career out of spite.

When they reached the apartment, Aunt Lisa was snoring on the couch, but she woke before they could back out again. “Hey, boys.” She rubbed her face. “So, tell me how it went.”

Nate held back, leaning on the counter and let Carlos sit on the coffee table beside his aunt and tell her the story. He only put in a couple of his own corrections when Carlos got carried away with what a good actor Nate was. “Only next to you, TatBoy. And I love you for it.”

“Dork.”

When they were done, Aunt Lisa kept her gaze on Carlos. “What’ll you do?”

“Talk to Eli tonight. Talk to Foster when I won’t just kill him.”

“Talk to the lawyer instead and let him handle it?”

“I can’t.” Carlos bounced to his feet, pacing around the room. “Yeah, it would be smart. I know that! But Foster’s my friend, and I need to know what the
fuck
he thought he was doing.”

Nate said quietly, “You did kick him off the band.”

“I know! But this? It’s so fucking elaborate. If he wanted to hurt me, all he had to do was tell his buddies about the dyke trans bitch he used to play for.” Carlos waved away Aunt Lisa’s sound of protest. “Two seconds, and I’d be screwed. This took work. When does Foster ever work? I need to know what the fuck he was thinking.”

Aunt Lisa asked softly, “Is he smart enough to know this lie about your music would hurt you a hell of a lot more than the truth?”

“Maybe.” Carlos stopped, face flushed, chest rising and falling. “Maybe he is. Maybe he hates me that much.”

Nate took a step in his direction, watching his body language. Sure enough, Carlos glanced at Aunt Lisa and straightened, arms crossed like he didn’t want to be touched.

Aunt Lisa glanced back and forth between them, then stood and wrapped her arms around Carlos despite his rigid posture. “It’s not a weakness to accept a hug, hon. Be grateful you’ve got a boyfriend offering.”

Carlos flushed and dropped his eyes. “Sorry.”

She kissed his cheek. “Now I’m going to get about another three hours of stretching out here on your couch and then head out. With luck, I’ll make my meeting.”

“Don’t go.” Carlos flashed an alarmed look at his aunt. “I mean, I wish you’d stay a bit longer.”

She patted his arm. “I know, hon, and I’d like to. But I took unpaid sick time today and I need to get back. Anyway, you’re doing well. You don’t need me. You have Nate, and all will be well.”

“I miss you,” Carlos said quietly.

“Aw, miss you too, hon.” Aunt Lisa glanced back at Nate. “You’ll have to come down and visit us soon. Bring your boyfriend. Ramón would love to meet him.”

Carlos made a choking sound. “I don’t think so.”

“Of course he would. He asks me sometimes if you have a steady boy yet.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. You know he loves you.”

“I know, but…”

“Yeah, he was a bit ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ when you were a teenager. He was reporting back to your mother and father, after all. But he’s better now, and he wants you to be happy.”

“I am.” Carlos hesitated, then repeated that, sounding surprised. “I am. Even with all the shit of the last couple days, I really am.”

“It’s because I’m awesome,” Nate put in, trying to make him smile.

Aunt Lisa turned back to Nate. “You’ll love meeting Ramón. It’s a rite of passage when you date anyone in our family, getting approval from the papa bear at the gate.”

Nate swallowed, covering a real worried moment with melodrama. “Oh dear! Do you think he’ll rip me to shreds?”

She laughed. “I think he’ll growl a lot, and then take you in and push me out of the kitchen so he can cook tamales for you.”

Carlos said, “That’s how we welcome people in the family. Tío Ramón’s tamales are amazing.
¡Para chuparse los dedos!
Almost as good as… Mamá’s.”

Apparently Nate wasn’t the only one who heard that little hesitation in Carlos’s voice. Aunt Lisa turned to him. “I wish your mother could meet Nate too, but you know she won’t. You’ll have to settle for Ramón and me.”

“That’s not
settling.
” Carlos sighed. “Have I said how glad I am that I have you? That you’re the kind of aunt who’d hear me sounding sad on the phone, and drive nine hours to cheer me up.”

“Ten hours. You’re worth it, hon. Every bit of it. Your mother’s the one losing out, while I get another wonderful son.”

Nate said past a thickness in his throat, “My own mom would love to meet you, Aunt Lisa.”

“I’d like that. Sometime soon, absolutely. But this time I really should get going. I just dropped everything yesterday and drove.”

“You didn’t need to do it like that,” Carlos said.

“Yeah, I did.” Aunt Lisa reached over and grabbed his chin, looking him in the eyes. “Carlos Pedro Medina Díaz, I didn’t pay enough attention when you were hurting once. I won’t ever do that again.”

Nate said quietly, “I’ll try to make sure he never feels that bad again.”

“
¡Dios mío!
Guys! I’m fine,” Carlos said grumpily, pulling free of his aunt.

Aunt Lisa said very softly to Nate, “You damned well do that from now on, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nate realized somewhere along the line he’d added that to his lifetime resolutions.

****

Carlos sat at Nate’s kitchen table, in the apartment above the garage. Tía Lisa was still resting back at his place in Tacoma. He’d thought about waiting until she’d left to see Eli, but he needed to finish this. It was making him crazy. He might as well let her get some sleep and then head back in time to say good-bye.

Damn, he was going to miss her worse than ever. Life was just a bit easier when his tía was around to tell him how dumb he was, and help him fix it. A bump of Nate’s knee against his reminded him that someone else was on his side. And no doubt willing to call him dumb, when he needed it. He gave Nate a tiny smile, then looked up at Eli as he came inside.

Eli closed the door and came toward them slowly, glancing from him to Nate. “I hope you have a good fucking answer. Because I got another email and the douchebag now wants ten thousand dollars not to send that link to our label.”

Nate glanced at Carlos. “Well, that answers one question.”

Carlos took a breath against the churning in his gut and nodded to him. “Yeah, why so elaborate? Blackmail after all.
Imbécil
.”

Eli looked at Nate. “You said you had good news?”

Nate pointed to the other kitchen chair. “Sit down, shut up, and watch this.” He passed over Carlos’s phone.

Eli took the phone slowly, a mix of expressions crossing his face as he started the first video. The first mostly puzzled him. After the second one he looked up slowly. “So, it was all Foster? Screwing with us?”