Know Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book One) (29 page)

“
Oh.” Her eyes go wide.

“
So, only after the fifteenth will they let
me know if I’ll be covered for the next year.”

“
Seems pretty cruel.”

“
Yeah, well.” Trev waves a defeated hand in
the air. “It’s rampant in colleges. It’s the nature of the beast.
Ain’t nuthin we can do about it.”

“
And what about you, Skate?” she
asks.

We all look at Skate. When he finally
checks us out, he says,
“What? I’d go to the combines. If I wouldn’t be so scared
of them testing me for drugs.”

“
Combines
? You mentioned that earlier, right? I
forgot what that is.”

Trev explains to Blaze that it’s like a
“Tryout” before the draft. As in, you can’t just jump into the
draft. You have to go to a Combine—which is a meeting where a bunch
of men prove just how large a gorilla they are—and then there are
scouts and recruiters for teams there who then invite you to the
draft. You actually have to make it to the draft to get selected.
Finally, if you don’t get picked by a team in the draft, you become
what’s called a “Free Agent.” And that’s when the hard work begins,
trying to get picked when all the hype has died down.

“
Fuck me. It
is
complex.” The other thing I love about Blaze, is how much
she freaking curses!

Trev turns to Skate.
“It’s a urine test. Not a hair test. Means
you’d have to be clean for
five
days only. You could do that, couldn’t you?”

Skate thinks about it, leans back. “Five
days? Damn. I do that every week.” He picks up his beer, then puts
it down. “When’s the regional combine?”

Trev
: “February fifteenth.”

“
Damn it, Deck, I might just do
it.”

It feels like something heavy falls into
my stomach. And I really don’t know why. Because Skate
making
it into the NFL
would be awesome, wouldn’t it? Just as Trev making it would be
awesome...

Wouldn’t it?

I grab my beer, and think about the good
times we’ve had over the years. Partying it up, egging people’s
houses on Halloween, hitting on girls, boasting who scored the most
(Trev always wins, we’ve given up pretending he
doesn’t.)

I think of when Trev first left for
college. It was alright. Skate had been there. We still partied it
up. We still had a good time. But if he goes...

Me:
“Well, I ain’t doin’ it. I’ve never been one for the
limelight. Just like you, Trev.”

“
You’d get that two million for that place
up in Brooklyn Heights in no time.”

“
Yeah, and then I’d never live in it. I’d
be travelling all the time, working out all the time. I’d like to
get that place. Sure. But not as some status symbol; as an actual
representation of the fact that I worked for it. And I’d like to
make use of it.”

By Trev’s glint in his eyes, I know he’s
wanting to make a joke about
Making use of Desperate Housewife
Tatiana
. But he stops
himself after a quick look at Blaze.

“
When Skate and I play Semis, well, we do
it for the fun. We don’t get paid shit. We just like getting out
there and hitting someone to the ground, you know. That’s cool for
me. It’s all I want from this game.”

Trev sits back. “Couldn’t have said it
better myself, homes. Understand now why I won’t do it?”

I do get it now.
It’s the same fear I have. The fear of making it
all impersonal, of having it all lose meaning. Losing the simple
satisfaction of slamming a shoulder into a dude’s stomach and
hearing the breath expel from his lungs, and then offering him a
hand up.

The satisfaction of a job well done and,
maybe, even, coming home to a wife to share it with.

“
I think I finally do understand it, bro. I
think I finally do.”

We touch glasses. And Skate says,
“Wait.
What
two mil
place?”

Blaze
snuggles over to my side and I put my arm around her
shoulder, bring her to my chest.
This is what “Boyfriends and
Girlfriends”
do
, I
think.

“
So, why
this
place?” Trev asks her, referring to
Slambam
.

“
There’s a band playing here that I’ve
wanted to hear for some time.
Red Lipstikk
.”

“
They any good?”

“
Well, I heard some of their stuff online,
but never seen them live.”

I explain. “Blaze hooks up with local
talent and mixes their stuff into her sounds. This way she keeps
her music unique.”

Trev raises his eyebrows.
“Impressive.”

Two dudes who look like secret service
arrive. They get on the stage, kick a few things around. Nod at
each other. The biggest of the two then gestures for someone to
come in. I turn my head and see a
frazzled blonde in torn stockings and thick black
eyeshadow (or mascara—I never know the difference.) Her hair looks
like she’s stuck her fingers in a plug (or just had one
helluva
good lay in the bathroom.)
She’s in a slinky red dress—top to bottom—skin so pale she could be
on
Vampire
Diaries
. Red
heels.

The lipstick
on her Liv Tyler lips is also red—redder than
anything else she’s wearing.

I look to Blaze. “Lead singer of
Red
Lipstikk
?”

“How did you guess?”

“
And what’s up with secret service
there?”

Blaze doesn’t know either.

Red Lipstikk
start their gig and I notice the lead
singer’s accent is slightly Eastern. “Russian?” I ask
Blaze.

“
Yes. Viktoriya Golovkina, that’s her name.
Great voice.”

Not
gonna try and remember that last name, I decide.
But Viktoriya should be easy enough.
Although it’s probably spelled in some
really weird Russian way
.

Viktoriya’s
silver voice rattles the walls, and soon there are
catcalls billowing up. Someone lights a smoke. Then another. There
are no rules in Bushwick when the groove gets going.

That will all end one day with
g
entrification
.

Soon the house is clapping and cheering
and lighting up
ciggies.
Plumes of their smoke whisk around the speakers, creating a haze
ahead of the band.
Them and us
.
Only, it’s not.

This band is like
Blaze
, I think.
Playing
to
the crowd.
Singing
to
the
crowd.

Blaze
starts drumming her fingers and rocking her head. She bites
her lip, closes her eyes, and I can see she’s disappeared into the
music. Probably meeting with Viktoriya already in her
mind.

But it’s not only her. The sound is
all-engulfing.

Blaze
’s body twists and squirms...

I fan my shirt. Sit up. Tighten my
legs.
My
girl
.

We
—the boys—get into the sounds as well. Drumming. Clapping.
Singing along. The band does a cover, and the crowd sings with
them. It goes on for two, three hours?

Encore after encore after encore, we’re beat,
boozed up, and sweating like mad.

Blaze
’s head falls onto my chest; she holds my leg while
Red Lipstikk
mellows us out with easier
tunes. Skate’s jacked up a smoke himself. Trev’s eyes are
closing.

A peaceful scene, right? Just like in an
old movie? But every storm
has its calm:

A large dude with black hair appears
suddenly. Looming over our table, hands pressed down on it, looking
at Blaze.

My skin bristles inexplicably. My fists
clench.

Blaze shoots up straight
, stiff as a board. The dude says,
“Błażej!”

T
he way he’s looking at her—scowling, questioningly, as if
she were some
thing
—I
think:
Don’t. Fuckin. Move. Bro.
Or as god is my witness, I will slam your fucking
head into this goddamned table.

“
T—Tolek.”

He’s scowling at her. And I don’t like it.
Trev’s eyes have shot open, as if he can feel the sudden
electricity in my mind. Skate’s a little mellower but I can see
he’s with it as well, he can see the threat.

Black-Haired Dude’s eyes flick to mine.
It’s the kind of look that says,
Oh, she’s with you now?

It probably doesn’t help that
this dude’s bulky and slightly
pudgy frame, and his flat black hair, remind me so much of Dino
Moretti. Gina Moretti’s brother.
My Gina Moretti.

And the skeleton in my
closet
.

Even their damned eye color is the
same
—a thick and dark
blue that looks almost black in this low-lit room.

“
Tolek” here (god, what a fucking name)
lifts his chin in acknowledgment of my presence. When I don’t
respond, he smirks. Now, to Blaze: “Heard you did good set on the
weekend.”

Thick accent. And the fact he called her by
her Polish name means he’s probably from her old neighborhood.

Blaze
says nothing, only straightens her back even more. The
dude’s so close to the bench that he’s blocking her from getting
up.
Keep her
down where she belongs
.

I clear my throat, “Uhm, Blaze, I think I
need the bathroom.”

Her expression is confused. Like:
You need the
fucking bathroom when it’s clear this dude’s making me
uncomfortable!?

“
Blaze. Bathroom. Please.”

She shifts forward. Black-Haired Weird
Name Dude doesn’t budge. Which is when I see my chance: “Bro. Move
it.”

And then he gets smart. Or not so smart,
because there’s three of us and only one of him. But you catch what
I mean. He says, “I not your bro.”

Original.

He glares me down. Real Clint Eastwood
shit, you know? If my blood weren’t in a high rise, I might
actually laugh. But I don’t laugh. I’m about to say
something
—

“
Tolek, please get out the way,” Blaze
pleads.

Tolek
. But I’m just gonna call him
bro
from now on. Or maybe
asshole
.

Tolek here shifts back, a
fraction
.

Prick
.

I feel the nails digging into my
palm
.

I’m still in my seat, in the corner. I
don’t like this feeling.
Trapped, unable to move.

Skate muscles
in and, speaking slowly (and a little inebriated,
I confess), he says, “You know,
bro
, I don’t know if you can count, but there are three of us.
And one of you.” Skate’s eyes don’t move from the half-empty
(half-full?) beer glass his hands are currently wrapped around on
the table.

And I’m
still
in the corner! If this mother-eff doesn’t take another step
back I swear I’m gonna jump on this table and slam into
him!

Skate’s statement, however, seems to bring
reason to him. Because he does take a step back. And Blaze can now
get up. But as she does, he inches forward just a little so that
his chest momentarily touches her—

Oh no you did NOT just do that!

I
fly
in
between the two of them! Big and Black Haired Bozo stands tallish,
but I’m still taller than him by two foreheads. He squares his
shoulders (which are wider than mine, I admit, but maybe a little
on the flabby side) and says, “I just want to congratulate Błażej
for her set.”

There’s that thick accent
again
. “Somehow I don’t
believe that’s all you wanted to do. And, seeing as she’s
my girlfriend
now
, I’m gonna have to
ask you to leave. Because I can’t say I like your attitude so
far.”

From behind me, “Deck, please—” She puts
her hands on my arms, moves to my right. No one in the bar has
picked up on the tension here, I notice.

With a smirk, Tolek (g
od, what a fucking
idiotic
name!) says, “She no allowed to have male
friend? You are crazy man who not let her be with other man?” He
moves closer to me, so much so that I smell the mixture of tobacco
and spearmints in his breath.

And the
tobacco’s winning.

“
You are...
jealous
?”