Less Than Nothing (11 page)

I’m in and out of the bathroom in five minutes, and when I step into the hall, Derek’s face is a blank. I eye him as if I can tell whether he did or didn’t look using the powers of my mind, but it’s a no go. He smiles, and the now-familiar sense of weightlessness comes and goes, but that’s neither here nor there. I tell myself not to think about it – whether he did or didn’t is unknowable unless he slips up, so there’s no point in worrying about it.

As I hand him back the towel and he returns to the bathroom to get his soap and shoes, a thought flashes in my head, one that freaks me out a little: the thought that he might have been watching…wasn’t completely awful. In fact, it felt as different from awful as I can imagine. Now when the vision of him toweling off springs to my mind, he’s no longer alone. I’m there, too, helping him, also naked and dripping water.

I watch him approach with his stuff and think that Melody would be proud of me. Inch by inch, I’m clawing closer to the cliff edge, pulled into completely unfamiliar territory by the inexorable force that is Derek.

Melody’s waiting for us when we get to my spot, wearing her best hoochie-mama tank top and hip-hugger jeans, her navel piercing prominently displayed along with the top of a tramp stamp that might as well have said, “Ya’ll come back now, ya hear?” She hugs me in a cloud of sickly sweet perfume, and I whisper in her ear.

“You spill the bottle on you or something?”

“Don’t hate,” she murmurs and turns to Derek, who doesn’t seem to have noticed her beyond a curt nod.

“Well, good morning, Derek. I hope you slept well,” she says, her innuendo as thick as tar.

“I always sleep well, Melody. You look good today,” he says, but his tone is more polite than admiring. A small, petty part of me mentally high-fives him when I hear his words.

“Thanks,” Mel says and turns back to me. “You had any coffee yet?”

“I could always have another cup. You know me.”

Melody glances at Derek. “How about you, Derek? Anything I can get you?”

I should be annoyed with Melody, but I can’t be. It’s like that story about the frog and the scorpion. She can’t help the way she is, and I know her well enough to know she doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s just naturally competitive when it comes to males, and can’t stop herself from flirting. There are complicated self-esteem issues that will make some shrink a fortune one day, but I’m not going to join her in the swamp.

Derek seems amused by the show, and I could kiss him when he responds, “Sage knows what I like.”

Boom.

When Melody smiles at me her eyes are dancing. “Come on, girlfriend. My treat.” She links her arm through mine and treats everyone on the block to her jailbait strut. When we make it into P&C, I shake my head.

“Pouring it on a little thick today, aren’t you?”

She ignores my comment and nods her head knowingly. “Wow. Has he ever got it for you.”

“Melody, not everything’s about sex.”

She fixes me with a skeptical stare. “Are you kidding me? He never took his eyes off you. Trust me, I know when a guy’s whipped.”

I look at the menu board so I have something to do, uncomfortable with the discussion. “Derek’s about the farthest thing from whipped I’ve ever seen.”

“Dude, he’s head over heels. What exactly happened last night? I want all the details. Don’t hold back on me or your bathroom privileges are revoked.”

“I told you. Nothing happened. We had dinner at a restaurant in the Mission, and by the time we were finished, it was too late to come back here.”

“You little minx. So you schemed to slip into his bed. Maybe I underestimated you,” Melody says with an exaggerated leer.

“It wasn’t like that. We slept with our clothes on. He didn’t try anything. End of story.”

“And you didn’t roll on top of him? Didn’t trip and stop yourself from falling by catching the top of his pants and pulling them down? Oops, oh my, you are happy to see me?”

“Do you really do that?” I ask wonderingly.

“You’re going to tell me you spent an entire night next to…next to Adonis, and all you did was count sheep?”

“That’s right.”

Her eye roll is disgusted. “And he didn’t touch you?”

I hesitate, and her eyes widen. “I knew it. He totally did, didn’t he?”

“It was nothing, Mel. When I woke up he had his arm around me. That’s it.”

“That’s it! Dude, that changes everything! Start picking bridesmaids’ colors.”

“Can we order?”

“Don’t you know what it means when a guy that’s that hot doesn’t try anything and winds up in bed with his arm around you?”

I stare her down. “I have a feeling I’m going to hear.”

“It’s amore, babycakes. You’ve ensnared him in your seductive web.”

“Ensnared?” Melody doesn’t read anything more advanced than
TV Guide
. I’m impressed with her recent vocabulary additions. Adonis, ensnared…

“Don’t try to deflect. You’ve got a live one on the line.”

“Those are some pretty tortured metaphors,” I say.

We move to the counter and order three drip coffees, and Melody jams her fingers into her pocket. “It’s on me today.”

My face lights up. I haven’t told her about our windfall earnings. “Oh, that’s the other thing. We made bank yesterday. Like over fifty bucks apiece!”

I remember Derek paying for dinner and feel a stab of guilt. I’ll take thirty out of my coin sack when I have time. No way am I going to let him buy his own birthday dinner.

“That’s sweet. But I can see why. You two are really good together.”

For the first time in our discussion I feel like she’s actually being real. It’s weird. Melody’s the most loyal BFF in the world until a boy gets in the mix, and then she’s as easily distracted as a starlet with a new shiny.

“Thanks. We do sound pretty decent.”

“More than decent.” Melody paid, offering a broad smile to the two male baristas burning holes through her jeans with their eyes. “You should be on the radio. You’re that good.”

I give her a sidelong glance. “Why are you suddenly being nice?”

“I’m just so happy for you. I mean, in, what, three months, you haven’t hooked up with anyone – and now you’ve got Tarzan there panting after you. I…I’m just proud. Our little Sage is growing up.” To Melody, not being with a guy for three months is as unimaginable as levitation. And she always avoids the fact that I’m a couple of months older than she is. I let her have her moment, because a part of me is flushing from her words.

Is it possible there’s something to them? Does Derek really like me that much? I mean, I can tell he likes me, but that’s in the I-just-met-this-chick-and-maybe-I’d-like-to-get-with-her way. What Mel’s describing is something way more than that.

And if he does, how do I feel about that?

The answer comes to me as I collect my cup and move to the condiment stand. I know exactly how I feel. Confused, happy, excited…but most of all, the thing I feel is raw, unthinking panic.

Because I haven’t told Melody the punchline yet.

Derek’s leaving soon, and I have no idea where he’s going.

Or if he’s ever coming back.

When we return to the sidewalk, Derek’s noodling around, playing the opening riff to “Hotel California.” Melody listens and nods her head, and I take a seat next to him and start strumming along. I’m a little out of tune, but it’s okay, because we haven’t played this one yet and it doesn’t count – it’s more like practice.

Street musicians tend to stick to the classics, because most of the time the people who tip are the older folks. Younger ones tend to be broke or tight-fisted, so knowing tunes from the sixties and seventies is essential to making a living, especially in a neighborhood like the Haight.

Derek stops playing, and we get in tune, and then he starts playing the famous opening again and whispers to me that he’ll do the vocal and the lead guitar. That’s fine with me, because his voice is miraculous in the song’s range. He’s also got perfect timing and a flawless delivery. When we’re done, there’s already two bucks in the case, a bill from a guy with a beret and colorful scarf and the coins from a pair of teenage girls who are still there, giggling and looking at Derek like Justin Bieber was sitting in.

I’m used to it after yesterday. Besides, Melody’s words are still rolling and clacking around in my head like pinballs. We play another song, this time with me singing, and before I know it, Melody’s waving good-bye and the case has a pile of coins and bills in it.

We sound better today, our voices meshing with increased familiarity, and by lunchtime I’ve been surprised multiple times by a song where Derek and I just nailed it. As a musician, those are the moments you live for. It’s hard to explain how good it feels when you get it right – almost like you’re flying, effortlessly soaring above everything with superhuman ease.

This time Derek gets lunch, pita sandwiches from the run-down place at the end of the block. We take a break and scarf them down, and then we’re back at it until pedestrian traffic thins and it’s getting dark. Derek counts the money as I pack up, and when he’s done, he’s smiling.

“Oh, nothing. Just a hundred twenty-seven. That’s all.”

This time I’m not as surprised as yesterday. We sounded really good, so it figures there was more appreciation. Still, the number seems impossibly high after months of making twenty or twenty-five dollars per day at most.

“I owe you thirty for dinner and five for Bull’s place, so that’s…twenty-eight fifty for me, and the rest for you.”

Derek shakes his head. “Bull’s place was on me. You didn’t have any choice in the matter.” He counts out thirty-three dollars, favoring me heavily with the bills, and slides them toward me. I collect the money and tuck it away. I feel like I’m walking on air – I’ve got more money in my backpack now than I’ve had at any point since I left home.

Which is awesome, but doesn’t really help me figure out what to do about Derek. Even with him right next to me, he’s all I can think about. Or rather, how he might or might not feel about me is dominating my thoughts. A part of me wishes we’d bombed today, because then I could chock yesterday up to a fluke, and we could go our separate ways.

That would be way simpler. But it doesn’t look like that’s how it’s going to play out.

The other part of me is happy, radiantly so, and wants to run down the street, screaming to the rooftops. For the first time in forever I feel something. Sure, it’s confusing and more than a little bit scary, but I can’t pretend that I don’t.

Which is where it gets complicated.

Derek watches me as I absently put Yam away, my mind obviously elsewhere. He leans toward me with a grin. “Earth to Sage. Do you read?”

I return the smile. “Sorry. I do that sometimes.”

“As long as I didn’t do anything.”

Right. Besides exist, and choose my little slice of paradise to saunter into, with that voice, that body, those looks…

I shake my head. “No. I’m just a little spacey.”

He puts his guitar into the case and closes it. When he looks up, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “You hungry?”

I’m swelling with joy at the question, but play it cool. “I could eat.”

“What are you in the mood for?”

I shrug. “Whatever you want.”

“I know a little Mediterranean place off Van Ness.”

That’s bus-ride territory again. I weigh the implications and decide to just go with it.

“That sounds great.”

The restaurant turns out to be Greek, and we order grape leaves and lemon soup with chicken. The meal comes, and we plow into it, making small talk as we eat. Dusk’s gray light dims as we watch the world go by. When we’re finished and the waiter busses our plates, I study his face, angular in the artificial restaurant light, and ask the question that’s been burning in my stomach since last night. I feel like I’m diving into the deep end of a pool, but I have to know the answer.

“Where are you going, Derek?”

He smiles and shrugs it off. “Most people that know me would say: nowhere, fast.”

“You know what I mean. You’re leaving. What’s that about?”

He fixes me with one of his high-intensity stares, and I feel like I’m gazing directly at a supernova. I can see him trying to figure out how to dissemble and avoid the question, but he seems to be able to tell I’m not going to let go of it until I get an answer.

His sigh is one of surrender. He leans back in his seat and studies me, and I feel his eyes on me like a physical presence.

“I’m going to New York.”

I blink. Once. Twice.

“New York,” I repeat.

“Yeah. I have to be there in two weeks, and I want to allow enough time to hitch rides.”

“You’re planning to hitchhike across the U.S.?”

“Well, if we keep earning like we did today, maybe I’ll rent a jet, but barring that, yeah, that’s my plan.”

I try not to show how confused I feel.

“Why New York? And why two weeks?” I knew it. He has a girlfriend. He’s probably realized she’s his soul mate and has decided to tie the knot. I wonder silently if I can just swallow my tongue and get it over with.