Situationship

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Tanner

“Take me out to dinner tomorrow, sweetie. Between the drive to Dulles and three ballet classes, I’m pooped. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re still up for it.” Aunt Dottie locked the door to the basement studio. “Wait right here. I have a little welcome home gift for you.”

Aunt Dottie turned and unlocked the door to her apartment next to the entrance of the ballet studio and rushed inside. After her last little surprise, I had to wonder what she had for me. Not that I minded playing piano for her classes, but knowing her, she was about to hand me a toolbox and make me the maintenance man for the building.

“Here you go!” She exclaimed, handing me a bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau, my favorite wine. My face must have betrayed my relief, because she began to laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not giving you any more work. I should have told you in the car about playing the piano for me, but whatever. Now, I want you to go upstairs to either the third or second floor balconies and meet your new neighbors. The boys are lovely, and you can usually catch one or two of them outside until the wee hours of the morning. If I wasn’t so tuckered out, I’d join you. Now, scoot!”

Before heading out to the balcony, I explored my new little home first. It had everything I needed, including wine glasses and a corker. The kitchen itself was tiny, with an ancient refrigerator, a small gas stove, and a microwave. It was odd, but I didn’t remember this little apartment from when I used to live with my aunt all those years ago. But, back then I was totally immersed in my music studies, while working odd jobs and picking up the occasional DJ gig. I didn’t have time to make friends with the tenants, plus I had thought they were all old and more sophisticated than me. Now, I was the same age as those “old” guys were, and felt even more ancient.

There was a back door in the kitchen that opened on to a fire escape. Glancing out, I noticed two lawn chairs and a table, a hibachi grill, and another back door belonging to the neighbor, whoever that was. I was tempted to pour myself a glass of wine and park my ass on one of the chairs and skip the main balconies, but I knew my aunt would be disappointed if I didn’t at least try to get to know her other tenants. She knew my personal inclination was to hide, avoiding human contact whenever the going got rough. I wasn’t shy. Hell, you couldn’t perform in front of thousands of people at once without being a little bit outgoing. But, whenever I hit bumps in the road all I wanted to do was ignore everything and everyone until things got back to normal, whatever that was.

“Well, let’s get this over with.”

I opened the bottle of wine, grabbed a glass and let myself out the front door. The hallway was long, with five apartments including mine, and the staircase in the center. The wood floors were polished to a high shine and had a cobalt blue runner down the center. At the end of the hallway were French doors, and one of them was held open by a large fern. I stepped outside, and was grateful to discover someone was already there.

“Hi.” I mumbled, then sat on a white wicker chair set against the brick wall, placing my glass and the wine bottle down on a little table next to it. Seated across from me with his back toward the street was a tall, muscular man wearing a plain, red t-shirt, black shorts and red Chucks. He eyed me for a moment, tilting his head with a slight grin on his face.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

His skin was a light, golden brown, and he had black hair clipped short. The man had an angular face, his eyes were dark, almost black, and he had full lips. I racked my brain trying to figure out who he was, but only drew a blank. I shook my head and bit my lip. He reached a hand across the table for me to shake.

“Hector Garcia. You are Tanner Beckwith, right?” I nodded, noticing his grip was firm. “It’s been years since I last saw you. You used to DJ at Fieldens, and when you disappeared I always wondered what happened to you. Then, I started seeing your pictures on i********:, always with those big stars. Dottie clued me in about her being your aunt, and then a few days ago, she said you were coming back.”

Traffic had picked up three floors down on Monument Avenue, and I had to speak up to be heard. “I’m sorry, but I’m still drawing a blank on who you…”

“Gimme a sec.” Hector fished his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through it for a few seconds, then handed it to me.

“Wow. You’ve changed.” The picture looked nothing like the man seated in front of me. A skinny youth with dreadlocks and dark circles under his eyes stared belligerently at the camera. He used to be a barback at Fieldens, collecting empty beer bottles and emptying ashtrays at the private after-hours club. I handed the phone back to him. “Yeah, I remember you, but…”

Hector laughed. “Nobody recognizes me from those days. I was a total loser who partied all night and slept all day. The only reason I took the job at Fieldens was to have a steady supply of drugs. Well, and nobody else would hire me.”

“I think you are being too rough on yourself. We all have done things we aren’t proud of.” I looked him in the eye and smiled ruefully. I’d not been totally immune to the dangers of clubbing, though my job protected me somewhat. Drugs were everywhere, but my constant travelling made their allure less desirable. And, I’d discovered early on that they were boring.

“Are you in the small apartment in the rear?” Hector changed the subject and took a sip of his soda.

“Yes.” I raised my glass to my lips, then set it back on the table, suddenly self-conscious about drinking in front of Hector. I didn’t know if he was in recovery or not.

“You are now Dottie’s latest project.” The man laughed. “She uses that place to get people back on their feet again. When I got out of Rubicon, the drug treatment center run by the city, she took me in and that’s where I stayed until I found a decent paying job. Then, I graduated to one of the bigger apartments. Before you, there was Parker, who now lives on the second floor. You’ll meet everyone, eventually. We’re a tight-knit bunch.”

So, I was now one of my aunt’s ‘projects'. The thought of it depressed me, but maybe that would drive me to get my s**t together even faster. I noticed Hector’s expectant stare and realized I was letting my end of the conversation hang.

“So, what do you do now? I mean, for a living?”

“I’m a makeup artist. My day job is schlepping lipstick at Saks, and during my off hours I freelance, mostly for brides and the occasional theater project.” He glanced down at his phone, then stood up. “And, if I don’t get my ass in gear, I’m going to be late for a rehearsal.” He held his hand out and I shook it. “Oh, just a little warning. The guy next door to you is a pendejo. Don’t take it personally. He mostly sticks to himself, ignoring the rest of us. Talk to you later.”

When he was gone I pulled out my phone to check the handy Google Translate app to figure out what he meant.

Pendejo meant stupid in Spain Spanish, and motherfucker in Mexican Spanish. I had a feeling Hector meant the latter.

I killed half the bottle of wine by myself without meeting any more of my new neighbors. Instead of waiting around to see if they would show up, I decided to go back to my place, and sit on the fire escape.

When I got to my front door, there was a note taped to it, inviting me to a party on the second-floor balcony this Saturday night. It was signed Blaise. Apparently my aunt had told everyone I was the new kid on the block. Well, if they were all as friendly as Hector I’d probably enjoy myself.

Before heading out to the fire escape, I grabbed the little portable speakers I had stashed away in my bag, thinking a little music would be a cool way to enjoy the evening. It was getting dark outside, and I noticed a candle on the chest of drawers, so I snagged that too.

The lights were off in the apartment next door, so I felt comfortable turning up the music. Despite being in the dance music biz, my personal favorites were classical, particularly Shostakovich and Rachmaninoff. I selected the Piano Concerto #2 in C Minor, then closed my eyes and allowed the combination of the music and the buzz of crickets to invade my ears.

“What’s next, honeybee?”

I heard my aunt’s voice in my head. I hadn’t a clue what the hell I would do. Aside from music, I had no other skills, and I didn’t want to play Pop Goes The Weasel for six-year-old ballerinas for the rest of my life. Then, I recalled being on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans. They might not have been screaming for me, but the excitement of those moments made up for all the shitty stars I worked for. I punched in a different playlist on my phone, electronic beats I’d created years ago when I still DJ’d occasionally.

“Maybe I could go online, see if there are any clubs around town that need…”

The back door of my neighbor’s apartment flew open, banging against the wall. I spilled the wine all over my lap and glanced up in alarm. It was a face I hadn’t seen in almost a decade, and one I would never forget.

“What the f**k is all this noise, you... what are you doing here?”