NaNoWriMo 2007 - The End of Existence as We Know It: Chapter Three Wednesday, Nov 7 2007
Challenges and General and Writing 2:43 pm
Beer, Brawls and Baubles
Tom Onsof was surprised to wake up on Monday morning. But only because he clearly remembered the world ending on Sunday afternoon. Or at least he thought he did. Maybe it was Saturday afternoon. The memory was pretty clear though. As clear as any of his memories these days, anyway.
Bare feet slapped the tile floor as he sat up on the edge of his bed. Bloodshot eyes blinked several times as his vision steadied and cleared. The aging B-list star rubbed his had over a chin that bore at least two days worth of stubble and yawned carefully. His head was already throbbing and his stomach was threatening to eat his backbone.
When had he eaten last? He considered the question as he stretched and ran a hand through his mousy shoulder length brown hair - or tried to anyway. His fingers got stuck halfway through, caught by a rat’s nest of tangles and hair spray. Tom groaned as he disentangled his hand, wincing as he managed to pull out a few hairs in the process.
Heaving himself to his feet, Tom gave up on the questions and headed for the shower. He looked at the bedside clock, noting the time. if it truly was Monday, and he was still none to sure of that, then he had a scheduled gig in a few hours. A shower, food and a dip into his stash were in order before Ginny showed up to drive him over to the club.
Tom let the hot water pour over him for a few minutes, eyes closed and unthinking. Finally he roused himself, dumping shampoo on his hair and scrubbing. He knew it was going to take at least two washing to get the hairspray out - of course, he’d just be putting more hairspray on it when he got to the club. Lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, rinse, repeat. And finally, when he could dectect no more stiffness or stickiness, conditioner. Too much probably, but he didn’t feel like pulling out half of his already thinning hair when he tried to comb it out.
He scrubbed quickly, knowing he wouldn’t have much hot water left. His lanky body was dripping as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel that hung on the knob of the bathroom door. He towelled his hair until it no longer dripped then finished drying himself off.
Wrapping the towel around his waist, he wandered back out to the main room of the studio apartment that served as his current home. A quick check verified that he’d neglected to set the coffeemaker up, so he filled the water reservoir and dumped some grounds in the basket before pressing the On button. He pulled open the door of the mini-fridge and frowned. Creamer, a tupperware container with some leftover spaghetti and some parmesean cheese. A survey through the few cabinets yielded only some saltine crackers, sugar and a half-empty bag of stale tortilla chips.
Tom noticed his hands shook slightly as he poured a cup of coffee. Leaving it on the counter, he returned to his bed, rummaging through the pile of clothes at its foot until he found his jeans and a a t-shirt that wasn’t too wrinkled. Dressed, he wandered back into the bathroom and concentrated on dragging a comb through his hair without losing half of it. When his hair was de-tangled to his satisfaction, Tom went back to the coffee he’d poured. Heavy doses of sugar and creamer made it drinkable and he contemplated the container of left-over spaghetti in the mini-fridge.
It kept him from worrying about where he’d put his stash, at least for the moment. He pulled the container out of the fridge and looked at it. It had a date written on the lid - Ginny must have left it for him. A quick tally of days in his head told him it was probably safe to eat, so Tom opened it and shoved it in the microwave to heat up. When the spaghetti was ready, he scarfed it down, tossing the fork and container into the sink to be dealt with later.
His hair had dried while he was eating, so he went into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. Tom grimaced. His hair wasn’t exactly straight, but it wasn’t curly either. The only definite about it was that it was frizzy. He sighed and shook his head as he grabbed a hair tie and his brush. It only took a minute or two to pull it back and secure it.
Tom took a moment or two more to search the drawer and medicine cabinet. He even checked behind the toilet tank. Still no stash. He felt a tinge of panic and forced it down. There were still places he hadn’t checked. Not many, perhaps, but he still might find it. And eve if he didn’t, he could always get his hands on some more. It wasn’t that hard to find. He just had to hope he had the money for it. Well, that and hope the import shop was open.
He finished getting ready, tuned his guitar, and sat, fidgitting. Even the emergency stash he’d kept in the guitar case was gone. Tom cracked his knuckles, then got up and paced as much as the small studio would let him. He had to turn his mind to something else, had to get it away from his missing stash.
If the world had ended yesterday, and he was still fairly certain it had, how was it that he and everything else was still here? What exactly did he remember from yesterday anyway? He’d just taken a hit, so he’d had his stash then. . . and then there’d been a noise like a thunderclap, a bright flash of light, and then darkness and the sense that he’d been falling. And he’d woken up in his own bed. But he hadn’t been at home. He’d been at Jasper’s place.
Now that he thought about it, there were more blank spots in his memory than he’d thought there were.
The knock at his door startled him and he jumped off the bed and to his feet. it only took a couple of steps to get to the door. It took a couple of seconds more for him to get the lock to disengage and wrestle the door open.
It was Ginny, hand raised to knock again. She lowered her hand and looked him up and down. “Jeez Tom, what were you up to this weekend? You look like you just got out of bed.”
“Just the usual.” If his voice was a touch sullen, Ginny was used to it. She laughed softly, still standing at the door. “Come on, Wonder boy. We’re running late.”
He swore but went to get his guitar, returning a moment later. Ginny gazed at him with a raised brow, then took a closer look at him, noting the slightly shaking of his hands and the bloodshot eyes. “How much Fairy Dust did you have this weekend, Tom?”
He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “all of it” and Ginny couldn’t help a little laugh. She shook her head and gave him a rueful smile. “You’ll just have to manage without it until after the gig. I don’t know how you can even stomach that sugary stuff in the first place. And you’re the only person I know who could manage to get himself addicted to a candy!”
Tom shrugged, checked the lock, double checked that he had his keys, and pulled the door shut. He followed her down the hallway and stairs and slid into the passenger seat after carefully stowing the guitar in the back. He drummed his fingers on the armrest, tapping one foot and generally fidgetting, but Ginny only glanced over a him once or twice and shook her head.
The drive to the club didn’t take long and Ginny ushered him in, showing him to the stage and then to the “green room” such as it was. Tom slumped into a cheap chair, staring at nothing for a long moment. He was going to have to do this gig without his Fairy Dust. How long had it been since he’d done a gig without the stuff? Too long for him to remember.
He felt the sweat break out on his forehead and pushed himself to his feet. Fear filled him, made him restless and he paced, trying to get rid of it. He checked and rechecked the tuning of his guitar, gulped down what seemed like gallons of water. The sound check went by in a blur and he found himself back in the green room with no memory of how he’d gotten there.
Through the walls, he could hear the thump of dance music as the club opened its doors. he turned to Ginny. “Ginny, I don’t think I can do this.”
She looked at the wide, bloodshot eyes and smiled gently. Putting a hand on his arm, she led him to a chair and pushed him into it. “You can do this Tom. You’re looking better - getting some color back in your face. You know these songs so well you could do them in your sleep. And Lighthouses will always be yours.”
Tom only nodded, sitting still for a moment. It was then that he realized the canned dance music had stopped. He sent a frantic look at Ginny before nerves moved him up and out of the chair to grab his guitar. He fidgetted as he stood offstage waiting for the DJ to introduce him.
“Welcome to Red River, folks! Tonight we have the honor of having the songwriter and artist responsible for a song that hit number one on the charts ten years ago with us tonight. So help me give a warm welcome to the artist responsible for ‘Lighthouses’, Jarboe!”
Tom took a deep breath, plastered a slight smile on his lips and took the stage. Every light but the spot died as he strummed the opening chord of ‘Lighthouses’ and looked out at the sparse crowd, wonder how he’d get through the set without the boost he usually got from his Dust.
I’ll post one chapter each day for the next six days.
This weekend I’m participating in a word count marathon over at 