Perfect Tunes - Emily Gould Page 0,26

up a conversation with the bartender, who was early enough in his shift that he still could be bothered to have social interactions. Laura had a few more tables by then—luckily, she’d thought as she’d waited for Amanda to arrive, because it gave her something to do while she waited besides speculate nervously about what the news might be.

She scanned the room to see whether Stefan was anywhere nearby and then motioned Amanda to follow her through the dark hallway stacked with spare chairs and out into the alley. Amanda took her ridiculous pink drink with her, managing, waitress-like, not to spill a drop from the precarious triangular glass. She balanced it on a ledge and took out her cigarette pack. Of course, hers were Marlboro Lights. There was a manic gleam in her eyes.

“I loved the show you guys did in DC, and I pitched a story about you to my editor. He said yes! I’m going to get a byline, and soon I won’t have to answer his phone anymore!”

Laura smiled. “Well, that’s great news for you. And I guess it’s good news for me.”

“We’ll do a photo shoot and everything. Are you opening for the Clips on the rest of their tour? The idea is to interview you and Dylan together—talk about how you influence each other, how your bands are coming up at the same time, that kind of thing.”

Laura paused. That didn’t sound like something Dylan would appreciate at all. Maybe she could convince him to at least show up to the interview, though she cringed inwardly imagining how high he’d probably get beforehand and how unintelligible he might be. Still, it was a music magazine; that was probably par for the course. Callie would lose her mind over this; being in a magazine was exactly what she’d always dreamed of. She would plan their outfits with such meticulous care. And it was what Laura had dreamed of, too, in a way. If it led to more moments on the stage like the one she’d experienced a week ago, it would be worth whatever she had to do to get there.

“I’ll think about it, okay? I’ll ask Dylan, anyway,” she finally told Amanda as they walked back to the bar so Amanda could drop off her empty glass and make a big show of leaving Max a two-dollar tip, winking as she left.

* * *

The next day, Laura didn’t have to work, so she invited Dylan over. Callie was out somewhere. The stage was set, she felt, for romance—actual romance, not just sex. (Though of course they would have sex.) She thought about sex all the time with a physical intensity that sometimes felt almost sickening, it was so exciting. Alone, at night, she would shiver remembering the details of the last time he’d been in close proximity. Lying next to him in bed, sometimes, after he’d fallen asleep, she would be so possessed with desire—even after they’d just done it!—that she felt feverish. It wasn’t an easily scratchable itch, either—when she was alone, she thought it might be possible to masturbate and then calm down, but that wasn’t the answer, somehow. Her thoughts of Dylan were too complexly real. It was distracting, and she actually had to force herself to think about something more abstract in order to come.

He was supposed to be there at seven, but it ended up being more like seven thirty, which for him was like being on time. She’d thought too late of making dinner, but there was no food around except eggs, bread, milk, and coffee. They bought four slices of pizza from Two Boots and took them up to Laura’s roof. The streets looked beautiful from there, miniaturized and shining all the way to the water.

They drank vodka straight from a bottle that had been in the freezer, with Laura matching Dylan sip for sip for no good reason. Then he rolled a joint and put two black blobs of opium in it, and they smoked it on Laura’s bed-couch, watching the walls as the room got darker and darker around them. She reached for him first, and he deflected her gently. She watched his lips and mouth as he sucked the last drops out of the vodka bottle, which was warm now, sickly tasting. He wanted to go out for more, but she was already feeling woozy. She just wanted to be lying down and getting slowly, endlessly fucked.

Instead, she watched as Dylan canvassed the apartment