Lover's Rock
Part II
"Stop the car," she says.
"What?"
"Pull over. I need to change."
They're driving back to New Haven after dinner with Rory's grandparents, dressed to impress and smelling of Emily's goodbye kiss Chanel. It's raining and the roads are dark and all he wants is a big glass of scotch. But they're going to see Hep Alien play at a bar, and Logan figures the best he'll get is a beer.
"Change in to what?" he asks.
She grins, pulling a backpack from the floor and hurling herself in to the backseat. He watches her kick off her shoes through the rear-view mirror; watches her shimmy out of her dress and replace it with jeans and a low-cut black top. Her hair becomes wonderfully ruffled. She reminds him of Patti Smith, with her bangs still growing out.
"Done," she says, settling back under her seatbelt. "Are you going like that?"
He looks down at the Armani suit, sans tie. "What's wrong with it?"
"Clearly, you've never been to a rock show."
He laughs, or he thinks he does, and pulls back in to the lane. "No one is going to notice," he says when they get there, cold and damp under the bar's shit lighting. Gil is on stage doing scales, and Lane is pacing, and Brain is sucking on his inhaler. Rory sinks in to the gathering crowd. He orders two bottles of the most expensive beer.
"I'm going to throw up," Lane groans when he meets her, handing Rory a drink. "What if we suck? What if Zach forgets all the words to 'Highway to Hell' again?"
"Lane, you're going to be fine. But maybe skip ACDC," Rory soothes.
"Dude," Zach says to him, as he ambles over and plugs his guitar in to an amp, "who died?"
They're opening for an out-of-state band and by ten o'clock the bar is packed. Logan and Rory squeeze around a table full of drunk college kids and teenagers with fake IDs; a guy with a green Mohawk thumbing through a book while they wait. The beer is terrible. Rory's practically vibrating in her seat.
"I know the author!" she says, tapping Mohawk man's book.
"Seriously?" he says.
"It's so great, isn't it? It's…amazing!"
"I just got it today, before I came here. Thought the cover looked cool."
"You're going to love it! It's just…it's the most original thing I've ever read. That's my unbiased opinion, I swear."
Mohawk man smiles. "I'm Clyde."
"Rory." She shakes his hand. "I'm also friends with the drummer."
"No shit!"
Then the show starts and it's nothing but guitar and bass and Iggy Pop scratching at the walls; Nirvana and the Pixies and two Zach van Gerbig originals. Clyde drags Rory to the front for some mild moshing, and when they get back she's sweaty and beautiful and laughing so loud. They look good, he thinks bitterly, and drinks two more beers.
The air rings when it's over and he liked it, really he did. But he's tired and hot and sick in his gut, and he just wants to take Rory and leave. She's wandered off again and he finds her by the stage, making change for a Hep Alien CD. Clyde is beside her, talking to Lane. Logan's chest feels tight.
"Come on, Ace, let's go," he says, too loudly.
"I promised I'd help with sales while they pack up," she says.
"Rory."
"Ten minutes, Logan, please."
They stay for twenty and he hands her the keys. He sleeps the whole way home.
Author's Note:
This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but LEJ418 convinced me to make it longer. I'm aiming for at least four parts. Part I has been slightly changed.