Lucy was at the stove when Rob got home. "I'm making bacon and eggs for breakfast," she called over her shoulder.

He walked past her and set the paper bag with a brand-new bottle of Jack Daniels on the kitchen counter. "You cook a lot," he commented, tossing the contracts and CD onto the kitchen table.

He pulled the bottle of Jack from the paper bag and cracked open the cap. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, he added ice and took a can of Coke from the fridge. He kicked the fridge door shut with his foot then poured a hefty shot of the whiskey over the ice, adding a small amount of Coke.

"I don't eat a lot," he added. Saluting her with the glass, he tipped it up and drank thirstily.

"What's all this?" Lucy turned the stove off and approached the table, one hand sifting through the paperwork. "And this?" she picked up the CD. There was no label on it.

"Contracts. And the CD is my demo I did the other day. I just signed with Capitol Records. Want to celebrate?"

"You what?"

He nodded his head. "Yea, really great, huh?"

"If it's so great, then why are you acting this way?" she asked.

"What way am I acting, Luce?"

He left the kitchen and plopped down on the sofa with a heavy sigh. He was starting to get a headache. His brain felt overloaded with all of the information from this morning. He knew he was being shitty, but he didn't care. He should have been in a good mood, but he wasn't. The rock in his stomach rumbled, and he felt like he would suffocate. "Just give me a minute, okay, Lucy? I'm really beat."

"What about the bar?"

She always had to beat the dead horse.

"Can we talk about this later?"

"What about us singing together? I thought we did really great last night, Rob. You were in such a good mood, and we had so much fun."

Rob agreed he had been in a good mood the day before. Too good of a mood for a reason he didn't understand. He had felt...up. Elated. His energy level had been too high. He couldn’t seem to able to unwind. Even with the anxiety attack, once it passed, he still felt extreme happiness. It just wasn't normal to feel that exhilarated for no reason, and he knew it.

Today the extreme high was gone. Rob felt like he was running on empty. His headache was getting worse. A dark cloud of depression hung over him. All he wanted to do was go back to bed, bury his head in the blankets, and cry.

Instead, he rose from the sofa and poured himself another drink. "Sure you don't want one?" he asked, lifting his glass.

She shook her head. "Too early for me."

He shrugged, leaned against the counter, and sipped the drink. He studied her.

Lucy returned to the stove. The bacon was cold, and the grease gelled. The eggs were hard. She tipped the entire contents of the skillet into the garbage and tossed the skillet into the sink. 

"What's the matter with you?" 

"What's the matter with me? What the hell is the matter with you, Rob? Why are you acting this way?"

Rob took another swig of his drink, finishing it off. "Nothing is wrong with me, Lucy. I'm just tired."

"You're always tired," she shot back at him. "Maybe you need to drink less. Maybe you need to go back to the doctors." Her eyes opened wider. "Did you ever find out about your labs?"

"Jesus Christ!" he exploded. "Would you get off my back?"

She stared at him in silence, her eyes wide in her face. For a split-second, Rob thought she was going to cry. But suddenly, she stiffened her composure. Grabbing her small purse, she walked out of the apartment, slamming the door so hard that a picture fell from the wall, the glass splintering into tiny pieces on the floor.

"Shit," Rob swore to himself. Now he'd gone and done it. He was going to ask her to explain the contracts to him. Now he didn't know how he was going to get her to come back.

Rob poured another drink and left the kitchen, grabbing his guitar on his way to the couch. He sat down, placed his drink on the coffee table, and fit the guitar into his lap. He sat quietly for a moment, listening to the music inside his head.

He strummed a few chords, humming to himself. Gradually the song started taking shape.

He tried to let the song block out the way he had treated Lucy. He had no idea why he'd been so nasty. He hadn't meant to. For some reason, he felt upset and confused all the way home from Brown's office. He carried the "waiting for the other shoe to drop" feeling in his guts. After enduring that uneasiness all the way home, he started to feel angry. Angry enough to take it out on the only person that was putting up with his shit.

The song started to slip away with his thoughts. He tried desperately to hang onto it, but it was no use. It was fading, and thoughts of Lucy were taking over.

"Fuck!" he shouted angrily to the empty room.

Rising from the couch, he grabbed his glass, intent on making another drink.  "Goddammit!" he swore again, throwing his glass against the wall. It shattered, hurling shards and small pieces all over the kitchen. He headed to the kitchen when his anger turned to rage, and he grabbed the small kitchen table and threw it against the wall. The contracts fluttered to the tile floor. The CD crashed into the wall, breaking into two pieces. It left a hole the size of a soccer ball.

He clenched his hands and punched the wall with both fists. The pain shot up from his hands to his elbows, forcing the rage to quell. His shoulders started to tremble.

His sobs were loud in the quiet apartment. He stood there for a long time, letting the river of emotions flow over him. When at last they slowed, he left the mess in the kitchen, grabbed his jacket, and slammed out of the apartment. It was time to get blind running.

***

Rob heard nothing from Lucy over the next two days. He called her once, got her voicemail, and left a message. When she didn't call him back, he figured she was done with him. That was fine since the days after that left him no time to socialize.

When he got back home the night of his temper tantrum, he cleaned up the glass, uprighted the table, tossed the CD into the trash, and signed the contracts without reading them. Everything had already been explained. There was no reason to read them. There was only one thing at the bottom of the pages in fine print that Rob didn't read. He should have.

*In California, a contract with a minor (anyone under the age of 18) can generally be disaffirmed by the minor. A disaffirmed contract is not enforceable.

He was still seventeen, even though he felt like he had lived a lifetime in the last few months. And maybe he had. So much had happened in such a short time. He wondered when it would slow down so that his head would stop spinning.

When he woke up the next day, there was a voicemail from Brown. "Rob, it's almost noon. Need you in the studio by one. Don't forget the contracts."

Rolling swiftly from the bed, his head pounding, Rob made it to the shower, letting the icy cold water pelt his skin. He would have no time to let the water heat up. He would have no time to shave. He would be lucky to make the first bus.

He was still pulling on his jeans when his phone rang. He grabbed it off the bed and answered it. It was Lucy.

"Are you calmed down now?" she asked smartly.

He was already out of breath and out of time. "Can we talk later, Lucy? I'm late."

"Late for what?"

"I have to be in the studio by one." He finally got his jeans pulled up. He placed the phone under his chin to zip them up.

"But it's already twelve-thirty."

"Hang on," he said, laying the phone down on the bed and pulling a shirt over his head. When he picked the phone back up, she was still talking. "I know, I know," he answered her even though he had no idea what she was saying.

"What do you mean, 'I know, I know.' I just told you."

Fuck. What did he miss? "Sorry, Luce, but I'm trying to get dressed." He didn't want to take the chance of pissing her off again.

"I said," she responded. "That I will be there in five minutes. I'll be outside in the car. Just get your ass out there. I'm going to drive you.

"Thanks, Lucy. I'll love you forever." But she had already hung up.

* *  *

“Look, Luce,” he started to apologize as he got into the car and buckled the seat belt.

“Don’t, Rob,” she said without looking at him. She put the car in gear and, checking her mirrors, proceeded out into traffic before he had a chance to shut the car door.

He grabbed the car door handle and yanked the door shut. He damn near fell out into the road. What the fuck? Instead, he kept quiet. She was still pissed. He couldn’t blame her. But he needed to tell her he was sorry.

“I’m really sorry, Luce,” he said. “I don’t know what's…”

“Didn’t I just say ‘don’t’?” Her voice was full of anger. “I don’t want to hear your apology. You’re only doing it to make yourself feel better. You don’t really mean it, or you would stop being an asshole.”

“Then why did you bother calling?”

She shrugged as she turned a corner without slowing down.

He gripped the handle tighter. “Can you at least slow down?”

“Can’t. You’re out of time.”

“I’d rather be late than dead,” he mumbled under his breath.

***

They arrived in one piece at the studio, Rob made no move to get out of the car.

“Well?” Lucy asked, “What are you waiting for?”

“I want you to go in with me.”

Her brow drew together as she scrutinized him. “I don’t know if they’ll let me.”

“They will. They’ll have to. You’re going to be my wife.”

She rubbed her forehead and chuckled. “Not that again.”

“Yes, that again. You’re good for me, Luce. I need you.”

“You need me. But you don’t love me.”

“You can’t say that!”

“But you’ve never said it.”

“I do love you, Luce,” he insisted. “I’m just not one to show it. I’ve been that way all my life.”

“That’s comforting to know.”

“Hey, you’re not so great at it either.”

She laughed. “Got me there.”

“Can we at least talk about it?”

“I think you need to get inside.”

“Come with me,” he said adamantly, turning to face her. “Please.” He drew in a long breath and held it for a moment.

She gave him half a smile. “If you insist.”

He released the breath he was holding. “I do,” he said, then he chuckled. “I guess I’ll need to practice that.”

She laughed. “You’re an idiot.”

***

The musicians were late. The session they played in a different studio ran into overtime. Rob was relieved. They made it to the studio at ten minutes after one, then Rob added another ten minutes to that in the car with Lucy.

When Rob entered the building, Brown didn’t seem surprised that he was late.  It was when Lucy entered behind Rob that the surprise showed plainly on his face.

“And what have we here?” he asked, his face brightening.

“Mr...er...Larry, I want you to meet Lucy Greene. Luce, this is Larry Brown, my owner.”

Brown laughed heartily. “That’s as good a title as any, I guess.” He grasped Lucy’s hand in his. “It’s nice to meet you, Lucy. And how do you know our Rob?”

Before Lucy could answer with a remark that would embarrass him, Rob spoke up quickly. “Lucy’s my girlfriend, Larry. I plan on marrying this girl.”

Brown’s eyes narrowed for a brief second. Rob could have sworn that anger had flashed across his face, but he couldn’t be sure. He wondered if he was just paranoid again.

“Marriage, hm? Now that’s a big step.” Brown said, then turned quickly toward the door when it opened, and the studio musicians poured into the room.

***

Brown settled Rob inside a soundproof glass cubicle. He explained to Rob how to use the microphone and the headphones, the latter he would use to listen to the musicians. Once the track was recorded, Rob would use the headphones to put down the vocals. At that point, the musicians would be excused since they were paid by the hour.

Rob was nervous. His palms were sweaty.

He needed to fight the anxiety attack that was trying to gain on him.

His eyes searched the room. They found Lucy in the control booth next to Brown and the engineer. She was smiling and she blew him a kiss. He took several deep breaths to calm himself and placed the earphones on his head.

Rob managed to cut the first song without any problems, or so he thought. He heard the click of the control booth microphone in his ears, and Brown’s voice came through.

“You’re rushing it, Rob. I know you’re nervous, but you need to slow it down just a bit. If you have a valium, take it.”

“I don’t have any,” Rob’s face flamed with embarrassment at Brown’s words. He was so glad the musicians left earlier.

Brown clicked off the microphone and the door to the control booth opened. He stepped out. He had a hand in his pocket. Stepping up to Rob, Brown pulled out a small bottle and opened it. He shook a little blue pill out onto his palm and handed it to Rob. “Take this,” he said. “It will help you to relax.”

“I don’t take drugs, Mr.---Larry,” Rob confessed. “The strongest thing I’ve ever taken was Tylenol, and that was to get rid of a hangover.”

Brown grasped Rob’s hand and put the pill in it. “You might want to consider giving up the booze. It will age you. Take this. It’s not an illegal drug. It’s a prescription medication. I take it all the time. This business is hard on the nerves.”

Rob inhaled sharply and popped the pill into his mouth. He opened the cap on the water bottle he kept on hand and took a long drink.

“There you go,” Brown patted him on the back. “That will help. We’ll get you to a doctor to get your own prescription soon. Now, let’s get back to work.”

“Thanks, Larry,” Rob said. “You’re a big help to me.”

Brown nodded. “You’re new at this, Rob. And you’re very talented. I would hate to see you fail.” He turned back toward the control booth, then turned back to Rob. “By the way, I need you to come by the office around ten tomorrow morning. Can you make it?”

“Sure.”

“And come alone, please, Rob.”

Rob felt the rock in his stomach churn.

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