Oreos for Breakfast

Oreos For Breakfast: Chapter 36
By the Paperbag Princess and Pumpkin Coach

“What do you mean, regrets?” A familiar voice asked, and I checked caller ID again. The only reason I picked it up was because it wasn’t a New York area code. I knew I was running late for the meeting with the Amber at our record label, but calling and yelling at me wouldn’t make stupid New York traffic move any faster.

“I mean I’m really sorry I can’t come to your wedding, AJ.” I said, wondering why I hadn’t just hopped on the subway at Columbus Circle. Because it was cold in New York and I’d become lazy, that’s why.

“Then come!” AJ demanded and I heard Sarah in the background and then his voice was quieter. “I mean, unless you’re having major surgery or something… you’re not sick are you?”

I just laughed into the phone and he was back to normal AJ, “Then I expect you there!”

I glanced at the cab driver. He looked more interested in yelling at the bike messenger who almost ended up slamming into his windshield than my conversation. Besides I wasn’t entirely sure he spoke English. I probably wouldn’t see this conversation recounted in the gossip pages tomorrow.

“Is Nick coming?” I lowered my voice anyway.

“He’s in the wedding, so he’d better fucking come. Not that anyone has heard from him lately. But, yeah, he’s coming. Or I’ll break his neck.”

“My point exactly, Aje.” Why were men so obtuse? Did he really think I wanted to be anywhere with Nick right now, let alone a wedding?

“But… I’ll tell him he can’t bring the hotel princess. They’ll be over by Valentine’s Day anyway.”

“That’s not it, Aje, although I appreciate the thought. But I can’t, sweetie. I’m sorry. Besides, I have a gig that night.”

“You’re touring already?”

“No. It’s a charity thing, me and Shirley Manson. We’re raising money for an after-school girls’ program here in New York. Keep ‘em off the street and teach ‘em how to make music and be productive members of society, that sort of thing.”

It was just a bonus that it was on Valentine’s Day and it would give me a good excuse for missing AJ’s wedding. Not that I wanted to miss it, necessarily. But it meant going to LA and seeing Nick and… no, I wasn’t strong enough for that. Especially given my New Year’s resolution to abstain from sex until it mattered. Did being horny as fuck after less than a week count as “mattering”? I’d have to get James to help me clarify my own New Year’s resolution rules.

I smiled, remembering the phone call I’d gotten yesterday from the charity. The program director at the charity was first shocked that she’d gotten me on the phone instead of Lola, and then bowled over when I’d said yes so quickly.

It would be fun. Shirley was in, but Gwen had commitments. She was quickly supplanting Justin as the queen of all media.

I had to say yes. The woman had gotten my contact information from Ben. We might have broken up, but I couldn’t say no and then be the bitch that couldn’t do a favor for a friend of his mother’s.

“You and Shirley Manson?” AJ said, letting out of low wolf whistle at the end.

“Gwen couldn’t make it, so they’re stuck with me and Shirley.”

“Shit. I might cancel the wedding to be there for that show. Sarah! The wedding’s off!”

I laughed. “You saw the three of us do an ex-girlfriends set when we were in LA, remember?” AJ might have had the best reaction to that set of anyone I knew. He literally bowed down to us backstage, thanking us for making his life complete. He was so silly sometimes.

“That was like three songs. I feel like this will be better. No, seriously, baby, we need to go to New York and see Rachel and Shirley Manson.”

I could hear Sarah in the background. “Cool,” she said. “We’ll just get married the next weekend.”

“See why I love this woman?” AJ asked. “She’s as obsessed with you as I am.”

“You’re both crazy. I’ll be in LA in March. I’ll stop by and give you your wedding present then. I gotta go, Aje, meeting with the record company. They’re passing approval on the new album.”

“It’s fantastic, I know it is,” he said and I wished I could have a tenth of his confidence. I didn’t have a good feeling about this meeting at all. Sophomore album jitters. Well, not that it was our second album, but EMI seemed to think it was. “Look, I’ll be in New York in a couple of weeks to catch Kevin in ‘Chicago.’ We’ll have dinner or something.”

“Great. I should be around. Talk to you soon. Love to Sarah and the doggies,” I fake kissed into the phone as the cab driver stopped and I pulled the largest bill out of my wallet for him. He’d gotten me here on time and I could use the karma points.

“Go and slay the stupid record company.”

“ Honey, we’re home!” I called out as James and I walked into JC’s apartment. Darien and Jeremy had gone off with their girls, and James and I had come home to our significant other. It was probably bad that I’d spent most of the last few days glomming on to James and JC’s relationship. But they didn’t seem to mind.

“Good, dinner just got here,” JC said, motioning to the Chinese food containers all over the kitchen counter. “How did it go with the record company? Did you spend all afternoon talking about how you’re going to knock Justin off the charts?”

“No,” James said, kissing his boyfriend as I started opening containers. There had better be some pork lo mein in here or I was going to have to question James about his taste in men.

“No?’ JC repeated, once James let him up for air. “What do you mean, ‘no’? The album is great.”

“They say it’s schizophrenic,” I said, rejecting the beef with peppers. I hated green peppers. JC needed to learn these things about me if we were going to spend the rest of our lives in a dysfunctional three-person marriage where I never got laid and the boys never got to hold hands in public. I mean, if was going to be their beard, I should at least get some pork lo mein out of the deal.

“That’s a good name for an album,” JC said, and we both looked at him. “Schizophrenic.”

“No, it’s not!” James said, handing me the pork lo mein. “Because they meant multiple personality disorder, because it’s too much each of us wrote a song, rather than all four of us writing all the songs.”

“Isn’t that schizophrenic?” JC asked, handing me a fork. I wasn’t good enough with chopsticks for lo mein.

“No,” James and I both answered. JC started to argue and James shook his head. “Psych 101. College education trumps the Mickey Mouse Club.”

“Still a good name for an album,” JC muttered, picking up the beef with peppers.

“You can have it, sweetie,” James said, getting plates out of the cabinet. Oh. We were eating off plates? I put down my lo mein. “And we’ll see if the American Psychological Association gets on your ass.”

JC pouted at him. “Bet they won’t.”

“Whatever,” James said, balancing some containers on the stack of plates and leading the way towards the table. “Regardless of the meaning of schizophrenic -- which is, I assure you, a mental disorder characterized by hallucinations and delusions of grandeur, not multiple personalities…”

“He’s been doing this all afternoon,” I whispered to JC, as I passed him to pull some beers out of the fridge.

“I’m so calling my album ‘Schizophrenic,’” he said, gathering the rest of the containers off the counter.

“You do that, baby,” I said, following him to the table, where James was still complaining about the record company.

“Stop ranting and tell me what they said,” JC instructed us, sitting down.

I handed the beers to the boys. “Pretty much what James said. The songs aren’t enough Sudden Silence. I blame you, James. How dare you go and write such a good song that none of us could fix it?”

He scowled at me. “I blame Jeremy and “Slow Dancing”. At least we all got a shot at “Nice.” Darien can play well with others.”

“It’s a good album!” JC interrupted. “It is Sudden Silence, where you are now.”

“That’s what we said,” I told him. “They didn’t really care. They liked “Nice” and not much else. Amber actually told me they needed more heartbreak songs from me.” I scowled at my egg roll. Using my broken heart to sell records made me feel dirty.

“So what do you do now?”

I shrugged. “We told them that’s what they’re getting. They said they can’t sell it. I think we fight for a while.”

“Suck,” JC said, and we all nodded. What else could we say?

Disclaimer | Sudden Silence Website
Feedback to Authors | Tragical Fiction (home)

Subscribe to receive an email when this site is updated!

Powered by groups.yahoo.com