“I’m fine,” Carver said, holding up a hand which instantly stilled his father. “I don’t mind standing.”
He genuinely didn’t seem to. It was the rest of them (besides Lillian) who looked uncomfortable. Carver seemed to enjoy this on some level; he was standingatthem.
Scott would have found this funny if it didn’t make him sad. He knew these little acts of passive aggression were raised from a deep well of anger.
He grabbed a Danish from the tray of pastries, then walked to the end of the island and cleared his throat. “What time are you guys heading over?”
“Not ‘til about three,” Nora said. “The ceremony starts at four.”
“Gotcha. I’m supposed to get there around one, I think.”
“Do you need a ride?” Nora said. “One of us could run you over and come back. Carver?”
“No,” Scott said too quickly, “I’m good, thanks, the bassist is gonna grab me on his way.”
“Oh, perfect.”
Scott shot one last glance at Carver. He was studiously not looking at anyone or anything, instead staring over everyone’s heads through the window which overlooked the backyard. Scott wondered if the lust he felt was shared, or if Carver was over it and so deep in shame that he just hoped Scott would vanish. It was impossible to tell by looking at him. His face had the smooth, polished restraint of Neoclassical sculpture.
“Anyway,” Scott said, “I’m gonna go over the setlist one more time, get ready…”
“Sounds good,” Nora said. “I’m sure we’ll see you before the ceremony, but if not, good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s ‘break a leg’ for performers, Mom,” Conway said as Scott walked away toward the patio door. “You gotta tell him to break his leg.”
“Break your leg, Scotty boy,” Chip shouted after him.
Scott gave him the hang loose sign without turning around. On his way out, the golden retriever got out of its bed to come nose his hand, and he stroked its head for a moment before continuing on.
Johnny picked Scott up in his Honda Accord at 12:55, rolling to a stop in the street outside the Novacks’ instead of pulling into their driveway, idling in a stretch of leaf-dappled light. Scott took long strides over to him and tossed his gear in the back with the efficiency of an Uber driver, eager to get the hell off the property.
“What’s up, brother,” Johnny said, extending a hand as Scott slid into the passenger seat. “Nice monkey suit. I have mine inthe back, I wasn’t gonna drive with all that on.”
Scott dapped him up, then moved his seat back so he could stretch his legs out. The rented tux was a little short on his thighs, and when he sat down he felt claustrophobia of the nuts. “Thanks again for doing this.”
“No problem. I owed you, and you said open bar and good-looking women… no problem at all.” Johnny yawned and turned down his music, which was a Soundgarden song Scott couldn’t remember the name of. “By the way, I can’t believe you’re from here. I was driving through, like, there’s no way.”
Scott laughed. “I feel the same way.”
“When I met you, I assumed you were from the city too. Jersey at the very least.”
“Yeah? Good.”
“Is it pretty white here?” Johnny said. “I felt like people were scoping me out while I was pumping gas.”
“There’s definitely Asian people, but yeah, not that many black people.”
Johnny grinned. “So I’m only half out of place.” Without taking his eyes off the road, he flicked open the car’s cigarette lighter and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. “You want one?”
“I’m good, I need to rest my voice. I drank and smoked last night.”
“You’ll be fine, you have those big choir lungs, you’ll just get a good rasp going.” Johnny brought the cigarette to his mouth and took a deep drag. On their right, the yacht club and marina flashed by. “I have a feeling we’re gonna clean up tonight.”
It was actually astonishing, maybe even concerning, how little interest Scott currently had in hooking up with a random woman. “Ha,” he said. “Yeah.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t get Wes for this gig, he’s always after the rich girl pussy.”
