This Song Will Save Your Life (9 page)

By the time everyone was tucked away in bed, it was twelve thirty, and I was fighting to keep my eyes open. I thought about not going out at all. But that wasn’t really an option.

At the last moment before I left the house, I went up to the attic and pulled my unicorn boots out of the garbage bag where they had lived since September. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to wear them. But I needed a little bit of magic tonight.

When I arrived at Start, Mel was standing outside, as usual.

“Hi,” I said brightly.

He frowned and looked me up and down, and I felt my heart sink. Was he going to ask again for my ID?

But all Mel said was, “Elise, honey. Did we or did we not already discuss fixing up and looking sharp?”

I tugged my hair elastic out of my ponytail and shook my hair out so it fell into tangled waves down my shoulders. “Better?” I asked.

Mel rolled his eyes. “Here we put in all this effort to provide you with a life-changing experience, week after week, and you can’t even put in the effort to change out of your Old Navy henley shirt? Come on. Meet me halfway.”

I kicked my foot out so that he could see it under the door light. “Unicorns?” I said.

Mel nodded slowly. “You look like a five-year-old, but at least you’re trying.” He opened the door for me.

“How’s it going tonight, by the way?” I asked, in what was meant to be a friendly way.

Mel rolled his eyes. “It’s a shitshow.”

I saw what Mel meant as soon as I found Vicky, hovering near the bar. “Thank God you’re here,” she said, grabbing both my arms.

“I know.” I laughed. “I feel the same way.”

“No, I mean, I
need
you.”

“That,” I said, “is amazing to me.” I looked around. “Where’s Pippa?”

“Where do you
think
Pippa is?” Vicky asked.

“Uh, I have no idea. With Char?”

“Char!” Vicky hooted like this was the most ridiculous idea ever. “Please. Pippa is there.” She jerked her thumb to point across the room, and when the lights flashed, I could see Pippa’s tiny figure crumpled on a bench against the wall.

“Is she asleep?” I asked.

“That would be fantastic,” Vicky replied. “If Pippa were asleep in the corner of Start, that would honestly be ideal. I dream of that day.”

“Vicky—” I began.

“She’s drunk,” Vicky snapped. “She passed out.”

“Oh.” I looked across the room again. I guess that made more sense; Pippa’s half-upright position didn’t seem to be that comfortable for sleeping.

I didn’t know much about drunk people. Neither Mom nor Steve drank at all. Dad usually had a six-pack of beer in the fridge, and some nights he’d have one when he got home from work, but some nights he wouldn’t. I knew that kids at my school went to parties and got drunk and sometimes passed out, because Chava and Sally talked about this a lot. But obviously I had never seen that behavior in action, since no one had ever invited me to a party.

“Shouldn’t you take her home?” I ventured.

“Absolutely.” Vicky adjusted her big feathered earrings. “A good friend would unquestionably take Pippa home right now. Actually, a good friend would have taken her home an hour ago, and would have held back her hair as she puked, and would have made her drink a big glass of water, and would have tucked her into bed, and would have sent an e-mail to her prof to explain why she won’t be in class tomorrow.”

“But you’re not doing that,” I ventured.

“Correct. Because, Elise, do you see that guy there at the bar? The one who’s paying for his drinks?”

I followed her gaze to see a guy who looked to be in his thirties, wearing a button-down shirt and big sunglasses. He was holding a soda can in one hand and a pink drink in the other.

“He is a booking agent,” Vicky went on. “He books Start, and he books rooftop parties all over town in the summer, and he books bands for two of the big clubs downtown. And he wants to talk to me about the Dirty Curtains. That’s my band. And I am not leaving here until that has happened. Do you think this makes me a bad friend, Elise?”

I shrugged. I didn’t know enough about friendship to answer Vicky’s question with any degree of expertise.

“I know how to be a good friend,” Vicky went on. “And I know how to be a good musician. I don’t always know how to be both at once.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said. “Pippa’s awake again, so I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. See?”

Vicky glanced across the room. Pippa had roused herself enough to talk to two guys. They were a lot taller than her, and she was standing up to speak with them, but she kept swaying and having to grab on to their arms to stay upright.

“Swell,” Vicky said.

The booking agent approached us then. He held out the pink beverage to Vicky, and she took it.

“Hello,” he said to me, holding out his now-empty hand to shake. “I’m Pete. Welcome to my club.”

“Elise.” I shook his hand and tried to avoid his gaze, like he would see in my eyes that I was only sixteen.

“Hey, Elise, I’m sorry to ask,” Vicky said, “but would you mind just giving us a minute?”

I smiled and moved away, but I didn’t really know where to go. I tried to dance by myself for a song or two, but it wasn’t as fun alone. I did a slow pass around the room. Char was up in the DJ booth, but he looked too busy to talk, and, anyway, I felt too shy to just go up there and start a conversation. I didn’t know how Pippa managed to do that.

Thinking of Pippa, I glanced over at her. One of the tall guys who had been talking to her now had her pressed up against the wall. He was grinding into her, holding her head upright.

I went back to the bar to find Vicky. She was with Pete still, but they’d been joined by another guy and girl, and Pete seemed busier talking to them than to Vicky. She stood a little bit apart, like she was waiting her turn.

“Vicky?” I said.

She gave me a quick smile. “Sorry to banish you earlier. I’m just trying to … I don’t know, if he would just
talk
to me…”

I shook my head. “I’m fine. It’s Pippa.”

Vicky looked over to where Pippa’s rag-doll body was stuffed between a wall and a guy groping her chest. “Shit,” she said, and in about two seconds she was across the room grabbing the guy, pulling him off of Pippa. I stayed a step behind her.

“Get your hands off of her!” Vicky screamed over the music.

The guy stepped back and Pippa sagged to the ground, unbalanced without his support.

“Whoa!” He put up his hands. “What’s your problem? She was fine with it. Right?” he said to Pippa. Pippa did not reply.

“This is not what ‘fine with it’ looks like,” Vicky retorted. “Girls who are ‘fine with it’ are able to keep their eyes open without help, and they can speak in full sentences. I guess you haven’t had much success with that kind of girl, and I can see why. You’re a pervert.”

Vicky hauled Pippa to her feet. “Help me, okay?” she said to me. Together we dragged Pippa over to the DJ booth.

“Char, I need to talk to you,” Vicky called up to him, shaking his leg.

“I’m kind of busy, Vicks,” he called back. “I’m working. Write it on a Post-it, okay?” He gestured at the pad of stickies near us.

Vicky adjusted herself so more of Pippa’s dead weight was leaning against me, and then she shouted to Char, “Put on a goddamn long song and
come talk to us
.”

Char must have been able to tell that Vicky wasn’t kidding, because he transitioned into “A Quick One, While He’s Away,” a song by the Who which is about eight and a half minutes long. He jumped down from the DJ booth. “Is everything okay?” he asked us.

Vicky shook Pippa’s body at him. “Does everything
look
okay?”

Pippa’s eyes fluttered. “Chaaaaarrr,” she slurred. “I ffffancy you.”

“You should take her home,” he told Vicky.

“I have brought her home so many times,” Vicky said. “I just want this one shot, Char.”

“You’re talking to Pete?” Char asked.

“I was. Until this happened. Will you take her?”

“No way,” Char said. “I’m
working
. If you need to stay with Pete, just call a taxi and send her home in it.”

“Great idea,” Vicky said sarcastically. “Last time I did that, she paid the taxi driver three hundred dollars in cash and passed out in her elevator. Someone needs to go with her, and it should be you.”

“No,” Char said.

“It should be you,” Vicky repeated. “Don’t act dumb; it doesn’t suit you. She wouldn’t be like this right now if it weren’t for you.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally Char sighed and said, “You know I’d take her, Vicky. But I have to DJ until two o’clock. What do you want me to do, just throw on a mix CD and walk out the door? This is my
job
. And of all nights, Pete’s here. How fast do you think I’d get dropped if he saw me just put my iTunes on shuffle and take off?”

“I could DJ,” I offered.

They both looked at me.

“Thanks, Elise,” Char said, running his hand through his hair, “but you don’t … I mean, you did a great job playing that one song last week, but that doesn’t mean you can DJ an entire party for an hour, or however long it takes me to get Pippa home and get back here.”

“I can do it,” I said again. I felt my heart slamming against my chest. “I got turntables and everything. I’ve been practicing.”

“Come on, Char,” Vicky said. “She’ll be fine. Start can handle itself for an hour. Pippa cannot.”

Char kept shaking his head.

“Remember how you believe in me?” I said.

“Fine,” he said. “Get up there. When this song is over, transition out of this and into something else. If you can do that, then
maybe
I will accompany Pippa home.”

“No problem,” I said. I climbed up into the DJ booth, which felt so much farther from the ground than it had last week. I could feel Char’s eyes on me.
Focus, Elise.

I lightly touched the dials and the knobs on Char’s mixer, acquainting myself with each of them. I brushed my hand against the turntables. I looked at the computer. A minute and a half left of “A Quick One, While He’s Away.” A minute and a half to cue up the next song.

I had practiced this for three nights in my bedroom. That’s not a lot of practice. Char had been doing this for years. Still, I’m not precocious for nothing. As “A Quick One, While He’s Away” came to an end, I crossfaded into “It’s the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine).” Suddenly everyone in the room was pogoing up and down and speeding through the lyrics as one.

“See?” I called down to Char, trying to catch my breath.

He heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He gave me a look that clearly said
Don’t screw this up,
then put an arm around Pippa’s narrow shoulders and guided her out of the room.

“Yes!” Vicky pumped her arm. She turned to go back to the bar, but then she looked back to ask me, “Are you actually okay up there?”

“Um…” I was scrolling through Char’s song list as fast as I could. “Hard to say.”

Vicky nodded, gave me a little salute, and went back to find Pete.

Time from there passed not in minutes, but in songs. I didn’t look up from the DJ equipment once, and I barely ever took off Char’s enormous headphones. I didn’t think about Char, or Vicky, or Pippa, or Amelia, or Lizzie—I thought only one song to the next.

Fifteen, twenty songs later, I felt a hand on my back. I spun around to see Char. “You’re back,” I said.

I took off the headphones and held them out to him, but he waved his hand. “You might as well finish up,” he said.

I rubbed my eyes. “Finish up? What time is it?”

“Nearly two.”

I didn’t know what answer I had been expecting. I had lost track of the night a long time ago. I played a couple more songs, all the while aware of Char standing right behind me. At five minutes to two o’clock, I put on “Wonderwall” and I took off the headphones and set them down on the table. I leaned against the railing and massaged a crick in my neck.

“Shall we dance?” Char asked me.

I shook my head. “I’m tired.”

“That’s not a good reason.” He held out his hand.

I took it, and we climbed down from the booth. We danced together, but it wasn’t like dancing to “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.” Less fancy footwork, more swaying. The song was slower, the night was almost over. Around us I saw people gathering up their jackets and bags. Char grabbed both my hands and leaned back, and we spun around and around until I could see nothing but Char’s face framed against a blur of colors.

When the song ended, the lights came up on a mostly empty room. The few people left were finishing up their drinks and moving toward the door. Char let go of my hands and went back to the DJ booth to pack up his equipment.

“If you can wait a few minutes, I’ll give you a ride home,” he said to me.

I could have walked, but I had to wake up for school in four and a half hours, and it had been a very long day. I slumped on a bench, pulled my knees up to my chest, and watched Char. In the full light, he looked paler than I had expected. Paler and plainer. I probably looked paler and plainer in the light, too.

I looked around for Vicky but didn’t see her anywhere. An Irish goodbye, no doubt. I just saw the bartenders counting money and a couple still making out against a wall, until Mel came in and shooed them out the door.

“Ready?” Char asked. His equipment was packed in a big messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

We walked out of the lights of the club and down the moonlit, empty street until we reached his car. It was small, almost too small for Char to fit his long legs into.

“Where to?” he asked, starting the motor.

“Harrison and President. I’ll direct you.” We drove down the street in silence for a moment. “How’s Pippa?” I asked at last.

“She’ll live.”

I watched the shadows flashing across his face as he watched the road. “Why did Vicky say that Pippa wouldn’t be like this right now if it weren’t for you?”

“Because Vicky likes to blame other people for her best friend’s drinking problem.”

“Seriously, Char.”

“Oh, you were asking
seriously
? Well, in that case, there is a possibility that Pippa might be … mad at me.”