Rhythm in Blue Read online

  “Wow, they need to work on the ventilation in this place,” Randy said. Rick hated the smell of the room too, but could live with it. The first drag of a cigarette after the accident was just as repulsive, but he overcame his distaste after only a few cigarettes.

  Randy spun him around and headed back out the door. “What the hell? What are you doing?”

  “We’re on the main floor, why don’t we just go outside? It’s beautiful out.” Rick hadn’t been outside since the accident, in fact, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, but now that the prospect of fresh air was an option, he couldn’t wait to reach the door. When they found the exit, Rick kicked the door open with his un-casted foot as Randy pushed him through.

  He felt like a kid getting out of school for summer vacation when he burst through the door. As the sunshine hit his face, warmth spread throughout his body, and he realized he hadn’t felt truly warm since he’d first woken up in the hospital. Rick breathed deeply, letting the invigorating, spring breeze penetrate his lungs. The scent of the flower garden’s early blooms infused the air.

  Randy pushed him to a bench by a fountain, set the brake on the chair, and took a seat. He lit them both a cigarette, and handing Rick his, said “Now, isn’t this better than that stinking, fucking, smoking room?”

  “Much,” Rick agreed. “I don’t know why I haven’t been out here before. I guess I just go where Erin takes me.”

  “Well, you know she hates that you smoke, so I’m sure she just wants you to suffer. Probably figures it serves you right.”

  Rick laughed at the thought of Erin punishing him by making him suffer the smoker’s lounge. He took a deep drag off the cigarette, determined not to cough and choke in front of Randy. “Okay, so tell me about Elijah.”

  “Well, he’s really loud, likes to scream at everything. He’s very pink, but you should see his eyes. When you look at his eyes, it’s like you’re looking at Devon. It’s really weird.”

  Rick chuckled at the thought of Devon’s eyes on a baby. “What’s he like with the baby?”

  “He is so funny. When I held him, Devon hovered over me the entire time. ‘Don’t hold him like that!’ ‘You gotta support his head!’ He followed me the whole time and kept his hands under the kid, like I was gonna drop him or something.” Rick could picture the scene in his head, and he knew that if any of them were to drop a baby, it would be Randy.

  “He gets to take them home tomorrow.”

  “Too bad they didn’t have him in this hospital. It sure would have been handier,” Rick said. “How’s Julia?”

  “She’s okay, looks really tired, but she’s okay.”

  “And when does Morgan get here?”

  “She flies in day after tomorrow.”

  “How long is she staying?”

  “I don’t know, we’re gonna play it by ear, I guess.”

  “I’m curious to see what she finds to paint around here.”

  “I told her to bring lots of postcards to keep her busy – not the same kind of picturesque scenery here as she’s used to.” Randy had a fancy apartment in the city, and while the view from his eighteenth floor windows was spectacular at night, Rick couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to paint it, but Morgan was odd that way.

  “It’ll be nice to see her, and I’m happy for you. I really hope you guys have a lot of fun while she’s here. Who knows, maybe the two of you will make me an uncle again.”

  Randy laughed, “Yeah, I don’t think so. Can you picture me with a kid? No, I don’t think so.”

  “Ya never know.” Rick’s attention had wandered to two nurses who passed by, giggling, and glancing nervously in their direction. The two stopped, and Rick heard one of them say to the other, “Just do it!”

  The shorter of the two cautiously approached, and they stared at her expectantly. Finally, she blurted, “Can we get your autographs?” The other nurse stood by, squirming as though she had to pee.

  “Sure,” Randy answered. “Do you have a pen?”

  “Uh huh,” the short nurse replied, pulling a pen and small note pad from her pocket. She handed them to Randy as he asked for her name. “Shelly. I’m Shelly.”

  Rick watched as Randy wrote on the pad, Shelly— you’re the best, all my love, Randy Young. He tore off the sheet and handed it to her.

  “You’ll have to wait till another time for Ricky here, he’s a cripple and can’t write.” He leaned toward them, cupped his hand around his mouth, and loudly whispered, “Broke his wing in a crash landing.” He asked the squirming nurse, “What’s your name, sugar?”

  “Robin,” she told him, so he wrote her the same note, using her name, tore it off and held it out for her. As she stepped forward and took the paper, Randy grasped her hand. “I want you girls to take real good care of my buddy here. The sooner we get him back, the better.”

  “I wish we could, but we don’t work on his floor. If he wants us to, or if he gives his permission, we can come up and check on him for you,” Robin hinted.

  “I’m sure he would love that, wouldn’t you Ricky?” Rick shot Randy a hateful look, but nodded anyway. The girls giggled again in appreciation and continued on their way.

  “Thanks a lot, man.”

  “What? Why wouldn’t you want a couple of cute nurses coming to see you? I did you a favor.”

  Rick shook his head, “Whatever you say. One more smoke then I need to go back up. I’m getting tired.”

  “Seriously,” Randy said, handing Rick a cigarette, “you need to find yourself a girlfriend, stop your whoring around. Now is the perfect time. You won’t be on the road for a long time, so you don’t have that excuse, and how lame is it that the only people who come to see you in the hospital are your three buddies, your sister, and a couple of people from the record company?”

  “Said the pot to the pan.”

  “Ya know Ricky, we’ve all done our fair share of screwing around, but you? You don’t even have any regular friends outside of us. It’s weird. I mean, I know we’re all tight, but me, Devon...even Keith, all have other people we’re close to outside of our circle. Shit, if we dropped off the face of the earth, all you’d have is Erin. Tell me that’s not weird.”

  Rick felt a sudden wave of déjà vu wash over him, one so strong that he could almost smell the fresh bread in the air.

  “When’s the last time you did something or went somewhere with someone besides us?” Randy asked, leaning forward, daring Rick to look him in the eye. Getting no reply or eye contact, Randy tried to answer for him. “Let’s see, we came back and went on the road – and I’m not counting you getting laid or after show parties –” Randy thought and finally shook his head. “I can’t even remember anything, can you?”

  “I need to go back to my room. Can we go please?” Rick threw his half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray.

  Randy stood, bent down to released the break from the chair, and pushed Rick back toward the hospital. “We just worry about you, Ricky. Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not, I’m just tired.”

  Randy took him back to his room and helped him back into bed. “I’ll bring Morgan by once she gets settled in,” he said as he left.

  Rick pushed his head back into the pillow and winced at the pain that had steadily increased since he’d asked for the second cigarette. He pushed the button for the nurse, not sure which was more bothersome, the pain in his body or the loneliness, of which Randy had so kindly reminded him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rick heard the familiar, eerie laugh nearing his room and quickly prepared himself to see Morgan. He made the decision after Randy’s confrontation to no longer allow himself to dwell on his misdeeds with Shelby, or to pine after her like some lovelorn teenager. For too many months, Rick granted his imagination free license to daydream and fantasize about her, even pretending that the women he was with were her.

  One encounter in particular stuck in his head. After a show in California, Rick found himself in bed with a pretty, young
strawberry-blond woman who appeared to have an innocence about her reminiscent of Shelby. When he kissed and touched her, he imagined she was Shelby. He spread her legs, as he had with Shelby, and whispered, “I’ll be gentle.”

  The woman gave a wicked laugh, and said, “Baby, I don’t want gentle, I want you to fuck me hard!” Rick stopped, rolled away, and turned his back, his erection quickly shrinking.

  “I think you’d better just go,” he told her.

  After some futile prodding, she quickly dressed, and demanded, “What the fuck is your problem?” He had no reply. He was afraid of the answer, afraid maybe he’d allowed himself to turn into some kind of freak, and he was glad that no one could see how crazy he felt.

  His decision to move on was ill timed, he knew, because of Morgan’s impending visit, and because he had all the time in the world to lie around daydreaming, and the approaching laugh quickly undid much of the progress he’d made.

  “There she is,” he greeted Morgan as she entered the room.

  “Look at you – oh my God, you poor thing!” Morgan approached his bed and gingerly hugged him, as though her touch might further injure him.

  “That’s nothin’,” Randy said, “You should have seen him a few weeks ago. He looks much better now.”

  Rick studied Morgan carefully as she described her journey from Paros to the States, and found not much remained of her likeness to Shelby. She had cut her hair, and it no longer fell in her eyes. The way she moved, smiled and spoke no longer imitated Shelby. He had to wonder if Morgan was finally being herself, or if she’d found someone else to emulate. Only the false sounding laugh remained.

  “Randy tells me you’ll be going home soon?” she asked

  “Yeah, as long as I have someone there to help me, they’ll let me go in a couple more days. Erin’s gonna stick around to help me out, but I’ll still have to come in for physical therapy a few times a week.”

  “Can you even get around your house with a wheelchair?”

  “I can, but the casts will come off soon, so hopefully I’ll be able to get around with just a cane.”

  “I’m just glad you didn’t have to have surgery,” said Randy.

  “Well, it’s not completely out of the question, but I’m making good progress.”

  “Where is Erin?” Randy asked, suddenly looking around the room, as though she might be hiding in a corner somewhere.

  “She went to the store. My cupboards are pretty bare at home, and she thought some supplies might be a good idea.”

  They spent some time catching up, and Morgan detailed her thoughts on America and the vastness of the country, until Maggie, the day nurse, poked her head in the door.

  “Ricky? I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s time for your therapy session.” Maggie opened the door further and pushed the wheelchair into the room. Rick was glad for the interruption, and chuckled to himself as he remembered Shelby saying that a little bit of Morgan went a long way.

  “Okay then, I guess we’ll head out and let you get to work,” Randy said, returning his chair to its spot along the wall. “Probably won’t see you again ‘till you’re back home, we’re spending the next couple of days in the studio. Still haven’t been able to get Back Of My Mind down the way we want it.”

  “And how is my good friend Todd?” Rick asked with a chuckle.

  Randy shook his head and muttered, “You’re a prick, ya know that?”

  “Yep.” Rick laughed as Morgan gave him another hug and said goodbye.

  ~

  After Maggie left him in the physical therapy room, Rick sat by the door, waiting for his therapist, to come get him. With his arm and leg in a cast, he was completely dependent on others to move him around. He could see the guy in his office on the phone, and experience told him that he would probably have a long wait.

  From some unseen source, Rick could hear Misunderstanding playing softly. A smile crept to his lips and warmth spread through his body. Vividly, he remembered an intense discussion he and Shelby had one evening while sitting by the windmill at the top of the Paralia. From there, they could look down on the brightly lit waterfront and bay. The spot was one they frequented, as it was away from the crowds and anyone who might report having seen them together. He was afraid Shelby might miss the nightlife and dancing of the clubs, but instead, she seemed content just to be in his company.

  It began as a disagreement over whether or not Genesis was better off with or without Peter Gabriel. Shelby argued that they became a different band with Phil Collins at the helm, and that what they lost cost them most of their fan base. Phil Collins, Rick maintained, was the only way the band could ever have had any real commercial success, and therefore, have a bigger impact as a musical group. His theory really set her off, and she paced around him in circles arguing her point.

  Rick really didn’t care either way, he wasn’t especially fond of Phil, but he loved the way Shelby so passionately tried to win the argument and defend Peter. To every point he made, she had a counter. She kept her focus and never got lost in her argument, no matter what direction he tried to lead her. To Rick, it was a game, and he didn’t care who won, he was just happy to play.

  The distant lights made her face glow, and the more excited she became, the more her face radiated. Her arms danced around her body, the intensity of her cause inviting every part of her to join in to help make her points. He had watched in amazement, fascinated by her passion.

  When at last Rick convinced her to agree to disagree, they sat, watching the harbor and all the night’s activity below. Their conversation was lighter, but Rick’s pulse still raced from the excitement of the demonstration. That was the feeling he missed, the feeling he feared he might never have again. He knew that night for sure, that night, his soul embraced hers, and he knew that nothing in the world would ever make him feel so complete and content.

  Sitting now in his chair, waiting for the therapist to get off the phone, his smile quickly faded into an expression of loss, as once again, the happy memory turned to the dismal one of the last time he’d seen her. He wondered how anyone could ever put something that cut so deeply behind them. Remaining a freak was probably easier than the impossible task of forgetting.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hobbling past the living room, Rick quietly made his way to the den. Erin and Morgan were camped in the living room watching some old movie. Sick of crap TV and of Erin’s hovering, Rick hoped to pass by unobserved. When he reached his destination, he quietly closed the door and let out a sigh of relief. While he called it a den, it was more of a combination of an office, library, and music room.

  Looking around for any kind of occupation to put an end to his boredom, Rick spotted his old six-string guitar leaning in the corner. Carefully, he made his way to the instrument and picked it up with his newly freed, right hand. It felt heavier than he remembered, and the weight caused twinges of pain in his back and shoulder. He quickly sat down and rested the guitar on the floor. After a moment and a few deep breaths, he lifted it into his lap. He strummed the strings and chuckled at their cries for tuning. He hadn’t played it for years, having spent most of his time playing electric bass, but it felt like a perfect fit in his hands. The feel of Larry’s guitar was foreign and bulky in comparison, but this guitar felt like an extension of himself.

  When he was satisfied it was properly tuned, he started to gently strum and play. He discovered that his right hand did not move as quickly as it had in times past, so he took it slow, playing easy tunes he’d learned early on. Little by little, his dexterity improved, doing much more than any exercise from physical therapy, and he wandered away from the simple songs of his youth. A melody was singing to him from inside, and he chased after it with the strings and frets, trying to capture it from the recesses of his mind.

  His position made his back tighten and sent tendrils of pain to his brain. Erin was in charge of his pain pills, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to talk her out of another one for at least an h
our. For now, the energy brought on by his pursuit of the melody made the pain less noticeable, and he knew it would have to do.

  Occasionally, his fingers would cramp up, so he’d stop to flex them, and then continue on his quest. He hummed along. It seemed to make the sound easier to find, and gradually, words replaced the humming.

  He lost all sense of time, his focus on finding the song was so intense, and eventually, he had a beginning, middle, and an end. The emotion and the energy of the song were so strong, he didn’t need to make any notes or write down any of the lyrics. They etched themselves into his brain. He sang and played the song over and over, each time feeling more alive and energized, and each time, without realizing it, he sang more loudly. He was so fixated on the song, that he didn’t notice he had an audience until his audience began to applaud.

  Startled, he turned to find Erin and Morgan standing in the doorway.

  “Bugger, you sound as though you’ve been possessed,” Morgan said.

  “Ricky, that was beautiful. Is it one of the songs from the new album?” Erin came into the room and sat beside him on the couch.

  “No. No, it’s not. It’s just a tune I was playing with to kill some time.”

  “You had us a little worried, it was just suddenly so loud, and here I thought you were sleeping. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I feel,” he hesitated, “I feel amazing.”

  “So you’re saying you just came up with that song? It’s not one of Randy’s?” Erin asked.

  “If it was Randy’s, you’d know,” he said. “I’ll never be able to compete with him, at least not on my first try.” He winked at Erin and leaned the guitar against the side of the couch. The change in motion brought his pain back to the forefront of his mind. “Erin, can I please have a pill? It’s really starting to hurt.”