Chapter Thirty-Three -- I'm Making My Own Rules, I'm Choosing My Own Muse
"Is it my imagination, or have you gotten better since I last heard you sing?" August asked while handing him a cup of coffee.
Rusty had been busy checking out her place while she got busy with the coffee and, so far, he had come to the conclusion that his old acquaintance was still perfectly capable of turning any space into her own. The studio was small and cozy; there were flowers in a small vase on the table, and on the wall were a few posters featuring rock'n'roll stars that must have been brought over from her old place. There was also the familiar guitar in the corner, and he remembered how he had tried his hand at plucking the strings, but never getting too far. As opposed to him, August was more than adequate at making the stringed instrument behave under her fingers. Regardless of how much he had insisted that she should pursue that hobby in a more organized fashion, she had always said 'no'. He was one to talk. He was hiding a lot more than she was.
"Yeah," he eventually replied, tearing his eyes away from the vestiges of their shared memories. "I'm actually studying with a vocal coach. Her name is Meryl May, and she's amazing."
"For real? That's so cool." She sat by his side on the sofa, folding one leg under the other and resting her head against her palm, elbow resting a mere inch away from his shoulder. "What caused the change of heart? I though your dad had said 'no', and that was that."
Rusty shrugged. "Do you really want to listen to my life story?"
"Why not? Unless you have somewhere else you need to be." She angled her head and looked at him, the shadow of a smile quirking her lips.
"Not really." He was supposed to be away all weekend, so it wouldn't hurt to hang out with August for most of the day. Also, there was the matter of postponing the inevitable, which involved getting questioned at length by Maddox and the others.
"How did it come about? You getting the vocal coach?"
"Maddox, unlike me," he said pointedly, "is gay now. He has a boyfriend, sorry, fiancé, and it was because of that guy's mom that I was forced to take lessons."
August laughed. "It sounds like the kind of story you'd go through. And? Any regrets?"
"Nah, I told you, she's awesome. I mean, she's hard on me and everything, but I like to learn from her. She's really good at what she does."
"I wasn't talking about the vocal coach." August's eyes shadowed slightly.
Rusty pursed his lips for a moment. Wasn't she full of questions now? "If you're talking about Maddox and his fiancé, which I think you're hinting at, no. What regrets? I wasn't crushing on my bestie, if that's what your pervy mind keeps telling you."
"I believe you," August said honestly. "But forgive me if I feel the need to needle you a little more. It must have come as a big surprise that your bestie, as you call him, who got an awesome ass because of fucking girls a lot, turned out to be hot for a boy."
"Well, first of all, it's not just any boy. Do you know Jonathan?"
"I have to admit that I wasn't particularly curious about him. I just got here, remember? I just read in that little gossip rag about them. Well, I was actually reading about you, and they were mentioned, Maddox and his better half."
"If you knew Jonathan, you'd understand. That guy is, I don't know, perfect or something." Rusty shrugged, growing more and more uncomfortable with this line of questioning. It wasn't because he was nurturing some unrequited love for Maddox -- that had never been so -- and the simple fact that, because of August now, he was thinking more and more in terms of that elusive word, was a clear sign that he was losing control of the narrative, so to speak.
"Ah, I see. Perfect. So not like you."
"August, what the hell do you want me to tell you? I've never crushed on Maddox. He's my bestie. My bro. And even though we measured our dicks once, that didn't mean anything."
August let out a noncommittal grunt, probably only to irk him more. "What are you chasing nowadays, Rusty Parker? It's not your bestie, I get it. That's all for the better, by the way. Just as you say that you're seeing him as your bro, he must see the same when he looks at you."
"Chasing? Why should I be chasing after someone?" he asked, feeling that familiar irritation growing, when August was trying to do that whole mumbo-jumbo soul-searching crap.
"I didn't mention a person. You're the most restless guy I've ever met. You never sit still, because there's something better you haven't found yet."
"Well, if you're so keen to know," he said, "I'm actually chasing a cat boy." Dragging August away from dangerous topics that he didn't care to talk about, by using half a truth, was one way to go. "There's one at Sunny Hill. He has a tail and claws and everything. He's very sexy, too."
"Ah, I see. Where does that leave Matty? Or is it good that you don't have to chase him?"
"Matty's in it for fun, as I told you." The way he was insisting made it all sound fake to his own ears. Yeah, Matty hadn't run away from him, always game, always ready for trying out things, and it had been such a breath of fresh air, that he didn't need to endlessly hunt something down, which was exciting, but also too exhausting.
"I think you should ask him, just to check," August suggested. "It really baffles me how you don't realize how easy it might be for people to fall for you."
Rusty rolled his eyes. "That's so chick talk. I take that back. You're not like a dude. You're exactly like a chick. You see love intrigues and romance and all that crap that makes your kind get droopy eyes and all everywhere you look. It's not the same for dudes."
"Wow, defensive much?" August teased him. "Now, you've made me curious. How do you juggle the cat boy and your special friend? Do they know about each other?"
"They do," Rusty replied, feeling that he was back on solid ground. "Matty's cool with it. Slicky, I mean the cat boy, he doesn't know all but knows something."
"You have the craziest love life."
"It's not love, it's sex," Rusty argued. "Well, maybe it's sex with feels, especially where it concerns Matty, because he's an awesome friend, and I like him in his clothes, as well as out of them. And I like Slicky, too," he hurried to add. "Although I've done next to nothing with him. I can accept that he's just teasing me. It's all right."
August let out a long, drawn-out theatrical sigh. "Man, that sounds so complicated. But I supposed you've always been a bit aloof like that."
"And what's that supposed to mean? And aloof? Come on, I'm not like that. I always pay attention to whoever's in my bed. Or I in theirs."
"Yes, as far as sex goes. Take off that blindfold, Rusty. You might not like it when reality comes biting you in the ass."
Where had he heard that one before? People. He shrugged. "I have no clue what you're talking about. That's what happened with us? I was aloof and didn't care enough or something?"
There was something in the way her face rearranged itself as she said the next words that left him without a real comeback. "No, you were just a kid. That's all." August stopped for a moment, fiddling with her cup. "And I guess, in retrospect, I should've known better."
"Great. You have regrets now," he said sullenly. "For the record, I don't."
August punched him in the shoulder. "Stop being so serious. We had fun. I told you. And I won't ever regret meeting you, because, let's admit it, Rusty, you're sort of unique."
"Sort of?" he quirked an eyebrow, a bit relieved that the tension seemed to be flowing out of their conversation.
"Totally unique," August corrected herself. "I can see you eyeing the guitar. Would you like to play?"
"Nah, I haven't touched one since then," he said. "But I'd like to hear you play, though."
"Only if you sing with me," August offered.
That was good, solid ground. That was one place where Rusty was convinced he wouldn't be accused of aloofness or anything similar. And he had always loved to sing when she was playing her guitar.
***
"Zoey," Matty said. Then, louder, "Zoey!"
"What?"
"You've been rubbing my arm for like the last half an hour. I'm afraid I'm starting to get a rash or something."
"Sorry, sorry," Zoey said and pulled away her hands. "Oh, damn, Matty, what are you going to do?"
He took her small hands in his and held them. Zoey, in her own way, was just trying to comfort him, and he understood as much. "It's not the end of the world. August, because I'm sure she's the mysterious woman, is one of Rusty's old friends."
"You mean, you know her?" Zoey caught herself in time and toned down her voice so that other people didn't start eavesdropping on their conversation.
After enduring a hefty lunch and Zoey's compassionate staring, Matty knew he had to convince his bestie -- and himself -- that Rusty being seen with a woman meant absolutely nothing. "I met her once, when I was shopping for Rusty's brother's birthday present. They seemed really fond of each other, although they haven't seen each other in a long time."
"Did they fuck?"
Sometimes, Zoey's frankness was difficult to see as a positive character trait. "Yes," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible.
Zoey groaned and hung on his arm again, bent on offering some more of her comforting. "I can't believe that floozy," she moaned. "She's trying to break your home, Matty."
"It happened a long time ago. Now, they're only friends," he continued the same thin line of reasoning. "And what home, really? You know that's not how things are between Rusty and I. I can't act like a jealous boyfriend out of the blue."
"But you are a jealous boyfriend," she insisted. "Come on, Matty, you know that's how you feel. Don't hide behind this cool, level-headed persona."
"What if that's exactly who I am?" Matty shot back.
Zoey sighed. "You wish. I wish you really were, but we both know it's not how things are. Right now, you're bottling things inside, and frankly, if I were you, I'd throw some dangerous objects in Rusty's direction the first moment I saw him."
"Xpress is usually talking out of their asses," Matty pointed out. "And, in the end, what's the whole scandal all about? Rusty being seen with a woman, a woman who I know is his friend. It's really absurd to get your panties in a twist over speculations thrown about by a bunch of nitwits imagining themselves keyboard warriors. Also, really, Zoey, getting all jealous and turning into some sort of accuser would only work against me." He stopped for a moment, a little breathless after his tirade.
Zoey appeared to ponder. "You're so smart, Matty. So much smarter than me. Of course, Rusty wouldn't take well to being on the receiving end of dangerous objects and accusations. And you know what?" she said and stared at him as if she had just realized something really important. "I think that's why Rusty likes you so much. Because you're so frank and not judgmental at all. However," she added, "you need to discover if he spent the night with her."
"I'm not going to ask him. It's his business. If he volunteers the information, that's fine. Otherwise, I'm not going to grill him like the freaking FBI."
Zoey grabbed one of her knees with both hands and appeared appeased for a bit. Then, she suddenly turned toward him once more. "Should Rusty go back to chicks and forget about dicks, I think you should have someone to fall back to."
"What? Are you suggesting I become a two-timer?" Matty asked. He fiddled with his straw for a bit.
