“Paul?” Joel knocked lightly on the back room door of their tour bus en route to Orlando, Benji and Billy still snoozing after their late clubbing night, their arms flailing out of the royal blue bunk curtains like pliable doll arms.
“Yeah?” Paul replied, his eyebrows furrowed with concentration, trying to get down this difficult cord he was working on, Joel strolling in cautiously.
“Whatcha doing?” Joel asked childlike, holding his hands behind his back and rocking anxiously on the heels of his old school checkered vans.
“Playing,” Paul simply responded, stretching out the cramps in his fingers, leaving his black base on the lap of his black dickies.
“Do you wanna go get brunch with me when we get to Orlando?” Joel asked, sitting on the edge of the tan couch, sunlight splashing on his face.
“Ummm,” Paul replied, internally frustrated with his damn fingers, “Sure. Sounds good.” Joel continued to sit there, his face drawn down with sadness. Paul glanced over, thinking Joel swiftly left the room, and took note of his upset face. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”
“It should wait until brunch,” Joel dissuaded Paul, shaking his head, then leaning forward to whisper in Paul’s ear, “I don’t want Benji to overhear and get upset.”
Paul stared at him questionably, this thumb inattentively gliding up and down the strings of the bass, trying to read Joel’s expression like it was some Playboy magazine. “Is this about Quinn, Joel?”
Joel didn’t respond, just abruptly got up and vacated the room, leaving Paul in discomfort until their lunch date…
~*~
Joel and Paul walked from the Hard Rock Café a few blocks to an IHOP, the sultry Florida sun beating down on them with vengeance, the rest of the pedestrians cloaked in light cottons and short shorts.
“Now this is a man’s diner,” Joel stated huskily as he perused the menu, Paul only giving off a faint laugh as his palms pressed into the blue cushion of the booth.
A tall, lanky teenaged boy named Sal was their waiter, waiting patiently for them to decide. Joel squinted his eyes and stroked his chin before he was ready. “I’ll have a Western Omelet, over easy eggs, with orange juice and an extra side of bacon, please,” Joel informed the waiter, the boy hurriedly scribbling down his order and taking Joel’s menu hurriedly underneath his arm.
“And for you, sir?” the boy asked politely in a high-pitched voice, his big blue eyes like some over exaggerated cartoon character gazing down at Paul’s menu.
“A glass of water and toast, please,” Paul responded without enthusiasm, sliding the menu over towards Sal, Joel staring at him suspiciously as Sal exited.
“You give eating out a bad name, Pauly,” Joel shunned him, picking up his knife and fork from its napkin and lightly drumming on the table.
“I’d be a little more comfortable if you’d tell me what’s going on,” Paul responded austerely, crossing his arms over the chest of his Misfit T-Shirt, Joel stopping his jamming session.
“I’m sorry,” Joel replied, placing his drumsticks neatly on his napkin. Joel took his index finger and began to draw invisible pictures on table. “I guess you haven’t heard what happened?”
“What happened, Joel?” Paul asked hurriedly, Sal bringing them their drinks and setting them noisily on the table. Paul grabbed his water and sipped at it from the straw.
Joel made a funny face, twirling his straw in his orange juice, not sure how to break it to Paul. “Matt finally surfaced. Matt showed up at Quinn’s, threatened to kill himself, then raped her in the front seat of his car,” Joel said bluntly into his orange juice, gazing up at Paul as he stopped spinning his straw in his drink.
“Oh my God,” Paul whispered, spreading his arms across the tabletop, his eyes ablaze with emotion, Paul briskly brushing away a single tear. If felt like a clump of glass was scraping against the lining of his throat, making him want to vomit. How couldn’t he see it coming? Paul felt like such a fool.
“She didn’t want to tell you,” Joel replied hastily, hoping continued conversation would stop his tears from falling, Joel touching Paul’s hand gently. “She said she knew you were right all along. I guess she thought you’d be upset.”
Paul shook his head with misconception, leaning back in the booth, his eyes staring blankly into the sunny say. “I’m upset that she hasn’t told me,” Paul informed Joel in a small voice, shoving his hands in his pants pockets, “That’s all.” Paul grew silent in reflection, Joel gulping down his orange juice to ease the unsettling air between them. “You haven’t told Benji?” Paul asked, looking back down at Joel.
“I just found out yesterday,” Joel replied glumly, scratching at the grain of wood in the table, not looking forward to breaking the news to Benji, who already is emotionally battered by Matt, “Quinn told me she had to go through that whole police mess with her mom.”
Paul couldn’t wait any longer, he needed to talk to Quinn. “Excuse me,” Pal called to Sal, who was approaching them with their meals in each hand, “Can we get those to go, please?” Joel didn’t argue…
~*~
Paul munched like a mouse on his toast back at the tour bus, locking the back room door for some privacy, as his cell phone lazily connected. After 4 rings, he heard a fatigue voice say, “Hello?”
“Quinn,” Paul replied solemnly, tapping his fingers on his knee, not knowing how he would come about the touchy subject of her rape.
“Paul,” Quinn replied, almost relieved, sitting up on the blue and white striped couch, taking the remote and pausing her video in progress. Quinn was tired of laying in this shallow depression, but too tired to pick up the phone and call Paul. Quinn was too proud to admit she was wrong.
“Listen,” Paul began uneasily, biting the inside of his lower lip, hoping what he’d say wouldn’t sound rude, “I heard…”
“It was horrifying, Paul,” Quinn suddenly burst with emotion, like she read hos thoughts, pressing her hand against her cheek and tears kissed her face, “I never felt so dirty in all my life. I showered for 2 hours and I still couldn’t get his repulsive stench, his touch off me.” Quinn grabbed her green afghan and dabbed at her cheeks with it. Her mom popped her head into the living room and mouthed ‘Are You OK?’ Quinn nodded. Sarah figured she must be talking with Paul, Paul being the only friend who has stuck by her. Sarah left Quinn to cleanse her soul. Sarah wasn’t sure what she could do next to help Quinn.
“It’s OK, Quinn,” Paul tried to soothe her, pressing his fingers into his temple with vex, wishing he could drop everything and come to her rescue. But some things didn’t come as easily as wishing for them, that was the challenge of his life. “It’s OK to cry sometimes.”
“All the time, Paul,” Quinn protested with a hint of laughter, sucking in a deep, cleansing breath, tucking the afghan around her chest. “I cry all the time in front of you. It’s embarrassing. You must think I’m a big baby.”
“Now how can you say that?” Paul disagreed, leaning forward and reaching for the crust of his toast, crumbling it into sand between his index finger and thumb, cursing Matt under his breath, not only for physically and emotionally wounding Quinn for life, but making her mentally think she was anything less than perfect, “You’re not a baby. It’s kind of an honor for you to shed your tears with me. It’s kind of like I’m your confidant, like you trust me enough to let everything come pouring out. I couldn’t think of you anything less than my version of perfect, simple as that.”
Quinn smiled a little, the smile making her face ache like she hadn’t spread happiness across her lips in years. “Why can’t I have a guy like you, Paul? You would never hurt me.”
“Well, why not?” Paul blurted his inner thoughts out, immediately slapping his hand over his disobedient mouth.
Quinn let the remote slip from her fingers, it tumbling onto her afghan. Quinn wondered if he said what she thought he said. “Oh, Paul,” Quinn began uncomfortably, looping her fingers in the loose stitching of the afghan, trying to think of a way to let him down easy, trying to think of a way to tell him this is not what she needs right now. She didn’t need that awkward feeling of unrequited love, of Paul liking her that way, “I-“
“I’m just saying that I really like you, Quinn,” Paul defended himself, sensing the static air between them like right before a thunderstorm ripped apart a valley, maybe even their friendship if he didn’t clarify, “and I feel horrible for letting Matt hurt you. I should have been more persistant. But I feel something for you. I mean, I get this funny, tingling sensation…when I think of you…and I don’t know if…see? I get lost in my words when I think of you. Well, I know you’re not ready, no where near ready, and it will take you a long time to recover from Matt, but…”
“I need a friend, Paul,” Quinn interrupted, not needing Paul to zip open his feelings and soul to her right now, not needing to feel any romantic attachments to Paul at this time, just not ready for anything else beside his companionship. “I need you.”