annie thompson (bumptiously) wrote in horror_story, @ 2013-03-13 22:16:00 |
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Annie didn't bother sending Max a text. He might as well have been a psychologist, for all the times people went to him with their problems. She would've gone to Hunter, of course, but she was working. Besides, no one -- including her best friend, thank you very much -- knew that Annie still harbored feelings for Gilman Black, and she wanted it to stay that way. Being a bartender was kind of like being a therapist, right? Either way, Annie drove the short distance to Max's house and, without hesitation, she knocked roughly on his door. He wouldn't be at the Brass Key this early in the day, but that didn't mean he wouldn't make her a drink and sit down to listen. Max was more than a bartender; he was her friend. They weren't as close as she and Hunter, perhaps, but they were close all the same. "Max? You home?" she called, tightening her scarf around her chilled neck. "It's Annie."
Max was in the kitchen getting the coffee going when he heard the knock on the door; it was afternoon, so he should've been up and getting around. He didn't have anything going until much later in the evening, which was alright with him. He liked lazing around, listening to music. When he heard Annie identify herself, he crossed the hardwood floor in his bare feet, flipping the security latch and opening the door to see. "What's shaking, sugar? Come on in," he said, lifting his brows at her. She didn't usually come over without a text first. "You want some coffee?" Working bar hours meant you kept a weird schedule, and Max had only been up an hour or so.
"I'll pass on the coffee," she murmured, forcing a smile and stepping inside. She always enjoyed visiting Max at his home. It was comfortable and warm, cozy in the best of ways. It was simple to tell that the home was full of memories and experiences, and Annie liked that. "But I wouldn't say no to some water or something." She wasn't a coffee person and had never been. She wasn't even thirsty, but she wanted something for her hands to do. "Sorry about just dropping by unannounced and what not." He didn't seem frustrated with her, so she breathed a little sigh of relief and closed the door behind her.
"Not a problem. I wasn't doing anything important," he said honestly as he headed back into the kitchen. Dressed in baggy plaid sleep pants and a faded, cracked old Cramps t-shirt, his hair in disarray and his jaw unshaven, Max looked a little rough in his 'morning' mode, but he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and joined her in the living room. He sank onto the couch, waiting for his coffeemaker to beep to let him know it was done percolating. "Everything okay? You usually send me a couple of obscene text messages before you come by."
She didn't wait for further invitation before settling herself down into the worn cushions like she owned the place. There was no place for ceremony here. "No, I'm not okay," she told him truthfully, opening the bottle of water to take a long drink. "I'm really, really not. I keep telling myself that things are going to get better but they don't." Annie kept waiting for the silver living, but things just kept happening.
He didn't ask what was going on; he knew, of course. It wasn't exactly the best-kept industry secret that a lot of bad shit had been going down in Crows Landing, and most of it circled around Annie or her group of friends and acquaintences. He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair and stretching his legs out a little. "Things'll get better, they have to. I know it's been a rough patch."
"They don't have to is the thing," she insisted. "For all we know, things can keep getting worse. First, there was Gideon. I thought that was bad. And then Alison …" Annie swallowed thickly, unable to so much as finish her sentence. Suddenly, she was hoping that Max had something stronger than coffee. Of course he did; what kind of bartender would he be otherwise? "And the other day, I had to go pick Tatum up from school because she beat the shit out of this girl. Tatum can barely finish a sentence, much less beat someone up." And then there was Gilman. Gilman, who looked homeless and almost frail in his current state. Gilman, who was dating a beautiful blind girl.
"I heard about that fight," Max said carefully, then shook his head. "It's been bad, Annie, everyone knows it has. Especially for you, man. Seems like whatever shit's been rolling downhill you and Hunter've been standing at the bottom with your arms wide open. But this kind of thing doesn't last forever, you know? Rough patch of luck, that's all... bad moon rising and all."
"I ran into Gilman today, and he looked … he looked really bad, Max. Like, really bad. He told me he hadn't eaten in a few days, and he definitely hasn't showered since then, if the way looked was any indication." But there was more. "And he was sure to remind me that he's got a girlfriend. Dahlia Palmer, like I was telling you about the other day. I didn't think it would bother me so badly for Gilman to have a girlfriend, but it does." Gilman wasn't the dating type; he liked to fuck and get out, and Annie liked knowing that she was one of the few exceptions. Until now, anyway. Now he was dating a beauty queen. "You tell anyone I told you this, and I'll kick your ass."
"Who am I gonna tell? Only person I talk to who'd give a shit is Hunter and you know me better than that, I let you kids tell your own tales," Max snorted. "Anyway, look... Gilman ain't my favorite person in the world but he's alright. You two seemed okay together. I don't get why he'd suddenly start being a dickbag to you except that sometimes... guys get stupid. Maybe shit ain't that great with Dahlia and he's trying to make you jealous."
"He wasn't being a dickbag." Annie was always so quick to defend Gilman, even if she would turn around and call him something worse under her breath. The two of them had a very unique relationship, for sure. "And I don't think he was. I don't know, maybe. Maybe he's just really happy with his shiny new girlfriend." Why wouldn't he be? Annie knew of Dahlia Palmer - had seen her around town on occasion, and she was beautiful. Far prettier than Annie, anyway.
"Annie, trust me--- people who are genuinely happy don't brag. They just are happy," Max said flatly. "If he's bragging about how great his fuckin life is, then he isn't happy."
"I don't know. You've seen Dahlia," Annie mumbled, eyes no longer able to hold his gaze. "If it weren't for her being blind and all, she'd still be winning trophies and shit for being so pretty." Meanwhile, Annie was just … Annie. Maybe she wasn't ugly, but she was no Dahlia Palmer or Hunter Sommer. "I know I'm being dumb and selfish. I should be happy for him."
"Oh Christ, Annie," Max said, a hint of exasperation in his tone. "Who cares if she's pretty? That isn't what makes a good woman or not. And you know that." He loved Annie, he really did, she and Hunter both were two of his favorite regulars and friends, but he couldn't tolerate a pity party. "If anyone got the bad end of the deal it's Gilman, losing a girl like you."
Annie didn't say anything back in return. She knew how Max felt about pity parties, so she wasn't entirely sure why she chose to bring hers to his house, but she already felt a little better than before. The blonde took another drink from her bottle and leaned back further in the couch. She very much doubted that Gilman was the one that got the bad end of the deal, but she wasn't going to say as much to Max. There were a few beeps from the kitchen, so Annie gestured that way. "Coffee's done."
He pulled himself up from the chair and went to pour himself a mug, returning with that and a small bottle of bourbon. He put a slug in his coffee, then held the bottle to her wordlessly. She looked like she might need a shot or so. "Annie, listen... I know there's a lot going on right now, but I think you're channeling some of this into deluding yourself that you miss Gilman or you two should get back together or some shit like that. Everything that's happened has been bad, but it doesn't reflect on you."
Of course it reflected on her. Alison was missing because of her. Gideon jumped because she hadn't said the right things or something. Gilman left because of her and her pregnancy scare. She wasn't delusional enough to think that they would have stayed together forever. He wasn't the staying type and at the time, she told herself that she wasn't, either. But she was. "Yeah, I guess," she relented, not feeling like arguing. "In other news, your gig was really, really good."
"Well thanks, ma'am," Max said, not buying her brush-off but letting it go for now. He sipped his coffee, then reached over to squeeze her knee. "You like that song?" he teased. He had seen her in the crowd halfway through the group set in the beginning and had dedicated 'The Lovecats' by The Cure to her as a joke, hoping to cheer her up with a punk version of the bouncy song.
"Of course I like that song," she said, a smile finally peeking out across full lips. "You know how to make a girl feel sexy, that's for sure." Max's gig had been the first time she had fun in weeks, but she made up for it by drinking copious amounts of beer and dancing her ass off with Hunter. "Pretty sure all the other girls in the bar were jealous of me. They should've been. You looked good up there, sir."
"Oh yeah? You're just a sucker for old men," he teased back, sipping his coffee again. "It's okay, I can take it. Twenty years ago if a girl like you was in the front row I'd be all over it. Throwing guitar picks at you and everything," Max laughed easily.
"You caught me. I have a thing for old guys," Annie teased, her spirits noticeably higher than when she first came in, and she had Max to thank for that. "Thanks, Max." There was a short moment of silence as she took another drink, letting the words set in. "For listening, I mean. I really am sorry that I dropped in on you like this. Next time, I promise to send at least three text messages beforehand."
"You honestly don't have to warn me that much," he laughed. "I'm rarely up to anything important." He shook his head, then took another swallow of coffee. "Listen, Annie, I'm serious. You're beautiful, and smart, and funny. You're a strong, capable woman. Don't let this shit get you down. Especially shit with Gilman. It isn't worth it."
Max was right, just as he usually was. It was why Annie let herself vent to him more than she probably should've. Who needed a certified therapist when you had a bartender for a friend? "Thanks," she repeated, at least sounding like she believed him. "You're a good friend, and I appreciate it. I really do." Annie very rarely said things she didn't mean, so her word was easy to take at face value. "You're somethin' else, you know that?"
"Why, because I keep hitting on you?" he asked easily, laughing as he got up from the couch to go sift through his wall of perfectly-organized records. He selected one and moved to put it on his turntable, a Cocteau Twins record that had the right level of moodiness he wanted. Low and ambient.
"You're not the first old guy to hit on me, mister," Annie pointed out in jest, finishing her bottle of water. She didn't set it aside, but instead kept it in her hands if only to have something to do with them. Better spirits or not, she was still on edge, like she was waiting for something else to happen. "You should do another gig soon. You could do one monthly or something."
"Eh, that's a lot. People in this town would get sick of me," he sighed. "It isn't like when I was a kid and could play every week or whatever and people would show up. There's little use for it in Crows Landing anymore. Someone young needs to step up," Max laughed a little. "Someone Ian's age."
"I don't think anyone would mind if Ian got on stage, either," she mused, mostly to herself. "You had a pretty good turnout the other night, though. Maybe people wouldn't get as tired of you as you think." Annie smiled as she stood to her feet, clearly about to leave. She didn't want to take up anymore of his free time than she already had. "I should probably head out. I've been meaning to swing by Tatum's and make sure she hasn't off'ed anyone yet or put a horse's head in someone's bed."
"Okay," Max said. He wasn't going to beg her to stay or anything like that, not when she was gracefully making her exit, so he stood to join her politely. "Well, thanks for coming by. You're welcome anytime, Annie, you know that." He sighed, then touched her chin to make her look at him. "Just don't get so down on yourself, okay? It's going to work out."
"It's going to work out," she repeated, far more hopeful than she'd been just twenty or thirty minutes before. Max was good for the soul. "I'll be seeing you soon, I'm sure." She was a regular at the Brass Key, though she was still embarrassed about getting so drunk the last time that Max had to take her home. "Take care of yourself, okay? I don't need anything happening to you, too."