Grumpalicious by Mia Faye
Chapter 10
CAYDEN
I usually hated being in the kitchen, but with Genni, it was a fun bonding experience. Her roommate Peyton was probably more my speed but engaging with Genni and sharing genuine laughter was more satisfying than I ever thought it could be. Soon there was a knock at the door and a throng of disheveled looking, Patchouli-smelling people arrived wearing today's latest fashions. They took cool and hip to the next level. Beers were passed around as was weed, wine, and whiskey. They weren’t exactly my kind of people, but it wasn’t hard to get into what they were into.
“Who made the weird-looking coleslaw?” a guy wearing ripped jeans painted with a vine of flowers and an alien Jesus on a cross asked.
I just shrugged my shoulders as I helped bring the food from the kitchen out to a long buffet table on the porch. Seated on the banister, a few rickety chairs, and a long porch swing were a bunch of polyamorous people cuddling and canoodling in brazenly open button-down shirts, braless T-shirts, tanks, and sundresses all tangled in one another like a glob of dreadlocked, tattooed, and barefoot gender-fluid bohemians. They were a tight-knit group of neo-hippies that’s for sure. I never had considered myself uncool in any regard, but there in front of that crowd, I had to admit my coolness meter dipped a little.
The funniest thing was, they didn’t have a clue who I was. I thought that strange for a bunch of musicians, but it turned out that the afghan of human bodies, hair, and tattooed nakedness was Peyton’s artist friends who all rode there in one minivan. Genni’s friends were heading up the long driveway in a Prius, a Toyota Highlander, and a red Ford F150. For some reason seeing the parade of cars and the orchestration it must have taken to get them in motion at the very same time made me a little nervous. I really couldn’t tell why, but these were Genni’s people and for some reason, I flushed with insecurity.
“Am I being run out of town?” I came up behind her and grabbed her around the waist.
There was no mistaking the gesture and I did get some inquiring looks from the bohemians but since they were practically parked in each other’s crotches, it was just a passing glance, no judgment. I nodded to the incoming car parade and Genni craned her head back at me and smiled.
“You will be.” She patted my hand. “If you act like you.” She then punctuated that with an evil smile. “These guys are going to recognize you the minute they see you. I hope you brought your shotgun.”
“Ah, I left it in the car…” They parked in the driveway and almost simultaneously the doors opened, and three tall men exited the Prius, which made me stifle my laughter at how such large men were able to fit into such a small car. Behind them, two women got out of the Highlander and a blond-haired, big-breasted woman got out of the F-150 and the night was underway. The three men B-lined for Genni and I let my hands drop, just in case. I wasn’t going to let them intimidate me, but I had to get a foothold first.
“Genni, you’re back from NYC!” The first and tallest man said as he walked up to the front porch.
He didn’t even bother to look at me as he picked Genni up and gave her a monster size bear hug.
“Gen Z!” The man behind him chimed as he fist-pumped the air. “Hey,” He then looked at me and said with a nod, instantly recognizing me.
“So,” the first guy set her down. “What are you guys doing here?” His face curled into a grimace and for a second I saw history and it burned me up inside. I thought she’d said she didn’t have anyone significant in her life. I was definitely getting my cajones back. I wasn’t gonna let anyone wedge between us.
“We’re getting some of Genni’s things,” I busted in to say.
“Maybe getting my things,” she added with a glare. “But we’re here to hang out with y'all first. Marlon, best you get on that BBQ. I am starving and I’ve been craving steak.” Genni muscled her entire body weight into that hulk of a man and he moved.
“Just let me grab a beer first.” He ducked down mid-scuffle and grabbed the first beer he could reach in the cooler.
I went for the whiskey, then followed them to the grill. I’d already been introduced to the bohemians and they were all engaged in an animated discussion about what color true cerulean was and whether it was the best color to use in brightening up the shadows on works conveying depression. Whatever they were smoking, I wanted some. I was painfully bored with the BBQ’rs.
Another hunky guy joined us and engaged Marlon in conversation. “So, I was thinking for Feather on Fire, we should switch up the tempo and make it upbeat, danceable…”
“No, not honky-tonk,” my girl protested.
“Right, you hate anything old school,” he had the audacity to grumble.
Since when was honky-tonk old school?
“Well, let’s pet the elephant in the room, shall we? Cash Coltrane is here.” The entire place went quiet; even the bohemians stopped arguing about the color blue. “So, you really wanna honky-tonk him back to NYC?” Respect.
They adored her. I had just witnessed Genni bringing her people to the table. Here I thought she was only unapproachable, but she was boldly protesting honky-tonk, in Texas. It was a solid, but stupid move.
“What do we care about some high and mighty record producer? Last I check I don’t have gold teeth and my name isn’t Lil’ anything, it’s Gabriel,” The guy said under his breath.
“Well, I do sign my fair share of rappers. I have a personal love for rap and Genni’s right, I’m not much for honky-tonk, but I like new sounds. I found Genni here at a party. I’m not saying I’m in town to sign anyone other than Genni, but she’s fighting pretty hard for you fellas, I’ll have you know. It wouldn’t hurt to put your best foot forward and since I’ve already said that I don’t like honky-tonk, maybe you shouldn’t play it.” I did let me get in the way, but I liked when people were a little scared.
“Right sure. We’re just gonna jam tonight though. We’re at a BBQ, this is home. Only family crosses the threshold,” One of the guys said. “This isn’t about record deals. Tonight is all T Bones and Tecates!
There was a roar from the multi-headed bohemians and suddenly I felt outnumbered. I sipped on my whiskey and avoided brooding. I think Genni caught on to my distress because she took me by the hand and shuttled me to an empty pair of lounge chairs on the other side of the porch. The clingy bohemians had spilled out onto the floor, but none of them ventured far away from each other enough to cross to the other side of the deck. We were safe.
“They can be a little brassy,” Genni said grabbing a bunch of grapes off the buffet and popping one in her mouth.
“Or bossy.” I had to go there.
“Well, you would know.” She gave me a Mom-eye, and suddenly I knew her prowess with children would be stellar.
“Right. I should know.” I reached over and grabbed a handful of her grapes off of the vine.
I realized at that moment; I was starving.
“Did you ever have hangouts before you became too famous to touch with a ten-foot pole?” She was casual, kicked off her shoes, and tucked her feet up under her.
She was a hybrid, part bohemian, part bossy Texas BBQer, part sexy as fuck.
“I mean our parties were kind of different I guess. We had booze and drugs, good music, crazy drug-addled antics, and questionable food choices until the money came in. I mean we BBQ’d on the roof or the fire escape, but you know the cheap pizza place on the corner was usually our meal, that and a few bags of chips, some Oreos. That was back in the day. Now, yeah, it’s all caviar and filet mignon.”
“Well, we’re still back in the day. Just be nice. It won’t make them think you like them. It’ll just make tonight more fun.” She handed me the rest of the grapes. “I want what you’re having.” She looked at my dwindling whiskey glass. “You wanna refill?”
“Yes, I do.” I was about to stand up.
“Stay planted, cowboy, let the natives come to you.” I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but it seemed like wise advice.
And the natives did eventually come, and so did the bohemians. Surprisingly, we had a nice time. I was a few glasses of whiskey in, but as soon as the food started being served, people spread out and though my coleslaw was rough and almost laughable, many commented on the taste. I had no skills in the kitchen, I merely chopped and let Genni work her magic, however, the combo of my chopping and her assembling, worked as she said it would. Our dish was a hit, that felt good.
“I added a little Cash, we make a pretty good team I guess,” is how she answered the compliment about what she changed in the coleslaw recipe.
It was her first step toward agreeing to our arrangement, and I was grateful for it. She then moved on from coleslaw to include me in other tidbits of conversation which swirled around, such as how her mom was doing, if she was going to continue working at the crap diner where she was a waitress as fame was imminent. I was very curious to hear her answers.
“I’m going to quit tomorrow, but only because I’ll be in New York for a while, and we’ll see how it goes. I’m sure Bea will hire me back if I need a job, she’s always been so great,” was Genni’s reply.
“She’s going to retire soon,” one of the guys in her band said.
I wasn’t sure if he was discouraging her from quitting or giving her a chance to abandon waitressing all together. I was for the latter. Genni would never have a pedestrian job again.
“I know she wanted me to take over the place, but I’ve got other plans. She’s good with it, we’re good. I hope she does retire; she works too hard.” And that was the end of the conversation about Genni’s soon-to-be-former employer.
After good food, a lot of conversation, and a melding of all the groups with myself being effortlessly included, Genni got up and went inside the house. Her bandmates followed as if magnetically connected to her and they came back baring instruments and casually returned to their seats but with a guitar, small drum kit, and an electric keyboard. Amps and things were plugged in and sounds were adjusted to suit the small space on the porch and soon we were treated to a very vibey, cool impromptu concert. While the two men in her band weren’t the kind of musicians I’d drop everything for and sign, they were solid and they knew her musical tastes, as well as understood her artistic pulse. I often used that term to describe one’s musical signature or voice, it was intrinsic to the artist and the guys got her. They fit together well. She had that going for her if she wanted to really fight for them. Eventually, though she didn’t know it at the time, she would be the one with all of the power.
