Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen - Dyan Sheldon [58]
“I … I … I’m sorry to bother you,” Ella stammered, “but I was wondering if we could—”
“There’s a party on,” he informed us shortly. He had the soft, polite, reasonable voice of a thriller killer. “Invitation only.”
“Please,” I gasped. “We just want to use the phone.”
No flicker of compassion showed in those steel-blue eyes.
“This is a private residence, not Grand Central Station. Use a public phone.”
“But we have no money,” cried Ella. “And my friend’s very ill.”
Mr Charm put his hand in his pocket and pulled out some change. “Here,” he said. “My treat.”
I groaned. “I think I’m going to be sick,” I whispered. “Quick! I’m going to be sick.”
A slight look of doubt appeared in the granite of his eyes.
“You can’t leave us out here!” Ella half commanded, half begged. “My friend’s going to throw up on the street.”
He hesitated for a second, obviously weakening. “Look, I don’t know … I’m really not supposed to let anybody in…” He glanced behind him, as though the answer to his problem might be coming down the stairs.
Ella and I looked, too. Something was coming down the stairs. We could hear a lot of angry shouting and the pounding of hurrying feet. The only words I could make out were ones I can’t repeat. All three of us moved to one side as two men came charging down the staircase. Neither of them seemed too steady on his feet.
“Come back here, you idiot!” screamed the one who was behind. Ella gave me a nudge. It was Steve Maya, Sidartha’s lead guitarist. “You can’t leave like this. You’re making a fool of yourself again.”
The man in the lead didn’t slow down.
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do!” he screamed back. “It’s all over, remember? I’ll do what I want!”
“Haven’t you always?” screamed Steve Maya. And then, seeing the three of us gaping up at him, he started yelling at the doorman. “Grab him, Mick! Don’t let him out!”
The man being pursued stopped at the bottom of the stairs, pointing at the doorman. “You touch me, you loser, and your wife’s a widow!” he roared.
Mick wasn’t sure who to take his orders from. He’d moved to block the door, but now he hesitated, frozen with indecision. Ella and I didn’t so much as breathe. We couldn’t. We were frozen with awe. All three of us kind of leaned backwards as Stu Wolff thundered past us and hurled himself into the stormy night.
Ella looked at me. “Now what?” she whispered.
Life is full of ironies, isn’t it? Ella and I had been desperately trying to get into the party, and now the gods had made it possible for us to do just that. Steve Maya had reached the door, and he and Mick were standing there, discussing what they should do next. Paying no attention at all to Ella and me. All we had to do was walk up the stairs and we were in. But the main reason we wanted to be inside was now outside, staggering down the street in the wind.
“Maybe one of us should go after him,” Mick was saying. “He could hurt himself.”
“I don’t care if he hangs himself,” said the man who, according to the magazines, has been Stu Wolff’s best friend since elementary school.
“OK,” said Mick. “Then he could hurt somebody else. Remember what happened in LA?”
Steve Maya laughed unhappily. “I remember. And I remember Chicago, Frisco, Albany, Tokyo, London and Manchester, too…” He laughed again. “There’s hardly a city in the world where something hasn’t happened because of him.”
I took hold of Ella.
“You know,” I said loudly, “I think I’m feeling better. I don’t think we have to call my mom after all.”
I gave Ella a squeeze.
“Well,” she said, picking up her cue. “I guess we’ll be going now. My friend’s OK.”
I nodded. “Yeah, we’ll be going now.”
We could have saved our breath. Neither of them acted as though we’d spoken.
Mick’s eyes were still on the street. “You sure you don’t want me to follow him? Just in case?”
“Nah,” said Steve Maya. “Maybe we’ll get really lucky and he won’t come back this time.”
ELLA, I, AND THE GREATEST POET SINCE SHAKESPEARE HIT THE MEAN STREETS OF MANHATTAN
Hand in hand, Ella and I followed Stu Wolff, the Bard of Lower Manhattan, into