Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [53]
Jimi Hendrix was younger-looking and hotter than I’d imagined. When the camera showed a close-up of his hands, his fingers looked slender and strong. The way he closed his eyes and swayed his head made me wonder if he was channeling spirits or had indulged in narcotics, but either way, it was difficult to take my eyes off him.
With the image of Jimi playing on one side of the screen, I pulled up his biography in a new window on the other. As with Kurt Cobain, it made for uncomfortable reading, and I wondered how he’d survived being raised in a home so profoundly broken. By the time I looked up again, six pairs of eyes were locked on me, and Ed was heading toward me, his face tinged with concern.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I . . . I just got a message from my secret admirer.”
Ed nodded. “So where are we off to this time?”
“No, Ed. We’ll go some other time. I need to call it a day.”
“Uh-uh. I sense the second voyage of the Magical Mystery Tour is about to set sail. Anyone else ready to get educated?”
Kallie nodded enthusiastically, while Tash looked confused.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I insisted. “I mean, someone’s sending me on a tour of Seattle’s dead rock stars, that’s all. Apparently, Hendrix is next.”
“Then count me in,” said Tash. “You coming, Will?” she added, masking her hopefulness with an air of indifference.
Will shook his head, his indifference all too genuine. Josh tried to suppress a smirk as they left the room together. Maybe seeing Tash’s advances rebuffed took some of the sting out of his own rejection.
“Come on. Let’s go,” sighed Ed.
I glanced at my watch. “I really shouldn’t. My mom got annoyed last time.”
Finn waved my cell phone in the air. “Dad says it’s okay. Mom’s got some dinner thing at work.”
I looked in my bag, wondering when Finn had managed to filch my cell phone. I wanted to ask for more details too, but by then he was heading out the door with the others.
Eventually only Tash remained. She stood by the window, staring into space. I knew what was bothering her, but I wasn’t sure what to say, so I figured it was probably best to leave her alone.
Just then, Kallie returned. She padded over to Tash and placed a hand on her arm. I was sure that Tash would pull away, but she didn’t. Instead she sighed, just once, then followed as Kallie led her from the room.
CHAPTER 33
USS Immovable labored up Capitol Hill. In the rearview mirror, I saw three women in matching Lycra tops powering space-age bicycles, matching us step for step. They were grimacing, and I think it was because we were holding them up, rather than from exertion. I floored the gas and Immovable wheezed angrily, but our speed didn’t change. I patted the wooden dash encouragingly and prayed that we’d make it all the way to the top.
Finn waved from the backseat, where he’d assumed his now-customary position sandwiched between Tash and Kallie. Should we get out and push? he signed.
I stuck my tongue out and he smiled, although it probably had more to do with the aforementioned sandwich than anything I had done.
With a Seattle city map in his hands and a GPS system seemingly hardwired into his brain, Ed directed me straight to the 2000 block of South Jackson Street. It was only a couple miles from Kurt Cobain’s house, I realized, but the addresses belonged to different worlds. Instead of mansions designed to maximize views of the lake and mountains, Jackson Street was home to apartment buildings and a mishmash of nondescript warehouses and stores. Instead of the serenity of Cobain’s intensely private community, several people loitered on street corners. But the most obvious shift, as subtle as a slap on the face, was that almost everyone was African American. I didn’t feel weird about being there, but I had to admit that I couldn’t recall having passed through the neighborhood before.
Ed pointed to the side of the road and I pulled over. He prodded the map so