November 15, 2003
Arizona
"Es frio. Es muy frio."
Rose nestled deeper into the oversize coat she had bought at a yard sale in New Mexico, practicing her Spanish and complaining about the weather at the same time.
Daffodil glanced up from where she was wrapped in the comforter from Rose’s bedroll. She had given her own coat to a homeless woman in the last town they had performed in, and had been complaining about the cold ever since.
"Duh, Rose. Tell me something I don’t know."
"Shut up, Daffodil. I’m being nice enough to lend you my quilt, after you gave your coat away."
"That woman was freezing."
"Maybe she would have had enough money to buy a coat if she hadn’t spent it all in cheap nightclubs like that one."
"People like her pay your way. Don’t complain."
"Nobody’s been paying our way for the past couple of weeks. That’s why we’re here."
As the season had advanced and winter approached, the number of gigs Hard Times had been able to get had thinned out considerably. There had been no work for the past two weeks—and as a result, little money available for food and shelter. They had been staying in a sparsely populated campground in the mountains for the past week and a half, getting their water from a poorly insulated faucet and their food wherever they could find it.
Rose moved into the shelter of the tent she shared with Daffodil as a gust of cold wind blew her red curls around her face. "Could you possibly have chosen a colder spot to camp?"
"Yes. We could have hiked into the mountains, where we wouldn’t have had water or access to a wasteful market for our food. At least we don’t have to pay for this spot. Hardly anyone wants to be here at this time of year."
"I never knew Arizona was so cold." Rose picked up a blanket and wrapped herself in it, crawling from the tent and sitting beside the banked fire. In such a dry area, fuel for the fire was hard to find, and they didn’t have the money to buy all they wanted, so the fire was only stoked for cooking.
"I guess you’ve never been here at this time of year."
"This is the first time I’ve been here at all. Arizona was never on my family’s list of vacation spots. Everyone says it’s so hot."
"In the summer, sure. But winter comes here, too."
"I noticed." Rose wiggled her toes, extending them towards the glowing coals. Even with two pairs of socks and her hiking boots on, her feet were freezing. She could only hope that they would find work soon, preferably somewhere warm.
"Say something else in Spanish," Daffodil encouraged. "Something I don’t already know."
Rose looked into the distance, where Tim had driven off in the van to search for a pay phone. He made calls every day, trying to get them more gigs, although Jim and Angel had encouraged him to give up for the time being and return to Texas, where it was warmer and they had friends and family.
"Tim es un punk," she remarked sourly, getting a laugh from Daffodil.
"That’s only partly in Spanish. And I knew that, too."
"Fine. Tim es un cabron."
Daffodil raised an eyebrow at her. "A bastard? Did you two get into another fight?"
"We fight, we kiss and make up, we fight again…"
"With plenty of sex in between."
"Daffodil!"
"Well, you do."
"Do you want him? Because I’ve had it up to here with him. You can have him."
Daffodil wrinkled her nose. "No, thank you. El cabron is all yours."
Rose didn’t reply, but only wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and leaned back, looking up at the vast blue autumn sky. She and Tim did argue a lot. The camaraderie they had shared when they had only been friends had largely disappeared, replaced by a relationship that was based more on lust than anything else. It had been bad judgment on her part to sleep with him, no matter how much he had pressured her, but she hadn’t quite been thinking with her head when she had first told him yes.
They were both at fault, she admitted to herself. Part of her irritation came from comparing him with Jack. It was unfair of her to do so, she knew, since they were two entirely different people, but she couldn’t help it. She could never feel as close to Tim as she had to Jack; he would never be her confidante. They were lovers, nothing more, and like most relationships based on lust, with nothing more substantial to keep them together, the spark between them had burned out fast.
It was nothing like her relationship with Cal had been, for there had been even less of substance there. She had been coerced into her engagement with Cal, and it had felt wrong from the start. She had been with him out of fear, and from a sense of obligation. She hadn’t exactly been a trophy girlfriend—Cal had been too young for that, and few trophy girlfriends or wives were immature teenagers fresh out of high school—but there had never really been any love between them. She had liked him at one time, but that had soon turned to fear and hatred when he showed his true colors, becoming controlling and abusive. She had, in a way, been a prize possession for him—something he had been able to acquire using the money and power he had gained so quickly in his career, and his ego had been badly bruised when she had broken off their engagement—so badly bruised that his violent, jealous nature had once again come to the surface, his rage not spent this time until someone had died.
Rose closed her eyes, letting a beam of sunshine warm her face. I miss you, Jack, she thought. What are you doing now, I wonder? Have you been reunited with your parents? Have you met my father? I wonder what he thinks of you. He made a lot of mistakes, but he loved me. I was the apple of his eye, when he was around. Mom thought he spoiled me, but since she hardly paid any attention to me, I guess he had to make up for that.
It had been a year to the day she and Jack had first glimpsed each other in the hallway at Sunpeak. Rose had never forgotten that moment. She had felt an odd sense of connection to the young man watching her sympathetically from the stairwell—and then he had saved her life a few nights later. They had soon become close friends and confidantes, trusting each other implicitly. Even when Cal had framed Jack for stealing her engagement ring, she had soon realized that he was innocent, and had come to his aid. He had been there when she needed him, and even when he was dying, he had made sure that she would survive, extracting a promise that she would go on. They had been friends, lovers, soulmates…and she was still recovering from his loss.
It had been much too soon for her to become involved with another man, and if she had been thinking straight, she wouldn’t have. It was unfair to Tim for her to have jumped into a relationship with him so quickly. No one had forced her to do so, and she had no one to blame for her bad judgment but herself.
Rose sat up as the van rattled back up the dirt road, Tim at the wheel and Jim half-hanging out the window. Slowly, she got to her feet, reluctant to leave the warmth of the banked fire, and made her way towards the van, casting Tim a sour look as she did so. Their latest argument had been over her Spanish-speaking ability, or lack thereof, and she wasn’t ready to forgive him for making fun of her.
Angel jumped out of the back of the van, a grocery bag in each hand. Rose raised an eyebrow at the extravagance, then frowned as Jim emerged from the van with a plastic-wrapped steak. Considering the cost of such things, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know where he had gotten it. Jim was not averse to the occasional five-finger discount, if it was easy and the chance of getting caught was low. She couldn’t approve, but hunger was a powerful motivator for her to turn a blind eye.
"What’s going on?" she asked, approaching the van. "Are you sure we can afford this?"
"We finally got another gig," Tim announced, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "It’s tomorrow night in Tijuana."
"Tijuana?" Daffodil asked, looking at the van, which had gained yet another crack in the windshield while they had taken it into town. "Are you sure the van will get us there?"
"She’s never failed me yet," Tim assured her, slapping a hand on the hood.
Rose rolled her eyes. Leave it to Tim to refer to his car as a she.
He noticed her then, standing some distance away. "It’s celebration time, Rosebud. We got some real food this time."
"Don’t call me that." Rose turned her back on him.
"What? Rosebud? All right, then, Sweetpea, how about we build up the fire and start celebrating?"
Rose turned on him. "If you call me that one more time, I will personally sew your mouth shut. Do you understand? Don’t call me pet names. My name is Rose, or Miss DeWitt-Bukater. Nothing else."
"Are you still mad about this morning?"
Rose walked in the direction of the fire, stirring the coals and adding some kindling to the fire. "Duh."
"Come on. I was just teasing you."
"Well, I didn’t think it was funny."
"You have no sense of humor."
Rose gave him a look that sent him backing away, then added a couple of expletives for good measure. "Leave me alone, Tim. I am not in the mood."
The others were listening to their exchange with interest. Little happened in the small group that wasn’t known to all, and Rose and Tim’s less than calm relationship was a subject of constant speculation.
At the moment, though, Rose didn’t care. She was sick of Tim, sick of being teased, sick of his confusion over why she didn’t appreciate it. He just didn’t understand, and probably never would. She had to break things off with him, and soon, before their growing conflict harmed the band as a whole.