I was retching in her dressing room when Yoni’s hands drew my dreads out of the toilet and tied them behind me.
“Okay, how was that?” she said. She didn’t say, You asshole, or even, Man up, wimp.
I pulled my head out of the bowl. She looked concerned.
I wiped my mouth. “You must be really nice to work for.”
“Because we can scratch the fast reprise.”
I shook my head. “You need it.”
She frowned. “How about the bows?”
“Fine,” I was about to tell her, but that turned into another bout of dry heaves. Ashur, Ashur! When the convulsions stopped, I knelt on the floor, resting my forehead on the porcelain.
She squatted next to me. “You don’t have to talk now.”
“No. I’ll tell. It won’t take long.”
I remembered the Cubby Bear last night. Ashur, Ashur! The bloody heads bobbed, their eyeballs fell out, their hair was matted with brains and dried gore, their dead jaws flapped as if they joined the fifty thousand living voices screaming my name.
“I didn’t tell you everything about—about Aphrodite.”
“Of course not.”
“She—the goddess—got to me at a point when I had just realized that I had to retire or die. Something happened.”
Yoni didn’t move, but a single warm ocean wave of comfort wafted out of her and washed over me and pulled gently away.
“I had stopped leading armies myself. My three youngest generals had just come back from hitting the city of Hazura. They brought me captives, tribute, wild animals, treasure, livestock, weapons—anything they could seize and carry. Books, even. I was big on books. Clay tablets to you.”
“Get to the throwing up and passing out part.”
“We had all these new units recruited from Gebal and Qatna, very young, full of piss and vinegar. The generals had had this idea that the boys should bring home trophies. Make a big gesture at the parade, in front of thousands of citizens of Nineveh. Proof of the power of the Ruler of the Universe.” I pointed. “That was me. They marched into the square and stopped in front of the viewing stand and opened their rucksacks and stuck their trophies on the ends of their swords and spears and raised ’em up in the air all at once. It was superbly choreographed. Very impressive. Fifty thousand decaying, severed heads jerking into the air all at once, and fifty thousand soldiers cheering me. Some of the heads were from women and children.”
I bowed my head, squeezing my eyes shut, but the picture still splashed in color across my memory.
“You understand, I set the standard there. In my teens, I conquered a neighboring country and brought their king home with a chain strung right through holes punctured in his jaw. I made him crawl through the streets in front of my chariot like a dog, on his hands and knees. He lived the rest of his life in a dog kennel.” I added tiredly, “I won’t talk about what my armies did to civilians.”
I spat into the toilet. “When did it stop being fun? At seventeen I reveled in it. Somewhere along the way I lost my taste for it. But there are always more seventeen-year-old soldiers. That’s what I realized that day. I couldn’t civilize the world. People would go on doing this.
“I realized that I’d made myself Ruler of the Universe. I couldn’t retire. I was ass-deep in projects. I had to do a tour for the CD. Look at some screenplays.” I sneaked a look at her. “I wasn’t ready to die.”
She frowned thoughtfully at her knees. “You stood it until you were in your fifties. I won’t make it that long.”
“You think performance will make you hurl someday?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I hurled this morning.”
I sat back on my butt on the tile and wiped my chin again. “I’m sorry I added to the bullshit in your life.”
“Never mind,” she said briskly. “Is this why you crashed and burned The Mesopotamians?”
I nodded. “Our first concert at a big venue. Our big break. Lolla-fucking-palooza, right out there in Grant Park twenty years ago this summer.” I stabbed my finger toward the north. “Some bright asshole got them yelling ‘Ashur! Ashur!’ and I—I lost it.”
My mouth tasted like vomit. “From then on, I medicated against freakout in the usual ways. And pretty soon I was playing concerts drunk, making scenes, blowing gigs. ‘That’s not done.’ Isn’t that what you said?”
She got up on her knees and leaned forward, putting her hot fingers on my shoulder. My shoulder was icy-clammy. I was grateful for her heat.
She said, “I don’t know what good I can do, but maybe I can help. C’mere, big boy.”
“I just threw up,” I reminded her, but she didn’t try for a kiss. She wrapped her arms around me and hooked her chin over my shoulder. Out of respect for her makeup and her sparkly concert duds, I didn’t touch back.
Her heartbeat thumped from her chest into mine. It was like that kiss we’d used to make roses half an hour ago, only a lot more. I remembered how great we sounded together. I smelled roses, which was a big improvement on the toilet next to me. I was grateful for her touching me.
“How’s that?” she said to the back of my neck.
“It’s nice.”
“Nice?” she repeated, sounding amused and offended.
“It’s not getting the concert done, though,” I reminded her. She pulled away from me, looking concerned again. “Why?” I said. “Did you try to put a whammy on me just now?”
“Kinda. I guess.” She looked embarrassed. “I thought I could—I dunno.”
“Fix the big bad fucked-up rock god with a hug?” I snorted and shook my head. “Girl, it’s gonna take more than that.”
Outrage, embarrassment, guilt, and don’t-mess-with-me crossed her face. “You holding out for more?”
“Fellatio,” I pronounced with relish. “At the very least. Oh, and there’s a couple of sex demon tricks I haven’t showed you.”
She scrambled to her feet. “Take a shower at least, jeez.”
I got up and flushed the toilet. “Gimme fifteen. I’ll be out there for the reprise.”
At the door she turned back. “Baz—”
Now she was gonna try to let me off the hook in case I wasn’t man enough.
“Don’t say it. I’m doing this.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was going to say, brush your teeth. I won’t kiss you unless you do. And we need a finale-smasher.”
“Weellll, I’m pretty good, but—”
A towel hit me in the face, and then she was gone.