Sidestory:
Double Trouble
by Angie and Tami
"Oh, this sucks," Simon Astin Salter grumbled, holding up his fifteen-year-old wrist to be snapped around with a laminated bracelet as the bouncer chuckled. "I at least look twenty-one."
"Your plan to wear platforms sucked." His twin brother, Daniel, was slightly more amiable in holding his wrist up to be ticketed, or at least more apathetic. "You should have stood on my shoulders."
"Thanks, my good man," Simon said airily to the bouncer, who was looking as if he wanted very much to openly laugh as the young man grabbed his brother. "Come -on-, buttface. You're shouting me a soda."
Dante's had only grown in popularity since its opening in Roanoke; it was, in fact, known for being an Awesome Hot Spot and for having really cute waitresses. Danny, who did not in fact think too much of girls who did not exist in video games wearing thong bikinis and not much else, would usually not have been caught dead in it; Simon had been itching to get into it for weeks. Any frivolous want to get into the place, though, had been overshadowed and replaced by another, more important one: The Problem Of Wade.
Their brother's depression had sunk to an all-time low. Nothing pulled it out; not the girls who came around occasionally to attempt to cheer him (Si was forever asking Gwyn out on dates), not their cousin Ian (who was an increasing Captain Of The Lame Brigade, and the inspiration of the fake smiles in Wade they -hated-), not piano or his job or college. Wade played until his fingers bled; he went around with bandages and neon band-aids on them, swathed, and still played until he was blistered and sore. He never cried so that they could hear or see; but his eyes were red sometimes, and he looked unhappy, and he looked lank and dark-eyed and tired. He had developed a stoop and shuffled around the house like a zombie. He was starting to let them eat fried foods. He was starting to lose interest in life as a whole, something which panicked them no end.
The cause? A woman. Always a woman.
"... So how do we do this?" Danny hissed. "She'll be working. She won't want to be bugged. This idea was lame."
"This idea is -genius-," his brother said, even more airily. "We sit around looking suave, we locate the subject, I slip her a note to meet us on her break, you buy us some nachos, Wade thinks we're over at Michael's house playing Gran Turismo, everybody wins."
"... What if she doesn't want to do anything?"
"We kidnap her."
"This is the stupidest thing I have ever done. I feel stupid doing this."
"The quicker we do, the quicker we get nachos, muy comprende? Come on, brothermine. Put on your happy face and grab us a table. Rayya Veritas oughta be around here -somewhere-."
Rayya Veritas was indeed somewhere. Physically, she was behind the bar of Dante's topping off three large Cokes. Mentally, she was where she often was - far off in the land of What If. Face to the soda machine, she let her shoulders relax and slump minutely, head dropping so that a few pieces of hair could cloak her expression as the smile evaporated. Hour three of a ten hour work day in a six day work week. Dante's had officially Made It and, as a result, pushed the fire safety laws Friday and Saturday and still bustled healthily on weeknights. The success proved a convenient way to lose oneself; Rayya had cheerfully signed up for a grueling schedule, citing her organizing skills and her waitressing and her amatuer bartending as reasons that the owner should let her try and send herself into a coma. Add to that patrolling and you had instant sleep.
Most nights, it worked. Tonight? Not so much.
She was thinking of Wade again and how badly things had gone. They had last spoken months ago, the beginning of the summer. Gwyn said he wasn't taking care of himself. He wasn't happy. She picked up the phone once a week, determined to call him but, no, she couldn't. At least Julius had stopped speaking of it. -He- went about mopey and worried-looking. As if she were about to damage herself. He had no reason to worry; she would never do anything like that. Not again.
She bit her lower lip, remembering how Wade had unwrapped her hands, cleaned the wounds with such a light touch, and held her while she cried. Again.
Theresa was right. Gwyn was right. She had to call him. Especially now. She knew him. She knew he would blame himself for what happened to Jamie and Asa.
Suddenly, Rayya started, feeling Coke soak her fingers and cursed under her breath tiredly. She shut the machine off, grabbed a napkin to dry the outside of the glasses with one hand, and absently sucked the sticky soda from the other fingers. Time to go back out there. Time to put on the smile again. Neatly, she transferred the glasses to her tray. Before picking it up, she straightened her shoulders, smoothed her short black skirt, and turned on her smile. She should have been an actress, she reflected as she lifted the tray and turned. Even her co-workers had to look closely to see the wear in her eyes.
Her steps faltered, though, as she reached the table with the Cokes and looked to the right. Danny and Simon. Oh, God in heaven, why were they here? With a tiny catch of breath and another forceful smile, she discharged her duty, handed the tray to a passing waitress, and approached them with her tablet out.
She really was a masochist.
The two dark-haired twins, violet hair falling into Danny's eyes and sticking up like a hedgehog with Si's, both had their heads close together as they looked over the menu; with some sort of inner twin psychic power, they both glanced up and noticed her as one, blue eyes widening. Well, -that- was easier than expected.
"Hey, miss!" Simon called out, charming as a fifteen-year-old could get, giving her a flirty wink. "I'll have, um, a vodka and... Yeah, stop elbowing me, Danny. I'll have a Coke and..."
"Coke for me, too." Danny's voice was a rumbling monotone, and his eyes on Rayya were not particularly kind.
"... and he'll have a coke, and two nachos, and my brother's soul back, thanks."
Letting herself slip into auto-pilot, Rayya shorthanded the order and nodded. There was a moment where it seemed as if she would ignore the final comment but then she looked up at them and her violet eyes reflected only intense exhaustion. "I... How is he?" she finally whispered.
"Man, Rayya." Simon sounded stunned. "'How is he'? You broke him, lady. He's like a zombie."
"All he does is play," Danny cut in, slightly less monotone at Rayya's expression.
"Play or do his homework."
"Or talk with Ian."
"Ian's a tard."
"He doesn't make him happier."
Her mouth thinned, tightened, twisted to one side and she dropped her gaze again. "He still sees Gwyn and 'Reese?"
"Sometimes," Simon said edgily. He seemed to be the spokesman. "He just comes home even sadder, though."
"Oh." She worried the edge of her tablet, shredding paper. "I don't know what to say, guys," she half-whispered. "I'm... Sorry. He should never be sad."
"I agree," Simon said heartily. "Which is why you'll be phoning him to patch this up, you will? Awesome, that's great, all done, hooray for Rayya."
Her dark head snapped up and her eyes were wide and intent on Simon. She had more than a hint of startled deer to her. "I -can't-, Si," she cut in. "I just can't. I messed up, he hates me, and that's that."
"Rayya." Danny's words were chosen carefully. "You think Wade would be this messed up if he didn't still think you were the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world?"
She didn't answer, simply kept her eyes fixed on the boys, fingers tight around her order pad.
"Look. I admit it. I thought you were too good for him." Simon again, shrugging expressively, spikes of hair twitching with his movements. "But he misses you. He doesn't go out, doesn't smile, doesn't laugh, doesn't misuse grammar..."
"I miss him, too."
"So why aren't you two making up?" Danny looked rather like a small child faced with two parents divorcing.
That was a very good question indeed. Ashamed, Rayya chewed on her lower lip and averted her eyes. "It's not that simple," she tried. Even as the words left her lips, though, she knew they were just more excuses. Pathetic ones at that.
"Aww, c'mon, Rayya, that's -lame-," Simon scolded her. "Honestly. Get him on the phone. It can't be so complex that he wouldn't be all happy-faced to hear your voice. He's not a complex guy."
"He's kind of stupid."
"He's a doofus."
"He -isn't-! He's just... He looks at things simpler than the rest of us. Basic."
Simon and Danny exchanged a Look. "See, she must still like him," the first argued. "She still believes he has more than two brain cells."
Why was she explaining her behavior to her would-be wooer's teenage brothers again?
"... And you haven't talked to him for months over -that-?" Simon, looking aghast.
"I've -tried-." Rayya's pretty face creased, caught between a scowl at his tone and awareness of her own idiocy. "I... Okay, I'm a coward."
Simon tut-tutted deeply, sighing, as his twin scribbled something on a napkin. It was a rather spidery phone number; "Wadez cel" was artistically spread underneath.
Violet eyes fixed on the scribble, wide and unwavering. Finally, she held out a small hand, something decided and her gaze firm. "I didn't know he had a cell phone," she murmured.
"Mom got him one," Danny supplied, dark eyes quiet as ever. "So she could get hold of him in a hurry. It's always with him."
"If you get our drift," his twin added.
"Yeah... Yeah, I get your drift." Smile a bit wobbly but growing in determination, Rayya snatched up the number and tucked it in the pocket of her apron. "Thanks, guys." Suddenly, she paused and a thin eyebrow shot upwards. "Speaking of, does Wade know you two are here? In a nightclub? On a school night?"
"Oh, hell no," the first twin said, cheery now as ever, all animosity gone from him. "He thinks we're over at Chris' house doing long division. C'mon, Rayya, this was a mission of mercy. Also it was a mission of nachos."
"I hope those nachos give you heartburn, you adorable brat." Reaching out without a second thought, she ruffled his hair. "I'll try not to mention this when I call him."
She was rewarded with a toothy smile. "Gosh, Rayya, you're a -peach- . I suppose you still won't give us alcohol?"
"Not a damn chance."
"I tried, I tried."
"Tried and failed." She paused, though, in the midst of the increasingly light banter. For a brief moment, a strange emotion flickered over her face and then she moved forward to wrap her arms around the nearest twin, treating poor quiet Danny to a very warm, very cushy hug. "Thanks and, if I don't do it, you guys can tell Gwyn to beat me up."
Danny, crushed up against D-cups and looking as if he were now going to earn Simon's jealousy for ever, went bright red. He made a half- hearted attempt to hug Rayya back, eyes absolutely huge. "Um. Okay. We. Um, will."
With a soft laugh, Rayya released him and gave a quicker but no less tight hug to Simon. "I'll go put in your order then and, after you eat those nachos, I fully expect you to head on back. Okay?"
"Sure thing, pretty lady," Simon said, attempting to be suave but failing miserably. His eyes were bright. "You can count on -me-."
"You guys worry about your brother."
"We do. We swear." Danny nodded with his brother's words.
"Good. Good." Rayya hesitated for a moment and then smiled again. "I'll be back in ten." With a quick wave over her shoulder, she spun on her heel and made double time to the kitchen.
Looks like she’d be making a phone call tonight.