A Song for Julia

aren’t you?”
    I shrugged, trying to give away nothing.
    “I didn’t want to like her,” Serena said. “I really didn’t. But I couldn’t help it. She’s smart. And I get the feeling she won’t put up with any bullshit from Mark. Or you.”
    I sighed and pivoted around so I was sitting backwards on the piano bench. “What bullshit from me?”
    She chuckled and looked directly at me. It was a seductive look. “You know what I’m talking about. I don’t think pulling girls on stage and grabbing their tits is in your future, Crank. Or taking them home afterward.”
    “That was getting old, anyway,” I said. “What do you care?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t. Except, as always, how it affects the band.”
    I said, “The only way I can see it affecting the band is if you let it.”
    She shook her head and gave me a wry smile. “You’re very full of yourself, aren’t you?”
    I snorted.
    “Seriously, Crank. It’s been amusing to pretend I had a thing for you the last couple of years. But don’t ever mistake me for being serious about you.” She walked closer and sat on the bench near me.
    “How am I supposed to know what to think?”
    “You aren’t, Crank. That’s the point.” She rolled her eyes as she said it.
    “I don’t get it.”
    “That’s because you know nothing about me.”
    “You never talk about anything before you came to Boston.”
    “And why should I?” she asked. “It’s not as if you ever asked.”
    I leaned forward and said, “I’m asking now.”
    She shook her head. “I don’t have any horrible sob story to tell you, Crank. My parents emigrated from India and had me. I ran away when I was eighteen to avoid an arranged marriage. And here I am.”
    I squeezed my eyes shut. “Did you say arranged marriage?”
    “Yes. My parents wanted me to marry this obnoxious pig from Lansing. It’s common in India, but not so much here.”
    “So what happened, exactly?”
    She shrugged. “I broke his nose. And bought a bus ticket for Boston.”
    “You broke his nose? That’s actually hilarious,” I said.
    She grinned at me. “My parents didn’t think so. But we’ve been talking again recently. I may actually go see them soon.”
    “So … how did you end up hanging with us? In the Pit?”
    “Until Ewa was murdered, it was hard for me to imagine a safer place for a homeless eighteen year old to be. The cops didn’t mess with us much, and we had a safe group.” She shook her head then said, softly, “Safe.”
    I took a sharp breath. Ewa. She and Serena used to hang out. “She was a good kid,” I said.
    “I miss her,” Serena replied. Her eyes were dry, and she seemed to be fixed in place, her entire body completely still. “The first two years I was in Boston, she was my best friend. We watched out for each other, you know? But then when I joined the band and moved in with you guys, we started to grow apart. I tried to get her to move in with us, but she wouldn’t do it. Said she was happy down there.”
    For a second, it looked almost like her eyes were going to water. Then she looked at me and said, “So there. That’s all you get. Talking about all that shit isn’t going to make it better.”
    I shifted in my seat. I didn’t know the right thing to say. None of us in the old crew did. Ewa’s murder had left an open, gaping wound. It completely destroyed the notion we had that we could live day to day, making music, talking bullshit, getting drunk, and that nothing bad would happen as long as we stuck together.
    “You know you can talk to me,” I said. “I may be an ass sometimes, but I’m still your friend.”
    “You’re too self-centered to be a good friend, Crank.”
    I shook my head. “Maybe,” I said. “But all of us learn as we go.”
    “Well, I’m going to give you a little unsolicited advice. Friend. Don’t screw Julia over. Don’t have one too many and forget. If we’re on the road and some groupie crawls into your lap, throw her off, and quick. Because if you want to have any kind of life with that one, you’re going to have to respect her.”
    “This conversation is pissing me off,” I said. My reaction was automatic. But the truth was, Serena wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t thought already. I didn’t want to screw this up, but I didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to women.
    “Don’t like having the mirror pointed at you?” she asked.
    “Are you drunk?” I asked.
    “Of course not,