𝐅𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 • Randall Floyd

Chapter 7

JODI was suiting herself to more beer from the keg when Simone approached.

"Hey, you were with Pink earlier."

Jodi straightened up with her newly full cup of beer. She registered a silent energy in the blonde that albeit wasn't outright confrontational, it wasn't amiable either.

"Briefly, sure," said Jodi.

"So you haven't seen him since?"

"Nope."

"Okay," said Simone with doubt apparent on her face. "If you do happen to see him at all, can you let him know his girlfriend's looking for him?"

Jodi almost wanted to laugh. "You got it."

Simone thanked her insincerely and as she sauntered away, Jodi's gut flirted with the idea that she knew something Simone didn't. More than that, she had an instinct that her answer existed in Willa's car. Jodi left it some time ago now and she lost track of the night one too many times for it to cross her mind that Willa might have left it as well.

So Jodi opted to see for herself.

The brown Bimmer buried behind other cars and smothered by trees was just as she expected it: empty.

Jodi shook her head, smirking. "You dirty dogs."

"I'm excited about all of it—the drugs, the rockstars and the groupies."

Randall and Willa were at the top of the moon tower: Randall sitting at the edge with his legs dangling in the air while Willa stood with her crossed arms against the railing. They both stared out into the town illuminated by streetlights and few awake homes in the night. And all the while, they passed Randall's smoke pipe back and forth every so often.

Some of the conversation from the car carried over onto the tower. They discussed the kind of parts they played in their schools and the people they knew—the friends they had made over the years including the ones that stuck as well as the ones that didn't.

Randall didn't have any one group of friends. He was a social drifter, hopping from stoners first thing in the morning to poker group intelligentsia by his free period third and the jocks by lunch. He was able to adapt and make twitches to his personality that helped him act accordingly with each social circle.

Willa was similar. She got on with everyone in her student body, but she did have a set group of friends she liked to be around—the only difference was there wasn't any one type of person in it. Everyone had different personalities and cultural interests.

They reflected on whether that was the reason they got on so effortlessly.

Then Randall asked her about California.

"Don't you think anyone in California you're looking for has already left?"

Willa groaned.

"There's no Janis, there's no Morrison and don't get me started about Hendrix."

She sat herself down next to Randall, only she leaned her back against the railing his front leant against, and said, "But there's still Zeppelin and Patti Smith and Pink Floyd."

Randall rolled his eyes at the sing-song emphasis she placed on the band she mentioned last, smiling all the while.

"They're at their best—not to mention Rush who is only beginning—no. Life's not as dead as it seems."

"Life's buried six feet under at this point," Randall opposed.

"Are you kidding me?" Willa asked as though Randall had slapped her across the face.