Chapter Text
Jess stood in the middle of the floor that had once been Truncheon. Everything had been sold, piece by piece, until the building was empty. Even Matt and Chris insisted they’d been bought and paid for, clinging to lifelines at the jobs they’d managed to find. But try as he might, Jess could not blame them for jumping ship, or selling out. Having somewhere to go had to be better. It had to feel better than this, anyway, having to go through all the stupid, necessary steps in dismantling a business that, in theory, was already destroyed. He hadn’t realized how much work , mind-numbing bureaucratic work at that, was involved in declaring bankruptcy and liquidating the business’ assets. He had hated it. But now that it was done, it was almost worse. There was nothing left.
Jess sighed, and turned to go upstairs. The apartment had nothing in it, now, except a mattress that couldn’t be sold and the rest of his clothes, but the lease wasn’t up for another few days.
He got the call a couple hours later, lying on what was left of his bed, skimming over The Old Man And The Sea for the hundredth time.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Jess, it’s Sasha,” he heard a slightly breathless voice say on the other end.
“Sasha? How’d you get this number?”
“Jimmy called Liz, and she gave it to him.”
Jess swore under his breath. He had told Liz not to give out his number. Why Jimmy even had hers was a mystery.
“So what’s up?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“Well, we’re getting married. Me and Jimmy. He wasn’t sure if we should tell you, or if you’d want to come. But I thought you should know. It’s this Saturday. You’re invited.”
“Oh,” said Jess lamely. He wasn’t sure what he had expected.
“I know you must be too busy right now to come all the way here, but I thought you ought to know, at least.”
Sasha’s tone was earnest, and she had been kind to him when she had had no reason to be, which tapped into whatever part of Jess was still subject to quarter-Jewish parental guilt. And it wasn’t as if he had anywhere to be. Somewhere in his head, Luke’s voice echoed.
“ You could witness something GOOD for your mother...if you miss this, you are going to look back and feel like a big steaming pile of crap-“
“Uh, I’ll come,” he said impulsively.
“You will? Really? Liz said you had a busy job, I don’t want -“
“Yeah, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but a lot of people these days aren’t as busy as they used to be.” He tried not to sound bitter.
“Oh,” said Sasha, sounding distinctly uncomfortable.
“It’s OK. You said Saturday?”
“Yeah. Two in the afternoon, near us in Santa Monica.”
“Can I crash with you?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Thanks.” He hung up, then looked slowly around the room. He had just agreed to go to his father’s wedding. His absentee father, who had only grudgingly allowed him to stay for a month five years ago, and had spent the whole time insisting he couldn’t help him. Jess had no idea - no idea - why the fuck he had just agreed to show up.
He shuffled downstairs, grateful the microwave was built-in and couldn’t be sold as he made himself a cup of tea from the stash Chris had left behind. He looked around at the empty ground floor, at the spot where Untitled had hung, at the stand in the front where copies of The Subsect had been displayed. Something painful twisted in his gut. He went back upstairs hurriedly. He still had no idea why he was going to California, but it had to be better than waiting out his lease on the ghosts of the only thing he’d ever been proud of.
Saturday. It was summer, he could get there by car in time, if he slept in it; no way could he afford a plane ticket on short notice. He looked around. There was nothing to pack, with everything already shoved into his army bag except for the sheets and the mattress.
He dragged the mattress outside - his lease would be up before he would get back - threw his bag into the car, then went back in and cleaned the last of the food out of the cupboard and threw it into the passenger seat. He started driving, if only for something to do.
For a while, that worked. Fighting city traffic gave him something to rage and curse at, something to take his fury and disappointment and shame out on.
Then came the highway. He kept driving out of range of the good radio stations, and every time he did, the static and the silence allowed his mind to wander back to the utter void that was his life now. The business was gone. He had no job, no home, and the only reason he was even driving was because he desperately wanted to have somewhere to be, some obligation to fulfill. He could barely bring himself to care that Jimmy was getting married. He fumbled frantically with the dial as the static started to drown the music again, wanting very much not to be left alone with his thoughts. The scanner landed on 88.3FM and Bowie’s voice came streaming out of the speakers.
“.... back from Suffragette City!”
He slammed the button and turned the radio off.