Songs To Sing- John Frusciante

3

March 4, 1991

Pencey

"Got all your shit?" Dave lumbered over to me in the airport and past the customs line, two heavy-looking duffel bags in each arm, one of his guitars strapped to his back. Perry held the other behind him, struggling to hold his luggage at the same time.

"You two are acting like you're hiking across the country. Yes, I have my shit. International isn't as bad as I thought it would be." The time that we had flown into the UK made it nearly midnight. Thank the lord we had a hotel set up because I surely wasn't sleeping on the bus after that plane ride. And thank the lord that the van ride was silent so that I could catch some sleep.

The van lurched to a stop, shaking me slightly as it parked. I looked up at Stephen from where I was leaning on the window, slowly crawling out of the van and into the bright lobby of the hotel. The pep of the Chili Peppers was not helping my mood, I just wanted to be left alone. However, there was one member I didn't recognize, who sat in a chair facing the opposite way with greasy brown hair as Anthony assigned rooms.

"Is that... is that everyone? We have an extra room, then. Hopefully, it's the single-bed one." He turned to go back to the desk before Perry stopped him, looking at me.

"You forgot Pencey."

I looked up, my face flushing bright red. "Yeah."

"Sorry, Penny." I didn't mind the nickname, since I had known him for a long time. Now, if someone I barely knew said it, then I would get pissy. Anthony dropped one of the room keys in my hand, turning to return the other. "Here, I'll-"

"Anthony..." Chad piped up, pointing at the chair. Flea smiled mischievously next to him, as he always did.

"You forgot John."

Fuck. Oh, fuck.

John.

He turned around, rubbing the sleep out of his deep brown eyes. They trailed up to me, the same way they had in the hallway.

"I'll, um," I stumbled a bit, gripping my bags. "I'll see you guys in the morning. John, I'll see you in the, uh, room. The room, yeah." I turned very quickly on my heel, my trainers clomping the floor beneath me.

"Is she okay?" I heard John ask, concern rising in his voice.

"I think she likes you, man."

I cringed as I waited anxiously for the elevator.

Do I?

I shook my head briskly as I looked down at the small silver key in my hand. 207, the key read. I can walk up a flight of stairs.

It was certainly faster than the elevator since the room was right near the staircase, but it had heightened my state to an alarming level. I juggled the key in the lock and dropped my things inside, locking the door quickly behind me. It'll stall him, at least.

My bags hit the floor and I immediately ran to the bathroom, a wave of nausea hitting my body like a truck and forcing up my food from before. Why the hell are you vomiting, Spencer? Why? What did he do?

I think, for the first time in my life, a boy had given me butterflies. Real one, not just down there. Actual, real, pure, butterflies.

And he'll be here in two minutes.

I shoved two fingers down my mouth to make myself gag again, but nothing came up, so I wiped my face and swished with water. I gazed over myself in the mirror. You look like shit, Spencer.

"Pencey?"

The voice wavered from outside of the door, the handle jiggling until it was freed. John pushed his hair back with his free hand, nearly walking smack into me as I left the bathroom.

"Hi. Sorry about that, I think the motion sickness hit me late." I smiled as true as I usually did, but it felt more genuine when I looked at him. The way his head crooked down to look at me in such close proximity gave me butterflies again, but less violent.

"Was your flight that bad?"

"Not really, but there were a few screaming babies, so I didn't get my beauty sleep."

"You don't need that, now, do you?" A cheeky smile brushed his pink lips.

I raised my eyebrows, playing coy. "Wow. Bold now, are we, Frusciante?"

"You know my last name?"

"I am friends with Anthony. It's not like I only talk to my bandmates. A girl's gotta get around somehow." I laughed lightly, walking into the main room before both of us stopped dead in our tracks.

"How the fuck did it wind up being us? Out of 4 fucking rooms, it wound up being us?" I looked at John with bewilderment as he stood with his mouth open after speaking.

"Do you wanna go ask Anthony and Dave to switch?"

He sighed, turning bright red and his hands falling behind his neck. "I just want to sleep."

I inched over to the bed, sitting on the right side. "I promise I don't bite. Or smell. Actually..."

John let out a louder laugh than I expected, falling back on the bed next to me. "You showering, or just going to bed?"

"Probably just bed. I don't think I worked up a sweat sitting still for ten hours."

He huffed, his arms strewn above his head. His stomach rose and fell through his Black Flag t-shirt with every breath he took. "You're right. I just want to sleep this fuckin' jet lag off. And you have a big day tomorrow. You have a gig."

"We. Don't remind me."

"Why?"

"Because the album's supposed to be bigger after this tour. Better than we've done before."

He sat up on his elbows, looking at me curiously. "And that's a bad thing? I'm sure we'd kill to have an album do well like that."

"Well, sure, I mean, the limited fame has gotten me into places I shouldn't be, gotten me all the drugs, drink, and men I could want. It's gotten me nice gear, a nice apartment that could turn into a house soon if I really play my cards right, and nice clothes, but you gotta think, when does it all end, y'know? When does it run out? You've been in movie soundtracks and shit, you can't tell me the thought hasn't crossed your mind at least once." The dark lighting made his expressions barely visible, but I knew he was paying attention, the way his eyes were boring into me. And what eyes they were...

"I guess..." he paused, kicking off his shoes and dragging his feet on the bed. I stood, going to change with the door open so I could still hear him. I could see him clearly in the mirror, however, sure that he could see as I stripped to my underwear and pulled on a pair of sweatpants, still in my bra. "I guess I never thought about it. I have the same problem, it gets me all the drugs and girls and shit I want, but I never actually want it. I feel like I only get the fucked up part of being 'famous'." He formed air quotes.

"A bad drug addiction and terrible relationships." I finished, settling into bed. All he did was pull his shirt off, sliding under the covers. He looks better up close.

"Exactly." He pushed his head up with his arm to see me better. "I didn't know you even used."

I scoffed. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly running around L.A. announcing it to everyone. You've fucked up pretty badly when you're a drug addict at 19, and worse at 20."

"That makes two of us."

"Fucked up together."