“Okay,” I say, offer her my keys, and then she’s gone.
I pick her barely sipped Jack up off the floor and dump it out in the sink.
A minute or so later, I hear, “Uncle Chuck?”
I turn around, and Tommy’s standing there in his PJs, wearing my old Quiet Riot mask, which means he’s crying and doesn’t want me to see.
“Did you have another bad dream?”
He nods. “Where did Mom go?”
“Just for a drive,” I say.
The boy leaps up into my arms, and I can feel his little heart beating too hard, which reminds me of all the nights I spent alone in bed trembling when I was his age, hoping my mother or one of her many dickhead boyfriends wouldn’t enter the room I shared with Danielle.
“Can we watch your Mötley Crüe Carnival of Sins DVD?” He loves watching that concert, and his mother sometimes says—depending on her mood—that he’s too young to be taking in metal shows, especially since there are women dressed like strippers onstage with the band. Danielle and Tommy gave me the DVD for Christmas, and watching it has become what Tommy and I do when his mother isn’t home.
“Sure,” I say, because I’d do anything to help the kid forget a nightmare.
I get him situated on the futon and fast-forward through the opening where two strippers simulate sex, the whole time feeling as though I too may be a horrendous role model for the kid, exposing him to 1980s metal at such a young age, and then Mötley Crüe is playing “Shout at the Devil” as pillars of fire explode upward behind them to the beat.
Tommy raises up the devil’s horns through the first chorus, but then he takes off his Quiet Riot mask and nuzzles his head against my chest.
He’s sound asleep before they finish playing “On with the Show,” my favorite Crüe song of all time.
I hit stop on the DVD player and carry him into his bedroom.
Once he’s under his sheet, I hang the Quiet Riot mask on the nail over his headboard for protection from nightmares.
I watch him breathe for a while, and I think about how there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this little guy—not a thing in the world.
And then I crawl into my own bed on the opposite side of the room, and I think about where Danielle might have gone.
I’m woken up by laughter, and when my brain kicks in again, I hear Danielle in the living room with a man.
They put the B side of G N’ R Lies on the turntable, and while I agree that it is one of the best late-night B sides to put on after a party, they’re playing “Patience” loud enough to wake up the entire fucking neighborhood.
“What’s happening?” Tommy says.
“It’s okay,” I say, looking at my cell phone: 4:44 a.m.
“Stay here,” I say.
I turn on the light so Tommy won’t be afraid and then close the door behind me.
In the living room, my sister is slow dancing with some guy wearing a skintight Sex Pistols “Anarchy in the UK” T-shirt. His hair is all spiked up. There’s a dog collar around his neck, and covering his arms are dark sleeve tattoos, which I instinctively scan for track marks, the old junkie in me thinking, What is this guy hiding?
“Who are you?” he says when he sees me.
Danielle laughs. “That’s just my brother, Chuck. What the Fuck Chuck, I call him.” She has never once called me that before. She’s slurring her words a little and holding onto Johnny Rotten for support because she’s hammered. “Chuckie Fuckie!” she adds, and then laughs uncontrollably.
I appeal to Johnny Rotten. “Her son’s in the back, trying to sleep.”
“You mean him?” Johnny Rotten says, and points with his long goatee, through which a thin white scar runs.
I turn around and see Tommy staring wide-eyed.
“Back to bed, Tommy,” I say. “Everything is okay.”
“Who is that?” Tommy says.
“Com-ear, Tom-hee!” Danielle says and then opens her arms. “You can stay up all night if you just give me a hug and a kiss.”
Johnny Rotten laughs, and Tommy looks up at me with scared eyes.
“She’s just drunk,” I whisper to him. “She’ll be okay tomorrow.”
“I’m just happy,” Danielle says, “which ain’t no crime,” and then tries to walk over toward me, but she trips and face-plants on the floor.
Johnny Rotten rushes over to my sister.
“Uh-oh,” Danielle says, and when she sits up, her hand and nose are red.
“Mommy!” Tommy says.
“It’s okay,” I say to Tommy as I try to help Danielle up.
Guns N’ Roses is now playing “Used to Love Her” on the turntable, which is still cranked up high.
“That tickles!” Danielle says when I put my hand under her armpit.
Johnny Rotten says, “Maybe we should put her to bed.”
“You think?” I say.
“You can go home, man,” he says to me. “I can take it from here.”
“This is my home.”
“Oh.” Johnny Rotten looks genuinely surprised. “So they’re staying with you.”
“Yeah, he’s like a superhero, my brother,” Danielle says. “Likes to save people like me and Tommy. Best guy you’ll ever meet. Chuck Bass. Gotta love him.”
“Okay, drunk girl,” I say. “Let’s get you into your room.”
“I love you so much, big brother. I really do.”
The little man looks at me, and I can tell seeing his mother smashed like this scares him. “Tommy, go to our room,” I say. “I’ll be right there, I promise.”