Getting to know you.

Nette and I were working on Ron/James, and then I had this idea for James to tell Kirk about Ron while they're drinking in the place in New York, the one upstairs from Anthrax.

I've obviously been influenced by Bliss, and Nette told me it really would be better in first person present tense.

"It must be nice to be in a band with your best friend," I try.

James just looks at me. "Huh?"

Christ, but it's hard to get through to the guy. "Lars is your best friend, right?" I prompt. "I mean, whenever you hear about Metallica, it's all James and Lars."

"Oh, Lars, right."

There has to be a story here. "Isn't Lars your best friend?"

"What's it to you?"

I shrug. "We're in a band together." I take a swig of my beer. "Just thought we might get to know each other."

James leans over, elbows on his knees, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. "I guess he's my best friend." He drinks from the bottle.

"Oh."

"Wasn't Lars and me."

"Huh?"

"The band. Wasn't Lars and me. Was Ron and me. We had a coupla bands. Then we hooked up with Lars." James drops his bottle in the trash and grabs another one from the cooler. He uses the bottle opener on it and drops the cap into the trash. He sips from the new bottle, and glances up to meet my eyes for a short second. "Ron was my best friend."

I sip my beer and think for a second. "Was?" I finally ask.

"Was," James repeats.

"What happened?"

"None of your fucking business," he growls.

I hold up my hands in a gesture of innocence. "Hey, man, I'm just trying to make conversation here."

James drinks the rest of his beer in a few swallows. "He left the band. Wanted a real job. We needed a better bassist." He gets up and puts his beer bottle in the trash, then sits down again. "We had to move to San Francisco to get Cliff to be our bassist. Ron's still in L.A." He fiddles with the frayed edges of the holes in his jeans. "Don't get down there much." He waves at our surroundings. "'Specially not now."

"Sorry, man."

He shrugs. "Nothing you can do about it."