Whoever was on the other end of the line must have chastised him, because he instantly lowered his voice. “Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry. I’m Doug, with the band? Is he—? Oh. Can you—? Oh. Okay then. Tell him I called. Have him call me ASAP. As soon as he can. We need to practice today, so—oh, really? Well, if he can. Okay, thanks.”
Larry pulled the covers up over his mouth so Doug wouldn’t see his smirk. When Doug slammed down the phone, Larry kept his voice light and asked, “That his mom?”
“Fucking bitch.” Doug kicked at the leg of his desk, then howled because he wasn’t wearing shoes and had stubbed his toe. “Fucking ass! Who needs Rob anyway? What’s the hell he do, huh? Tell me that?”
Larry didn’t take the bait. “What’d she say?”
“He has to mow the goddamn lawn.” Doug threw himself down onto the tangle of sheets on his bed and glared at the ceiling. “Like that’s more important than practicing. Fucker’s still asleep, if you believe it. I mean, God. Daylight’s wasting!”