Unwanted Rose in the Wilting Garden

Written 8/2/26

Doc starts having his suspicions about the nature of Emile and Jo's relationship, causing some painful truths to be uncovered.

Click here to go back to Emile

It was March of 1966. The Bloodhounds had just finished their first tour as an established folk rock group. But while the band had spent some weeks in New York City for a couple of shows, Doc had stayed in L.A., forcing them to find a temporary replacement. Nobody had pressed him yet for an explanation, much to his relief. It seemed like the band would easily forget his refusal to play in his home city in the face of their second album. The sooner they released more music, the better. So far, the recording process was going well. That was, aside from one little problem...

Emile Duncan. What was there to say about him? He had his fair share of shortcomings, no doubt about that. Although he improved on a few since joining, Jo and Ed still picked up his slack. Doc was otherwise willing to admit that he was wrong in his first assessment of the singer. He had obviously contributed to some of the band's success and mostly kept out of trouble. So how could he be such a big issue now?

9 AM. Doc arrived at the studio, guitar case in hand, to rehearse the handful of songs they had shelved for their next release.. He already wasn't in the best of moods; planning a new album always led to arguments between the group. But he thought about the prospect of seeing Jo and kept his head up. It felt like years since they had last been together and his love had only grown stronger. Now he wondered how he couldn't see it before: she was the one thing that kept him in this scene and made him practice as much as he did.

Inside he walked past Shannon and Obie, who had only arrived a few minutes before as they were just sorting through the music, and he took his place in the corner. Ed arrived later as he was plugging in the amp. Absorbed in tuning his guitar, however, he almost missed the commotion at the entrance. Jo's melodic voice was unmistakable, but with it chimed a less gracious one.

Shooting up from his seat, Doc pulled off the guitar strap. From the tiny crack between the sound barrier and the floor, he saw two conjoined shadows gaining focus.

"Did you see the look on Obie's face when we started playing 'I Feel Fine'? It was priceless!" Jo giggled, "We should do that every time we play your song live."

Doc squinted when he heard Emile's response, "Or- or maybe... We could sing a dif'rent song each time. We could keep it a surprise." Putting his guitar down beside the chair, he stepped out from his hiding place. Walking hand-in-hand through the room was Jo and Emile. Jo was flashing Emile her usual smile, but Emile had his head turned back with a look of fondness that made Doc's eye twitch. Someone on the outside might look at them and assume they were a couple but Doc knew better. Jo was his wife.

"Jo." The two looked up at the sound of his gruff voice. Emile's fingers slipped from Jo's, and he couldn't tell if his droopy eyes looked any guiltier than they normally did or not. He ignored the singer and continued, "Let's you and me pick out which song we're doing first. I got my guitar tuned for 'Trailhead', but-"

"'Trailhead' is fine," She said quickly with a smile, running off, "I'll go set up my keyboard!"

The second instance happened a few days later. They were rehearsing again, finally getting something of a tracklist together, but there were still a few songs that he and Obie couldn't agree on. They had just finished a tune of Obie's that Doc personally thought was a bit sluggish and trite- no story, no message, just repeated phrases about love and a walk in the city park. It was Shannon who called for a break, and he and Jo were alone at last. Doc took a sip of coffee and set it down on the little round table between their chairs. Jo leaned on her armrest, her eyelids starting to droop.

"I hope you don't think I'm being too choosy with the songs we've got here," Doc slowly said, causing Jo to sit back up, "I just want to make this album perfect. I want folks to know that the Bloodhounds are a serious group that isn't afraid to reveal the truths of our current world."

"I know exactly what you mean!" Jo replied with a little too much enthusiasm, "It's our responsibility now, with the size of our audience and all. It's just..." She sighed, "Obie and Shannon are trying, too, y'know? You could cut them some slack once and a while."

Doc's eyes wandered to the floor as he mumbled a half-hearted "Yeah, yeah..." Yet he didn't exactly agree that Obie was trying as hard as he could. The drummer seemed more concerned with record sales and radio play than the actual objective quality of their music. Even thinking about it made his blood boil, but he didn't want to make a bad impression on Jo, especially given what he planned to say next. Scooting to the edge of his chair, he leaned arms-to-knees so that he was eye level with his wife.

"But, y'know, Joey..." He began in a low voice, gently taking her hand in his, "No matter how frustrating this music thing gets, I'm glad that you've stuck around. You really add something special to this group, not just musically but... spiritually. Especially for me."

Her face softened as she put her other hand to her chest. "Aw, Doc... that's so kind. I appreciate you, too." But for a moment, he couldn't help but sense that she was playing it up to some degree. Her normally cheery voice had taken on a insincere tone. Her green eyes seemed to be avoiding him. He pulled back a little, searching for anything he could tell her to prove he was genuine.

"Look, I-I-" He began when he heard heavy footsteps. The next second, a shadow fell over Jo and two thick hands covered her eyes.

"Boo!" Emile's head popped out above the chair, leaning over Jo's ear as he moved his hands down to her shoulders. "Did I scare you, Sweets?" He asked with a playful smile, seemingly unaware that Doc was even in the room. Sweets? She still let him call her that? To make things worse, she looked back up at him with a wider smile than the one she had given Doc.

"I was terrified!" She mock-gasped, putting a hand to one of his, "What's up, Emi? Did you have something to tell me? I was just having a chat with Doc over here." At least she acknowledged him. Emile's eyes widened as they met his, that toothy grin falling. By that point, Doc had crossed his arms, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his sleeve as he waited for Emile to leave them alone. His rural drawl suddenly annoyed him as he spoke to Jo again in a softer tone.

"Oh, I just had another song I wanted to show you. I wanna know if it's any good..."

"I'll be right there! Just give us one more minute," She told him to which he smiled and finally rushed off to another room. When Jo turned back towards Doc, her smile was gone. In fact, she looked a little bothered herself but something told him that it wasn't directed at Emile.

"Doc, I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick. Was there something else you wanted to say?"

His muscles clenched as he stared back at her, imagining Emile's grubby little hands still lingering around her neck. Knowingly or not, that kid was turning her against him. Only now did he wonder what could've happened between them in New York when he wasn't there to watch over Jo. Had they done more than this? Gone out together? Slept with each other?

But he couldn't bring himself to voice these questions to Jo. Snapping out of his trance, he slowly shook his head.

"No, that was everything."

And so, she got to her feet, exiting the room. Doc reached for another sip of his coffee only to find that it had gone cold. There was no time to waste, anyway. He was going to put a stop to this. Jumping to his feet, he went the direction that Emile had left in, his steps quick, quiet, and methodical. He soon found him next to a tiny shelf of recording equipment, looking through a stack of messily-scrawled papers.

"Emile, I want to talk." The singer jumped a little, his nervous eyes lifting as he laid the stack on top of the shelf. Then he glanced quickly around as if expecting Jo to show up at any minute.

"What about?" He eventually asked, and Doc gestured him towards some sound dividers in the corner. As soon as they were closed in and out of sight, Doc leaned over Emile, his voice falling to a hiss.

"What's all this between you and Jo? Don't play dumb with me."

Emile's eyes widened and he backed away a little, his fingers grazing the wall behind him. "I-I was just tryin' to be her friend..." He stammered in such an oh-so-innocent voice that Doc could've scoffed. Poor Emile. Stupid Emile. What if he really was playing dumb and was smarter than he let on? What if his whole handicap was an act from the moment Jerry introduced him to the band, all in some grand scheme to steal Jo? Doc sucked in a deep breath, trying to chase the racing thoughts from his mind. But not enough to feel any guilt for what he said next.

"Is that what friends do? Never give a woman space? Not let her have even a second of alone time with her husband? Always butt in where he isn't wanted? You call yourself a friend?"

He pointed a finger towards Emile, almost hoping that he would stand up for himself just this once. He wanted to see Emile angry. He knew that he had it in him. To his disappointment, however, Emile merely stared at his shoes. Doc's hand awkwardly fell back to his side. The singer's reaction both cooled and unsettled him. Now he knew for sure that Emile was hiding something. But how could he prove it?

Finally, Doc forced out a huff. "Look at me," He grunted, to which Emile's trembling gaze lifted, "You're on thin ice, you got that? Either you back off from my wife, or you're out of the band."

Only when he was sure that he had gotten to Emile did he turn away in disgust, starting to walk back out from the dividers. That was when Emile muttered something so out of his character that even his voice had taken on a sudden cunning edge.

"... But it's alright for you to see any woman you want? I get it very well."

Doc whipped around, his face tightening into a grimace. "What did you just say?" He snapped, starting to speed back towards Emile, "Who told you I see other women? I would never do that! They're lying!"

His voice grew louder with each word and Emile backed away, his pudgy body quickly bumping into the wall. Doc's towering form blocked his only means of escape, however, and he began to fumble for words between terrified gasps for air.

"I-I-I don't know. I didn't mean it, I swear, I-I take it back-"

Deep inside, Doc was trembling, too. He had tried so hard to get rid of that habit and turn himself around. The knowledge of it could ruin everything. Did anyone else in the band know? Ed? Obie? Jo? Emile could've already spread it around for all he knew, intent on destroying Doc.

But as his own mind spiraled, Emile pressed his shoulder against the wall, covering his face with his arms. Protecting himself. Doc had seen that motion somewhere before, but before he could fully process the image, he heard the last voice he would've hoped to hear.

"Doc? Doc!"

It was Jo. His back straightened as he turned around to see her standing in the entrance of the dividers, hands to her sides, her face stretched in shock.

"Doc, what are you doing?" She demanded, glancing past him towards Emile and then back up at Doc again. A dark pit began to form in his stomach as he watched her connect the dots.

"Oh, don't even tell me..." She groaned, pressing her fingers to her temple, "I just, man, I..."

By then, Doc's anger had all but vanished. Now he felt like the dumb one, knowing full well that Jo would follow Emile but having cornered him, anyway. He could barely manage to meet Jo's glare as she pulled her hand back down with a smack.

"I don't even see him that way, Doc. I never have."

The words seemed to linger in the air for a moment. Her usually cheerful voice had shifted so far in the other direction that he knew she was being honest. It was all he needed to admit that Jo's own side in the story was innocent. Nothing had happened between them in New York. After a long time, he lowered his head and began to step out of the corner.

"I was just trying to watch out for you..." He muttered as he slowly passed her, staring at the opposite wall.

"I can watch after myself," Jo shot back before letting out a sigh, "Besides, this is Emile we're talking about, y'know? He'd never do such a thing, Doc, he's just not..." Her voice lowered, "Socially aware, that's all. If he crossed my boundaries, I would've told him by now and he would've stopped. All that hugging and chatting- it's just how he shows that he's my friend. A woman can have one of those every once in a while, can't she?"

The wording reminded him of what Emile had said. But it's alright for you to see any woman you want? Jo had seen him with one or two other partners early on in their marriage, back before he became better at hiding his affairs, back before their love became more serious to him and it was instead just something to keep him out of Vietnam. He longed desperately to tell Jo that he had changed. That if he said he loved her, he wasn't merely following the role of a husband but meant it. Whether it was Emile's silent presence or his own embarrassment, though, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Only...

"I'm sorry, Jo. I saw the way he held you and I just... I jumped to conclusions."

When he looked back over his shoulder, Jo was shaking her head, arms crossed. "Look, if it really bothers you so much, then speak to me first next time, okay? And apologize to Emile."

But when Doc turned all the way towards Jo and looked past her, the corner down the sound dividers was empty. Jo followed his squinted gaze before rapidly scanning the room.

"Emile? Emile!" She called out before giving Doc a small shove, "Good going, Doc! You scared him off."

"He'll turn up," Doc muttered but already she was pushing out of the room. Whether it was to keep searching for Emile or simply get away from him, though, he wasn't sure. Any fear about Emile knowing of his infidelity was dwarfed in his mind by her final, cold look towards him. And he wondered: if she knew how recently he'd cheated, would it have changed anything?

~~~~~

Ed rapped impatiently upon the bathroom door.

"Hey, Em! Are you in there?" He called, "Hurry up! We got a demo to record!"

Pushing his ear to the wood, he heard a quiet "J-Just a minute!" and what he presumed was the clatter of small objects falling off of the vanity. With an exaggerated sigh, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his scuffed denim jeans, the edges of his lips perking up in amusement.

"Y'know, I tried to tell Obie the same thing, but he wants this album on the shelves. This new audience won't stick around if all we have is one record and some singles, he says. I guess I see his point..."

He trailed off, and for a while all was silent on both sides of the door. But amusement slowly turned back around to frustration and he knocked on the door again, reaching for the knob.

"But seriously, Em, are you coming out or what? These lyrics aren't gonna sing themsel-"

He had only meant to test the doorknob for fun, assuming that Emile had locked himself in as anyone using a bathroom for its intended purpose would. To his surprise, however, it swung open, nearly causing him to stumble in onto the singer. As he caught himself, Emile whipped around and their widened eyes locked onto each others'. Only Emile's were puffy and his cheeks were red. In his clenched hand was a towel and Ed began to connect the dots.

"Um... were you-"

"No," He blurt out a little too abruptly, turning back to the mirror, "I-I'm fine, everything's fine."

Watching him drop the towel and hurriedly rub his palms over his eyes, Ed nibbled at his cheek. Was this the right time to ask anything? Come to think about it, he'd been worried about Emile from the day of their reunion. He'd only become quieter since then, less inclined to go out with them, had put on more weight. There seemed to be a dark cloud hanging over him all the time. Was it just the stress of making more sophisticated music?

"Hey, Emile?" He finally spoke up, hoping to reassure him somehow. But the softness of his tone must've flown over Emile's head as he pulled himself from the sink.

"Sorry, I'm ready now," He muttered, lowering his gaze as he walked past Ed. At first, he reached out a hand, barely missing Emile's shoulder. Then he let the hand fall. The smaller Emile got, the smaller he saw his window of opportunity to say something shrinking until it was gone. He had no choice but to follow the singer back to the rest of the group and to hope that the work would take both of their minds off of things until the right time came.