This One’s For You

by Holloway, Taylor

  “But your footage—” he said, and I stifled a wince.

  My footage. My poor footage. The hours of material that I’d poured my blood, sweat, and tears into already. Someone else was going to take my footage and do God knows what with it. Edgar Thornton was a director’s director. He made movies that needed annotations to understand. He got rave reviews from critics. I thought his movies were boring and faux-intellectual. I thought he was a fraud who stood on the shoulders of giants and proclaimed he was one of them. But I was probably just jealous. Thornton would probably throw all my footage out, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

  Within the narrow confines of my room (much less palatial than Ian’s suite), I started throwing my belongings in my suitcase at record speed. Thankfully, I hadn’t unpacked much. I was never much of a packrat anyway, and I was incredibly messy, so I never bothered with folding. Given the combination of my regular habits and current motivation, it didn’t take long to throw my shit into my little suitcases.

  “Vanessa,” Ian was telling me as I packed, “I don’t think Don had the whole band’s sign-off on this. He did it on his own. I just need to get in touch with the others and explain and we can figure this out.”

  I grabbed my roller board suitcase, shouldered my backpack and grabbed my camera bag. That was everything. I turned to Ian who was blocking my way. Almost everything.

  “I need to go,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I can fix this.”

  “It doesn’t need fixing. Nothing’s broken.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  I almost laughed. It came out as a strangled, weird-sounding chuckle. “We don’t always get what we want. Look, I’m not exactly happy about this. But I’ve been fired. I want out of here before I become a source of pity. I hate being pitied.” I took a deep breath. “Now, please, can you go about two feet that way? You’re blocking the door.”

  Ian swallowed, looked at the door, and stayed put. “What if I told you I was falling in love with you? Would you stay?”

  My lips parted in shock. “That’s not funny.” We’d only even had sex once. We barely knew each other. We were basically just strangers. Pretending to be together for the cameras wasn’t the same thing as being in love. Even if it felt like love. It wasn’t.

  “It’s not a joke. Stay.” Ian stepped closer to me, and then closer. Until he was almost close enough to touch me.

  I bolted. I ran out the door, down the hallway, and to the goddamn stairs this time because I’d learned my lesson about the elevator. Ian didn’t pursue me. Part of me was grateful. But only the rational part.

  Ian was overreacting because he felt bad about the way I’d learned the news. I knew he didn’t really mean what he was saying. He couldn’t. Maybe in this moment he thought that he meant it when he said he loved me, but he didn’t. There was something between us, I believed that, but it wasn’t love.

  I’d known love before. Real love. True love. I knew how much it hurt to lose it and I didn’t want that again. I wasn’t sure I’d survive it. Whatever was between me and Ian was just lust, proximity, and mutual loneliness. And I was so not ready to have this conversation.

  I was running on pure adrenaline, but somehow, I was able to do exactly what I needed to do. Hours passed in a dizzy blur. Somewhere in the middle, I blocked Ian’s number. My heartbeat didn’t settle down until I was at the airport and waiting for my flight. Out of some perverse, masochistic impulse, I decided to check my new least favorite gossip website.

  Cam girl Vanessa goes full Yoko Ono, causes fight in hotel!

  Someone had snapped a picture of Ian swinging a fist at Thornton while Jason and Tom tried to keep them apart. There was also a second photo of me leaving the hotel with tears streaming down my face. I hadn’t realized I was being watched. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. To top it all off, I looked horrible in the picture.

  My jaw dropped open as I read the fabricated article and the abusive comments from Axial Tilt fans who now blamed me for potentially ruining the entire reunion tour.

  I couldn’t win for losing.

  33

  Ian

  “You didn’t have to hit Thornton,” Jason was telling me. “It wasn’t really his fault, you know.”

  I shrugged. I was still furious, but it was starting to subside and I worried the emptiness that was replacing it would be worse. I wanted to keep the anger. The anger was comforting, or at least it was energizing. Maybe if Don came in here, I would get angry again. I had a fist for his face, too.

  “I didn’t have to hit Thornton, but I wanted to,” I replied. “And I don’t regret it.”

  Hold on to the anger, I told myself. The anger is better than the nothingness.

  Oblivious to my coming depression, the edges of Jason’s mouth twitched up into an almost-smile, but he successfully frowned it to death.

  “Punching never solved anything,” he said.

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “That’s definitely not true. You know that’s not true. Punching might not be the best solution, but it’s certainly a solution.”

  “This lecture usually works better when Wendy does it,” he admitted. “But I’m pretty sure punching Oscar winning directors is a great way to get into a lawsuit.”

  “I barely grazed him, thanks to you.”

  “Yes, and you’re very welcome.”

  We stared at one another for a moment. The rest of the band was avoiding this situation, so it was just me and Jason having this fight alone. I didn’t know what to say, so I settled on the truth. “I’m worried about Vanessa.”

  Jason’s expression softened. “I know you are.”

  “She’s not answering the phone.” I had no way to make sure she was alright. What if another crazy person who thought she was stealing Jason from Wendy attacked her? She should be traveling with security. I couldn’t stand the thought of her out there in Atlanta, alone. She’d never been to the city before. What if she got lost and ended up in a bad neighborhood? Weird, overprotective nightmare scenarios played out in my mind’s eye.

  Jason looked much less concerned. “That’s probably because she’s on a plane back to Austin.”

  “She shouldn’t have been fired,” I told Jason. “I don’t care if Don thought he was doing the right thing. Vanessa has done a great job for us and getting rid of her because Thornton deigned to grace us with his artistic vision again was shitty.”

  Jason nodded at me. His expression turned sympathetic again. “Yeah. It was shitty. Don fucked up.” He glared at the closed door to his suite. “I talked to him. He now knows exactly how much he fucked up.”

  I sighed. “Thornton quit again, right?”

  “Actually, no.” Jason looked as shocked to tell me as I was to hear it. “I think he actually really likes that you tried to hit him. He’s a weirdo.”

  “He likes that I attacked him?” What a freak. Apparently, I should have hit him a lot harder. Then he wouldn’t be so damn happy.

  Jason rolled his eyes. “I talked to his agent. Thornton likes that the paparazzi saw it. He didn’t actually get hit, and it means he looks edgy and cool.”

  I rolled my eyes. Thornton was not edgy and cool. Thornton was an ass who thought he was God’s gift to cinema.

  “He’s using us to increase his street cred?” I scoffed. “He’s probably only taking this job so he can say he worked with a rock band.”

  “Basically.” Jason did not look impressed either.

  “And that doesn’t make you feel gross?” It made me feel gross. Thornton was going to go back to all his slick Hollywood friends and tell stories about the time he got to hang out with the crazy guys of Axial Tilt.

  “Oh, it does.” Jason frowned. “I didn’t want us to hire him back, remember? Everyone else wanted to keep Vanessa. This was all Don being Don.”

  “I fucking hate Don,” I snapped.

  “No, you don’t.” Jason laughed at me. “You’re the nicest of all of us. You don’t
hate anyone.”

  It was true. I didn’t really hate Don. Don annoyed me greatly, but as a general rule, Don was good at what he did. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Don effectively served his purpose of buffering between us and the rest of the world. Being our manager was not an easy job, and when I was in a better state of mind, I knew that.

  “I hate Don right now,” I amended. “And I think I really do hate Thornton.”

  Thornton wouldn’t have attracted my anger if he’d just kept his mouth shut when I saw him in the lobby. Unfortunately, he had to launch into a longwinded diatribe about how much he hated all of Vanessa’s footage and would be throwing it away, before insinuating that she had no talent and we were so much better off with him. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even think. I saw red and, thankfully, Jason and Tom happened to be heading home from dinner at just the right time to restrain me.

  And now we were here.

  “I want him fired,” I told Jason. “I honestly don’t think I can deal with him. I want him gone and I want Vanessa back.”

  Jason shook his head. “We’ve only got a couple more shows.”

  “You know the tour is going to be extended. All the shows have sold out within minutes.”

  “Thornton is a done deal. His contract isn’t like Vanessa’s was. It’s a really significant amount of money. A huge amount of money. We have to pay him now, and if we don’t let him film, we’re paying him for nothing.”

  I ground my teeth. If Jason said it was a ‘huge amount of money,’ that meant that it was actually a small fortune. Enough that we were over a barrel. We wouldn’t be able to get rid of Thornton. We were stuck with him.

  “He’s going to throw out all of Vanessa’s footage,” I argued weakly.

  Jason shrugged his shoulders. “Come on, Ian. You aren’t really angry about Vanessa’s footage.”

  “I am too.” I resented the implication.

  “Not as upset as you are about Vanessa not being here.” Jason stared at me. His expression was knowing, and I suddenly wished he would go back to lecturing me. That had been much less emotionally upsetting. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

  I didn’t say anything. What was there to say? It was obvious to everyone that I was in love with Vanessa. Except, apparently, to her

  “Why didn’t you tell her?” Jason asked. “You should have told her.”

  I couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. It was too hard. “I did.”

  “What did she say?” his tone was gentle, and I suddenly wanted to punch him for pitying me. Vanessa was right. Pity was horrible, and I hated it.

  “She didn’t say anything. She left.”

  34

  Vanessa

  I got home to Austin, but I had no home in Austin. Literally. I’d surrendered the lease on my studio apartment and was temporarily homeless. My new lease on a much better one-bedroom on the west side of Austin didn’t start until I was supposed to be returning home from the tour. Because I was now home a week early, I was forced to find myself a hotel room. And I was getting very, very tired of hotel rooms.

  The flight was long and I was physically exhausted, but the bed in the hotel room was uncomfortable and foreign. Although I burrowed deep into the covers and arranged all the pillows around me in a little nest, I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. No matter which way I tossed and turned, I couldn’t seem to find any rest.

  I missed Ian so much.

  I didn’t like the way I’d left him. It wasn’t good or fair to him. No matter what, I should have been kinder to him. He’d been nothing but kind and respectful to me. But my pride won out over my guilt and I couldn’t bring myself to call him. Eventually, after hours of sleeplessness, I fell into an uneasy sleep.

  My former fiancé, Sam, who had died in the accident last year, was in my dreams. I hadn’t dreamed about him in a while. I wasn’t prepared to see him tonight.

  I almost never remember my dreams, and this one was as vague and hazy as usual. If Sam told me anything mind-blowing or wise, I didn’t remember it. But I was aware of his presence in my dream, and it was comforting.

  Sam was nothing like Ian. They couldn’t be more different. Ian was lanky, sardonic, and iconoclastic. Sam was built like a tank, earnest, and conventional. Sam wanted the sort of future that involved living in the suburbs, raising a pack of kids, and working on cars in the garage. Nothing crazy, since he got enough crazy in his day job. He was sweet and gentle but tremendously square and traditional.

  I’m not sure Sam would even recognize me now. I’d changed. After my accident, I’d become a lot more rebellious. I’d gotten piercings and tattoos. I’d started wearing my hair in a deeper shade of red and wearing more dramatic makeup. I wondered if he would have hated it, but he wasn’t around, and I didn’t feel at home in my body anymore and needed to make it mine again.

  Still, I was sure that if Sam could tell me anything, it was that he wanted me to be happy. He would want me to go out and find something to do that I enjoyed, and he would want me to find someone to do it with. Sam was never a selfish guy. If anything, he was generous to a fault. That’s how I knew he wouldn’t resent me for falling in love with Ian.

  But I still managed to resent myself. When I woke up from my dream to my impersonal hotel room, I didn’t feel better having dreamt about Sam. Even though my rational mind knew that it wasn’t a ghostly visitation meant to punish me for thinking about another man, rationality rarely overrides my emotional reactions, and this was no exception.

  I called Faith in the morning and, by some miracle, she wasn’t scheduled to work at the hospital. She met me for breakfast with her six-month old baby, Amelia. The baby was smiling in her sleep and I envied her peaceful expression. She didn’t have a problem in the world.

  “Well,” I told her after we’d exchanged greetings, “I got myself fired.”

  She blinked at me. “I don’t believe you.”

  I sighed. “Okay. Maybe not fired, but I got replaced.”

  “What happened?” Faith asked.

  “Have you ever heard of Edgar Thornton?” Just saying his name made my blood boil. Fucking Edgar Thornton.

  “No,” Faith said with a shake of her head. Somehow, it made me happy that she hadn’t heard of him, even though her pop culture knowledge was atrociously bad. I somewhat doubted she could name a single director other than Spielberg, but the fact that she didn’t know Thornton made me happy.

  “He’s a director,” I prompted. “A very famous director.”

  Faith shrugged and bounced Amelia on her knee. Amelia wasn’t quite as big as Lachlan. Her limbs were shorter and her head was even bigger in comparison to her body. It was obvious that she was younger now that I was getting better at gauging baby ages. “Sorry, I’ve never heard of him. You know I don’t watch a lot of movies.”

  I smiled at her, but it felt more like a sneer. “Well, they fired me so they could hire him instead.”

  “Oh.” Faith looked sad for me, and her pity made me feel worse. “I’m sorry.”

  “I still got paid,” I volunteered. I tried to sound excited about it, but somehow it didn’t ring true.

  “That’s good, right?” She was always such an optimist. I envied that about her. I was a natural cynic, and the problem with that personality type is that it tends toward depression.

  “Yeah. It’s good,” I admitted. “At least I won’t be broke. They paid me for the whole thing, even though I missed a few cities and won’t have to finish my footage.”

  Faith nodded. “And what about Ian?” she asked delicately.

  I swallowed. “What about him?”

  “You like him.” It wasn’t a question.

  I said nothing. I did like him. I liked him so much that not being near him made me feel like I was missing a limb. And I knew what that felt like and how much it sucked.

  “I liked him, yeah. But now it’s over,” I told her, feeling a sick, sinking feeling pull me under. “I doubt I’ll see him again.”


  I was good at pushing people away to protect myself from pain or vulnerability. I’d said that my shitty superpower was morning breath when Ian asked me, but it wasn’t true. It was this.

  35

  Ian

  The last two shows of the tour were awful, endless, and fueled by nothing but frustration. It should have been a wonderful ending to a lifelong dream. Instead, it was nightmare. I played fine, and the people listening probably didn’t notice a difference, but the shows were torture.

  Every night I went back to my hotel room and worried that I should have chased after Vanessa. She didn’t believe me when I said that I loved her. And the fact that I let her go probably convinced her that she was right. I wasn’t able to get in contact with her, and I couldn’t even send her flowers because I didn’t know where she was.

  It was the longest week of my life. I’d experienced years that went by a lot more quickly. But I couldn’t leave. There were thousands of fans who’d waited years to hear us and would never hear us again. And I couldn’t walk out on the band after working for years just to be worthy of a second chance. I was in a no-win scenario.

  By the time the last encore of the last show was over, I’d played out what I would do to win back Vanessa a thousand times. At least I had a plan.

  “Are you sure you want to just surprise her?” Ryan asked when he picked me up at the airport. “I know you want to see her, but you should at least text her first.”

  I shook my head. “She blocked me.”

  “Maybe that’s a sign,” Ryan replied. He was using his gentlest, most unjudgmental of attitudes, but I felt threatened by him anyway. After a week of the band telling me that Vanessa blocking me was an obvious signal to leave well enough alone, I was past justifying myself. But I was going to do it again.