Starlight Nights

by Stacey Kade

  I shake my head, which only makes my split lip and bruised cheek hurt more. And if they hurt now, sobriety is going to be even more painful. “Spilled my drink, and a couple of other people’s, when that guy punched me.”

  “Which guy?”

  “The one I winked at because he was being a judgy dick.”

  Chase sighs. “Do I need to go in and—”

  “Nope, all handled. Gave them my credit card and my dad’s name.”

  “That’s going to end well,” he says, grabbing my elbow and guiding me to his car at the curb.

  “Bro. Is this a fucking Camry?” I ask with a disbelieving laugh as he pulls open the door.

  “Shut up and get in,” he says, his mouth twisting in a reluctant smile.

  “Nice grocery-getter, Henry.” I drop into the seat.

  “Go fuck yourself, Stone.”

  “Not possible, even with my considerable talents.”

  Rolling his eyes, he slams the door shut, then walks around to the driver’s side to get in.

  I give him the address for my condo, and he puts the car in gear. But he’s edgy, uncomfortable, adjusting the a/c vents, looking at me and then away.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask, finally.

  “It’s just … I can smell it.” His jaw tightens.

  It takes me a second to realize what he means. The whiskey. We have shared more than our share of bottles. Years before. When he was still drinking.

  “Sorry. Didn’t think about that.” I reach over, fumbling for the window controls. The glass retracts with a buzz, and air rushes in.

  “Thanks.”

  “I am…” I try to find the words, which would likely be difficult under any circumstances but especially under the influence. “I don’t know, is it weird to say this … I’m proud of you for doing what you did. For getting clean, for getting your life back together. I know how hard it is to do that.” Or, at least, I know how hard it is to try. “And you were right to cut me off.” I shake my head with a grim laugh. “I’m not even sure why you’re here now.”

  He’s quiet for a long moment. “When I moved out here, I didn’t have anybody. Maybe some of our choices weren’t great ones, but you looked out for me. Made me feel like I could belong out here. Kept me from running home to Texas, especially right in the beginning.”

  “Would have been a waste. You’re talented.” I rest my head against the back of the seat. “More than me. And that is not self-pity, that is just a fact.” I could feel pain starting to move up from my jaw. Yep, alcohol is already wearing off. “I’ve been around long enough to tell, trust me.”

  “How did you like directing?” he asks.

  “Loved it.” If acting was focusing on one pixel of the giant picture, directing was taking a step back to be able to see all of it. Like conducting an orchestra instead of playing a single instrument. And right now that feels like another loss, another gaping hole in the tattered identity that I’d managed to string together. Because who the hell is going to hire me to direct when I can’t even handle my own web series?

  Chase nods, as if this was the answer he expected.

  “I don’t know if we can be friends anymore,” he says after a long moment, where it’s nothing but silence and the air rushing in my open window.

  It’s nothing less than I expected, but hearing it sends a cold stab through me.

  “I’m not saying we can’t,” he continues. “I’m saying I don’t know. So much of what we did back then was…”

  “Based on being wasted? Or in pursuit of being wasted?”

  “Yeah. And that’s not me anymore. I can’t go back in that direction. I won’t.” He shoots a wary look at me, as if expecting me to protest or try to talk him into it.

  I hold my hands up. “I’m not going to tear you down. You’re making something out of your life. What I was trying to do.”

  “You still can. Just because this one project—”

  I shut my eyes, slumping in the seat. “What’s the point? I’m always going to be Rawley’s kid.”

  “Yep.”

  I open my eyes to stare at him.

  “Did you expect that to change?” he asks, his eyebrows raised. “People are always going to judge us by our pasts, by our mistakes. By who our families are or aren’t. But none of that matters unless you let it stop you.”

  I give him a sour look. “When did you get so fucking zen about everything?

  “I took a yoga class once.”

  The mental image of tough-guy-cowboy Chase folding himself up into a ridiculous pose on a bright pink mat (like Stepmother Two) is enough to make me laugh.

  “No, it’s just … I’ve been figuring some stuff out for a while now,” he says with a shrug.

  “With Amanda.”

  “Yeah,” he says, but in a voice that clearly indicates that line of conversation will go no further.

  He’s protecting her, I get it. I tried to do that for Calista. I wanted to protect her, but I managed to blow it. She couldn’t trust me enough. Maybe that was smart of her, after all.

  We’re silent the rest of the way, but he insists on making sure I reach my condo. He parks in the turnaround and flips on the hazards.

  “I can use an elevator,” I argue as we walk—okay, I stumble—into the building.

  “Good for you,” Chase says evenly, nodding at the doorman/concierge at the desk.

  In the elevator, I fumble for my keys, but once we’re out on my floor, I don’t want to go any further.

  If I open the door to my condo, I’m going to see the blankets Calista piled on the couch yesterday when we were watching movies together. My shirt that she wore, still lying in a heap on the floor of my bedroom. The bathroom floor is probably still damp from our attempt to shower together.

  I shake my head. “I can’t. She…” I took a breath. “She believed in me, and I needed that, but I wasn’t enough. And I said some shitty stuff.” I scrub my hands over my face. “I should never have let you talk me out of that bar. I need another drink.”

  “You know you’re an idiot, right?” Chase asks.

  “Probably,” I say bleakly. “But I’m not sure how to—”

  “Come on.” He takes my keys from my hand and drags me down the hall. “Which one?”

  I tip my head toward the door, and Bitsy starts barking as soon as she hears the key in the lock.

  “You have a dog?” Chase asks with a frown.

  I sigh. “Sort of. It’s a long story.”

  He gets the door open, and Bitsy races toward me. I bend down and pick her up.

  “Dude. That is not a dog,” Chase says. “That’s an overgrown mouse. With a haircut.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” I tell Bitsy. “He’s just jealous because you have better style.”

  “Go.” He pushes me into the condo, and I make it to the sofa and collapse, with Bitsy in my lap. Calista’s scent is all over the blankets, and I want to bury my face in them.

  Chase reappears a moment later with a glass full of water and holds it out to me.

  “Are you serious?” I ask.

  “You can get drunk after I leave,” he says. “But it’s not going to fix anything, and you damn well know it. Putting off the pain until later doesn’t make it go away.”

  I take the water and drink a token sip or two, expecting him to turn and leave now that he’s done his duty, as my former friend.

  “I have to get back to the theater for the show tonight,” he says.

  I nod.

  But instead he stands there for a second before seeming to come to a decision. With a reluctant shake of his head, he sits in the chair opposite me. “Look, you can’t make Calista believe that she’s enough, that she’s worth it as a person. Lori has done a number on her for years, and that’s not going to just go away. You can’t fix that for her.”

  “This pep talk is really helping,” I say.

  “Just shut up and listen. You can’t fix that for her, any more than she can make you b
elieve you are more than Rawley’s son.”

  I snap my mouth shut.

  “You both have to do that yourselves. But it would probably help if you hadn’t given her an ultimatum. That was beyond stupid, and exactly what Lori does.”

  I straighten up. “I did not—”

  “Yeah, you did,” he says, exasperated. “Basically, you said that if she doesn’t do what you want, then it’s over, right?”

  “But that’s not how I—”

  “Doesn’t matter how you phrased it or even how you meant it. Matters how she sees it.”

  Isn’t that what someone means when they say they love you? They just want to control you.

  That’s what Calista said.

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  “Your dad is your weak spot. Her mother is hers. This?” He gestures in a way that encompasses the entire situation. “It’s the perfect storm. Drought and high winds.”

  I roll my eyes at his colloquial Texas-ism, but that’s just Chase.

  “So?”

  “So you expect her to get over her deal with her mom, but you can’t do that with your dad?” He shrugs. “Why do you expect her to be better at this than you?”

  “Because … because…” My rationale, which had seemed so clear a few hours ago, is shaky under the weight of his logic. “It’s different. I’ve cut my dad off, but she’s still letting her mother hurt her. I can’t stand by and watch that.”

  He shakes his head. “I could argue that cutting your dad off has done jack shit in stopping him from controlling your choices except in the most obvious ways. But whatever, I’m not getting into that. My point is, don’t watch. Help her.”

  “You just said I can’t fix it for her,” I point out, frustrated.

  “You can’t, but you can be there, showing her there’s another way. That you’re not going to freak out and leave every time she does something you don’t agree with.”

  A slow sinking feeling settles over me. I think all of this is what Calista was struggling to tell me before. Damnit.

  “But my dad—” I begin.

  “—is probably going to gloat like a motherfucker,” Chase confirms, his mouth tight. It seems he remembers Rawley’s visits to set as well as Calista does. “But you have to decide what’s more important.” He shrugs. “Again, you expect her to ignore Lori…”

  Even while I’m not capable of ignoring my dad.

  Shit.

  Chase must see the comprehension in my expression because he nods and stands.

  “Why are you helping me with this?” I ask, trying to sit up straighter. “I thought you didn’t want this for her. You said I wasn’t easy.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he gives an exasperated laugh. “Who the hell is, Eric? I care about Calista. I don’t want her to be hurt, but it’s not up to me. And I’m pretty sure that Amanda’s family would have much rather had someone easier for her than me.”

  I don’t know what to say for a moment. And probably it’s the alcohol, but I can feel a lump rising in my throat. “Thanks.”

  He nods and starts to walk away. Then he stops at the threshold to the hall. “You still surf?” he asks without looking at me.

  “What?”

  “Surfing. You used to go, didn’t you, when we were working together?”

  “I haven’t gone in a while, but yeah.” Used to go every weekend. Because I loved it. But it had the added bonus of pissing off my dad—slacker hobby, according to him.

  “Good. I have Sunday morning off.”

  “You want to learn how to surf,” I say in disbelief. This from the guy who’d never even seen the ocean until he moved out here, and even then, the expansiveness of it freaked him out a little.

  He raises his eyebrows. “You want to go running instead?”

  “Fuck no. Surfing is fine.” I’ll have to get my board out of storage.

  “Amanda wants to learn,” he says. “I want to go with her.”

  “She’s coming wi—”

  “No,” he says sharply. “Not this time,” he adds in a calmer voice.

  I get it. I haven’t earned that level of trust yet.

  “Yeah, okay,” I say. “I’ll text you. It’ll be early,” I warn.

  Chase snorts. “I am not the one with that issue. Not anymore.” He gives me a skeptical look, with a raised eyebrow. “Maybe I better text you.”

  I give him the finger and he laughs.

  But then he’s gone, the door shutting quietly behind him. And I’m alone.

  Well, not quite, with Bitsy in my lap and memories of Calista all around me.

  Chase, much to my irritation, made several good points. Unfortunately, he didn’t really offer much by way of execution.

  How exactly am I supposed to help Calista? Especially now, when she probably won’t let me, anyway?

  I don’t know. But I love her—so much so that it feels like I might not ever be able to breathe again without this hitch in my chest if I don’t figure it out.

  31

  CALISTA

  It’s cold and gray in Indiana. And it’s snowing again.

  Somehow, in just a week, I’ve forgotten exactly how awful the Midwest is in November.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay at my house?” Beth asks, looking away from the road to me, her forehead creased with worry.

  She cranks up the heat when she sees me shivering.

  We’re on our way back from the bus station in Merrillville, where she picked me up when I called her this morning. I spent most of yesterday at LAX, getting my original return flight changed to today instead of next Saturday. And then, with nowhere else to go, I tried to sleep in one of those awful plastic chairs.

  Once I got to O’Hare, it was another trick figuring out the bus schedule to Merrillville, which is only about thirty minutes from campus. But I managed it.

  And now I’m here, with nothing more than the sweatshirt I bought at the airport. I’m still wearing Evie’s wardrobe. When I left the hallway outside Eric’s condo, I just took the elevator down and walked out. No one even noticed.

  I shake my head at Beth. “I just want to get to my room and sleep,” I say, pulling my hands up into my sleeves for warmth.

  Blake feels like an entirely different world from California: a gray one, a bleak one. Eric’s not here—an absence that makes my chest feel caved in. But neither is my mother. And this, at least, is the one place where my name is on the paperwork because I wanted it there.

  For the next month or so, anyway. After that, when next semester’s tuition isn’t paid, I’m sure I’ll get to see my name on other paperwork, the kind that comes when they’re gently—or not so gently—kicking you out. Even before I left, I’d gotten a couple carefully worded emails from the administration, as if they were smiling through clenched teeth, regarding my “plans” for tuition next semester.

  “Do you … do you want to talk about what—” she begins.

  “No,” I say flatly. I can’t cry anymore. I feel weirdly hollow inside.

  “Oh. Okay.” Beth doesn’t say anything more on the way back to campus, but I can feel her concern in the glances she sends my way, the adjustments she makes to the heat and the vents.

  When she pulls up in front of Ryland, she insists on coming in with me. “It’s mostly empty, Calista.” She pauses. “It’s creepy.” She shudders.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say.

  But Beth is right. As soon as we enter the lobby, it’s clear from the dim lighting, the cooler-than-usual temperature, and the thick layer of stillness that this is not a typical day. It gives the building an abandoned feel that is definitely creepy.

  But homeless former stars who’ve rebelled against their families and pushed away the one person who understands them cannot be choosers. Or something like that.

  “I have some extra blankets in my room,” Beth says. “And some ramen? The cafeteria here is closed. You’ll have to walk all the way over to the union, and I think they’re only serving lunch.�
��

  “Thanks, Beth. I mean it. Thank you for coming to get me, too.”

  She smiles shyly. “It was worth it to get out of the house and away from my brothers, trust me.”

  “That bad?” I ask, more to fill the eerie silence as we walk up the stairs. I hear music somewhere, or voices, in the distance. Or maybe it’s the pipes humming?

  “I’m the youngest,” she says with a shrug. “They all love telling me what to do. And the noogies…” She grimaces.

  “I’m the oldest,” I offer. “I still have people telling me what to do.”

  “Sucks, doesn’t it?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” Sometimes it does. Sometimes, though, it’s hard to tell the difference between someone trying to help you and someone trying to keep you in line with what they want.

  How messed up is that?

  I open the door to my room—thank goodness my keys were with my wallet the night I took off from my mom’s house—and the sight of the space exactly as I left it a week ago sends a pang through me. The chair where I hung Eric’s coat still faces away from the desk, like he might have sat there himself.

  I clear my throat. “You said you have ramen?” I ask Beth.

  She nods and we hurry down the cool, dim hallway—only every other light is on overhead—to her room.

  And I should have thought about it, I really should have, but I didn’t, and as soon as Beth opens her door and I follow her in, I’m confronted by the enormous Starlight poster above her bed. Eric and Chase on either side of me.

  Eric’s too-familiar smirk steals the air from my lungs. I step toward the poster, unable to stop myself. I want to touch the paper, to trace his features in the photograph, since I might not ever see them again in real life.

  But I keep myself from it, barely.

  “Here, I found the—” Beth says, turning around from her closet with white Styrofoam cups of ramen in her hands. Her eyes go wide. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

  “It’s okay,” I say, my voice low and guttural with repressed emotion.

  “Oh, Calista,” she says softly. “What happened?” She drops on the end of her bed, the ramen cups in her lap. “Why are you back here?”