For The Least Of These

by Jennifer Davis

  We had to drive slowly. Buckets of rain were falling all around us. Wind-fueled debris shot passed the windshield and even banged into the side of the car. Luckily, none of the debris was too large, but I imagined that would change as the category four storm drew closer.

  As we drove along, I realized that Alicia’s route was not taking us to the main road. I knew she was trying to avoid policemen that might have been watching for cars breaking the curfew. Since I didn’t know the area very well, I continued to follow where she lead, but I hoped we would still locate an officer before we found Terry and Brandy. We kept driving until the wind was almost more than I could handle. I pulled onto the shoulder of the road, and it felt as though we were going to flip over as the powerful winds rocked the car from side to side. I wondered what time it was, but the clock on the dash was only flashing two dots and no numbers.

  Suddenly, Alicia started yelling, “There’s Terry’s car. Over there in that driveway.”

  A somewhat beat-up Dodge Neon was parked in a driveway across the street diagonally from where we were sitting. The house that belonged to the driveway appeared empty. I eased the Jetta across the street and behind the Neon. “Should we check out the house?” I asked Alicia.

  She nodded. We each pulled on a poncho and then stepped out into the wind and rain. It was difficult to walk as the wind whipped around us at fifty miles an hour or more. I feared that Alicia would be blown away, so I grabbed onto her arm. Tree limbs and trash blew all around us, and we had to maneuver to avoid being hit. When we finally made it to the house, we both grabbed hold of the railings on the porch to steady ourselves. As Alicia pounded on the door, I peeked into a window that was nearby. The house was empty – abandoned – as I had previously thought. Alicia pulled on the door and it opened. We took a cursory look inside, but it was clear that no one was hiding in the decaying dwelling. Wind and rain were already coming through the walls and roof. Anyone would have been crazy to try and stay here.

  Before leaving the house, Alicia determined how we could get to Brandy’s house. Alicia told me that she and Brandy had spent some time exploring this area when Brandy first moved in. Alicia finally settled on a direction, and once again we headed out into the weather. Even though I was terrified for Brandy, I wasn’t going to let Alicia take us too far from the car. I had to keep Alicia safe.

  We had walked about a half mile when I came to my senses. How stupid was it that we were trudging through inch deep water while the rain kept coming. Before long, I wouldn’t be able to drive. The water would be too high. I grabbed hold of Alicia’s arm and yanked her back even with me. She was plainly annoyed with me as she jerked out of my grasp. She had a look of determination in her eyes and I would be hard pressed to get her to turn back. Still, I had to try.

  “Alicia, we can’t go on. The water is getting deeper. Pretty soon we are going to be stuck out here. We can call the police. So what if they arrest me? At least they can get to Brandy and save her.”

  Alicia ignored me and moved forward. She was moving rather well for the conditions and I knew that if sheer willpower could save Brandy, Alicia would soon be a hero.

  We stepped out of the deep grass we had been plodding through and onto a paved road. There were houses on this street and it seemed we had returned to civilization. I looked around and all of the houses were boarded up with plywood the same way the Meyers’ house had been. From the looks of things, everyone had left this area.

  Alicia seemed invigorated when she stepped into the street. She hurried even faster. We rounded a corner and she let out a relieved sigh. “There it is – Terry and Brandy’s house.” And so it was. We had finally made it. Now the hard part was about to begin.

  Chapter 9

  “Adam? Adam?” The phone went dead. Damn, Adam had hung up on me. He could be so self-righteous. I could hardly stand him anymore. He used to be my best friend, or as my teenage fans would say, my BFF. We did everything together – and I do mean everything. That was back when he was fun. Now he had grown a conscience – or found Jesus – and he was pretty useless.

  So he said he was quitting me. He will never write another song for me. Well, Rick Hartwood didn’t need Adam Considine’s songs. I was a superstar – he was just a bootlicker. Nobody would even remember his name in another six months.

  Who was I fooling? I would be washed up in less than six months without Adam. I couldn’t write songs. I had to convince him to change his mind. I dialed his number, but he didn’t answer. I tried again and the call went straight to voicemail. This was not going to work. Right after my concert in LA, I would have to start looking for him.

  A week later, I was rocking at The Forum and having a great time. The concert went off without a hitch – even without Adam in tow. Maybe I could survive without him. But I couldn’t take that chance. I had been thinking about catching a flight back East. I was sure Adam was either with that girl Brandy or in Cary with his parents. But I hadn’t come up with a way to change Adam’s mind yet. I needed to do some thinking. A road trip seemed like just the ticket. Adam and I used to take road trips all the time before I became a household name. I just wasn’t sure how exciting it would be without him.

  I packed up a small bag and threw it into the trunk of my car. I would be driving a silver 2004 Mercedes-Benz SL500. This was my most recent car purchase, and I felt that a convertible would be perfect for a road trip. I had seven cars in all, but this was definitely the one that best embodied me. I had given her a name: Bella. Just like me, Bella was a superstar. We were both polished and distinguished. Heads turned when we were around. I loved to watch the women turn and look as I drove by in my beauty. I had only owned Bella for two weeks when I had to leave on this last tour. I had certainly missed her while I was gone. I was convinced that Bella would be better company than Adam would have been.

  Before leaving, I decided to chart out my trip. According to an Atlas someone had left on my bookshelf, Cary was about a three day drive if I stopped to eat and sleep. I planned on doing more than that. I was going to take my time so I could have a really good story for Adam – one that would make him come back and write for me again. As I made my itinerary, I tried to choose remote places to spend time. I wanted to try and avoid large areas where I might get mobbed by Rick Hartwood fans. Of course, with a face as well-known as mine, I would be lucky to remain anonymous even in a hayseed country town. I would just have to hope for the best. That was the price of being a superstar.

  I headed out of California on Interstate 40 which could carry me almost all the way to Cary. I was planning on stopping off in a number of towns across the country, most of them small. My stop-offs included: Dewey-Humboldt, Arizona; the Petrified Forest National Park (also in Arizona); Portales, New Mexico; Oklahoma City, Oklahoma; Memphis, Tennessee; and Waynesville, North Carolina. If anything else looked interesting, I’d stop off there too. I had all the time in the world.

  Four days into my trip, I found myself in Tombstone, Arizona. That wasn’t one of my original stops, but I had somehow gotten caught up in the whole cowboy-Indian-outlaw thing. It started when I was heading to Dewey-Humboldt. I had to pass through Prescott, and I noticed that the Yavapai-Prescott Indian Tribe was nearby. Of course, I had never heard of the Yavapai-Prescott Indian Tribe, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t intrigued. The next day, I visited the reservation and discovered that the Yavapai were native to Arizona. I also discovered that there had once been a Yavapai-Apache reservation to the east at Camp Verde and there was a ghost town located just to the west, a place called Swansea. After spending another night in Dewey-Humboldt, I then decided to go to Swansea – to give equal time to the cowboys. I spent the following night in Phoenix, and now I was doing the outlaw portion of my trip in Tombstone.

  Tombstone wasn’t what I expected. It was mostly a tourist trap, and I was recognized by three different people. I had to take time to sign autographs, but that is the way of famous celebrities like me. All in all, I was disappointed with Tombstone
. I found myself wishing that Alicia was with me. She would have had something funny to say about the whole thing. This wasn’t the first time I had thought about Alicia on this trip, and it wouldn’t be the last. After seeing all that Tombstone had to offer, I decided that I was definitely the biggest attraction there that day. I left and decided to head back to I-40 and leave Arizona and the Old West behind.

  I did make one last stop in Arizona at the Petrified Forest. I wound up spending two days there. It was by far the most interesting thing I would see on my trip – its splendor rivaled my own. The rock formations were amazing, as were the many examples of petrified wood and plants. There were also many living plants with beautiful blooming flowers. I took loads of photos so I could share them with Alicia when I saw her. I had now decided that I would stop off in Pensacola after I got things square with Adam.

  It was more than a month later when I arrived in Memphis. I had made a lot of stops and spent a lot of time in contemplation. I couldn’t seem to get Alicia out of my head. She was unlike any other woman I had ever known – and I’m not referring to the fact that she refused to sleep with me. She was so spontaneous and funny. Every minute I had spent with her had been remarkable. During this time that I had been thinking of her, I had come to realize that I was going to have to change if I wanted a real relationship with her. Alicia would never even consider caring for me if I remained the same. I drank way too much, and I thought entirely too much of myself, although I had good reason: I had earned my stardom. I had no problem getting women, and I had always attributed that to my charm, which was off the charts. But if I wanted to be honest, I should have attributed it to my fame and my money. I had spent a month with only myself for company, and I had come to grasp that I was a narcissistic, egotistical, philandering jackass. I had been told that many times by Adam and countless women I’d slept with, but until now, I hadn’t been able to see it. Changing would be tough – it might even take a few weeks - but I wanted to try. I’d never have a woman like Alicia if I didn’t straighten up my act.

  Memphis was just as I had remembered it: hot and humid. It was August, and I’d heard that was the most miserable month. The day I arrived proved it. I couldn’t wait to get to my hotel room and the cool of the air conditioner. Later that evening, I headed down to Beale Street. Normally, I would have chatted up all the street musicians, offering them a chance to have me sit in on a song or two. Most of the time, they had invited me to play. I had always imagined that they were honored to have a big star like me playing with them, but now I believed that they were just being nice. Who had I thought I was? I couldn’t play the Blues. I should have felt privileged to play with some of those guys. Instead, I had expected them to feel privileged to play with me. Not that their music suffered that much when I joined them, but Blues was just not my forte. On that night, I decided to just delight in the music without trying to join in.

  As I walked along, I saw a few of the older guys that I’d known for years. They spoke politely, but I sensed that they wanted me to keep moving. I wasn’t their friend, as I had once believed. Was I really just some arrogant jerk who thought the world and all its music revolved around him? Who was I really? Maybe I was merely some guy with an acceptable voice and range who could pick a guitar much the same way thousands of other guys could. If that was true, no one would have ever heard of me if I hadn’t had Adam’s songs and if I hadn’t been blessed with a pretty face. I’d probably be working in a fast food restaurant somewhere.

  I wandered back to the hotel feeling less than wonderful. At least I wasn’t drunk – I hadn’t had a drink on this entire trip. I lay down on the king-sized bed with my arms beneath my head. I was beginning to understand why Adam had quit me. For several hours, I felt sorry for myself and even cried a little. I finally drifted off to sleep as the first rays of light were peeking through the curtains of my room.

  I slept late the next day, but after I got up, I visited some of Memphis’ other cultural hotspots: the Brooks Museum of Art, Mud Island, and, of course, Graceland. Oddly enough, I’d never been to Graceland before that day. As a musician, it is probably blasphemy to say that I didn’t care for Elvis, but it was the truth. I found Graceland to be garish and tacky. It reminded me of my own home. I don’t mean that I’ve decorated my own home with gaudy décor. It’s just that Graceland is a shrine to Elvis and my home was a shrine to me, and I wasn’t even dead. Once I got back to LA, I was going to redecorate – or maybe just sell the house. I didn’t want people touring that place some day when I was gone.

  I wound up staying in Memphis for a week. I spent a lot of time on Beale Street listening to the music that matched my mood. I was having an epiphany about myself, and Beale Street seemed like the best place to come to grips with it. I found a little club that had an outstanding house band, and I sat there every evening drinking coffee or soda. On one occasion, I happened by B.B. King’s Blues Club and caught him playing a rare impromptu jam session. It was amazing to see a true talent play, and it humbled me to be in his presence. I would have loved to meet him, and the old me would have made sure of it. But the new me hunkered down and walked out as the set wound down, and I hoped no one would recognize me. I no longer wanted to be Rick Hartwood, Superstar. I wondered if the world would ever let me go back to being Rick Harwell, Nobody.

  I finally decided it was time to move on from Memphis. I didn’t get too far before deciding to stop again: Nashville. I’d spent a week with the Blues and survived; now it was time to check out the country music scene. Nashville proved to be more fun than Memphis. The music was so upbeat that I couldn’t stay sad. As luck would have it, I was able to remain anonymous and still enjoy the live music of Vince Gill and Martina McBride, among others. I was starting to feel better. I wasn’t finished with my soul searching, but I was done beating myself up. I hadn’t had a drink or sex in almost two months, records for me on both counts. I had a long way to go, but I believed that I could win Alicia over in due time. I was Rick Hartwood after all. Like Alicia gave any weight to that. Even Brandy – my number one fan – had seen through me in the end.

  I arrived in Waynesville, North Carolina on September 10. I had reserved a little cabin in the mountains and I was planning to stay until the 14. After that, I was driving straight to Cary. The cabin was peaceful and I spent the next four days exploring the surrounding area. I had never really noticed nature before this trip, but now I was finding it all exhilarating. I fell in love with the mountains and decided that Alicia and I could really disappear from the public eye in a place like this. I began to seriously contemplate whether or not I could give up my life in the limelight. It was all I had known most of my life. I was forty-two years old and I was beginning to understand just how hard changing could be. I knew I wanted Alicia, but I wasn’t sure I could let go of my fame and fortune – even for her.

  As I prepared to leave on that Tuesday, I wondered if Adam was even still in Cary. I hadn’t tried to call him since the day I’d left LA. There was a chance he’d moved on by now. I had to come down off the secluded mountainside where the cabin was located in order to get a signal on my cell. I started to dial Adam’s cell phone, but I knew in my heart he wouldn’t answer. Instead, I called his mom’s number. She answered right away. She recognized my voice as soon as I said hello, and then she began crying.

  “Rick, Adam is in some kind of trouble. A policeman was here earlier looking for him. He’d been by before, but we thought he was just some fan trying to find out things about Adam and you. But he came back this morning. He’s been staking out the house and he saw Adam’s car in the garage…”

  “Did he say why he was looking for Adam?”

  “No, he wouldn’t give me any details except to say that he’s wanted for questioning in a crime. Please tell me you know what this is about. And that you are with Adam…”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you either, Mrs. Considine. I was hoping Adam was at your house.”

  “He left last Friday. He was f
lying to Pensacola, Florida, but he wouldn’t tell us why. Do you think it had something to do with this crime? I can’t get him to answer his phone and I’m so worried.”

  “I think he went to Pensacola because of this girl he met. I don’t know why he’s not answering his phone.” I was getting worried about Adam myself. I couldn’t imagine why the police would be looking for him. Even at his worst, Adam had always been the most squeaky-clean person I’d ever known.

  “Will you try to contact him? Maybe he will answer your call.”

  I doubted that he would, so I said, “I’ll do even better. I’ll drive down to Pensacola and find him. I’ll make sure he’s alright, and one of us will call you.”

  “Thank you, Rick. You are an angel.” I wasn’t, but I was trying to be a better person. Just a week ago, I might have told her that this was Adam’s problem. I probably wouldn’t have gotten involved.

  We said our goodbyes and I pulled onto the road that led back to Waynesville. The cabin I was staying in was closer to Canton, but going to Canton would mean backtracking later. I was close to Waynesville when I spotted a convenience store. I filled up with gas and bought a map. After that, I ate at a Hardee’s while I plotted my route to Pensacola. I would be on state roads until I was somewhere around Gainesville, Georgia; then I could get onto I-985. About twenty-five miles later, I would get on I-85 and remain on it all the way to Montgomery, Alabama, where I would get on I-65. Finally, I would get back on the smaller roads in a town called Flomaton, Alabama. All-in-all, the trip would take over eight hours. It was already close to 1pm, so I estimated that it would be eight that night when I arrived – considering the change to central time somewhere along the way.