When the song finishes, the entire room sounds with applause and hollers. Henley walks out a side door, and Jagger approaches me.
“She wants to cover Otis Redding’s ‘I’ve Been Loving You Too Long’, and Derek asked if you and I would do it. Rhys will play drums and Griff’s on bass. Derek will play the piano,” Jag says.
“That’s such a great fucking song,” I say, knowing we will do it justice.
“Yeah, it really is,” he says, and I see the song touches him on too many levels.
Musicians are a peculiar breed of people. We can find meaning in shit no one else can. We can write lyrics to convey our thoughts and emotions, but we can’t always tell you what we feel. Music speaks for us when words fail us. When we least expect it, a song can hit the weak spots in our heart. I guess this song just hit Jagger’s spot.
I walk through the studio and out the side door to see Henley smoking a cigarette.
“Hey,” she says.
It’s the first time she’s greeted me first since I forced her into rehab. She’s put on weight, and her eyes look clear now.
“Hey. You sounded fucking great in there.”
“Thanks,” she gives me a small smile.
“We okay, Hen?”
“Yeah. Look, I get you did what you had to do. You are the only one who knew what I was going through, and what I fucking needed. Thank you for that.”
“You okay?”
“No,” she answers honestly.
“It takes time, baby girl. As the months pass, you begin to feel more like yourself again. The depression you feel right now is natural, and I know that doesn’t make you feel any better. Just keep yourself busy, like you’ve been doing, but you have to let people in. They’re worried as hell.”
“I’m letting you in,” she says and my heart clenches.
“Thank you,” I say and pull her into a hug.
I feel her begin silently crying, and I remember how many times I did this in the six months after I got clean. She’s hurting, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to make it better. All I can do is hold her why she cries and be there for her to talk to. I understand the darkness that consumes her, and I still fight it every day.
The door opens and Jagger steps through. He immediately tears up at the sight of her crying, so I mouth to him “she’s fine,” and he reluctantly leaves us alone. The man fucked up with my sister, but when she went missing, I really saw how much his world revolves around her. There is an electric current that runs between those two, and it zips and zags between the bodies that happen to be in a room with them. This love they have is like nothing I’ve ever seen or experienced before. I’d do anything to find something like that. Jagger is doing the right thing by letting her heal though, and I’m proud of him because it can’t be easy for a man who looks at her that way to keep his hands off of her.
She pulls away and wipes her eyes, smiles sweetly at me, and says, “Thank you, I really needed that.”
“I’m always here.”
“Thank you.”
After a beat, I break the silence, “So Otis, huh?”
A big belly laugh rips from her; “Otis makes me so fucking horny.”
I chuckle, “Otis makes everybody horny.”
“Really?” she asks genuinely surprised.
“Yeah, it’s like some unwritten universal law. If Otis Redding is singing, clothes are coming off. I would love to know the actual statistic of children conceived while listening to Otis.”
We chuckle together, and it makes my heart unclench slightly to see her smile. It’s a big smile that could knock you on your knees if you aren’t prepared for it.
“I hear Jagger and I are playing this panty-dropping song with you.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s the rumor.”
“Sounds good to me. Memphis?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you are my brother.”
“Thank you,” I say and hug her one last time.
Chapter 26
Henley
I’ve been out of rehab a few weeks and I’ve poured myself into my music. The itch for something more hit me like a slug in the chest when I opened my eyes this morning. Sobriety is a struggle, but I’m really trying for my dad and brothers. I don’t want Red to see me like this, so I’m trying for him most. I think back to the girl I was before Caleb died, and even before my heart was ripped out by Jag. That girl was carefree and happy. I can’t tell you the last time I was happy. I don’t remember the last time I felt laughter all the way to my bones, or a smile touch my soul. The smile I manage to fake these days is for the sake of the people who love me and worry endlessly about my health and well-being.
I catch all the men in my life studying me like they are attempting to analyze my mood, or maybe they know I’m faking it and trying to figure out why. The music seems to help because I don’t have to think when I’m lost within its grasp. The only thing I have to feel is what I choose to. I sing the blues a lot lately, and the guys seem to be excited about the new project. I don’t know how we’ll swing the new Abandoned Shadow album with this, but I need to sing and play them damn blues. If I don’t, my own sorrow will suffocate me. I can feel someone else’s words and emotion for as long as I please when I’m in the studio.
I make do with chain smoking and drinking a pot of coffee before I leave the house this morning. Kip text earlier to say he was at the studio before I was even awake. I load a growing Cash into my Audi and stop by Starbucks for more caffeine. When I park in the studio lot, Cash lets out a bark of excitement and wags his tail. I don’t let him out of the car quickly enough for his liking, so he ends up in my lap kissing my face frantically. I laugh, genuinely laugh for the first time in a long time. Some cosmic force knew I needed this furry little critter in my life. I rub his head, and hook his leash preparing for him to leap out of the car as soon as I open the door. He doesn’t disappoint and lets out a bark to let everyone in the vicinity know he has arrived.
He bounds up to the front studio door, and as I look up I realize he is prancing towards my father. My dad smiles at Cash and bends down to greet him. Cash covers Dad’s face in kisses and gets a thorough ear scratching in return. As Dad stands from his embrace with my dog, he pulls me into a quick embrace of my own and kisses me on the cheek.
“How are you feeling, baby girl?” he asks.
“Having a rough morning,” I answer honestly.
He runs his hands through his hair as most of the men in my life do when they’re nervous, frustrated, upset, or uncomfortable.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks.
I sigh and look up at the sky. Pursing my lips, I finally say, “I felt the need to use a little this morning when I woke up. It wasn’t overwhelming, and I didn’t let it overtake me like I have before. I tried to quench it with coffee and nicotine. I made it here sober, so maybe there’s hope for me yet.”
He smiles a sad smile, “All these years, you never used, and you had every opportunity in this business. Why now? I guess… I mean… what’s your trigger? I don’t know if I’m asking this the right way. Is it the industry? If you had not of come back, do you think you still would’ve used?” he stammers nervously and runs his hands through his hair again.
I guess they don’t make a book about how to talk to your daughter about why she likes to put blow up her nose. Any book titled How to Talk to Your Children About Drugs, doesn’t make the talk any less nerve wracking.
“I never felt the need to use before. Dad, I’ve never hurt so much in my life. When Caleb died, it didn’t even cross my mind to turn to drugs. I had all of you as a support system to get through it. This time, it was like every time I thought I might catch my breath again, something else would happen and take it away. Whether I would’ve come back to music, I still would’ve gotten on that bus with Jagger and we still would’ve ended up together. We all know it was inevitable. The Claudia fiasco would’ve
happened, and I would’ve lost my own child. My Christmas would’ve been ruined, and Memphis would still exist. Red would still have had that stroke, Jessica would’ve hidden the loss of her and Caleb’s child, Koi would’ve still hid his knowledge about Memphis, and Jagger would’ve dated a model. Caleb’s mother would tell me how much she wishes I was dead, and Caleb would still be dead. The industry didn’t do this. I did this. I made a choice to deal with my pain with drugs. I didn’t do drugs because I liked the way they made me feel. I did them because I became addicted to the way it didn’t make me feel at all. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel overwhelming loss or pain or emptiness. I felt alive, cheerful, and a sense of peace. I just have to find a way to deal with reality on my own. Drugs don’t change reality, it just helps to escape from it for a little while. I need to be stronger.”
He throws his arm around my shoulder and leads me towards the front door of the studio. “Strength is a funny thing. You aren’t born strong. Experiences shape your
strength. Each time you face difficult times and make it through the other side, you gain strength. Don’t think you aren’t strong, or that you need to be stronger. The only thing you need to do differently is communicate and lean on the people who love you. We are here to help you through the tough times. We’ll all get through this together, just like we have everything else.”
I nod in agreement.
“Hen?” he stops me in front of the entrance to our studio, and places his hands on my shoulders and turns me to face him. “The people you love contributed to this. Yes, you made the decision to use, but we caused the pain. That’s not lost on me. Your support system is still here, so don’t forget to use it. You aren’t weak and don’t you ever think any differently. You are a human being who hurt, and you get to make mistakes. You are strong and you can do this. You can stay sober. You can record both albums and tour the world singing and playing your heart out. You can have it all, just dream it and it will come true. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks Dad, I really needed to hear that.”
We enter the studio and all eyes turn to us. Cash makes a mad dash for Uncle Kip. You would think the two hadn’t seen each other since… well last night for a walk on the beach. We have a good laugh at the pair, and everyone seems to get back to what they were doing. Jag is changing strings on a guitar, but hasn’t quite taken his eye off me. Memphis gets back to listening to something in his headphones after his assessment tells him I’m sober. The rest of the guys are looking at something on Kai’s laptop.
I enter the live room and pull out a piece of paper I brought from home. I wrote a song for Red last night but got stuck. To be honest, I’m not sure if I’m stuck on the raw emotion or the words themselves. I enjoy writing in isolation, but the emotions became a little too much last night, so I thought it might be best to write close to other people. I mark out words, and rewrite sentences, until I can’t see straight. I sit in the live room for an hour on a leather sofa, but finally throw the pen across the room in frustration. I can’t write a song for a fucking legend without it being fucking perfect.
“Fuck!” I scream out in irritation.
I pick up a soda nearby, and book it to the back entrance of the live room that leads to a small patio area. I push through the door, taking my annoyance out on the inanimate object. I light up, and close my eyes to see the words on the paper again. I search for the words. What do I want to say? Fuck, who am I even saying it to? I stand from the patio chair, and pace back and forth reanalyzing the entire purpose for this song. The words flow in my head, but then I get stuck again and I growl.
“Let’s talk it out,” Memphis interrupts my profound thoughts.
“What?” I ask confused.
“Let’s talk about why you are throwing pens across rooms, screaming out, and pacing out here lost in thought.”
“The mic must’ve been on?” I ask.
“Yes and no. Do you know when you write or play away from everyone they watch?”
“What do you mean they watch?”
He chuckles, “I thought it was creepy the first time I ever witnessed it, but I caught myself doing it as soon as you wrote your first song in the studio. It’s like watching a tiger in his natural habitat behind a glass wall. You know you can watch in appreciation without being eaten alive.”
“Are you saying I would eat you alive?”
“Me? No. An unsuspecting soul who interrupted your music process? Hell yeah.”
I let out a genuine laugh for the second time today. “I guess you’re right.”
“They admire you, even look up to you. I do. You have superhuman musical talent. You know you’re good, but I don’t ‘think you know how good you are. Yeah, you’ve been deemed a guitar goddess, you’ve been famous for quite a while, and you are successful as hell. You still have no idea how fucking good you are, and that honestly floors me. You are the tiger, a force to be reckoned with. No matter how bad your day is or what is going on in your life, I don’t imagine you ever lose that fire inside, just like a Tiger never loses his stripes. So why are you of all people throwing pens and screaming? Why are you pacing?”
“I can’t finish the song,” I say as air rushes out from a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Let me help.”
“No.”
“No?” he asks in shock.
“You can’t help me with this.”
“Will you tell me why?”
“It has to be mine.”
“Okay. I get that. I can help with words here and there without it being mine. You tell me what you need.”
I pace again. How do I explain this to him?
“I’m at a point where I don’t even know why I’m writing the song. I just know who I’m writing it for. I need to figure out why I’m writing it before I even know what in the hell I want to say,” I rub my temples trying to ease my frustration.
“Do you want to tell me what it’s about?”
“I don’t know what it’s about.”
“Do you want to tell me who it’s about?” he asks.
“No. Not yet.”
“Fair enough. It’s going to be some song, Henley,” he smiles mischievously at me.
“I haven’t even finished writing it yet, so how do you know? It could be total shit, and it can’t be total shit because I have to write this song. It has to be fucking perfect…” I stop mid-sentence to keep the emotion from rising past the lump in my throat.
God I miss Red so much. I’ve not seen or spoken to him in months. I need to go home to see him and maybe I will know what to say then.
“Because, you’re pouring your entire heart into it. It will become a part of the fiber of your being by the time you are done with it. That fire is in your eyes right now… I could feel it through the walls inside and now across this patio. Hold on to the fire. Hold it on to it so firmly that you get burned and write the fucking song. Do it justice,” he says and leaves me on the patio alone.
I smoke another cigarette and then walk back into an empty live room. I find my place on the leather couch again and pick up another pen from the nearby coffee table. I close my eyes and remember Chicago. It was a life-altering event for me. Chicago changed everything, the entire course of my life. The moment I stood on that stage and played with Buddy, I was hooked. I’d fallen in love with live music. I’d fallen in love with music period, in a way I never knew possible. I wanted to bend the crowd to my will the way my grandfather and Buddy had done. I wanted the power and ability to move people down to their very souls. As I think back to my grandfather putting his hand over my heart as I walked off that stage towards a legend, I picked up my pen and began to write.
Whisky and Smoke
Take me back to simpler days.
What I’d give
To fall asleep in your guitar case.
Your hair has turned to white
As the years ticked by.
But your unwaver
ing love remains the same
And still lights up your eyes.
Please don’t leave me now.
As selfish as it may be,
I can’t imagine a world without you,
Where I can be me.
I’m not strong enough to suffer your loss.
Part of me would be irrevocably broken.
How do I live without part of my soul?
I’m made up of you, and whiskey and smoke.
There was a time when I was unaware,
That you were iconic to the masses.
I ripened unsuspecting of your grandeur.
One metamorphic day in Chicago, you decided to share.
Bright lights and abandoned shadows dug its claws into me.
You stood nearby with your hand over your heart,
And pride radiating from your smile.
My life was forever altered and in your hands.
Please don’t leave me now.
We have so much more to do.
I can’t let go of Chicago just yet.
I need these blues.
Breathe life into me again,
And mend my soul.
Guide me through this pain.
Because I’m made up of you, and whiskey and smoke.
I remember when you sang about that little star,
And when you taught me to pick.
I can’t always explain love,
Or how mine burns from an eternal wick.
I just know it always has.
You can’t be done shaping me just yet,
So hang on,
We’re still playing a set.
Please don’t leave me know,
I’ve just begun to play.
I still need to steal the show,
So I don’t get lost in the fray.
You have to be waiting on the side,
With your hand over your heart,
Acting as my guide.
Because I’m made up of you and whiskey and smoke.
Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4 Page 54
