by Aly Martinez
Nothing like perving on a woman in her darkest hour. Go me!
When I made it back to her glasses, I found her watching me with a knowing grin.
Time to deflect.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself. I’m going to die of nicotine withdrawal now. I’ve been smoking for so long that, the first time I tried to quit, I was hospitalized for a week. My heart couldn’t take it, and I coded twice.”
I couldn’t see her eyes, but her eyebrows popped in surprise.
“No fucking way,” she whispered.
I shrugged. “A heart attack can’t be all that bad. I can think of worse ways to die.” I tipped my head between her and the side of the bridge before flicking the butt of the cigarette over the railing.
She turned to face me, concern painting her flawless skin. “You’re kidding, right?”
“About what part?” I asked, settling my gaze on her hidden eyes. I had a sudden urge to see what exactly was behind those glasses.
“All of it.”
“No. Jumping off a bridge sounds terrible,” I confirmed, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, trying to pack down the emotions that were predictably stirring from my honest answer.
“And the withdrawal thing?”
“Totally serious.” I cleared my throat, pushing all things Anne out of my head.
Her body stiffened as she covered her mouth. “Shit, I’m sorry. I was trying to help.” Her nose scrunched adorably as she repeated, “I’m sorry.”
She was really fucking cute.
I scrubbed the stubble on my chin. “Or maybe that was an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. I honestly can’t remember.”
Her mouth gaped open. “You jerk!” she exclaimed, slapping my arm.
“Shit. Calm down.” I threw my hands up in defense.
She shook her head and once again adjusted her wig, making sure it was still securely in place. I chuckled, quieting when she pursed her lips in what I assumed was an unimpressed glare.
I, on the other hand, was impressed.
That conversation with her had awakened something inside me that I hadn’t been able to achieve in months.
Distraction.
She didn’t utter another word as we stood silently, side by side, focused on the murky water below. After a few moments, her nails began to tap a vaguely familiar rhythm against the railing. I couldn’t quite make it out and eventually gave up trying.
When the silence became awkward, I decided to make it even worse and blurted, “My name’s Sam.”
“Good to know,” she replied dismissively.
Ouch.
On second thought, maybe the distraction wasn’t worth it. Dismissed might just be a good thing. The fact that she was covered in bruises, wearing shades and a long dress to cover them, made it clear she had a ton of issues in her own life. Lord knows I did. The main one at the moment being that I was out of cigarettes—and suddenly interested in a suicidal woman.
Besides, she seemed somewhat stable. I could go. No worries.
Right?
“I should probably go. Can you promise me that you won’t jump? You know, ease my conscience and all that.”
“Just go,” she whispered.
“That’s not an answer.”
Her tongue snaked out, nervously licking her lips. “I’m fine.”
Fuck.
That warranted all the worries.
Fine was my specialty.
And I knew firsthand that fine was never truly fine.
“Look, I don’t know you. But I think we’ve really bonded over the last two nights.” I bumped her shoulder with mine. “Sure, I may have lived up to the title ‘Tattooed Stalker’ at first, but I didn’t follow you home or anything.” I grinned, and she offered me a courteous chuckle. “I mean, that has to say something about me, right? I’m a decent guy, I swear. How about we grab a cup of coffee”—cough—“and a carton of cigarettes”—cough—“and talk for a little while.” I ended with a grin, giving it every ounce of charm I possessed.
“Sam, I’m serious. I’m really okay,” she assured, but it was a weak attempt.
“Now, that’s just not fair. I don’t know your name. So it’s really difficult for me to sound convincing like that.”
“I’m not telling you my name.”
“Okay, what if I guess?”
She shook her head but said, “Sure. Go for it.”
I stepped away, dragging my eyes up and down her body (only partly to check her out again.) Then I framed my hands and pretended to be a photographer looking for just the right lighting as I walked around to her other side.
She didn’t acknowledge my attempted humor, but when I leaned on the rail next to her, the slightest bit of amusement crept across her beautiful mouth.
“Bianca,” I guessed.
She gasped and her hands flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God. That’s it, isn’t it?” I threw a fist pump in the air.
“That was incredible,” she praised from behind her hands.
I blew on my nails then polished them on my shoulder. “What can I say, Bianca? I’m awesome.”
I wasn’t.
But watching her subtle reactions made me feel awesome. I guessed that was close enough.
“Incredible and wrong,” she amended dryly.
My puffed chest deflated. “Yeah, I figured. Who’s really named Bianca anyway? Hello, snob!”
“My mother.”
Right.
Of course.
I scratched the back of my neck. “Well, it is a beautiful name.” I tossed her an awkward smile, waiting for a laugh that never came.
Instead, something strange passed over the little bit of her face I could see. There was no doubting that the air around us had changed.
It was suffocating.
At least for her.
I was breathing clean air for the first time in a long time.
And that was suffocating for me.
Fuck, I need a smoke.
I didn’t know her. I couldn’t have even picked her out of a lineup without shades and a wig. But I knew for certain I couldn’t leave her there.
“Please come with me.” I lifted my hands pleadingly. “I can feel the heart attack approaching, and there was this nameless woman on the bridge tonight who fed my life source to traffic.”
She flashed me a forced smile. “Thanks, but I think I’m just going home.”
“Good.” I breathed in relief—and disappointment.
“Have a good night, Sam.”
“You too…” I paused. “Uh…Bianca’s daughter.”
Shaking her head, she walked away.
I stayed for a minute longer so I wouldn’t really look like a stalker following her. After bumming a cigarette from a stranger walking by, I filled my lungs with the sweet poison and imagined a specific night just over four months ago.
A night where I hadn’t been standing on that bridge but would have given absolutely anything to be able to change that fact.
A night where there hadn’t been a beautiful woman in a blond wig as a distraction.
Or Anne would have still been there.
“I’ve got to quit,” I whispered to myself, lifting the cigarette to my mouth for another drag. “Tomorrow,” I promised myself.
But every day was yet another tomorrow.
The next day …
AFTER A THIRTY-MINUTE conversation with Morgan the day before, she’d admitted that I was actually number two in her book. Not surprisingly, Henry Alexander was number one. The way she’d giggled as I’d told her embarrassing stories about him had touched me so deeply that I’d spent all day mourning the moment the world would lose such a sweet soul. In a fit of guilt that I couldn’t do more, I’d forced Henry to sign nearly every piece of merchandise he had. I didn’t have to hand-deliver it, nor did I have to make a special trip up there at nearly midnight after a show. It wasn’t like she would have even been awake. But the sooner I dropped it off with her nurses, the sooner I�
��d feel better.
Hopefully.
With the second sold-out concert in San Francisco under my belt, I was struggling even more than usual. I was exhausted from back-to-back shows, not to mention the fact that I had another one the following night. But I found myself utterly unable to shut down. My mind raced with things I could—should—have been doing. Sleeping in a plush bed helped no one. Not even me. I was well aware that I was running myself into the ground. I just couldn’t figure out how to stop. Which was ultimately how I ended up staring at the ceiling from the floor in front of the nurses’ station at the children’s hospital.
After stripping the oxygen mask off my face, I raced out the side door where Devon had parked. My chest was tight, and my voice had all but given out. The night air was cold, but my lungs burned for a completely different reason.
“Levee, wait!” Henry shouted, chasing after me.
“You didn’t have to come,” I squeaked, drying the steady stream of tears on the sleeves of my sweater.
“Yes, I did. And Devon was right to call me too. So don’t you dare give him any shit.” He threw his arms around my shoulders and pulled me into his chest.
“I’m…” My voice trailed off for a second before I finished the thought. “I’m fine.”
Nothing in my life is fine.
“You have to stop coming here,” he whispered, rubbing his hands up and down my back.
“I-I had to bring her that stuff,” I stuttered, desperately trying to get my emotions under control—and failing miserably.
Blowing out a hard breath, he kissed the top of my head. “You have to stop this. All of it. You’re not Mother Teresa, Lev. You can’t take on the world.”
My hands trembled at my side, and he reached down, moving them between us.
“Especially when it affects you like this.”
“I’m okay,” I assured him with more lies.
Leaning away, he tipped my head back to catch my eyes. “You just passed out in the middle of a hospital. I don’t give a damn what you say—you’re not okay.”
“I am. I’m great.” I forced a smile, but my traitorous chin quivered. I quickly buried my face in his chest. If I cried, there would be no way to keep the façade up. Not with Henry.
I swallowed hard.
I could fake it all with a smile.
I was good at that.
A fucking professional.
No tears.
Stepping away, I plastered on my stage face. I really should have been an actress.
Henry’s expression disagreed.
Narrowing his eyes, he put his hands on his hips and asked, “When was the last time you ate?”
Food?
A little girl was about to lose the battle of her life and he wanted to talk about food?
“Who the hell cares about me. She’s going to die!” I yelled.
He grabbed my shoulders and gave me a quick shake. “I care! Jesus Christ, Levee. Half the fucking world cares. It seems you’re the only one who doesn’t.”
If only he knew how true that statement really was.
But I wasn’t about to inform him of that.
Devon’s voice caught both of our attentions as he leaned against my black SUV. “Everything okay?”
“I’m going to need help getting her in the car!” Henry called back to him.
“What?” I immediately backed out of his reach. “No! I have to go back inside.” My eyes anxiously flashed between Henry and Devon as they both approached. “I told the nurse I’d take a picture for her niece.”
“Then have Stewart send her an e-mail, because I’m taking you home, and you’re not leaving until the concert tomorrow night.”
“You are not my father, Henry. You don’t get to make decisions for me,” I snapped.
Leaning into my face, he bit right back, “Well, until you start taking care of yourself, it’s obvious someone needs to. Food and sleep are not optional.”
He forced me toward the car while Devon watched uncomfortably.
“You know I’m the one who signs your checks, right?” I spat the words at Devon as I attempted to shake Henry’s arm off. “Let. Me. Go.”
Henry let out a huff and loosened his grip on my elbow. I started to step away but then lost the ground beneath my feet.
“Not this time,” Henry gritted out, throwing me over his shoulder. “I’ve let you do this bullshit for the last three years. I’m done, Levee. And so are you. Just because you’re helping people doesn’t mean you aren’t hurting yourself.”
“Get your hands off me!” I screamed, but he marched to the SUV and less-than-gracefully deposited me onto the black leather backseat.
Just as I began to scramble toward the other door, a bright flash illuminated the inside of the SUV.
“Shit,” I breathed as Devon quickly circled around to the driver’s side.
“Back up,” he ordered as numerous flashes fired off. “I said, ‘Back. Up.’”
Henry groaned before straightening his shirt, pasting on a smile, and climbing in beside me. Tossing his arm around my seat back, he asked, “You done yet?”
I shook my head.
“Well, pretend you are. And put your head down. Your makeup looks like shit.” Dropping his arm around my shoulders, he curled me into his side.
And just like so many times before, I hid my emotions in his chest as our car pulled away.
“Let me carry her up.” Devon’s voice woke me from my sleep.
“I’ve got her,” Henry replied. “Shhhh,” he whispered into my hair as I began to stir. “Lock up when you leave,” he told Devon as he started up the winding stairs with me securely cradled in his arms.
“I’ll feel better if I stay for a little while. Make sure she’s okay and everything. I can drive you home later,” Devon replied.
Henry brushed the idea off. “Thanks, but I think I’m gonna spend the night. I’ll call Carter if I need a ride. You can go.”
Devon growled in frustration but finally relented. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll lock up.”
As Henry lowered me onto my bed, I heard the beeps of my alarm being set.
Lifting my feet, he pulled off my heels.
“Slumber party?” I asked sleepily.
He chuckled, collapsing into bed next me. “It’s a shame you don’t have a dick. Because, for as much as I put up with from you, I should at least be getting laid tonight.”
I laughed, scooting into his side, all of my earlier anger muted by sheer exhaustion.
He let out a sigh as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
“I’m worried about you,” he whispered.
I didn’t reply.
I was starting to worry too.
“You’re overdoing it, Lev. I know this job isn’t exactly nine-to-five, but it’s not twenty-four-seven, either. You have to stop being Levee Williams all the time and just be you.”
“I know,” I responded.
I didn’t though. I felt like a robot parading around in a lost woman’s body.
Smile.
Pose.
Turn.
Toss in the occasional song.
Repeat.
What little time I did manage to carve out for myself was spent at various children’s hospitals across the country.
Smile.
Pose.
Turn.
Watch a child die.
Repeat.
With every day that passed, the smile became less and less genuine, the pose more and more forced, and the turn took me further and further away from who I really was.
My career was soaring while, personally, I was plummeting. Every single day felt like a terrifying free fall in no particular direction. I was stuck in the middle with no way up—or down.
“You remember that girl, right?” Henry asked, tucking a hair behind my ear.
I nodded.
I did remember her. She was fun and carefree. She loved going out and dancing at nightclubs until the very last song played. She sle
pt until noon if she could. Then, fueled by coffee alone, she’d spend the day with a guitar strapped around her neck and a notepad at her side. She had a huge heart, but she knew her limitations.
Oh, I remembered that girl. I just couldn’t figure out how to get back to her.
“You have one more show here tomorrow night. Then one in LA next week. After that, cancel New York. Stay here and rest up,” he urged.
I suddenly sat up. “I can’t cancel!”
“Yes, you can. It’s a stupid award show. I’ll accept whatever you win on your behalf.”
“I’m supposed to perform.” I sighed, flopping back down.
I couldn’t say that his idea didn’t sound appealing. Without New York, I’d have two glorious weeks off.
Which would leave me a full fourteen days to sit in a children’s hospital. My gut wrenched at the idea.
“You need a break, Lev. It’s not a concert. I’m not suggesting you let down thousands of paying fans. It’s one song…at an award show. You’ll be missed, but they’ll find someone to fill your spot. I swear.”
Not wanting to continue the conversation any longer, I simply nodded in agreement. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do. After that night’s little fainting episode, I couldn’t argue that I needed a break. My mind and conscience just wouldn’t allow me to take one.
“Get some sleep, Levee.” He kissed the top of my head.
I lay there for several minutes as Henry’s breathing evened out. From my position on the bed, I could make out the dancing lights of the San Francisco skyline outside my balcony doors. I’d bought the house for that view, but as I stared at the bridge in the distance, my mind drifted to a completely different view altogether.
One of the tattooed variety.
I WENT THROUGH both packs of cigarettes I’d brought to the bridge with me that night, but six hours of pacing later, my Designer Shoes still hadn’t showed. To say it scared the shit out of me was an understatement. I was a swinging pendulum of emotions as I walked that side of the bridge more times than any smoker should be allowed. On one extreme, I was freaking the fuck out that maybe she’d actually jumped at some point before I’d gotten there, but on the other end, I was celebrating the fact that she had found other ways to cope with her issues and didn’t need to go up there anymore. In between those two polar-opposite options, I chastised myself for being such a mental case, freaking out over a woman I hardly knew.
