by Carnal, MJ
Shea visited me a couple of times. The first time was on my birthday. He looked miserable as he walked the halls to get to me. The last time I’d seen him was Ryan’s funeral, and we barely talked there. We couldn’t quite process that we were burying our best friend. When Shea saw me in rehab that first time, he fell to his knees in front of me and wrapped his hands around my waist.
“I’m so sorry,” he cried. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you’re always there for me.”
“You’re here now,” I whispered. “And that’s all that matters.”
And it was. We hugged each other and spent the rest of the day together talking like we never had before, because that time we were both sober. That time, we couldn’t hide behind our masks. I think that was the first and maybe the last time we ever spent a day like that. Shea promised me he would never do heroin or ecstasy or any heavy drugs again. He said he couldn’t give up marijuana. I was okay with that. I was just happy knowing he would give up the rest. I knew he wouldn’t break his promise to me. Shea and I never broke our promises to each other.
“I love you, BK,” he said on his way out. “You mean so much to me.”
So much wasn’t everything, but it was enough for me.
***
I take a deep breath when I step out of the airplane in LA, closing my eyes against the beating sun. I have a feeling this one breath will have to give me the strength I need to get through this trip. Turning my phone on, I see a voicemail from Shea to add to the four I have from my family. I scroll away from that screen, not wanting to talk to anyone unless I absolutely have to and groaning when my phone lights up with an incoming call from Hendrix. I answer it and he tells me that the driver is waiting to take me to the lawyer’s office.
Sure enough, when I tug my suitcase out of the building, a tall young man dressed in a black suit sprints over to me and introduces himself as Carson. I say hello to him and quickly climb into the back of the SUV, while he places my suitcase in the trunk. Clutching my phone, I look at it for a long moment, contemplating whether or not to call Allie again. I decide to wait, hoping she’ll call me before I speak to the lawyer. As we drive down the Pacific Coast, the urge to call her becomes unbearable, so I do, and again my call goes directly to voicemail. I don’t leave a message this time, though, but I do send her a text message that says to please call me back.
Sighing, I connect my earphones to my phone and sort through my playlist, choosing a song by Sleeping At Last. I close my eyes and think of my times with Allie, reminiscing on our college days and the parties we went to together. The look on her cherub face when the date I set her up on with her now husband went well.
When I get to the attorney’s office, I check in with the receptionist and am soon greeted by the lawyer’s secretary. Drew, my brother’s lawyer, is actually an old friend of his and I’m glad to see it’s him I’ll be dealing with and not one of my parents’ old fart attorneys that think they know everything. Drew sits down on the other side of the desk and slides me a stack of papers. I grasp them, running my fingers over my name, Allie’s name, the name of my brand, to convince myself that this is real. My best friend is really suing me.
Tears threaten to fall, but I won’t cave to them. I won’t let them win, not here. Not in front of Drew.
“I just don’t understand,” I whisper.
Drew takes my words as an opportunity to explain to me, in layman’s terms everything the lawsuit says. Allie is basically suing me for not holding up my side of the bargain and wants half of the company’s earnings and anything that it will earn in the next ten years. I laugh because there is no bargain, it’s my company; it’s my baby. It’s something I built up from nothing but my imagination. Fab represents my love of music and is my way of trying to fit in with my successful family. It’s what I made to show them that I, too, can be somebody.
We only have about ten clients right now, and that’s not including the contracts with recording studios that I was working on. Quite frankly, as much as this situation makes my stomach turn, I’m flattered that Allie would want half of my earnings for the next ten years. At least it shows that she believes in me and in my brand enough to think that it’ll still be around then. I swallow loudly, hoping to rid myself of the emotion that’s bubbling.
“Well, the kicker is she has already supplied some microphones to some studios in Long Beach,” Drew informs me.
My mouth drops open. “No, she didn’t,” I say, gasping in disbelief.
Drew’s blond eyebrow rises. “Yes, she did.” He hands over some pictures of the microphones with dates and names of studios they’re in.
“Where’s the money for this?” I ask quietly, scrolling through my phone to pull up my bank account as I rack my brain over the recent invoices I’ve seen. I would remember studio microphones though, so I know these weren’t in any of the papers I’ve seen.
Drew smiles and it makes him look like a shark. It reminds me of everyone I’ve ever worked with, including myself. An odd sense of calm passes over me. I don’t even want to know what that says about me.
“That’s the best part. She didn’t put it in your business account. All the money for this went directly into hers. Because she’s been keeping this from you, she’s pretty much fucking herself over before she has the chance to see any money from her suit.”
As much as it hurts me that Allie is doing this to me, I just want it all to go away, so I ask if there’s any other way that we can solve this without going to court. Drew tells me that the only way would be to get her to drop it, which he says probably won’t happen.
“This can get ugly, Brooklyn. I need to make sure you know that,” he says and I know he’s pretty much preparing me for a shit storm.
Because my mother is lawyer happy, suing people left and right if they even look at her the wrong way, I’m familiar with things getting ugly. My father has been sued in the past as well, but his cases are usually much cleaner than my mother’s.
I shrug. “She asked for it.” I’m trying to sound as nonchalant as I want to feel.
It kills me that the reason I let Fab take the backseat when I started working at Harmon was because I thought I could trust Allie to be my right hand girl and work with me on all of this. Letting out a breath, I stand to shake his hand before I start walking out of his office.
“Hey, Drew,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. He looks up from his desk. “What if she calls me and apologizes and drops the entire thing before you draft the papers?” My voice is low, almost a breath, but I know he hears me. His mouth turns up slightly.
“I doubt she’ll back down. That would be best case, but don’t hold your breath. I’m sorry. I know it’s hard to get screwed over by someone you trust.”
I nod. “I’m used to being screwed over.” I’m amazed at how steady I manage to keep my voice as I say the words.
When I get out of there I call Hendrix and tell him everything. He agrees that I did the right thing. Next I call my father, who actually stands by my decision and seems understanding about the whole thing. My father can be a huge asshole, but he knew the right thing to say this time. He also tells me that he spoke to Michael Wilde, who told him I had been to his house. I give him the short version of the story and tell him that Nick and I are friends. I don’t have the kind of relationship with my parents where we talk about things like dating, so I know my answer is enough for him. I speak to Nina on my way to my favorite hotel on Sunset Boulevard. And when I hang up with her and feel that I have just enough energy to make one more phone call, I call my mother.
“Hello?” I say into the receiver when I hear a lot of shuffling going on. Just my luck, I finally call her and she picks up by mistake.
“Brooklyn. Hold on,” she sings.
I look around, watching the people walking by and on bicycles; the big city tourist buses that go by the hotel and snap photos make me smile. People are so easily amused.
“Are you there?” she asks.
“Yes. How are you?” I ask cordially.
“Better than you, I’m sure,” she responds, but her voice sounds light, not malicious, so her words roll off of me.
“Yep, I’ve had better days.”
She pauses for a moment. “It’ll blow over, you know? This whole thing will blow over and people will forget about it. You have a good thing with those microphones.”
My mouth falls open. My mother has never paid me a compliment before. The only time she has is when there are people around to hear her. I don’t know who she’s in front of right now, so maybe she’s saying it for the sake of her guests, but something tells me she’s not. I think she’s honestly praising my work. I don’t know if I’m too shocked to react and let happiness sink in, or if I’m just hesitant to believe her. I don’t say anything for a long time.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, still in disbelief.
“I was sued by a friend once,” she continues. “It was the most hurtful thing that happened to me when I was young. But shit happens, people change, and you learn. Don’t let it get you down, Brooklyn.”
My throat begins to close in and I blink unshed tears as the driver parks in front of the Chateau Marmont.
“Thank you, Mom,” I whisper.
“Are you going to the White Party this year?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Where will it be?” I ask, hoping it’s in their Beverly Hills home so I have a reason not to go since I plan on heading back to New York as soon as I can.
“The house in The Hamptons,” she says airily. “It’s this weekend. Shea will be there, his assistant just confirmed. Maybe you can come with him.”
“Maybe.”
“All right, doll, I’ll see you next Saturday then. You’re welcome to stay at the house all weekend, if you’d like,” she says before blowing me a kiss and hanging up on me.
I roll my eyes as I hop out of the car. She’s such a bitch. I note that down as yet another thing I would never say to my daughter. I’m going to be such a different mom if I ever have kids. I’m never going to invite them to stay in my house because they’ll know that anything that’s mine is theirs too. Once I checkin to the hotel and run into a couple of people I’ve met in the past, I go out to my cabana. I love staying at the cabanas here. Not for the pool because I rarely even use it. Sometimes I lay out but most of the time I just stay in bed and listen to the people laughing and having fun outside. I like to pretend that one day that’ll be me.
Lying back on the bed, I close my eyes and ignore the persistence of my ringing phone. I just want to be left alone for a while. Finally, I slide my finger on the screen and seeing another missed call from Shea, I decide to call him. I can’t ignore him, of all people.
“BK, what the fuck is going on? Allie’s really doing that shit to you?” He sounds pissed, with good reason. He’s known Allie a long time too, but his loyalties are with me just the same as mine are with him. If anybody betrays him, I would feel betrayed too.
“Yeah, I guess she is. She won’t even answer my calls, Shea,” I say quietly.
“Pussy,” he mutters as he lets out a breath. “What happened with Shadow?”
Even the sound of his nickname makes my heart feel like somebody is squeezing it. “Nothing.”
“He’s pissed, you know?” Shea continues, clearly not caring that I’m dealing with enough right now.
“Yeah? Well, so am I. You can tell him I said that too. You can tell him to fuck off and go to hell, for all I care.” As I say the words, hot tears spill down my face, and I’m glad for them. At least my tear ducts aren’t broken.
“You’re just saying that because you’re angry right now,” Shea says.
“When the fuck did you become Mr. Peacemaker?” I ask. I know I’m taking my anger out on him and he doesn’t deserve it, but I also know that he understands this.
“When the fuck did you become cynical?” he spits back.
“Fuck you,” I spit, my voice breaking.
“No, fuck you! I’m just trying to be there for you,” he responds angrily and finally, I start crying freely. All of the hurt I’ve tried to contain in one box finally spills over and travels through me at once. Shea is silent until I’m calm enough to speak again. I feel much better after letting it all out.
“I’m sorry,” Shea says quietly once I’ve calmed down.
“I’m sorry too,” I whisper. “Can we start over?”
Shea laughs. “Don’t we always?”
That almost brings a smile to my face. “I can’t believe she’s suing me,” I whisper.
“She’s a piece of shit,” he says.
“I guess she is,” I agree, a laugh escaping me.
“So you really through with Nick then?” Shea asks.
I screw my eyes shut, the name causing the hole in my heart to grow bigger. “He was using me for my name, Shea,” I say quietly.
“You really believe that, BK? He has his own name. If he really wanted to he could use it,” he says.
“In the producing world, maybe, but starting up a label?” I retort stubbornly.
Shea exhales harshly. “He wasn’t using you, Brooklyn. Open up your goddamn eyes.”
“Why are you defending him all of a sudden?” I ask.
“Because he’s my friend and he’s a good guy. And I can see how much he cares about you. And because I’m a fucking asshole for trying to come between you when I know you deserve someone like him,” Shea offers quietly. “Seriously, just give him a chance to explain.”
I shake my head, wiping my face as new tears fall. “He hasn’t even tried calling me, so clearly, there’s nothing for him to explain.”
Shea has no response to that, but I hear him exhaling again and cough immediately after, so I know he’s smoking.
“Did Gia make it up to your room?” I ask.
The sun is already setting and I’ve been gone all day so I know she did, but I want to hear him say it.
“Yeah,” Shea says, his response sounding like a question, probably wondering why I care.
“Who was she with? I heard her and a girl talking in the spa locker room.”
“This girl, Steph—she does her makeup and shit sometimes. I think she’s going with us to a couple of shows,” he says nonchalantly, without realizing that his words are twisting the knife in my heart.
“Oh,” I whisper. “Do you guys share a tour bus?” I ask, internally begging for him to say no.
“Nah, she has her own, but you know how it is. Gia wants to come on mine tonight, but Shadow and I are supposed to work, so I dunno …”
My chin begins to tremble at the thought of Nick hooking up with Stephanie … with anybody. I never knew that something aside from the death of a loved one could hurt this much. That’s exactly how I feel, too, like somebody died. I just keep thinking about him fucking her out of anger toward me. I picture his eyes and the murderous look they had when I left the room, and I feel like dying. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since I left, and twenty-four hours isn’t enough time for wounds to heal, but that’s when we do our worst—when our wounds are raw.
“Has he seen Stephanie?” I ask quietly, pressing my fingernail into the palm of my hand.
Shea exhales. “Huh. So you know about them.”
I face the mouthpiece of my phone up so that he doesn’t hear me crying again.
“Yeah, they saw each other,” he says, his words slow and careful.
“Did they hook up?” I whisper, needing to know.
“Why are you asking me that?” he asks. “Why would you even want to know that?”
I take the fact that he doesn’t give me an answer as the confirmation I need.
“Brooklyn, you’re doing this to hurt yourself,” he warns after I don’t respond. “This is what you do before you start using.”
I close my eyes at his words. “Thanks for the reminder,” I whisper sarcastically.
“Call your sponsor.”
“Go get a sponsor,” I
counter.
“Okay, I see you wanna act like a child right now and pick another fight. Call me later. I got a show to put on soon,” he says. “I love you, BK, don’t forget that.”
“Thanks. Break a leg,” I say quietly.
The longer that I wallow in my own sadness, the more I wonder if Shea is right about calling my sponsor. The last time I was in this hotel, in a cabana similar to this one, was with Shea, Ryan, and a group of other wild teenagers. I push those memories out of my head. Even though I don’t want to think about him, my mind drifts to Nick and what he may be doing right now. I wish I didn’t have a clear picture of him putting his arm around Stephanie at the airport the first time I saw him, because my chest physically aches at the thought. I wish I didn’t care about him. I wish I’d never spoken to him or become friends with him, but most of all, I wish we’d never had sex because I can’t take the image of his eyes blazing into mine out of my head.
Swallowing my sadness, I flip on the television for the first time in what seems like ages, and start watching Housewives of Atlanta. At least reality shows should take my mind off of everything weighing down on me right now. I start checking my messages and deleting the voicemails. I let them play back to back in my ear and when I hear Nick’s voice, my insides flip.
“Brooklyn, it’s me. I’m an asshole. I shouldn’t have said that to you, I was pissed off. I’m sorry … call me.” His voice is raspy and deep and sounds exhausted.
I look for the time of the message but it shows the time I turned on my phone, so there’s no telling. I wonder if he left it after he spoke to Shea or after he found out that him starting a label wasn’t the reason I left. Not entirely anyway. A part of me wishes he would’ve told me but I realize that if he would have, I may have treaded more carefully around him. I love the way he made me feel free. I don’t even know what to think anymore, but I know I’m not ready to call him yet.
I order room service and a bottle of wine and let myself drown in a couple of glasses instead. I figure that it’s better than drugs. Three glasses later, I feel drowsy and decide to go to sleep. Tomorrow will be another day. Tomorrow will be better. Soon I’ll head back to New York and leave this tainted state behind me again.
