The Reckoning

by S. L. Scott

  “Wishes do come true.”

  “Sometimes,” I say, “she’s there with him. Maybe she’s his good luck.”

  “Holli,” she warns, treading carefully after. “I know how much he loves you. Everyone does. You’re his world.”

  I set my sandwich down, my appetite suddenly gone. “I’m not much of anything to him these days.”

  She continues as if she didn’t hear me. “Rochelle told me his test results were clear. The doctors said his blackout was from stress, so they don’t have a fear of epilepsy and there are no symptoms for other things. That’s good news, right?”

  She’s not really asking me, but I answer anyway. “It’s great news,” I whisper.

  “Still no word though—email, text, phone call?”

  “Nope, not even a tweet.” My monitor goes to sleep, so I wiggle the mouse to make it come to life again. “Is that all?”

  “That’s all.”

  I nod and get back to work reading resumes. “I think we need to start the Office Manager interviews next week. The sooner we bring someone on, the sooner you can move into CFO full time.”

  The sadness in her voice is heard, her empathy seeping out that I’ve changed back into the topic of work. “Okay. I’ll start interviewing on Monday.”

  “Thank you.” I don’t mean to sound curt, but I can’t help it today. I push away from the desk and leave. Ten minutes later, I’m standing on the boardwalk above the beach staring straight into the horizon and wondering if that water will ever touch his shores. Taking off my shoes, I go down the stairs and walk toward the ocean until it covers my ankles. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This week has been the worst of my life.

  “Hey you,” Rochelle says, her boys in tow.

  Smiling when I see her, I open my arms wide to hug Neil. We’ve become buds. Dalton and I are their Godparents. We see them quite a bit, but it’s been a few weeks. “Missed you, little man,” I say, hugging him.

  “Missed you,” he says sweetly. He runs past and Rochelle tells him not to get soaked.

  I lift CJ into my arms, holding him on my hips. “You’ve gotten so big, Sir.”

  “Yes, he has. He’s a big boy.”

  In baby talk, I speak to him. “We like big healthy boys.” I kiss him on the cheek, then set him in the sand. He seems content not to go into the water.

  Hugging Rochelle now, I ask, “What are you doing here?”

  “Just visiting and Tracy said you came down here.”

  “How’d she know?”

  “I think she knows you well enough.”

  “Safe,” I say remembering Danny’s words from last week. Safe translates to predictable and boring. Maybe I’m both now.

  She sits next to CJ, but looks up at me and says, “Tracy said she told you.”

  “She told me his tests came back clear.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “Well, Dr. Floros,” I start. I sit down next to her and watch Neil splash around the water’s edge. “It makes me feel like shit that I have to hear about my husband either online, the gossip shows, or from my friend.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” I ask, “I guess you know the full story?”

  “Too many witnesses to the fight in New York. The story sold for 20K two days ago. Whoever sold it was on set, and has been sitting on it for the highest bidder.”

  Drawing a line in the sand, I swallow down the information. Humiliation creeps in and I remark, “Soon everyone will know that my husband thinks I sleep around and I’m carrying someone else’s baby.”

  Rochelle absorbs that, then sighs. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  “True love is what remains long after the person has gone.” ~ Holliday Hughes

  I’ve lost myself—my soul, my rhythm, every beat of my heart has vanished. It’s gone to live with Holliday. I knew this life was too good to be true. I knew she was too good to be true. But I fell for her completely, disregarding my history with women. She was different… she was supposed to be different.

  Fucked.

  I’ve been fucked over again.

  Tommy switches seats and settles in next to me on the private plane to London. I don’t look up from the Rolling Stone on the tray table in front of me, and say, “Don’t get comfortable.”

  “Don’t worry, princess. I’m only here to talk.”

  “Make it quick.”

  “The label’s worried.”

  “They should be.”

  “They’re worried about your health.”

  I turn to him. “They don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Between us. Are you okay to play these shows, Johnny?”

  “I’m okay to play Johnny Outlaw like a monkey for money. Didn’t they get the doctor’s note? I’m okay to do my part to make the label happy. I’m okay to fucking lose who I am to be who everyone else fucking wants me to be.”

  Tommy stresses, but he’s always held his shit together as well as the band. “Who do you want to be?”

  Shaking my head, I turn the page of my magazine and reply, “Not this.”

  A string of swear words is muttered under Tommy’s breath. With my hand on the railing, I turn back. He taps Dex’s back. “Go.” Dex takes the steps by two while carrying his drumsticks in his right hand. Sixty seconds later, he’s pounding his kit and Tommy says to the rest of us, “He nails it every time. Now get your asses up there and give ‘em hell.”

  The spotlight remains on Dex as I walk up the steps and out onto the dark stage. I hit my mark, center stage in front of my microphone. My breath lumps in my throat momentarily staring out at the stadium crowd. I never thought we’d pull in a crowd this large. Our opening act was a popular English band that signed on for the European leg of our tour. They got the crowd pumped up. Now we have to deliver the best show of our lives.

  Leaning forward my hands start playing as I begin singing and the light hits me. I focus into the space in the crowd where faces lose defined features and the lights don’t reach. Sometimes it’s easier than seeing the desperation and enjoyment of fans up close. The nerves I thought I might have aren’t here as my fingers strum the rhythms that live inside me. The words come naturally, as they always have, but tonight they’re twisted with Holliday, my emotions wrapped up in her as I sing—

  Her lips are a rose, too soft to damage, but too pretty to overlook.

  A light sparks in her eyes, a future of memories like a photo she took.

  Her melody ran through my veins.

  What became of the girl I used to know?

  What becomes of us after the rain?

  Two hours of singing, giving every ounce of myself over to the music. Two hours of bleeding my soul to a sold out crowd. Every minute worth it. Every memory of this will carry me. When I come off stage after the encore, Ashley hands me a towel, but she drops back behind the other guys. Tommy opens the dressing room and we file inside. I pull my sweat soaked shirt off and toss it next to my bag and towel off. When I put on a clean shirt… or semi-clean, I can’t tell anymore, I say, “This was it, guys. This is what years of hard work and fucking torture for our art has led to. I hope you enjoyed it because it can’t get better than that out there.”

  The air has changed, the band taking it in. We look at each other, quietly taking this high in. Dex comes over and offers a handshake. When I take it, he says, “That was for Cory.”

  I bring him in, patting him on the back and repeat, “That was for Cory.”

  Tommy adds, “That was for Cory.”

  We’re left in a moment of reflection as we pack our gear. Kaz finally breaks the silence, and says, “I’m ready to do it again.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re ready to leave. The guys walk out except for Dex, who says, “I meant what I said back in Seattle. You don’t get to leave this world before I do.”

  “Race you to the finish,” I joke, kind of.

  “Nah,” he says, chuckling. “I’ve found
a new reason to stick around.”

  I grab his arm before he walks out. “About that.” I stop when he looks back. “I see how you look at Rochelle. You know she’s like a sister to me.”

  “I know.” He turns to face me, crossing his arms.

  “Don’t fuck her around.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  There are so many memories of mine tied up in Rochelle and Cory being together. But something about the way Dex talks about her, I can see that he might genuinely care about her. I nod, but add, “If you fuck her over, I’ll fuck you up.”

  Exasperated, he says, “You’re such an asshole, Johnny.”

  Shrugging, I grin. “What can I say?” I walk past him and join the other guys.

  The private club we go to is crowded as usual, but at least I can drink in peace, or so I thought. Tommy stands and shakes some guy’s hand. I can tell he’s American before he even speaks—converse, jacket, jeans. LA all the way. Tommy sits back down and introduces him, “This is Kiefer Keys.”

  “Have we met before?” I ask, shaking his hand.

  “Once at a music video awards show.”

  “You’re in a band?”

  “Was. The Mattresses. We’re taking an extended break.”

  “Why?”

  He drinks his beer, seeming to think of what he wants to say. “Burn out and the grind gets old. We’re getting old.”

  “You’re what, thirty?”

  “Thirty-three, but the next level may not happen for us and we’re tired, man. Don’t you just get tired sometimes?”

  “All the fucking time, but how do you walk away from music?”

  “Maybe it’s not in my blood anymore.”

  “I couldn’t leave music,” I say, refilling my glass of whiskey. “It’s a part of me, like blood. It flows through me.”

  His tone changes and he says, “I got into music to meet chicks.”

  I laugh. “Did it work?”

  “Like a charm.”

  “So what are you doing now?”

  Tommy pipes in, “He’s producing and he’s good at it. He comes from the band’s perspective instead of protecting the label’s interest.”

  Looking him over, trying to figure out if working hard is as important to him as his looks seem to be, I ask, “You want to produce our next album? That’s why you’re here?”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  I notice the calluses on his fingers that only years of playing the guitar create. He has drive by the way he looks me in the eyes when he speaks. Something about him is off; he’s too confident, cocky even. He’s hiding something. “Why should we hire you?”

  “Because I’m good.”

  I eye him. “You’re not the best?”

  “I’m not the best, but I’m damn good. I’ll work my ass off for this record, for you guys.”

  Ashley sits down across from us, the large coffee table dividing the group. She has her eyes on me, always looking at me. I never noticed until I left New York. But Derrick had his eyes on her, and like now, his hand is on her knee. When she sees me looking, she brushes it away. I can read women. They’re always so damn obvious, except for Holliday. The only woman I ever truly wanted and… I down my drink.

  Kiefer interrupts the storm brewing inside my head and says, “You and I have a friend in common.”

  Pouring another two shots into the glass, I ask, “Oh really. Who?”

  “Holli Hughes.”

  Fuck me. “And how do you know my wife?” I eye him, waiting to hear how he feels so close to her that he drops her name so easily.

  “We used to date.”

  Fuck me double. I swallow the entire drink, my throat numb to the burn. “Oh yeah?”

  “I thought at one point we might get married. Not sure what happened there.”

  Using his words against him, I say, “She didn’t want to settle for ‘good.’ She wanted the best.” I stand just as the waitress warns us it’s closing time. “I think we’re done here.”

  “Because I dated Holli?”

  “No, because you fucked my wife and act like that’s gonna somehow bond us.”

  Tommy stands, “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Calm down, Johnny. Kiefer, I didn’t know about your history. You should have probably mentioned that.”

  “I did to Holli when I saw her at Spago.” He turns to me like I’ll be his ally. “Everything’s cool with her. I know you guys are going through a rough patch, but my relationship with her is copacetic, smooth sailing now.”

  I stare at him, wondering when he’s going to stop spewing this hippie bullshit. When he does, I say, “You know nothing about me except what you’ve heard on TV. Yet, you come in here wanting a fair shot at a job that can make or break my album. Unlike you, the only two things that matter to me are music and my family. It seems you’ve already fucked with one and now you want to fuck the other, so tell me again why you think ‘damn good’ is good enough.”

  His arrogance rivals my own. I can almost respect him for it. But then he opens his mouth again. “I can make your record hit the charts.”

  “I can make my records hit the charts. I’ve done it three times and the current album is charting to the top.”

  “Look, if it’s the Holli thing—”

  “You look. We’re done here. I don’t need to drag more baggage into a situation that has become entertainment for the masses. You can’t offer me anything that I can’t do on my own. The Resistance is looking for a visionary, not just ‘good.’ So this,” I wave between us, “isn’t happening.”

  Ashley calls my name, “Johnny,” she nods toward the door. “We’re going back to the hotel. Come on.”

  I let my gaze follow the long line of her legs up to the curve of her tits highlighted by the low-cut shirt she’s wearing. She’s at least 5’9, her heels inching her higher. She looks different with her hair down. Her eyes are lined, making me take notice for the first time, especially since they’re set on me.

  She’s nothing like Holliday. Nothing.

  I bend over and light my cigarette and take a deep inhale, letting the smoke calm my insides. It’s been a long time since I had this pleasure. I can’t stop the smirk that follows. With the cigarette hanging out the side of my mouth, I tell Tommy, “Seems the party’s moving to the hotel.”

  I’m not sure what the hour is, but I know England is sleeping, or should be. We drank until we were kicked out and came back to the suite to finish what was started at the pub. We have another show here tomorrow night and a talk show in the afternoon. Everybody left hours ago to get some rest, but I stayed in the living room with a bottle of whiskey. It’s dark out. The street lamps highlight the fog and drizzle and the fucking fifteen by twenty foot billboard of Holliday and that asshole hanging on the side of the building across the street. The glass of my window is speckled with drops, but I can see the way he holds her, kissing her neck and her smile, the one only I was privy to before.

  My gaze falls back from the outside to the phone on the table next to me. Holliday hasn’t called. I’m not shocked considering the last two times we saw each other, but somehow I am surprised. What I thought were rumors have turned out to be true. She wouldn’t fucking answer me because that baby is his. She hasn’t called because she fucked me over. I grab the bottle and chug as I stare at the billboard.

  Leaning forward, I rest my arms on my knees and drop my head. I still love her. I love her so fucking much.

  But she’s having that assholes baby. How did this happen? How’d I lose her? When did it happen? I start calculating time in my head, going backwards. But the numbers are fucked up and I can’t concentrate.

  Caressing fingers run through my hair and I look up. “Why are you still here?” I ask Ashley.

  She kneels down in front of me, the robe she’s wearing coming open, displaying the big tits I noticed earlier. “I must have fallen asleep,” she says.

  I look into her eyes trying to decipher if it’s a lie, but she does look tired, like she just woke u
p. “Why’d you fall asleep here?” My gaze drifts down her body, my dick starting to harden. I shift to find more room in my jeans.

  Her palms run over my legs and slide up my arms as she lifts up on her knees. She has great tits—full from the implants, but sitting natural on her chest. Her waist dips in at the sides, her hips giving something to hold onto when fucking.

  Moving between my legs, she takes my hands, running her fingers over the veins on top. “You have such strong hands.” As if she’s confessing her innermost secrets, she whispers, “I’ve touched myself watching you play guitar, wanting it to be me you play so hard.” Standing up, she straddles me, her robe open, exposing her bare body.

  “Fuck!” I mumble, my logic going fuzzy, relenting the courtesy of Mr. Daniels. “We shouldn—”

  “We should.” She takes my hands and moves them to her breasts. “Touch me here first…” Slowly taking my right one, she slides it down her stomach and between her legs. “Then here,” she says with a weak breath. Her eyes are on me when she leans down to kiss me.

  Pushing against her waist, holding her back, I look down, avoiding this, whatever she thinks is about to happen. Her disappointment is heard, but I don’t care. I may want to fuck, but I want to fuck Holliday, not some groupie.

  As if Ashley can read my mind, she leans forward whispers in my ear, “She’s with Sebastian. She’s having his baby.” She lifts my face up to look at her. Even though my hard glare would deter most, she’s more determined than that. “I’m here for you now.” She grinds on me, holding my shoulders. “However you want me. However you like it. I’ll make your fantasies come true, Johnny.”

  Johnny.

  My ego is stroked, reminding me who I am. “I’m Johnny Fucking Outlaw.”

  “Yes, Baby. You’re Johnny Fucking Outlaw.”

  I want to erase the memories that anchor me to Holliday. I close my eyes tight, wanting to drift away in the feeling of being free again, like I used to be.

  My phone rings. Turning to look, ‘Holliday’ flashes on the screen before it goes black and silent again. Just when I was floating, getting high off the whiskey and easy sex, like a sign, I’m saved. “Get off!” I push Ashley away and grab the phone. Standing up, I stare at it as I move to the other side of the living room from her. “Come on. Come on. Come on,” I say to the phone. “Ring again. Ring. Damn it! C’mon, Holliday.”