For the second time in my life, my heart slips out of my body and splatters on the pavement for passersby to walk on. My hands scrape across my face—my fingers digging into my hair and squeezing. I surrender to the pain and slip my hands into my pockets, needing to turn and walk away. The rock I found on the beach scrapes across my skin, reminding me no matter how bizarre the craziness is, the pain in my heart is very real. We were just finding each other again. What about all those dreams we once had?
God, Katherine, how do I get through the rest of my life knowing what I do? How do I face a lifetime of understanding it may take us both dying to be together again? Even if I find someone, how can I give her the unbridled love she deserves while you are still out there?
Bitter reality has invaded my dreams. Yet again, my hopes, my fantasies—everything my heart holds dear—have all been shattered by the hand of another.
Ten minutes ago …
Soft music seeps through the air, serenading me while I wait for Jason to arrive. Instead of him picking me up as planned, he sent a driver who politely suggested I wear something a little more suited for this place. Foolish me, who has learned to never travel to this town unprepared, played along. Sometimes I am far too accommodating.
Given these surroundings, Jason probably has romantic intentions. I have contradictory plans. He’ll sit, I’ll say it is over, drama will unfold, I’ll catch a cab back to the hotel, and then I’ll order food from room service. Perfect.
A waiter stops at my table with his tray high in the air. “Compliments of Mr. Day,” he says. My heart damn near stops before the champagne glass can even hit the table. Holy crap, the rock in that glass is huge! Jason could have ended world hunger with the money he forked over for that.
Suddenly, he is right next to me, down on one knee and—
Why are those photographers kneeling behind him? Jason’s lips move, and the words I don’t want to hear go unnoticed.
The world starts spinning faster as a flash blinds me, and the patrons go crazy. In a flash, Jason has his hand behind my neck and is kissing me. I’m even more flabbergasted when he downs my champagne so he can slip the ring on my finger.
Flashes continue to attack from all angles, and the music turns louder. My champagne glass gets refilled, and a platter of oysters arrives. Is this even happening?
Jason settles into his seat, and answers a question thrown at him from a man with a camera. Has he already forgotten I am here?
I am here, right? This is surreal.
I used to dream of all the sweet ways Jason could ask me to marry him—soft music, candle light, and champagne were all on the list—but never once were photographers. I know they are everywhere around here—in people’s driveways, outside of studios—hell, you can even find them at bus stops. Regardless, he had to have planned this to the letter for so many of them to magically be here at this very moment.
I can’t even pretend to be a part of this. I don’t want it, not to mention I haven’t given an answer.
I pop up to leave. Before I can get a single step in, Jason has his lips on mine—forcefully. He’s not giving me a prayer of pushing him away without making a scene, which he knows I won’t do. I was raised better than that. I thought he was raised better than all this, too.
I smile sweetly and say just loudly enough for the people around us to hear, “I think we need to do some private celebrating.”
My words seem to remind Jason I am standing next to him and pull him into the moment. A smile breaks across his face—a genuine one that is far warmer than he could ever stage. Jason takes my hand, and we try to break through the crowd of photographers. Another camera gets in my face. “Miss Miller, when is the wedding?” the guy yells toward me.
I should tell him I haven’t given an answer, and when I do, it will be no. I should get in Jason’s face here and now, but I don’t want a bigger scene than there already is.
Once we get outside, another paparazzo asks about the wedding. Jason puts on a canary-eating grin. “Sooner than anyone realizes, but we can’t give you details because we’ve got to do these things under the radar.” He winks. “You know how it is with celebrities.”
Celebrities? At best we are on the B-list. I can’t believe anybody gives a crap about us, let alone cares when the wedding is, let alone would crash it. This guy is ridiculous! Why didn’t I dump him sooner?
The second we’re shut inside the car, I yell, “No!”
“No what?”
“No way in hell are we getting married! I love how you are acting as if I’ve said yes, yet I haven’t been able to get a word in edgewise!” His brows knot, and his mouth slips open just enough to show me his I-don’t-get-it look may have some truth behind it.
Jason tries to slip his arm around me and gets all touchy-feely. Those arms remind me of worms. “Katherine, honey, I am certain—”
“Don’t touch me!” I cross my arms to send the message that even the air around me is off-limits. Great! This is all going to hit the papers tomorrow. When I make them retract it, if they retract it, everyone will say it was staged for publicity. With the way he played this, it must have been.
These are Jason’s true colors. He manipulated me into thinking we would have kids together. Now he knows I am about to dump him, so he proposes with cameras everywhere, all to get me where he wants me. No deal!
At the last stoplight before we hit the freeway, I slip out of the car, storm into the nearest bar, and down a shot of tequila while waiting for a cab. I then head to the closest beach and make the poor driver wait for over an hour while I walk. There must be some kind of magic here, because for as angry as I am, the sensation of love in the air brings me inner peace.
Second Hand News
Cars.
Miles and miles of cars are parked on the freeway, and I’m stuck—both here and in life.
Driving is supposed to bring a sense of freedom. I’ll never forget the feeling of jumping behind the wheel and taking off by myself for the first time—windows down, music blaring, wind whipping through my hair, gunning the gas as I hit the freeway, and letting out a rebel yell that declared I had spread my wings.
If cars mean freedom, why am I parked in one while struggling to get to work? I should be flying down the road while scream-singing out the pain of losing a battle I never should have been fighting. I’ve been dumped, and I never got the pleasure of meeting the woman who yanked out my heart and used my blood as paint in what should be my padded cell. Only a special kind of loser can feel an imaginary lover has given him the slip.
I manage to pull a few feet forward before stopping again. Visions of Katherine and Jason standing in front of a preacher while surrounded by wedding guests have been an unshakable image since I saw her get into that car last night.
Katherine, you can’t do this. I’m out here waiting, hoping, and praying for a way to find you. I’ve heard your prayers, and I know this isn’t what you want. How could you do this to yourself? How could you do this to me? To us? To all we have been?
My eyes burn, and I swallow back the pain of losing the woman I love. As irrational as it is, I can’t escape the sorrow ripping through me.
I move the car up a little more, only to get stuck again. I hate LA traffic. I came here to take an average job at a sub-par candy company because someone promised to help me fulfill my dreams of spending time with my family—if and when I have one. Because of that, the job I seem to be so dysfunctional at gave me hope. Now I am not so sure hope is worth the stress of people honking at me to move when I am as stuck as they are.
The chugging sound of Lindsey Buckingham’s guitar introduces Fleetwood Mac’s “Second Hand News”. Great, now the real Stevie Nicks is reminding me how I feel abandoned by Katherine for some hot stud with bigger muscles and better bone structure. Hearing this is akin to getting a double-fisted punch in the gut.
I can’t think about this anymore!
Frank Sinatra’s version of “Anything Goes” overlays Lin
dsey’s guitar, and I’m grateful for the call from Dale. “Hey, how’s Chicago?” I ask. “Wait, you are in Chicago now, right?” I don’t get how he can live this way.
“My hair looks like I’ve been through a wind tunnel.”
I snicker. “Something tells me that with all the success you have been having, you can afford better styling gel. Are you still living the life of a king?”
“More like a god. I swear, if I break the lead on my pencil, someone yoinks it out of my hands and replaces it with a fresh one before I can process what happened. How’s California life?”
“Stalled out.”
“Get anywhere on that gumdrop campaign yet?”
“Oh man,” comes out of me with a groan. I am so behind on that damn thing. “Why did you have to ask about it?”
Prolonged silence follows. I’m about to ask Dale if I have lost him when he says, “So, um, is it as warm and perfect there as it always is?”
This conversation is weird, especially considering I am having it with Dale. “Hey, you okay?”
He’s quick to answer—as if he was caught red handed. “Yeah, why do you ask?”
“Since when do you call me for small talk?”
Again I get a moment of silence. “You got me. A few days ago, you didn’t seem to be doing so well. You okay?”
It’s nice of him yet out of character. Doesn’t this break the guy code of not talking about our feelings? This whole situation must have me further gone than I ever realized. I hate to lie, but I manage to sigh out a “Yeah, I’m good. You?”
“Yeah. Hey, hold on a second.” Mumbling comes through on Dale’s end—normal mumbling. I swallow back the sick feeling at the reminder of being on the phone with him and seeing Katherine for the first time. However, all I hear now is my radio where Rainbow screams “Since You’ve Been Gone” in my ears. The universe seems to have pulled out the classic rock hit parade for assistance in ripping my chest open and rubbing salt in my wounds. I’m quick to flip the station to something with random babbling. Finally, I am able to speed up and catch my exit only to slam on the brakes. Dale comes back on the phone. “Hey, sorry. Duty calls.”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll catch you later.”
I’m ready to hang up when Dale chimes in again. “You know how to find me, okay?”
A wave of emotion flows over me, and I start to tear. It is twisted and wrong that I’m in such a state my friends are worried about me. How can losing someone you have never met be so gut wrenching? “Thanks, man,” I tell him. I hang up and stare at the red light—waiting and feeling useless. Habitually, I swipe up my phone again to check Facebook.
Dammit! I’m a freaking addict who needs rehab.
The guy behind me honks. I jump to move forward, and then slam on the brake when I see the guy in front isn’t moving. LA sucks!
The deejay continues to babble about God knows what. In hopes of salvation, I flip back to the classic rock station and get washed over by The Moody Blues. Seriously? Of the hundreds of songs in their catalog, why does this deejay have to play “Voices In the Sky”?
Again the guy behind me honks while I can’t do squat.
That’s it. I’m done! I don’t care that it’s Monday. I’m turning around, calling out sick, heading off to Chicago for a few days, and forgetting about all the crap here. I’m also taking my passport in case I decide to run away for good. Before I go, I’m destroying all reminders of Katherine; website bookmarks, Jennifer’s cheese (both the moldy one and the one that is starting to look a little weathered), along with the peanut butter I have only because I heard it is her favorite. When I return, if I return, voices or not, I’ll be a fresh man—as if this whole episode never happened.
“Yes,” I say over the phone to one of our producers, “of course I understand where Jason is coming from, but that doesn’t mean I have to appreciate it.”
“I’m not telling you to say yes,” the guy says, “I’m only asking you to think about it a little more before everything blows up.”
Before everything blows up? I can’t imagine things getting much worse. I also can’t understand why the producers would care. Jason is leaving, so an engagement followed by an epic breakup would whip the media into a frenzy. Why would he complain unless …
I know I should be angry, yet my heart dips in disappointment. “Let me guess, Jason has not stated, but has implied, that if things magically work out between the two of us, he might hang on in a guest star capacity. Am I right?”
His pause is prolonged. Eventually he says, “Look, all we are saying is it already looks bad enough that Jason is leaving. The engagement is fine, but now there are rumors circulating around here, and the whole thing looks like a bad publicity stunt. The producers want you to be happy. Before you make any decisions public, please let us know what to expect.”
I guess Mom and Dad raised me right, because despite how angry I am regarding the situation, my words come out respectfully. “You can expect Jason and I are not getting married, not now, not ever. Thank you, and have a nice day.”
I set down the phone, and tears begin to well. As much as I am sick of this mess, I am sicker over what has happened to Jason and I.
Only a moment passes before it rings again. I’m so beside myself it takes a second to realize it is Bailey’s ringtone and answer. “Please tell me you have not heard the news already. I’m sure you have figured out it is not true.” My God, my voice makes me sound broken. I may be pissed at the fallout, but what happened with Jason has left me lost.
Bailey’s words come out with hesitation. “I don’t know how to say this, but I was just watching TMZ and—”
“Shit!”
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” Her pause makes me feel I need to brace myself for what is about to follow. “The buzz is all over work, too. No one can set foot outside of the studio without getting badgered with questions.”
I sigh. “Well, you have Carlouse, and I have Jerkson. I’ve spent the entire night trying to fix this insanity, but no, they’re running the story as if I said yes. The photo was perfectly timed to catch my shock. It’s easy to think my next expression would be one of happiness.”
“I kind of figured something was wrong. I hate to tell you it looks pretty convincing.”
“The further I step back, the more I see how expertly planned this was. I can’t help but wonder if this is partially my fault. I should have accepted our needing to split sooner. Even telling him over the phone would have been more humane than making him wait.”
Bailey’s voice turns exasperated, and I feel she is not only defending me but also herself. “No, you were trying to do the right thing. Unfortunately, that often bites us in the ass. I swear, these guys think all they need to do is show us a little attention and we will bend over backwards to lick their scrotums.”
I chuckle. Good, if we can’t find at least a speck of humor in all of this, we are doomed. “Do you know Jason has already gone so far as to have one of the Vampires Undercover producers call me? You should have heard him hem and haw his way through telling me what a great idea it was to marry Jason. Can you even believe Jason would ask him to stoop that low?”
“Not in the least. The guy probably only made the call in hopes Jason would renew his contract. Seriously, what the hell is Jason thinking?”
“I’ve been asking myself that all damn night.” Man, what did I ever see in him in the first place? Bailey is probably asking herself the same question about Carlos. “Are things going as planned with your great escape?”
“Yep. I’m the hell out of here. I’ve had it with this madness.”
“I can relate.” I catch a glimpse of the TV and wish I didn’t. I can’t believe they are running this damn story again. Who could possibly care?
“Yeah, we all know Katherine Miller is a force to be reckoned with as well.”
If I were that powerful, I’d be able to stop all the madness around me. “Nah. It’s a facade brought on by all of t
he thrash and,” I fake a sneeze while saying, “poser metal you catch me blasting in my trailer.”
“Poser metal? You mean, the stuff you always leave out mentioning when asked what kind of music you listen to? Why do they call it that? It sounds so derogatory.”
I shrug while wishing the image of Jason’s proposal that is forever etched in my mind would go away. “People are weird about what they label and how they do it. It’s just the pop side of metal. The only reason I don’t mention it is because most people would label me as a throwback. In my line of work, you can’t afford labels.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”
I toss my hands up and laugh, grateful that Bailey is putting my mind elsewhere. “Okay, people make fun of it and it pisses me off. It’s easier to stay quiet than get defensive.”
“You need to own it. I’ve got to get going. Are you sure you are okay?”
“Yes, but when Jason returns, if he says even the tiniest thing to imply he and I are together, kick him in the nads!” It’s more of a request than the passive suggestion I make it sound like. “And for the love of God, if he tries to talk you into siding with him and talking to me—”
“Again, I hate to tell you he has already tried. When I see him, I’m going for his nads just on principle. I’ll also tell him if he is even half a man, he will let you keep the ring for all of the trouble he has put you through. That rock looks as if it is about the size of your head.”
“Oh dear God, Bailey, it’s fricken’ mammoth! He played every card he could to get me to say yes.”
“Which goes to prove we are the strong ones. Go finish knocking ‘em dead and hurry home for my last day. I want to hear it went so well that you are planning your Oscar acceptance speech.”
“You’re on!”
Watching Bailey’s name fade as the call ends puts a different kind of hurt in my heart. I won’t let her become a lost friend. I need more people like her in my life—people who try to do the right thing, yet are determined not to be doormats.
Voices Carry: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection) Page 16
