by A. C. Katt
Sam rang the bell. Liam answered the door right away, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt that had seen better days. The air in the house held a distinct chill, with dust-covered boxes still piled in the same places as he remembered from two and half years before.
“Come into the studio. I only use it and the kitchen regularly.” Sam followed Liam into the studio. “Sit down. I’ll make a pot of coffee.” Liam padded off barefoot to the kitchen. Sam saw a space heater in the studio and it felt warmer than the rest of the house. Although the room had three bay windows, heavy draperies blocked the light. In one corner of the room stood a fold-out bed with a sheet and a quilt thrown over the top. Liam didn’t live, he existed.
Over on a shelf near the keyboard Sam saw three framed photographs. The first was Milo, taken on his eighteenth birthday. The second, a photo of Liam, Danny Hobbs, and a woman he didn’t recognize, standing next to an obviously sick boy lying in a hospital bed. The kid’s bald head probably meant chemo. The third frame held one of the first publicity shots taken of Shattered Glass. Sam looked and saw nothing else in the room of a personal nature, except a few clothes just back from the drycleaners hanging on the doorknob.
Sam struggled to hold back his tears. This is what he and Milo did to Lily’s boy, the boy they promised to love and care for. Not a pretty sight.
Liam returned with two mugs of coffee. He even remembered how Sam took his.
“I need you to write me up a new will.”
“Okay. Do you know what you want?” Sam sat on the only available chair and took out his legal pad.
“Yes. I’ve thought about it a lot. I have you down as next of kin on all my medical records. I hope you don’t mind, there was no one else,” Liam said in a small voice as he sat down on the battered rug.
“Since when would I mind something like that? We’re family.”
“I’ve caused you and Rick a lot of grief. I came between you, just as I came between you and Milo. I can only explain my behavior by telling you I didn’t do it deliberately, but that’s no excuse.”
“Liam, what happened to us wasn’t your fault. Most of the burden is mine and Milo’s to bear. You and Rick became victims of our egos.”
“Thank you for that, but I’ve already accepted my own misdeeds and even if you count them smaller than I do, I still need to beg your forgiveness.”
Then Sam did something out of character. He beckoned Liam closer and pulled him in for a hug. The kid backed away, and took what Sam thought was a surreptitious wipe at the corner of his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Anyway,” Liam continued, “I have to change my will to make sure some people are properly taken care of should something happen to me.”
“Go ahead,” Sam said in a gentle voice.
“I know that I have twenty million dollars in assets. At least, that’s what your accountant told me when last we spoke. I want two million of that sum set aside in trust for Jimmy Hobbs, Danny and Nora’s son. I don’t want Danny and Nora to have to worry about the bills for Jimmy’s cancer if I’m gone.”
“Hold on there a moment. What the hell do you mean?”
Liam’s mouth set in a stubborn line. “I mean what I said. Jimmy has cancer.” He pointed to the picture of the sick boy. “I’ve been helping Danny and Nora with the bills. I went down to John Hopkins in Baltimore with them when Jimmy was first diagnosed, on the day of the…” He hesitated. “On that day. That’s where I went, to help them get to Baltimore.” He took a deep breath. “If something happens to me, they’ll need cash. The insurance doesn’t pay for experimental treatment, even if it works.”
Sam stared at him, stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me this? We all could have helped and you would have set Milo straight.”
“I tried twice to tell him, he wouldn’t listen. Besides, if it wasn’t Danny it would have been someone else. Bart did a good job with his poison tongue. It doesn’t matter now, to anyone.”
“It matters to me. Hobbs is an employee. Don’t you think I might have wanted to help? Keeping this kind of secret is wrong, Liam.”
“Whatever. It doesn’t make a difference now anyway. I want an additional million to go to Danny and Nora outright. They have been good friends to me, and I’d like them to have something to remember me by should I pass. The rest of it should be divided three ways, among you, Milo, and Rick, with Rick’s in trust with you as the trustee until he gets his head on straight. The three of you raised me and took care of me when I had no one else. You deserve more than I could ever give you for that.
“I want any viable organs to be donated. As for the rest, just have me cremated and my ashes spread in the Atlantic. My music is my legacy. I want no pilgrims at my grave. Can you do this for me?” Liam stood and walked to the other side of the room and shuffled some papers.
“I can do anything you want, but are you sure about this?” Sam’s voice cracked as he wrote some notes on his pad.
“Yes. I’m positive.” He paused, tuned to face Sam, then asked, “How is Rick?”
“I finally got him into Betty Ford. I’m hoping this time it will take.”
“I feel so guilty about that.” Liam turned to Sam his eyes downcast.
“Why would you feel guilty?”
“Danny told me Bart dealt dope to Rick years ago. They threatened me, and I was too afraid of losing you and Milo to tell you.”
“What made you afraid?” Sam asked, inwardly seething at yet another burden Liam had borne in silence.
“The band meant everything to Milo. Bart said if I told, the band would break up and it would be my fault. I guess I managed that anyway,” Liam said with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Listen to me. Rick is my brother. I should have noticed he was hopped up. Milo should have listened to you when you told him about Bart’s threats. It wasn’t your fault.”
“So Patricia tells me. I’m happier now that you have forgiven me. I only wish that I could beg the same from Rick and Milo.”
“Liam, I was never angry at you. Is there something you aren’t telling me, something I should know?”
Liam looked away. “No. Nothing to concern yourself about.”
“Are you sick?”
“No, I’m as healthy as a horse,” Liam insisted.
“Then why are you suddenly concerned about your will?”
“It’s just time, that’s all.”
“Liam—”
“If you don’t mind, if you’re finished with your coffee, I’ll see you out. I’m almost finished with the music for the second album. It should be ready for the studio in six weeks.” Liam walked over to Sam, making it obvious he wished him to leave.
“Okay, I’ll do as you ask. But, please, do me a favor; stop blaming yourself for the band, for Rick, for everything. Talk to Patricia. She’s right, you know. You are not personally responsible for our collective bad decisions and judgment.” Sam took his legal pad and put it in his briefcase.
“I promise.” Liam gave Sam a hug.
“Oh, before I leave, have you decided what to do about the Grammies yet? You have multiple nominations. You should make an appearance.”
“Will Milo be there?”
“Probably, although I’m not sure.”
“Then I can’t go. I made a promise that I won’t break.”
“To whom?”
“Milo. That day, he said he’d kill me if he ever saw me again. I swore I’d never cross his path again. If he wants to see me, he can find me. Otherwise, I’m done torturing myself over him.” Liam walked Sam to the entrance.
Sam shook his head as Liam let him out the door. Both of them acted miserable. Should he keep them apart or bring them back together?
Maybe he needed to talk to Patricia.
Chapter 10
Nothing but lies
Lies, so many lies; they rain down from the skies
Truth is never found while your head goes round and round
Sorting lies that disguise the false words from the wise
Help me ‘fore I drown and go down from the sound of
Lies, so many lies, that I never heard his cries
And now I found, I know the sound, but I am bound
To suffer for believing lies, so very many lies, their lies
—Milo Stamis, “Lies,” Words Without Music
* * * *
Sam made out Liam’s will, and made sure it was signed and witnessed before the end of the week. He could do that, at least, for Liam. As for Bart Hedge, Sam had acquired enough connections in the industry to make sure he never worked again. Every agent, producer, and record company knew that booze and drugs contributed to loss of profit and a drain on talent. They couldn’t stop it, but blacklisting a mediocre drummer with a reputation as a drug dealer could be easily accomplished by dropping a few words in the right ears.
Rick spent two months at Betty Ford when Sam got a call that his brother signed himself out of treatment. He holed up somewhere in California, and Sam sent JB to find him. To finish off a miserable week, Sam received a courier package containing a dozen lewd photos taken of Liam the night he tried to commit suicide. The photos told Sam a different story than the one he always believed from the scuttlebutt he’d heard through various sources. The close-up shots suggested Liam was drugged and raped and not a willing participant in what happened that night.
The typewritten note that accompanied the photos demanded hush money to keep the photos out of the rags. Sam spent days on the phone calling editors. He explained that Liam was raped, and his rapist resorted to extortion. This kind of smut was generally embargoed by the media and the victim’s name protected.
To his own amazement, he succeeded. There were no leaks. Liam had more friends in the industry than he knew. Meanwhile, he reported the incident to the police, but Liam proved unwilling to come forward and the trail ran cold. The police could do nothing without physical evidence and a willing witness. Sam thought Liam knew more about who did this than he said, but he couldn’t convince him to cooperate.
As soon as he assured himself that nothing untoward would come from the press, he called Liam.
“This is Sam. I just took care of one of the things that I believe worried you the last time we met.”
“And that was?” Liam asked his voice shaking.
“The pictures. You never have to worry about them again.”
“Thank you! I don’t know what to say. I didn’t want Milo to see them, and I always feared they would eventually turn up.”
Sam leaned back in his chair and put Liam on the speaker phone. “It’s over now. No worries. I have three Grammies with your name on them, waiting at the office for you to pick up.”
“You keep them. Put them in your display case to impress your clients. I have nowhere to put them anyway.”
“Your call.” Sam shook his head. As long as Liam stayed in seclusion, he would continue to live half a life.
“Thanks again for taking care of the photos. You do so much for me. I’m grateful. I really am.”
“No need, bro. That’s what family’s for.”
“Have you heard from Rick?”
“No, but I have someone looking for him.” Sam leaned forward, the mention of his brother making him tense.
“If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”
“Just concentrate on the tour for the new album. About the arrangements, are you sure you don’t want to take Danny with you?”
“I’m sure. It’s only me and the acoustic guitar. His son needs him right now. Anyone you hire for the crew will be fine. Just be sure I’m staying at a separate hotel than the crew and no one has my itinerary but you.”
“Fax it to my personal line.”
* * * *
Liam faxed his itinerary as requested. Margot was out to lunch when it arrived. Jane took it out of the machine, discreetly made a copy, and put it in her purse before putting the original back in the fax tray. Her new boyfriend, Bart, would appreciate the gift.
* * * *
The New York Tribune, November 23, 2008
Police found the body of twenty-four-year-old Jane Waters in an alley near her Soho apartment this morning, stuffed in a Dumpster. She worked for Stein, Ltd., the talent agency on 73rd street in Manhattan. When contacted, her employer said that Jane was an exemplary employee with no next of kin. As a token of their esteem, Mr. Stein will pick up all the expenses of a funeral and her interment. The police have no leads in the case…
* * * *
Sam released Liam’s second solo album, Just Liam, only eighteen months after the first. The music’s tempo and mood indicated a complete departure from everything he did before. The songs were down-tempo, without backup singers. Any backup tracks necessary, Liam laid down in his own voice. As the album name indicated, for the tour, it was just Liam, his guitar, and his piano on stage, and the audiences went wild.
“How is the tour going?” Sam asked him on the phone. “I don’t like you being out there in a hotel by yourself.”
“I’m fine. I’m more worried about you. How’s Rick?”
“Found, thank God. He’s in his third program this year. He’s not too healthy, either. The doctors are running tests. He’s in John Hopkins, at Danny’s recommendation.”
“Thanks for hiring Danny on, Sam.”
“He’s been worth his weight in gold with the equipment at the studio. I don’t think I’m going to let you have him back. Will you be home for the Grammies?”
“No. I told you before; I made a promise to Milo. I intend to keep it. This way, I don’t have to see him with someone else and he doesn’t have to be reminded of me.”
“It’ll be hard to placate the awards people a second time. I know you have a four-week break in the tour.”
“Tell them the doctor insists on bed rest for exhaustion. That will shut them up.”
“That may fly with the committee, but not with the trades.”
“I’m truly sorry, but I can’t do it,” Liam answered sadly.
Sam sighed. “Okay. I’ll do the best I can to fix it up.”
“If you need me to go to Rick, just call.”
“I will, kid. Keep safe.” Liam heard the phone click in his ear.
If Sam only knew that was what he was trying to do, keep safe. Sam thought he had taken care of everything when he kept the pictures out of the paper. It did give Liam some relief to know that they wouldn’t be splashed all over the nightly news, but Liam’s main concern had always been Milo. He couldn’t bear to have Milo see him like that, with his butt dripping seed from someone else. Liam would die if Milo knew the depths of depravity he plumbed after their breakup.
His stalker’s gifts got more ominous. He couldn’t figure out how anyone knew his schedule. Yet last night, an assassin’s cord in a box waited for him at the hotel. He hadn’t even known what the cord represented. He looked it up on the Internet.
Now along with the packages came notes. This one asked, “How will you die?” He suspected they came from Bart, but he didn’t know why or how. He would need an extra pill to get to sleep tonight.
* * * *
Again Liam’s album, nominated for several Grammy Awards, swept the major categories. His single, “Razors to the Heart,” won Record of the Year, Best Male Pop Vocal, and Song of the Year. The album, Just Liam, won Album of the Year and Best Pop Vocal Album, for a total of five Grammy awards. He avoided the second award ceremony, just as he did the first.
Milo watched from the audience as Sam gave Liam’s acceptance speech. He recognized the speech as having been written in Liam’s voice. Sam told the audience that Liam was seriously ill. Everyone expressed their sympathy and gave their wishes for a speedy recovery.
Milo spent the plane ride home from Los Angeles silently going crazy. Sam wouldn’t tell him what kind of illness, other than what he told the press.
“I’m sorry. I’m not authorized to give out any more information. Anything else would have to come from Liam himself.”
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“Aren’t I listed as next of kin on his medical forms? As next of kin, I demand to know who is treating him.”
“Milo,” Sam said, angry now, “you haven’t been listed as Liam’s next of kin for the last six years. I am. You have no rights here. Go home.” Then Sam walked away, leaving him standing in the auditorium.
He sat in first class, numb. The plane was less than half-full. The only other passenger in first class sat in the opposite row.
What could be so terrible that Sam wouldn’t tell him? He didn’t even realize that tears ran down his face until the man across the aisle offered a handkerchief. He noticed the man was a priest. Father Sanchez proved an easy man to talk to. The priest changed seats to sit next to Milo. Milo began to talk and the words poured out.
“I didn’t educate him properly about sex. I know the church believes homosexuality is wrong, but Liam and I, we were born that way.”
“Not all of the church is as solid in that particular tenet as they would have you believe, son. Tell me about your Liam.”
As the air miles sped by, Milo told Father Sanchez the whole story. “And now Father, he’s sick, and Sam won’t tell me what’s wrong with him. I’m so afraid. I thought we would always be together, but I threw him away.”
“Son, you are speaking of the twenty-one-year-old boy you remember. By my count, he’s twenty-seven and old enough—and from what you say, smart enough—to have figured how to take care of himself.”
Milo’s tears turned into sobs as the emotional meltdown took over. Every time he thought of the possible consequences of his fucking ego, he suffered a complete loss of control. The tears he tried to deny himself earlier flowed in earnest.
Father Sanchez grabbed his hand, giving Milo the only physical comfort he could. They talked some more as Milo gradually calmed down. Father Sanchez shepherded a small parish in Bernalillo. Little did he know his small community had just gained a financial ally and powerful friend.
As they deplaned, Milo asked the priest if he needed a ride back to the rectory. Father Sanchez politely declined, but gave Milo his card and suggested they talk again soon.
* * * *
Upon Milo’s return, Conchita greeted him at the door with a newspaper in her hand. He took a quick look at the lead article and snapped, “I’ll be in my office. Please hold my calls.” Leaving his luggage at the door to collect later, Milo climbed the stairs to his fourth floor study. He grabbed a bottle of water from the small refrigerator, sat down at his desk, and began to read.
