by Jason Starr
But unfortunately this wasn’t It’s a Wonderful Life. I couldn’t go back and make different choices. The mistakes I’d made were irrevocable and nothing was going to save me.
On the street, I thought I’d recognize something, but I didn’t. Well, aside from recognizing that I was somewhere in Manhattan; then it clicked that I was in Spanish Harlem. Baby steps, right?
It was still light out, but it was getting dark. As I headed down the block, toward the nearest intersection, I glanced at my watch—5:38. It seemed like I’d only “missed” an hour or two, but it was still terrifying—not just that I’d blacked out from drinking, but that the experience seemed so familiar. Maybe I’d been drinking and blacking out all along and was just beginning to be honest with myself.
I saw the street signs as I approached the corner—117th and Madison. I wasn’t far from the alley I’d gone in to drink. I’d bought the booze to escape, but as always, the escape didn’t last long enough. I guess that was to be expected though; if the escape lasted permanently, there wouldn’t be any alcoholics.
Sadly, even if I wanted one, I couldn’t afford another escape; I couldn’t even afford to get anything to eat. If I showed up in a homeless center, or for a free meal at a church, how long would it take somebody to recognize me?
I’d told a friend in college—after another friend had killed himself by jumping from the roof of the science building—that I would never want to kill myself, because I could always find one thing to live for. Well, that had been a lie, because as I tried to come up with a list of reasons to live, I couldn’t come up with a single one. Jonah wasn’t even a compelling reason to live; in fact, he was a reason to die. What son needs to grow up with the stigma of having a father who’s serving a life sentence in prison? I couldn’t possibly have any positive influence on his life; I’d be an albatross. But if I died tonight—ah, if I died!—he’d still have to grow up without a father, and with the stigma of what I’d done. But, eventually, I’d be forgotten, and Maria was an attractive woman, she’d meet someone else. There was still hope for Jonah to have a normal, happy life, but that hope didn’t include me.
Before I ended my life, I needed to do one good thing for Jonah, something that would make him happier and that would cause him to think about me in a positive way. Actually, the idea had been percolating in the back of my mind for a couple of days—since my night in prison. It would be tough to pull off, but why not try?
As I walked, I called the California number. Rob McEvoy picked up before the first ring, then said, in his smooth, smarmy voice, “Hey, my brother.”
I hadn’t rehearsed, or even thought through, what I’d say to him—I was totally winging it.
“We have to talk,” I said.
“Sorry I’ve been out of touch,” he said. “Didn’t mean to flake, but life’s been crazy.”
His life’s been crazy?
“You think I give a shit?” I said.
“Whoa.” He sounded shocked. “What did I say?”
“Yeah,” I said, “like you don’t remember?”
“Remember what? Are you okay, man?”
“No, actually not okay. I’m actually pretty much as far away from okay as you can possibly get.”
“If this is about the apartment, I said I was sorry,” he said. “Life got in the way. It’s not that I’m not interested. I totally am. It’s just that—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the apartment,” I said, “and I don’t give a fuck about you, you lying, cheating son of a bitch.”
He’d never been a friend, and now that we weren’t in a band together, and he wasn’t even a potential client anymore, I didn’t have to be on eggshells; I could let loose, not kiss ass and pretend I liked him.
“Look, man, I don’t know what’s going on, if you think you’re being funny or whatever, but I have to—”
“You’re gonna do whatever I tell you to do,” I said.
“What the fuck?”
On the phone, in the background, I heard cars honking.
“Where the hell are you?” I asked.
“Manhattan actually,” he said.
He was in the city?
“Where in Manhattan?” I asked.
“Midtown,” he said. “I meant to give you a buzz to let you know I’d be in town again but, like I said, things have been crazy. When I got back to L.A. things got sort of, well, out of hand. So I’ve been dealing with that, then this big deal that I’m about to close and … Anyway, I’m heading into a meeting now. Can I call you back?”
I could tell he just wanted to get rid of me. Yeah, right.
“No, not later,” I said. “Meet me right now.”
“Look, man, I just told you I’m—”
“You think I give a fuck about your meeting? Is your life more important to you than your meeting?”
“Look, I’m hanging up on you—”
“Hang up, I’ll destroy your life the way you destroyed mine.”
That was good—I was proud of myself for coming up with that on the fly.
“Jack, what’s going on, man? Why the fuck’re you acting this way?”
“Meet me now.”
“I’m walking into drinks at Soho House with a top recording artist and his manager. I can’t just—”
“Meet me or you’ll never see your wife and kids again. Your choice.”
I sounded like the villain in a Bond movie, but there was nothing jokey about my tone. I was on a roll.
“Jack, dude. What the fuck?”
There was fear in Rob’s tone. He was catching on that I wasn’t bullshitting.
Keeping the intensity going, I said, “You heard me, you fucking prick.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe you should just chill for a while. Are you home? Can your wife help you?”
“I don’t have a wife anymore,” I said. “And if I call your wife and tell her everything I know about you and Discreet Hookups, my bet is you won’t have a wife either.”
Long pause—all I heard were cars honking. My threats were clearly resonating.
“Come on, what’s going on, Jack?” he finally asked. “Is this a joke? You fucking with me?”
“If I end this call, your life’s over, Rob.”
“Jack, what the—”
“One—”
“Jack, why would—”
“Two.”
“Okay. Okay, I’ll meet you, I’ll meet you. Just calm down, all right?”
“I’ll text you instructions,” I said, and ended the call.
Finally, I felt like a winner.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I TEXTED ROB to meet me at the Starbucks at 96th and Lexington. When he arrived, I was waiting near the door. I immediately noticed that this wasn’t affable Rob from a couple of weeks ago. This was pissed-off, terrified-as-shit Rob.
It was a beautiful thing to see.
He looked around, like he didn’t spot me right away, even though I was only about ten feet away, leaning against the counter by the window, staring right at him. Then his gaze settled on mine and he seemed surprised, taken aback, by my appearance no doubt. I probably looked, appropriately, like I’d been through hell.
Meanwhile, he looked like his usual slick, smarmy self. He was in expensive jeans, looked like Diesel, an untucked black button-down, a designer sport jacket, and recently shined shoes. He looked so groomed-looking, so clean, so arrogant. Everything about him disgusted me.
He came over to me. A couple of people were close by—a long-haired guy tapping away on his laptop and a woman chatting on her phone.
“Please.” He sounded short of breath. “Tell me this is all a joke, man. You’re pissed off I flaked on the apartment. That’s what this is about, right?”
“Gimme twenty dollars,” I said.
“What?”
“You heard me. Twenty. Right now.”
The guy on the laptop looked over. Rob, seeming maybe relieved because he thought he was going to ge
t off by giving me twenty bucks—yeah, right—opened his wallet and handed me a twenty.
I got in line and when it was my turn, I bought a turkey sandwich, two muffins, and two packages of mixed nuts. I didn’t care what I was buying; I was starving and needed food.
When I returned to Rob, I’d already stuffed about half a muffin in my mouth and I couldn’t chew fast enough. I didn’t care that I had crumbs all over my chin.
“What’s going on with you, Jack? Are you okay? Maybe you should, like, talk to somebody.”
“A shrink!” I screamed. “You think I need a shrink?”
People around, including laptop dude, were looking over at me.
Paranoid that somebody in here would recognize me and call the cops before I had a chance to do what I needed to do, I said, “Let’s go. Across the street to the playground.”
“Why?” Rob asked.
“Let’s go.”
I’d taken Jonah to this playground many times over the years. He loved the artificial “Rivers of the World” stream. We used to find twigs and then race each other—whosever twig made it to the end of the stream first was the winner.
The playground was empty now, and dark—the only light from lampposts on 96th and Lexington. I sat on a bench, the same bench I used to sit and watch Jonah play when he was a few years old—not letting him out of my sight. Those happy memories of being a stay-at-home dad contrasted sharply with where I was now and seemed to be almost mocking me.
“Now you gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?” Rob said. “I don’t know why I’m sitting here, feeding you muffins in a playground, when I’m supposed to be in a meeting, hashing out a multimillion-dollar licensing deal.”
“Good to know you’ll have some money coming in,” I said. “You’re gonna need it.”
“What’s that suppo—” Rob winced, catching a whiff of my breath.
“Are you drunk?” he asked.
“Was,” I said.
“I thought you quit drinking.”
After I swallowed another bite of muffin, I said, “We’re here to talk about you, not me.”
“What about me? What do you want, Jack?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
He gave me a look like he hoped I was joking.
“I’m serious, what do you—”
“Oh, I’m very serious, too. Two hundred thousand is the commission I would’ve gotten if you bought that apartment. And you should feel lucky, getting off easy after what you did.”
Actually two hundred thousand was way more than what I would’ve gotten for my commission, but Rob didn’t have to know that.
“Did?” Rob said. “What did I do except not make an offer on an apartment?”
“You told me about Discreet Hookups,” I said.
He paused, absorbing this, trying to make sense of what I was saying.
Then he said, “So?”
“So that site led to me ruining my life, and now I’m going to ruin yours. Well, unless you pay me.”
“Whoa, slow down,” he said. “So that’s what this is really about? You went on that site?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
I thought of the reasons—unhappy in my marriage, insecure in general, midlife crisis, craving for excitement—but nothing seemed to explain it in full.
So I said, “If you didn’t tell me about the site, I never would’ve gone on it. I’d still be living in my apartment, with my son who I love more than anything, and oh yeah—my marriage wouldn’t be over and I’d have access to my bank account.”
“Is this some kind of joke?” he asked. “Did one of the guys from the old band put you up to this?”
He looked around, as if maybe hoping to see Tommy, our old drummer, jump out from behind a tree.
“About the money,” I said. “I’ll text you my wire transfer info and you can transfer the money into my account as soon as I leave here.”
“You’re out of your mind,” he said.
“You’re right, I probably am,” I said, remembering my recent blackout. “But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Why would I give you a fuckin’ cent?” he said.
“So your wife doesn’t find out about what a cheating scumbag she’s been married to all these years?”
“You wouldn’t tell my wife anything.”
“I wouldn’t?”
He could tell I was serious.
“Look, man,” he said, “I don’t know what happened to you on that site, and if you think I’m responsible, I’m sorry for whatever I did, or said, or whatever, okay? But, please, cut me some slack, bro. My life’s complicated as fuck right now, man. The shit hit the fan when I got back to L.A. after my last New York trip, okay? A woman I’d fooled around with a few times, a waitress from Swinger’s, came by the house and—well, you can imagine how that scene went down. You were right, bro—I was playing with fire the whole time. I don’t know how I was deluded, so oblivious. Anyway, I went to my healer and talked it through and I decided to cash out while I was still ahead. Figure I’ve had my fun, sowed my middle-aged oats, and now I can focus on my family again. The wife and I, we had a long talk. It was really amazing—we opened up to each other in a way we hadn’t in years. It was like we’d been chatting for years, but we were finally having a talk. Anyway, we’re going into counseling, gonna try to work shit out. We have our first session set up for when I return to the coast. So, as you can imagine, the last thing I need in my life right now is any more drama.”
He was obviously pandering, trying to get my sympathy. He’d always been a big drama queen, going back to our days in the band. Whenever he was unhappy about a song selection or there was some other conflict, he’d go on about whatever his drama du jour was, in an attempt to manipulate the situation.
But that wasn’t going to work this time.
“So you’re staying in your marriage,” I said, trying to stay calm.
“That’s the plan,” he said. “I mean I never had any intention of leaving, as you know. My wife, God bless her, gets it. She knows how hard monogamy is, so she’s willing to hear me out. But I’m still jonesing for that apartment. My wife and I’ll use it—it’ll be good for us to, you know, rekindle. Maybe we’ll give it to one of the kids someday. My girl wants to go to NYU—maybe she’ll stay in the city. What I’m trying to say is, you’ll get your commish, all right? If not on this apartment, then another one. And I, for one, am willing to forget today ever happened.”
The idea that Rob was staying in his marriage, that he wouldn’t lose anything, made me even more determined to fuck him over.
“I know her number,” I said.
“Who’s number?” He seemed confused.
“Your wife—Julianne,” I said. “It’s public, on Facebook. I already have it programmed into my phone.”
I showed him my phone with his wife’s number, which I’d entered while waiting for him at Starbucks.
“Why’re you doing this?” he asked.
“Revenge,” I said.
“Revenge? I didn’t even do anything to you.” He paused, squinting. “Wait, what happened to you on Discreet Hookups?”
“You’ll hear about it in the news,” I said.
“The news?”
“About the two hundred thou,” I said. “Wire transfer’s probably the best way. When I leave, I’ll give you fifteen minutes to get it done. I know there’ll be a lag before the money appears in my account, but you can CC me the wire details. If I don’t get those details in fifteen minutes, your wife gets a phone call, and you can forget about rekindling. You think she’s understanding? Well, let’s see how understanding she is when she hears about all the trolling you’ve done on D-Ho. You’ll be lucky if your kids ever even want to talk to you again. If there’s a God—and I believe there is—you’ll wind up on the street, sleeping in vestibules.”
“Two things,” Rob said. “One, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.
Two, there’s no way I’m wiring you that money.”
“Then say goodbye to your family,” I said.
As I stood, he grabbed me by the wrist.
“I don’t have two hundred thousand dollars lying around,” he said.
“If you were ready to plunk down two million dollars on an apartment you were planning to use as a fuck pad, you can afford to give me ten percent. My deserved ten percent.”
I saw the terror in his eyes.
Still gripping me, he said, “I get it now. I was confused for a while, maybe ’cause this all caught me off-guard, but now it’s so obvious. This is all because of jealousy, isn’t it? You’re jealous, not because I had more talent—you had tons of talent, too—but because you couldn’t let go of the dream like I did. I moved on, but you stayed in fantasy land, thinking you were gonna be a rock star someday. I meet guys like you all the time—fuckin’ dreamers, afraid to take risks. You can’t deal with the fact that I made it and you didn’t, so this is the only solution your sick mind can come up with—to try to take it away from me.”
“I had a good career,” I said. “I was making money.”
“Yeah, as a studio musician, with all the other failed wannabes. It must suck to be you—feeling like the industry fucked you over, feeling like successful guys like me got what you deserve. Is that why you were cheating on your wife? Because you felt empty inside? Because you had nothing going on, except trying to sell a fucking apartment? I bet you blame her, too, but you should be blaming yourself.”
I yanked my arm free, then said, “I’ll be checking my email.”
As I unlinked the kiddie gate and exited the playground, I heard him scream behind me, “You’re a fuckin’ loser, Jack! A loser!”
“Not tonight I’m not,” I said to myself.
I didn’t feel bad for Rob, but I knew he was right. I was scapegoating him for my problems, the way I’d scapegoated people my whole life. My parents, Maria, promoters and managers who didn’t give me a “fair shot.” He didn’t force me to go on to Discreet Hookups; hell, he hadn’t even really encouraged me. I’d made that decision on my own. If I were counseling myself, I’d tell myself that I had to take responsibility for my actions.
