by Leanne Davis
So she worked, cooked, cleaned, and ran errands for the band, while they practiced during the day, occasionally played clubs or parties in the evenings, but partied each and every night. At first, it was like living a dream in one fantastic, no, outlandish party. One day followed another of music, late nights out, drinking, drugs, parties, and more friends and acquaintances than Joelle could ever imagine having in all her lifetime. Their life together was more active in the nighttime, than the daytime, and she had to admit it was fun. A starstruck kind of fun for her.
Eventually, however, things went too far. Too many parties, too many drugs, too much drinking and too many strange women hanging around.
And now she had just attended her first Al-Anon meeting.
What was wrong with her? They partied. So what? They were a rock band. She was married to the lead singer; what did she expect? Home, hearth and dinner at five o’clock each night? No. That wasn’t their lifestyle or their destiny. They would soon be stars. And she now lived for that goal too.
Isn’t that what she wanted? What she and Rob dreamed about? So what felt so wrong to her lately? Why couldn’t their dream be enough to make up for some of the not-so-nice factors of their lifestyle? Why did Joelle suddenly want so much more, and consider her lifestyle so much less?
Chapter Two
Laughter echoed from the living room, and Joelle frowned at the offensive house smells as they reached her nostrils. She walked down the hall to the living room, and found Kenny, who played drums, lounging on the sofa, his feet propped on the coffee table, and he glanced up at her with a scowl. Spike was leaning against the kitchen counter with one of his numerous groupies in his arms. Spike’s hair was gelled up into such sharp points, it was a wonder he didn’t cut himself. Spike, played the piano, and was quite brilliant at any classical piano arrangement. His undeniable talent was so at odds with his hair, his dark makeup, and pale, nearly gaunt look. He would easily scare a girl if he came up to her after dark. Spike caught Joelle’s eye from across the crowded room, and he lifted a hand in greeting. He rarely smiled, but tilted one side of his mouth at her.
Mitch came walking in from the bathroom, still buttoning his fly. The man was built like a linebacker, with huge arm muscles and an ego to match. Joelle hated him, and especially having to live in the same house with him.
When she spotted Rob, her heart lifted, and then dropped again as he stretched up from his crouched position and shut the refrigerator. He held the neck of a beer bottle loosely between his thumb and two fingers. His eyes lit up when he saw her, but failed to hide the unfocused quality of his pupils, or his booze-flushed face. Her stomach tightened painfully.
Rob came over, grabbed her waist in a hug, and nuzzled her neck. She wanted to enjoy him touching her, but instead, she now tensed as soon as he made contact, and cringed at his overpowering smell. He smelled of beer and pot, and she wished tonight, of all nights, that he didn’t. She wished he could remember and care about the simple fact that it was both her birthday and their four-year wedding anniversary. Rob didn’t have the slightest clue what today was, although she reminded him two days ago. Now, he was too drunk to notice her, or them, or anything else. Her heart twisted in her chest, as his strong, stale breath blew over her face.
“Where ya been?” Rob asked, glancing at the stove clock.
“I had errands to run. Nothing special,” Joelle said vaguely. She skirted Rob, glancing at the kitchen and restraining a sigh. The sink was full of dirty, disgusting dishes. Trash and empty beer bottles were scattered everywhere, and full ashtrays covered the counters. It didn’t seem like so much fun sometimes, living each day in the setting of a rock band. Lately, it seemed more gross than glamorous, and a lot more dirty than fun. And why couldn’t one of them, any of them, reach under the sink to throw something away?
What was once exciting, had become disgusting. She asked Rob recently if they could get their own place, just the two of them, like most couples. But he replied no, they couldn’t afford it. That’s why the band lived together, to cut down on expenses. It was all for the band, and always for the band.
But tonight, Joelle didn’t care about the band, whether they succeeded or not. Destiny be damned! Tonight it was gross, loud, and she was sick and tired of it. Tired of all of them. She wanted... what? What did she want? For four years, she not only accepted it, she loved it. Now, suddenly it was all the same except she had a problem with it.
Worst of all, there was a terrible lingering stomachache, and a desire to avoid the house, the band, and even Rob sometimes. She kept wanting more. Wanting what? Wanting Rob to be gone all day at work and come home to dinner at night? Not sleeping until one and having to leave in less than an hour or so for a gig? Perhaps, she merely wanted her clothes, her coat, and her hair, not to smell of day-old partying just by walking through her own house.
She was ready to grow up.
Joelle shook her head. This was ridiculous. They were all grown-up, despite the appalling conditions of the house. They were a band, waiting to make it, ready for fame, and to be heard. But all she wanted most of all was for Rob to be sober just for one evening. For her birthday and their anniversary. She doubted if he even could stay sober that long anymore.
He drank continuously now, from whatever time he woke up in the afternoon and on; whether or not they had a show. She first noticed the increase a year ago, but found she was helpless to stop it, slow it, or even alter it. Nothing changed his behavior, no matter how much he drank, or how many different drugs he took. They routinely flowed through the house from all directions: coming from the band members, their groupies, friends, and actual drug dealers that even hung out at the house sometimes. No wonder she was losing her battle for Rob’s sobriety.
Finally, she admitted that what Rob was doing was more than partying, more than a phase, and more than just fun. The intoxication was becoming Rob and the only thing that mattered in his life. Words like “alcoholism” and “alcoholic” began to occupy her mind. And still, she didn’t know what to do, or what to think, much less what to say to Rob about it.
Joelle glanced up and found Spike’s gaze on her, his eyes appearing sympathetic. His mouth tightened, as he nodded his head. Spike knew. He understood what her problem was. He was Rob’s best, and he didn’t know how to stop Rob anymore than she did.
She retreated to their room. She and Rob took the master bedroom, which she tried to fix up with a few candles, some framed pictures of them, and a nice comforter. It didn’t stink as much in there. She lay back on the bed, exhausted. Confused. Still unsure of why she went to the meeting tonight. What did it mean? Anything? Everything?
The door opened and Rob came in. He smiled at her and approached where she lay. Did he remember? He lay down next to her until she turned into his embrace.
“We wrote a new song. It’s good, baby. It’s going to be the best yet,” he said, after a while. She knew “we” meant Rob and Spike. They were the real talent of the band. Mitch and Kenny were the nuts and bolts. Rob and Spike were the inspiration, the creation, and the brilliance.
“Will you play it for me tomorrow?” Usually, she wanted to hear a new song right then and there, but today, she couldn’t muster the interest.
“You okay?” Rob asked.
“Yeah. Sure,” she lied. But was she? No, she wasn’t. She was exhausted from worry, not having enough money, from Rob, and stress, along with all the work that needed to be done. And it was her birthday. It would be nice if her husband noticed that. “I just wish the house wasn’t so disgusting.”
“I know things have been tough for you lately. I’ll talk to the guys, and get them to clean it up bit.”
“I’m tired. I need help. I need –”
“I’ll make it better. I need you, baby, you know that, right? All of this, none of it matters without you.”
Then why won’t you quit drinking? She was too tired to have the same fight again. She pressed her lips together to keep the words from spilling ou
t. The worst thing was: she believed Rob. He loved her. He did want her to be happy. And she had been. Until lately. Lately, nothing could bring that old feeling of comfort back.
“Work is crap. Then coming home to them… Sometimes, I just want you.”
“I know. I want you too. Quit that fucking job. It’s not worth feeling so bad over.”
“I can’t just quit! We need the money. You know that.”
Rob would quit. If he were her, he’d have already quit. He quit more jobs than she could remember. He quit because he didn’t like it, or because he was inspired to write a song, and he always preferred to stay home to write, instead of working. He quit because someone pissed him off. Or because he was hung over. Or because he simply didn’t feel like getting up that day.
In contrast, Joelle didn’t. College was the only thing she ever quit. She only quit to join Rob, and be with Rob, and they were, for over a year, nearly inseparable. No jobs, no parents, no one, but each other, and sex, and music, and the band. They did whatever they wanted when they wanted to. They were like irresponsible children on a continual vacation.
Then, reality hit them hard and their vacation ended. Bills needed to be paid. They had to grow up. Joelle became a waitress at a café. Then she was forced to add shifts at the grocery store, on nights and weekends. This went on for two years. When she finally quit one job to go to beauty school, they nearly had to apply for food stamps. But now she worked in a hair salon downtown, on a street filled with more tattoo parlors and bars than anything else. But her clientele tended to like lots of color, and Joelle could charge a lot for hair colors. She also worked odd shifts for one of the local motels as a housekeeper. It all helped pay the bills, but there was never enough. They never had any disposable income.
Except for alcohol. And drugs. Those were never absent from the house. There would have been a whole lot more if Rob could have gotten and held a job.
Joelle’s energy at pointing out the obvious had escaped her recently. Although Rob tried to understand her, and sincerely felt bad for her, he reacted to her discomfort by holding her, and reminding her why they had to live this way. She loved him, desperately, and completely. She believed in him wholeheartedly too. His singing voice was like a rich, deep, toned angel. He could create songs that sounded heavenly too. He was brilliant. He didn’t deserve to wallow in poverty either. He should have been a millionaire for his astonishing caliber of talent. She knew that, and still believed it to her core; she had since the first night she ever heard him. That was why, for the first few years, she never minded the low-paying jobs, the moving around, and routine upheaval, which accompanied their lifestyle and poverty.
Now, however, it wasn’t enough. Joelle lay there on the bed, after another long, pointless day, of coming home to her house, which was so unlike a home, and hearing Rob tell her to quit her job, had her curling up in a tight ball. She turned her head away from him so he couldn’t see the tears drifting silently over her face and onto the bed. He just didn’t get it. What she did every day, how hard she had to work, for them, for him, for their dreams, and how taking care of all the mundane details of their life, while he and the band sought their fame and fortune, wasn’t fun, and it was killing her.
To top it all off, most of the time, Rob was too buzzed or drunk to notice her exhaustion, or even that she was home.
“My car sounds like it isn’t going to start one of these days. And then what?”
“Then we’ll figure it out. We always do. Baby, I’m telling you, it isn’t going to be like this forever. I have a feeling with this new song. I promise you, one of these days–”
One of these days they would make their fortune. Couldn’t she just hang in there a little longer? She’d heard his speech many times before.
“I’m tired. I can’t shake it.”
“Maybe you’re pregnant,” he said, wrapping a hand over her stomach, and she jumped at his touch.
“No. I am most definitely not pregnant.”
“It would be amazing. You, me and a baby! What could be better?”
She nearly bit her tongue off to avoid saying her sarcastic retort. Rob’s brain cells must have been completely fried. What did he think? Sure, if he felt like taking a hit, he could just throw the baby into a crib all day and ignore it while she worked to make money that didn’t cover the bills they had already. Sure, he could just get high and create songs at will, sing at will, and only take the baby out, like some kind of doll, when he felt like it. Sounds wonderful!
She loved Rob, she really did. But sometimes, she was too cognizant of his faults, and his ne’er-do-well lifestyle. What mother in her right mind would bring a kid into that? God help her, if she ever thought becoming a mother with Rob was a good idea.
“It’s not going to happen for us.”
Stretching, he got up. His posture was sloppy. He grabbed the beer he left on the dresser and took a long drink. They had a ten o’clock gig at a club near the college with a crowd who would be nearly as high and drunk as the band. Joelle intended to skip it. For the first few years, she never missed them playing, not even one performance. Now, she only went when she didn’t have to work the next day; and lately, that was never.
He leaned over, kissing her long and hard. His sexual appetite remained as strong for her as the very first time. Alcohol never seemed to impede it. The problem was her weariness, which ruined it for her.
“It’s a great idea to have a baby. Just think about it.”
Birth control pills made her feel sick so they relied on condoms. Lately, however, Rob was getting less inclined to put them on. He complained they were married, and he didn’t want to wear them anymore. She feared that the more Rob thought having a baby was a great idea, the more likely, at some point, he’d get his way. After all, Rob convinced her of everything he wanted so far and she’d easily complied with any of his requests.
Chapter Three
Why did she keep returning there? She sat in back of the room, saying nothing, engaging no one, and barely listening to anyone because of her hyper-awareness at being there at the Al-Anon meeting. She couldn’t believe she dared to come back. She said nothing. She did nothing. She didn’t even look around. She was not part of the group. But she was there all the same. And Nick wasn’t. She let out a sigh of relief. Somehow, if she were actually seen there by someone, it made it seem all the more real, which made her feel more accountable, and consequently, panic-stricken.
At long last, it was over. She got up quickly, trying to avoid hugs and welcomes from the strangers. She had her coat and purse over her shoulder and was out the door before the facilitator even quit talking. She walked out of the dingy hallway and into the evening. She stopped dead. Nick Lassiter was standing against the building, not far from her car. He was dressed similar to what he wore last week. He straightened up when he spotted her. She didn’t know what to make of him standing there. Was he waiting for her? It was weird. And unwelcome. She walked up to him, making her steps heavy. She didn’t have the mental stamina to deal with such a situation.
“What are you doing here?” she practically demanded.
“Waiting.” Nick’s gaze skimmed over her. She almost asked if she hadn’t made it crystal clear that she was married.
“Why are you waiting?”
Nick glanced over the top of her head, towards the church door, then finally, back at her again. “My sister. I’m waiting for my sister, not for you.”
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Shit. His sister. He was waiting for his sister, not her. “Oh. Your sister.”
He looked down at his watch. Which sister was Nick waiting for? Last week, it didn’t interest her in the least, she was so anxious to get away from him. But now… who was it? Nick was the oldest of five, and had four sisters. All of them looked to him for everything because their father died when they were rather young.
“You came back.”
Joelle swung her gaze back to Nick. “Yes. I guess. Kind of. I don’t
think I really need to be here.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said, in a dismissive tone. That was her cue to leave. Was he anymore interested in making small talk with her, than she was with him? No, judging by the way he didn’t speak, and the way he shifted his weight on his legs, as he stared once more at the church.
She could leave. No problem. Just pretend she and Nick Lassiter had never spoken in front of an Al-Anon meeting she was secretly attending.
But she stood there, looking at him, then turned away. Why?
He was someone with whom she never had a relationship, yet he was part of her history. He knew her when she was someone else. Someone different. Someone better.
And he had no connection to Zenith. Everything in her life was connected to Zenith.
“So… how is Trina?” Five years ago was the last time she saw her former best friend.
Nick shifted his gaze back to her, and surprise raised his eyebrows. His blue-gray eyes showed only mild interest in answering her. She flushed, and lowered her gaze.
“She’s fine. Married, with the first baby on the way. They just bought their first house in a little cul-de-sac, in the suburbs.”
“Oh,” Joelle said, temporarily at a loss for a brilliant retort. Or even an interesting comment. She could picture Trina’s life just as Nick described it. Normal. “Did you mention you ran into me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t think you wanted me mentioning where I bumped into you.”
“Thank you,” Joelle said, softly. Her voice always dropped when she was nervous, or unsure, and Nick Lassiter made her very nervous. “Who are you waiting for then?”
“Rebecca. This neighborhood scares her, so a friend drops her off and I pick her up and drive her to my mother’s for the night.”
