Travis looks around as he shakes Ricky’s hand. “The place hasn’t changed much since the last time we were here.”
Malcolm does a quick round of introductions, then pulls Travis aside. “Let me play the song for you. The bass part is easy. Feel free to improvise. We can run through it with Quinn when you’re ready.”
Travis gives me no more than a cursory glance before turning back to Malcolm. “Know what man? How about I run through it with just you and… What did you say your name was?” he says, looking at Liam.
Travis’s cold disinterest is shifting the entire mood of this recording session, and I don’t like it.
Liam shoots me a subtle look before he answers. “Liam.”
“Right, Liam.” Travis twists the top off one of the bottles and offers it to Liam and Ricky. When they decline, he hands it to Malcolm, then opens one for himself. I don’t want one, but he doesn’t offer me a drink. They clink bottles, and Malcolm takes a sip.
“It’s good to have you here, man,” he says while clapping Travis on the shoulder. When Malcolm takes another sip of beer, my hands reflexively ball into fists. He catches my eye, but when I give him a frown that says WTF he merely turns away.
In that instant, it’s like a steel security door comes crashing down, leaving Kiki and I on the outside. I take a deep breath, frustrated by this male bonding ritual that’s challenging Malcolm’s precarious sobriety.
“Come on, Keeks. Let’s take coffee orders and get out of here,” I say.
The stand on the boardwalk is closed, so Kiki winds up driving us two towns over to a twenty-four-hour Dunkin’ Donuts. On the way back to the studio, I’m anxious about being gone for too long. The salty air wafts through the open car windows, brushing against my skin and sending a chill down my spine—the kind that Grammy says means someone’s walking over your grave. I shiver.
Keeks’s eyes dart toward me as she drives. “You okay?”
“Just nervous about recording this last song.”
She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Quinny. The rehearsal went well. You’re going to be amazing.”
I wish I shared Kiki’s confidence as we ride the elevator up to the third floor, carrying two disposable trays with coffee for everyone except the cellist. She brought her own hot tea in a thermos. We should have gotten the Box O’ Joe, I think. It would have been more efficient. Too late now.
When we reach our floor, Kiki and I put the coffees down in the kitchen, then I look for my bag and drumsticks, which I left in the cubbyhole storage area out in the hall. That’s where I see Malcolm. I smile and am about to call out to him, but my breath catches in my throat.
He’s digging through my bag!
He’s so focused he doesn’t know I’m here. I stay where I am. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. I know what he’s looking for. I see his shoulders relax. He’s found it. That’s when he looks up and sees me down the hall.
“Find what you’re looking for?” I don’t even try to hide my hurt and anger as I walk toward him.
He closes his hand around the small Ziploc bag. “Quinn, it’s not… I was just looking for Advil. My hand has been killing me for the last ten hours. I forgot these were even in here.”
Seriously? Is he going to stand there and lie to me? I call him out. “If you were looking for Advil, you would have waited until I came back and asked me. Instead, you sneak around like some kind of—”
The word “junkie” falls into the silence between us.
The expression on his face tells me I’m right. He knows he’s caught. I move toward him and put out my hand. He hesitates for a few beats before giving me the bag.
“What are you going to do with those?” he asks. I don’t like the fear in his voice or the fact the he’s more focused on the pills than what he just did.
“Flush them down the toilet. I should have done that in the first place.” I turn to leave, and he grabs my arm a little too roughly.
“Quinn, wait.”
I shrug away and glare at him. “What?”
“Keep one, just one. Please? Being here again, recording without those guys, it’s been hard for me. My hand is hurting, and it’s dredging up the old pain. When Travis walked in, I…I’m worried I won’t be able to finish without some help.”
“Help? Like the beer Travis gave you? I’m not giving you anything that could lead to a major setback, or worse. You know alcohol’s a trigger, and you also know better than to mix it with an opioid.”
“It was a few sips, and FYI, I don’t need an NA lecture from you.”
I cross my arms to keep from smacking him. I am seriously, seriously pissed. “And I don’t need you rummaging through my stuff and grabbing my arm to get what you want.”
He throws up his arms, a mixture of anger and exasperation.
Back at ya, I want to scream. Instead, I walk way.
“Quinn, wait. You’re right. Okay? I’m being a jerk. But I need this one little favor. Who else am I supposed to ask?”
I’m pissed, but I still pity him. I hate that I pity him.
“It’s not a little favor. What you’re asking—” I lower my voice. “It’s dangerous. You’ve been drinking.”
“It was only a few sips,” he says again. Agitated, he runs a hand through his hair.
“You’ve come so far. You’re better than this.”
“I am better. That’s why I can handle it now. One pill, Quinn. Just one to get me over this hump. Afterward, I’ll be strong enough to walk away.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Sorry. Not going to do it.”
His voice rises. “Why are you being like this? I asked you to hold those for me. They’re mine. They’re not yours to throw away.”
An ugly realization hits me. “Is that why you’ve wanted me around? I thought you wanted to be close to me, not these.” I hold up the bag. “I get it now. I was your human safety net. Keeper of the pills.”
My comment smacks some reality into Malcolm.
“What? No! You’re not my human safety net.”
“No? Then what am I to you, Malcolm? I’d really like to know.”
His face darkens, and his sudden mood shift scares me.
“I don’t know what you are to me, Quinn. But right now you’re doing a really great job of acting like my mother.”
He spits out my name like poison. My name, not Cat’s Eye. Tears well up in my eyes. I have no words.
“I told you not to do this. I told you not to save me,” he whisper-yells. “I knew this would happen.”
“That what would happen?”
He waves his arms back and forth between us.
“This. Me and you. Last night, when you told me you wanted to come on the road with me?” He shakes his head. “At first I was happy, but then I thought about it. This is too much. I’ve got the tour to think about, the showcase for my old label. This is not the time to fall in love. Maybe after the tour—”
His words knock me back to the person I was at the beginning of the summer, the one whose “relationships” had only happened in her head. I’m going back to Austria, Ralph said. I have my career to think about, Mr. G said. Maybe after the tour, Malcolm said.
When Malcolm said he could wait, I thought he was talking about sex, not a relationship. I cross my arms over my chest and look down, allowing the hot tears that have been blurring my vision fall from my eyes.
Ricky pops his head out of the control room. “We’re ready in five,” he says.
“Be right there,” Malcolm calls. When he sees I’m crying, his face softens and he takes a step forward. “Quinn, I said that wrong—”
“No, you said it exactly right, Malcolm. I didn’t mean to be so inconvenient.” I throw the bag of pills at him. “Here. Why don’t you ask your mother to hold those for you?” I push past him and grab my bag. “I need my drum
sticks.”
“Cat’s Eye, please.” He sounds like himself again, like the Malcolm from last night who hinted that he was in love with me, not the one who tried to take that love away. But it’s too late. He’s shown me another side of himself, one that reminds me of the other guys who made it very clear I was not their most important person. It was a joke to think I could be his.
“You know what? I can’t do this,” I say.
“What do you mean? We need you to record this song.”
“I wasn’t talking about the song.”
I turn, prepared to make a dramatic exit, and smack into Liam. I wonder how much he’s heard. From the look on his face? Everything. He gives my arm a squeeze, and I lift one corner of my mouth.
“You going to be okay?” he asks softly.
I nod, too afraid to speak, then walk past him to find my sister and Auntsie. They’re in the kitchen. Auntsie immediately sees I’ve been crying and knows something’s very wrong.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head and close my eyes. “Can you take me home after we record?” I ask. “I don’t think Malcolm needs me. After the song, we’re done.”
She hugs me, understands me. For a split second, I consider my small white pill in my back pocket. You’re better than that, I say to myself. A pill isn’t going to fix what you’re feeling right now. And in my case, I know it’s true.
Evie rubs my back. “Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s his fault. Come on, let’s get in there,” she says soothingly. “I can’t believe I’m in a recording studio and living the rock and roll dream. Woohoo!”
Her excitement lightens my mood. I put my arm around her.
“I can’t believe you’re up past midnight…and that you unironically said, ‘Woohoo.’”
TWENTY-EIGHT
I’m back in my isolation chamber, ready to record. Everyone else is set up in the main studio. Ricky explained that we have to record this way so the mics for the vocals and other instruments don’t pick up the sound of the drum. It’s fine. Perfect, actually. The only way I’m going to get through this is if I’m not in the same room as Malcolm.
From my vantage point, I can see the profiles of Liam, my sister, and her friends. Ricky, Kiki, and Auntsie are in the control room facing me. Malcolm, Travis, and the cellist are on the opposite side of the studio, out of sight. Good.
Ricky talks into the microphone. It’s weird to see his lips moving behind the glass while hearing him in my headphones.
“Let’s light it up!” He holds up his hand, a combination of a maestro and the guy who starts a drag race, and counts us in. “Three, two, one…”
He swings his arm down in one sudden motion, and we begin.
Malcolm plays the opening chords on the keyboard, producing a haunting church organ sound. The solemnity of the minor chords continues for a few measures before Malcolm begins to sing. Even though I know it’s coming, I startle a little when Malcolm’s voice enters my headphones.
That last night, that last time, that last look I can’t erase…
It takes everything I have to push away the memory of the first time I heard Malcolm sing these words at Keegan’s. I concentrate, instead, on how the song’s unfolding now, the sacred, evocative mix created by the sparseness of Malcolm’s vocals and the organ. The upright bass joins in on the second verse, its warm bum, bum, bum grounding the song as the cello’s yearning bleeds slowly into the melody. When the backing vocalists begin to sing, they sound soft and far away, like the voices of children through an open window; they sound like angels. I wipe my palms on my jeans and close my eyes, preparing to join this hymn. I hear the sadness in Malcolm’s voice, the hope in my sister’s, the heartbeat of the bass. Goose bumps prick my skin. I close my eyes and rub my arms, praying I can give this song my best without coming completely undone. I breathe deep, and when I open my eyes again, I see Liam has turned to face me. He catches my gaze and winks as if to say we got this. We nod at each other as Ricky points to us from the booth, and then we simultaneously crash into the song, Liam with a crunchy guitar chord, me on hi-hat.
One and two and…
One and two and…
One and two and…
I sing the tinkling rhythm to myself as Liam breaks into an uncontrollable grin. Our eyes stay locked and his connection pulls me into the room, into the song, which is crackling with emotion. When we reach the bridge, my foot practically pounds a hole through the kick drum as my arms rain down on the toms and snare.
Bdum, bum, bdum bum, bum…bumbumbumbumbum…bdum, bum, bum, bum…bumbumbumbumbum…
Fear, rage, and grief simmer to the surface, threatening to shatter me like glass. I try to hold it together, try to keep the jagged pieces of my heart from falling to the floor while every note, every word seeps in through the cracks. And yet, I’m playing better than I ever have before, better than I ever will again, maybe. My sister stares at me with a look of wonder, Auntsie smiles through tears, Ricky pumps his fist and mouths Right on, and Kiki applauds.
Malcolm’s voice rings in my head. I should have said more, should have done more, found a way to take your place. The song reaches its climax, we are one solid wall of sound, and then suddenly we all drop out, leaving Malcolm to end where he began, with his vocals and a few haunting chords. I pull off my headphones, and in the quiet, Lynn is with me. I see her as I remember her best, in cutoff shorts, Converse, and a dark blue tank top. She’s holding out her arms like she does in my dreams. She wants to help carry this heaviness; instead, I give her this song.
“Fuuucck! That’s it! That’s gotta be it!” Ricky screams like a little kid in our earphones. “You know how I know? Cause the hair on my arms is standing up.”
Everyone rushes to congratulate each other in the main studio, but I snatch my bag off the floor and sneak out the back door. Tears stream down my face, and a sob escapes my throat. Before I know it, I’m running down the hallway toward the elevator. When I hear footsteps behind me, I hide my face, not wanting anyone to see me ugly cry, and frantically push the Down button. When the elevator arrives, I dive inside, place a finger on the first-floor button, and hold it down, willing the doors to close faster. I’m almost in the clear when Malcolm jams his arm between the closing doors and steps inside.
“Cat’s Eye.” He’s breathless.
I wrap my arms around myself and turn away, pissed that he’s trapped me like this. That he’s seeing me turned inside out. I’m afraid to give him any more of myself now, knowing that at any moment, he may try to give it back. I wipe my tears with my sleeve and face the wall while I speak.
“I’m not recording that song again. Ever. Whatever it is, it is,” I say.
“What it is, is amazing. Don’t you want to come back upstairs and hear it? Please come back upstairs and hear it. I need to talk to you.”
He sounds like my Malcolm, the one I thought I loved, not the one who was willing to push that love aside for getting high. Maybe that’s what it means to be broken. There will forever be two sides of one’s self with a fault line down the middle. Put two broken people together, and there will come a time when you have a chasm to cross.
The doors open, and I step out into the lobby. Malcolm follows.
“We can talk here,” I say.
Malcolm rubs his face with both hands; the blue/black circles under his eyes look painful.
“Look. What happened upstairs. I’m sorry.” He takes the pills out of his pocket and hands them back to me. There are only three left. My heart turns cold.
“I never should have asked you to hold these. That was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
“You took one.” I don’t hide my outrage.
“I did. I fucked up. And you were right. I couldn’t handle only one. I immediately wanted more. I’m an addict. Addicts take all the pills.”
“So why give these to m
e now?”
“If I screw up again, if something happens to me, I couldn’t stand it if you felt responsible.”
“Malcolm, I don’t want anything to happen to you. I care about you. That’s the point.”
“I know, I know, and that scares me. Feeling responsible for each other, depending on each other? I’m not ready for that responsibility.”
Is he dumping me before we’ve had a chance to be a couple? The queen of fictitious relationships strikes again.
“So you’re saying you don’t want me around?” That you don’t want me.
“I want you around. The gig, the band, the tour, it’s your choice. But you and I, I think we need to take a step back. Start over as just friends.”
“We were never just friends.”
“I know. But I’m not good boyfriend material right now. I don’t want you putting up with my bullshit. It’s not fair to you. I want you to be happy.”
“Don’t you know I want the same for you?”
Malcolm sighs. “I know you do, Cat’s Eye. But I’ve got a ways to go. I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m doing a great job of standing in my own fucking way. I don’t want to stand in yours too.”
He reaches for me, but I scowl and shrug away. He looks hurt. Good.
“What are you saying, Malcolm? Whatever it is, say it.”
“I’m saying that letting you go might be the biggest mistake I’ll ever make. But not letting you go might be an even bigger one.”
I slam the Up button for the elevator, and the doors bing open.
“Go.”
He touches my face.
“Go.” I say again.
Malcolm backs into the elevator. “You’re not leaving?”
I shake my head. “I’ll be there in a minute. I want to hear our song.”
We both know what a lie sounds like. He looks so desperate and I feel so empty that I almost change my mind before the door closes between us. But I don’t want to ruin the post-recording celebration those guys deserve. It’s a beautiful thing when people generously give their time and talent in the middle of the night to create a song so perfect and true that it will outlive this goodbye.
August and Everything After Page 12
