by N Kuhn
Waking up this morning, I immediately head out to Joshua’s office. Getting there, he’s frowning.
“Come on in son, close the door.” Motioning to the two mugs of coffee, I grab one and sit down opposite of him.
“You don’t look happy. Am I iron clad? Not able to get out on my own?”
“Sit down Trav. Did you read this contract at all before signing it?”
“Not really. My dad said it was standard issue. What’s wrong?”
“Son, a standard manager will only take fifteen to twenty five percent. Your contract grants forty percent to Duke, ten percent to your father, leaving fifty percent for you boys to split. That’s not right. It also says that you’re stuck into tours they put you on, for three years. After three years, they can either terminate contract and you part ways or they keep you for 3 more years. In that time, you have to pump out an album a year. Plus, the decision to terminate is fully left to Duke. This is the shadiest contract I have ever seen. They are conning you Travis.”
“What? My dad gets money off of what we make? Plus he gets the majority portion of ticket sales. What the hell is this?”
“Don’t worry Travis. We’re going to figure it out. I can get you out of this. You just may not like how we do it.”
“Sir, I just want to be able to play music. I’m nothing without it.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“It is. I barely passed school, have no skills, other than music. I have to play. Music is who I am.”
“Ok, let me talk to Duke face to face and see what I can do, ok?” Nodding, I get up and leave. Walking back to my car, I feel lost. What will I do with myself if I can’t play music? Why would my father screw me over like this? Plus, I’m stuck, unless Joshua can perform a miracle. Driving away, I don’t even pay attention. The car has a mind of its own, because before I realize what’s happening, I’m at my mother’s house. It’s dirty, the lawn is uncut, and there’s mail piling up on the steps. As I start to get out, my cell phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Trav, please, we have a good thing going. Why are you doing this to us? We belong together. Sebastian made me do that. He said he would throw me out in the streets if I didn’t suck his dick. Jeremy threatened to kill me if I didn’t go along with him about those photos. I don’t want to hurt you Travis, but you left me here alone. I had no one to protect me,” Stacey whines on the other end.
“Stacey, leave me alone. You’re poison. You do nothing but use people, and obviously lie. Sebastian would never treat anyone that way. And you’re just plain dumb if you think I’m going to believe you. How the hell did Jeremy threaten you, if you were on tour with me?”
“Ha. Shows how much you know about your so called friend Travis. Sebastian and Max think that your head is too big. You think you’re solo, instead of a band. You act like it’s just you who made it, forgot about your friends already? They are both sick of your shit. You’re worthless Travis. Did you fix your precious guitar? That piece of garbage thing. Just wait, those photos are going in the paper tomorrow. I’ll never have to work again, once they pay me for them.”
“Screw you psycho bitch.”
“Don’t worry Trav, I will, I’ll screw you so bad. Just wait, I’ll make you pay one way or another.”
She hangs up on me. Shaking my head, I can’t get over how crazy this bitch is. When I met her, she was shy and quiet and worried about her abusive ex finding her. Now, she’s psycho. The more money I made, the more drugs she did. The more she used me. Now she’s begging me to take her back one minute, and talking shit the next. If anyone needs rehab and a head check it’s her. Getting out, I make my way to the door. It’s locked. Letting myself in, it’s good to know she didn’t change the locks after the last time I was here. That was a day I don’t want to repeat. But she better cooperate and give me the answers I want. It’s been since the Battle. Since I found all that stuff from my dad. Walking inside, it’s dark and smells horribly rotten.
“Mom?” I call out. No answer. Nothing, no sound, noises, scratches, shuffling, just nothing. Just silence. Looking around, everything is dirty and dusty, which is odd. My mother is a neat freak. ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness’, she says. When I was younger, if anything was out of place, she would throw it out. My guitar was the one thing I had always taken care of and now it’s ruined. Just like a lot of things in my life right now.
Making my way down the hall, the smell gets so bad, that I have to put my arm over my nose and mouth. Part of me already knows what I’m going to find in her room. Opening the door, if not for the smell, you would think my mom is just sleeping. Leaning over, I touch her neck. It’s ice cold and hard. Jumping back, I rush out of the house, gagging for fresh air. Falling to my knees in the front yard, I cover my ears. All I can hear is screaming, and it takes a minute for me to realize that it’s me. She’s gone. I regret so many things in my life, but right now, my regret is not reaching out to her when I had the chance. Throwing up in the tall grass before me, my stomach turns as I lurch and gag. Falling to my side, I roll onto my back, digging my hand into my pocket for my cell phone.
“911 what’s your emergency?”
“My mother’s dead.” Rambling off the address, I lay there, vomit dripping down my chin, unsure what to do with myself.
Calling Bent, he says he will be right here. As the paramedics and cops show up, so do the paparazzi. How the hell did they know what was going on already?
“They listen to police monitors Trav,” Bent says as he ambles towards me, looking over his shoulder. The mass of media are camped out in the road. I’m standing in the middle of my mom’s driveway, staring at them, lost in thought. Shaking out of it, I look up at Bent. He comes over to me, giving me a hug. Normally I would have some sarcastic remark about being gay, but today, I’m unable to even process my thoughts. Standing at my side, he tries to steer me away from the cameras and peering eyes. My cell phone rings again.
“Trav, you ok son?” Marcus asks.
“I guess so. I mean, it’s not sunk in yet. Now I know why she hadn’t shown up for counselling at the rehab center. The ME said she’s been dead for two weeks.”
“That sucks son, well I’m here if you need me, and Duke is on his way back to Buffalo to handle the press for you.” As things begin to sink in, I let the phone slide from my hand, and sink down to my knees. Tears fall uncontrollably from my eyes, as sobs shake my body. Bent sits down in the grass next to me, his hand on my shoulder. I can hear the noise around me. The paparazzi shouting questions, the police walking around, taping things off. The ME said it was most likely natural causes, due to her illness, but they have to investigate properly. I never even got to talk to her, there’s so much I wanted to know. What kind of son doesn’t even bother to find out what’s wrong with his mother? Bentley had to tell me about the cancer. Since I’m somewhat of a big name, everything has to be a big deal. Special treatment and all. As I kneel, crying for my mother, the love I never got from her, the lost chance at fixing things with her, I feel arms wrap around me. Looking down, I can tell by the painted nails that it’s Brittany. Turning, I pull her close, holding her tight against me, burying my face in her hair and let it all out.
Having no clue how long I’ve been here, leaning into Britt, I finally pull away.
“Thanks, I’m sorry Britt.” Standing, I pull her to her feet, she keeps a hand on my arm, as if afraid to let me go. Looking around, the police are gone, but the paparazzi remain. Bent looks up to see what caught my attention.
“The cops said that they would call you if they had any questions. But that there’s nothing they can do about the press. Your dad has also called a few times to check on you and to see if Duke has shown up yet. He said to call when you can.” Nodding my head, I head to my car.
“I need to just go home. Britt, thank your dad for me, tell him I’ll get ahold of him tomorrow about my new place. Bent, make sure you tell Bas that I’m moving tomorrow and that he can come get
his things after I’m out of there. Shit. I don’t know what to do,” raking my hand through my hair, “I just realized I don’t know if she has a will, or where to bury her, how. I don’t know anything. What kind of son doesn’t know how to take care of things for their own mother?” Without waiting for a response, I climb into my car and try to not run over any camera men as I peel out of the driveway.
Sitting in my apartment, alone, I hold the rocks glass of whiskey in my hand. Staring at it, I haven’t taken a sip yet, but the urge and hunger linger there, just waiting for me to pull the glass to my lips and let the amber liquid run down my throat. I could really use the oblivion that it promises. Slouching further into the white leather couch, I bring the glass to my lips.
“I knew you’d be back, that your little good boy act wouldn’t stick.” Turning my head, I see Sebastian standing in the doorway. I hadn’t even heard him come in.
“I haven’t yet. What are you doing here?”
“I live here dude. What the fuck?”
“Not anymore. You knew. I told you, that she came into the hospital, after I had almost died, and tried to give me more. Those black mail photos were her, she’s psycho. She’s dangerous. Now she’s calling me, begging me to take her back.”
“No she’s not, she’s with me. You’re lying. She doesn’t want you. You’re different. You’re not the person we all liked.” I can’t break my gaze from him, and I’m sure my jaw hit the ground. Did he really just say that to me? I’m the problem here?
Tossing the drink down my throat, I look at the empty glass in my hand.
“Really Bas? Because from what I’m told, you think that I’m egotistical. Stacey said you and Max want to kick me out of the band, my band.” Looking at Sebastian, his eyes get wide. He sputters, not really able to speak.
“It’s ok Bas,” I say to him, walking over to the bar in the wall. Pouring myself another drink. Turning around, my gaze bores into him. His face pale.
“This is what you want, right? You prefer me messed up, drugged up, drunk?”
“I just prefer my best friend Trav. That’s what I prefer. I want things to be like they used to be.” Sitting on the couch, I hand him a drink, and he pulls out my necklace. Laying out two lines, I look at him.
“No, I can’t, I can’t go back to this.” Standing, I pace the room. “Bas, I’m moving tomorrow. You need to get your things and go. The movers will be here in the morning for my stuff. I can’t be around all of this, around you.”
“What a hypocrite you are Travis. Look at your hand. That drink in your hand, makes you a liar. You don’t want this? Can’t be around us? What will you do when we go back on tour? We have a show here downtown in two days.”
Knocking back my second drink, I look at him, rage filling my body.
“I found my mother dead today, I came home from rehab to find you getting your dick sucked by a woman who almost killed me and you’re worrying about a show? Get the fuck out man. Get your clothes, because that’s all you own here, and get out.” Throwing the glass as hard as I can, it catches him in the face. Standing, as blood drips from the cut in his forehead, Bas charges at me. Wrapping his arms around my waist, we both tumble to the ground. His fist connects with my nose before I can get out from under him. Trying to defend myself, I hit him back. I feel no pain from the connection of my fist and his cheek. Blow for blow, we hit each other, both on our knees in the middle of my living room. Grabbing for his shirt, trying to pull him closer to me, he wraps a hand around my throat. So enthralled in our fight, I don’t notice anyone entering the apartment. Next thing I know, Brittany is screaming at us to stop. We both look up at her. Blood drips from our fists and faces, covering the white carpet.
“What the hell is going on here?” she demands. Unable to look her in the eyes, I stalk to my bar, grabbing a bottle as I pass by.
“Get the hell out of here Sebastian. You don’t live here anymore. As of tomorrow, neither do I.”
“Travis, are you drinking? Seriously, I know that it’s a hard time right now, but please, just put it down. You just got out of rehab, you don’t need that.” Pulling on my arm, she tries to stop me. Shaking her grip from me, I head to my bedroom. Locking myself in with my bottle I collapse on the floor next to my bed. Tilting my neck back, I drink and until I can no longer hear my thoughts. Finally empty, I throw the bottle and watch as it shatters against the wall. Clumsily I stand, and leave my room. Stumbling down the hallway, it’s silent. Bas and Brittany must have left. I can recall hearing Brittany at my door, but what she said is now lost on my in my drunken phase. Staring at the room before me, it’s a mess. Broken glass from my drink, blood everywhere. Fumbling to the bar, I pull out another bottle. Breaking the seal, I chug the liquid down until I can’t breathe. Sputtering, I step forward, tripping over my own feet. There’s nothing I can do to stop it, and end up falling into the glass coffee table in the middle of my room. The same one Bas and I have done countless lines of coke from.
Chapter 10
Brittany Mr. Wrong Mr. Right Now
Things with Aiden just keep getting worse and worse. He’s been trying to control which of my friends I get to see and talk to, what I wear, where I go. I can’t take it anymore. My mom has seen that I’m unhappy and decided to take me out for mani pedis.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asks, raising her perfectly plumped eyebrow at me. Our feet are soaking in the water, and our hands are being done.
“Aiden’s been acting weird lately. I don’t like it.”
“Weird how? You two seem happy when you’re together.”
“He’s too controlling mom. I don’t know, we pretend to be happy when we’re around others, but I can’t do it. It’s all fake. He insults me. The other day, at the cookout, he said I should have worn my white dress instead of the denim shorts, because they made my ass look fat. Who says that to their girlfriend? He told Travis to stay away from his fiancé. Apparently he’s just decided for me that we are getting married. He basically called me a slut, right in front of Bent and Trav.” Sighing, my mother takes my hand in hers.
“I never thought I would say this, but I miss Travis. I miss the days when you were only unhappy when I made you come home.”
Surely my jaw has hit the ground. My mother? Miss Travis? She was nice to him, when he got out of rehab and stopped by. That was the first time she had ever hugged him. I know she hopes he will be staying clean and out of trouble. I can’t tell her about last night. That would be the end of it. This new found liking of him would be gone, destroyed. As if reading my mind, she continues.
“I know what you’re thinking, we never liked him. That’s because we knew he was troubled Britt. Now, he’s got his life together, he’s making a career out of the music. He’s doing so much better.”
“You’re right. I think about him all the time mom. I’ve figured it was wrong of me to think that way, because you and dad never liked him.”
“Your father is the one who got me to thinking this way. Didn’t he tell you Travis hired him? Apparently there’s some discrepancy with his contract and your father is helping him with it. Plus, something about a stalker. Said he came in the other afternoon, after he left our house. Him and Bentley.” I immediately know she’s talking about the photos, but decide to keep my mouth shut about it.
“No, dad didn’t mention it. What’s wrong with his contract?”
“Oh honey, I don’t know anything about your father’s work. You’re at the office every day. He can tell you.” Waving her hand, as if dismissing the idea, I turn away. It’s hard for me to picture my dad and Travis sitting in an office together, working on the legalities of a contract. It’s absurd. Maybe they figured out who the photos were from though. But what if it’s true? What if there’s still a chance for me and Trav? Bent told me he’s been sullen since getting out of rehab, even though it’s only been a few days. His mother dying hasn’t helped any. I’m just afraid, after what my mother just said about him, that
if I tell her he got drunk and fought Bas, that it would make her hate him again. He needs me, my help, not judgment.
“Yea, I’ll do that. I’ll talk to dad.” Sitting there, my phone rings.
“Speaking of Bent,” I say looking at my mother. “Hey Bent, what’s up? Ma and I are getting mani pedis.”
“Hey Britt, I think you need to get over here to Trav’s apartment.”
“What’s wrong now?” Lowering my voice, I hope my mom can’t hear me. “He wouldn’t speak to me when I was there yesterday, so I just left.”
“The ambulance is on its way. He got drunk and fell into the glass table. He’s cut up pretty bad, lost a lot of blood, he’s probably been here all night.”
“Oh god, I’m on my way.” Jumping up from the chair, my mom looks at me curiously. The woman working on our toes looks up at me with shock. Only half my toes are painted and I don’t care.
“Travis, he’s, he’s hurt. I-I have to go. I’m sorry mom.” Fighting the tears threatening to fall, I blindly look around for my purse and keys.
“Its ok sweetie, I understand. Please, give him our condolences of his mother. I’ll see you later, let me know how he is. And be careful. You’re upset, calm down first.” Slipping my wet feet back into my flip flops, I rush out to my car. Gripping my keys, my hands shake as I try to put them into the ignition. I suppose I should have expected something like this. He was in a bad place last night, and hurt from fighting with Sebastian. He was drunk, and I did nothing. When he didn’t answer the door, I figured he passed out. If I had only broke it down, got in there, I could have kept the bottle from him. Why didn’t I stay? Starting my car, my cell phone on the seat next to me rings.
