They said, they said
Attractive fraud, where’s your army now to defend the legend that only exists in
Could have beens
Would have beens
Should have been vapors assaulted by the wind
Attractive fraud, where’s your army now?
Could have been,
Would have been,
Should, should, should have been
Too hazy for a spotlight
They said
Couldn’t be
Shouldn’t be
Would, would, wouldn’t be if not for helping hands that cower under streetlights
You’re special she said
A fucking god beneath the fraud she said
Could be
Should be
Won’t be
Unless she collects
the lies she tells
I’m no god, just a piece of hell
Here to tell you how it is
I grab my guitar and start strumming through the progression. The melody crawls through my brain, the lyrics scratching against the sides now that Mila’s gone. Still, I play, gaining confidence in my creation with each pass. Somehow it brings her back.
Parker pushes through the door, eyes wide.
“Is this the Sunday song?”
I flinch, startled. “Yeah.”
“Play it again?”
The look in his eyes. I can’t say no. But Jonas hovers behind him. I blink and stare at my notebook. My fingers start moving on the frets. Lyrics pour out, and Jonas moves into the room.
The music ignores him, tells him he’s not important enough to destroy it. It tells Parker I’m a disaster, but I’m worth the pain. It tells me there’s a future I didn’t see until this moment. That the only person I need to hear my song has fled to Manhattan.
It tells me I’m blowing it and it’s time to fight back.
I’m no god, just a piece of hell
Here to tell you how it is
It’s good but not finished. I fish a pencil from the pile on my floor.
I’m no god, just a piece of hell
Here to tell you how it is
That I could be, should be.
And I will.
∞∞∞
People like to say stuff like, if you’d told me when I was fifteen that I’d one day be having coffee with Jonas Everett I would have... But I never played that game. No, my only future with Jonas Everett was as a reluctant guest at his funeral. Unless he was a guest at mine. Our lives were on a race to self-destruction.
I don’t know the man who’s sitting at our table, sucking the edge of a steaming mug. I certainly don’t know the appropriate response, so I watch him navigate Parker’s terrible grasp of beans-to-water ratio.
I ask the only safe question for this scenario. “Where are the guys?”
“Reece is with Gina. Not sure about Derrick. The gym maybe?”
I nod and sip my own steaming cup of sludge. God, it’s awful. I put it down and take pleasure in Jonas’ gallant attempt to prove himself. If he survives Parker’s coffee, I’ll have no choice but to hear him out.
“Who’s Chris?” I ask next. Jonas nearly chokes, whether from my question or the liquid mud, I don’t know.
“You mean, the Chris that Meg referenced?”
I nod. Parker stops fussing with creamer and looks at me like I just proposed a father-son camping trip.
Jonas plays it cool. “The leader of my support group. Chris fronts a band called E-Z Kings.”
“A musician.”
“The entire group is made up of musicians.”
Interesting. “How long have you been clean?”
“Two years, seventy-three days.” He looks at his watch. “Six hours.”
“What have you been doing that whole time?”
“Getting stable.”
“When did you and Parker start communicating?”
They exchange a look, and I wait.
“I contacted him six months ago. I wanted to contact you too, but figured you wouldn’t accept that.”
“You figured right.”
He pushes a folder across the table.
“What’s this?” I try to keep the alarm from my voice.
“My plan.”
I cross my arms and lean back. “We already told you, we’re not interested in any more of your plans.”
He shakes his head. “Not for that. My plan for how I’m going to pay back what I stole from you and get you and Parker back to where you should be. At least financially.”
More strange words from the strange man. I open the folder and stare at its contents. Spreadsheets. Graphs. Official-looking documents and business cards.
“My financial manager thinks we can have you restored within two years. I have the first payment set aside and ready for you as soon as I get your account information for an EFT.”
“I’ll get you that,” Parker says. Glad one of us can still form words.
“Great. It’s small. I’m sorry. I’m still selling assets and moving things around, but hopefully it will help you with your new direction. Parker said Mila Taylor has agreed to represent you?”
My heart twists at the name. “Well—”
“She is,” Parker interjects. I glance over at him, and he gives me a nod. “She had to return to New York, but she’s working on our strategy from there. She’s setting up a showcase at a club in the south.”
Another thing I’ve never seen: a genuine Jonas Everett smile.
“She’s a golden ticket, boys. I’ve never heard of her representing talent before. She’s mostly known for shooting it down.”
I still don’t have words for this, and Jonas clears his throat.
“Anyway, I should get going, but send me that account info. I’ll have Brian transfer the twenty-six thousand as soon as I get it.”
Parker and I both choke.
“What?” Parker spits out.
“I know. It’s not much, but it’s something, right? I’ll get you the rest as soon as I can.”
I stare at the pile of paper in the folder again.
Then at the stranger across the table. He holds out his hand as he passes. For the first time in twenty-three years, I take it.
∞∞∞
We sift through the file after Jonas leaves. Although we don’t understand a lot of the numbers and calculations, one thing is clear: Jonas stole a lot more from us than we thought. He also has an aggressive plan to make us very comfortable in the near future.
“We have to tell Mila,” Parker says.
“Why? This is the past.”
“This is our entire future! She’s our manager. She has to see these.”
“Oh?”
He glares at me. “Save the I-told-you-sos. I already admitted she knows her shit.”
I let out a breath. “Fine. Go ahead and call her.”
“Uh, pretty sure you should be the one to call her.”
“I can’t.”
“She’s worried sick about you.”
“I e-mailed her and told her I’m fine.”
“Exactly.”
I shut the folder and push to my feet. “We should talk to Reece and Derrick. This is their money too.”
“Agreed, but that doesn’t get you off the hook with Mila.” He sighs. “She cares about you, man.”
“Yeah? Not enough to be here.”
“You didn’t give her a choice.”
I know. Doesn’t help me now. “Please, brother? Just call her for me?”
Parker’s forehead creases in protest, but I sat through coffee with Jonas. Listened to his pitch. Shook his fucking hand. Parker loses by a landslide, and he knows it.
“Fine. I’ll call her. This time. But you can’t avoid her forever.”
Actually, I’m the Prince of Avoidance. “Thanks, dude. I’m gonna go work on the new song.”
19: RUNNING
Jonas thought it would be best if I met Chris for coffee on my own. Given my aversion to all things Jon
as, I can’t argue.
I search the coffee shop for a red baseball cap and see three scattered throughout. It’s not exactly a unique qualifier in Phillies country, and I approach the closest.
The guy doesn’t seem enthusiastic about my advance. I smile and keep walking. Number two has a laptop, awkward approach for what’s supposed to be a casual introduction, but this is a Jonas-setup so anything goes.
“Chris?” I ask, reaching for the chair across from him.
“Uh…”
Yeah, not Chris.
“Jesse?”
I turn and stare at Red Hat Number Three. The only one I’d ruled out because…
She grins. “Let me guess. You weren’t expecting someone so short?”
I swallow and force a smile. “I didn’t know what to expect. Jonas isn’t exactly great with details. He said Chris would be here at ten wearing a red hat.”
The woman laughs and ushers me toward the counter. “What are you drinking? My treat.”
She stops my protest with a look, and I obediently place my order. We wait at the counter, making small talk about important topics like other hot beverages we’ve tried at this establishment and why the current selection is the best. I think I get her strategy. By the time we get to the table I’ll be begging to discuss my deepest darkest if it means no more caffeine-related insights.
“So I finally get to meet the famous Jesse Everett.”
“Famous?” I hold back the snort.
“Jonas talks about you non-stop.”
“Really.” I don’t know how to feel about that. Hell, I don’t even know what that means.
Warm brown eyes scan my face before resting on mine. “He was a shit father, huh?”
Somehow, I manage to swallow my coffee instead of spit it all over the table.
Her lips turn up as she watches me recover. “I’m assuming that reaction isn’t because you disagree.”
“No.” I take another sip to save further explanation.
“He also thinks you’re the world’s greatest gift to music.”
I almost lose my drink again and smirk. “Right.”
“I don’t know. He’s got a case. Your stuff is pretty sick.”
“You’ve heard it?”
“Limelight? You kidding? The guys and I have seen you play a few times. We would’ve sold our souls to open for you.”
I laugh and shake my head. Now I know she’s bullshitting me. “Jonas said you had your own band. King something?”
“E-Z Kings.”
“Ha, yeah, that’s right.”
“It’s also probably why you assumed I’d have a penis instead of boobs.”
Damn I love this chick. “The thought might have crossed my mind.”
“To be honest, I don’t even remember where the name came from. I think it was Louie’s brilliant idea. Anyway, it’s a shit name and probably why we’ll be playing the Tunnel for our entire career.”
I laugh again. “Hey, we love the Tunnel. We just played it not too long ago.”
“I know. We were there.”
“Really?”
“Jonas invited us. Invited the whole damn group, he was so proud.”
I pick at an imperfection on my mug. “What kind of music do you do?” I’m not trying to be subtle. She hasn’t earned that conversation yet.
She leans back and studies me. “Bluegrass.”
“Bluegrass?”
“Why the shock? Because I’m a woman?”
“Because this is Philly.”
She shrugs with a smile. “Maybe another part of our problem?”
“Ever thought of trying your luck in Nashville?”
“Of course—ten years ago. I’m thirty-six. Music is a passion, not a career.”
Is it weird that a twinge of jealousy shoots through me? “So what’s your career?”
“Keeping musicians alive.”
“Ah, so you’re a masochist.”
“I’m a fighter. Someone saved my life, just returning the favor.”
“Is this where we talk about rehab and therapy and all that?”
She smiles. “This is where we talk about how much I get it and why I know you won’t accept any bullshit.”
“Well, I’m not an addict.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not. I don’t need to use to function.”
“So just recreational?”
“Pretty much.”
“So you’ve never gotten wrecked to the point of unconsciousness? Your use has never impacted your career or relationships? You’ve never found yourself in a dangerous situation as a result or did something you regretted?”
I take a long sample of my coffee.
“Addiction comes in many forms, Jesse.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not that simple.”
“It’s never simple. It’s messy and ugly.”
I nod. Even look thoughtful to get her off my back. “When are the meetings?”
“Thursday nights at seven. Your father knows all the details. We’d love to have you.”
“He’s not my father.”
∞∞∞
For the second straight day I find myself on my bed, clicking through the Mila Taylor Archives. I’m not the only one she’s fucked over. That doesn’t surprise me, but what keeps me moving through the backlist is the remarkable level of insight behind her acerbic tone.
Truth is, she’s not wrong most of the time, and I’m surprised at the number of positive posts strewn among her infamous artist-bashing. She may have destroyed a few careers, but she’s made plenty as well.
Could I be the first to have both?
It gets harder and harder to ignore those alluring eyes each time I click back to the landing page. My body burns with the memories, but it’s my heart that gets charred from the blaze.
I glance down at my phone. No new messages since the original e-mails. Mila isn’t the type to beg and has already given me more chances than I deserve.
Chris’ words have been flooding back since our meeting.
Your use has never impacted your relationships? Made you do something you regret?
She did it on purpose; those questions were meant to haunt me.
I dial Mila’s number before I can stop myself.
“Jesse?”
Just her voice rushes a calming breeze through my chest.
“I’ve come up with a few arrangements for the wedding prelude.” I have. That’s not a lie.
“Oh? Is that why you rang?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Plus, we have band business to discuss.”
“Sure. What’s up? Is Parker with you? I have time for a conference.”
“Uh, no. I told him I’d take care of it.”
My fingers tap the edge of the bed. The tempo intensifies with each second of silence.
“Hmm, that’s strange because he already called with an update. He told me about Jonas’ offer as well.”
He did? Right because I begged him to.
“Ah, okay. A miscommunication. Yes, we have some money now if we need it.”
“That’s great, Jess. I’m glad Jonas is finally taking ownership of his mistakes.”
A twinge spikes through my heart. “Are you coming to our show on Saturday?”
“Do you want me to?”
I swallow. “We’re going to try my new song.”
“You have a new one?” So much excitement and admiration I haven’t earned.
“Yeah. The one I was working on… that night.”
Her silence is more loaded. “Ah right. Well, I will try my best to make it then. I’d like to sit down with all of you and start formalizing plans for the Alton wedding and the Smother show. Both will be high-profile events, so we need to do them right.”
Tell her. Tell her that your insides are ripping apart!
“Sure, makes sense.” I clench my eyes shut. “Hey, uh, if you want to come a day early and stay with us, you can. Might make things easier.” The long breath on the
other end...
“I don’t think anything could make things easier for us.”
Shredding. Tearing. Echoing through new voids.
My eyes slip closed again as her latest truth smashes through.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Me too. I’m sorry for breaking my promise.”
“You never promised.”
“Yes, I did. But you were making me break a promise to myself. My feelings for you weren’t helping either of us.”
“So you left.”
“No. This time you left. I care about you so much, but you care about escaping your demons more. Until you fight them instead of running away, you’ll never have permanence. You’ll always find yourself alone because you’re always on the run.”
What does she know about it? Everything.
What do I know? My bed is so cold now. Colder than a dark basement.
I draw in a lungful of air. “What will it take, Mila?”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“You want everything?’
I squeeze my lids together. “Maybe.”
“Stop running.”
20: AGITATOR
Not sure which is stranger: the fact that we’re playing a school or the row of recovering addicts looking on from center right. I spot Jonas and Chris among them when I peek out for a view of the crowd.
“Jonas here?” Parker asks, leaning past me. “He said he’d come.”
“He’s here. Along with all his friends.”
Parker grunts at my tone. “He’s being supportive. He’s proud of us.”
“Not now, Park.” I let the black curtain drop, and grab a bottle of water from the case.
“Cool place,” Reece says. “Looks nothing like any school I’ve ever been to.”
“No bells,” Derrick explains with a corroborating point to the ceiling.
Right. No bells.
Truth be told, it looks more like a warehouse than anything with its high ceilings, cement walls, and industrial fixtures. Big too. I’m guessing we’ve pulled over two thousand tonight.
Still not sure how we got this gig.
“They know our music, right?” I ask Parker.
Limelight (NSB Book 4) Page 16
