by R. E. Blake
“Hey, y’all. I was afraid I’d need to come in there with a fire hose soon so you don’t miss your plane.”
“Liar. You’ve never been afraid of anything in your life,” I say, walking over and pecking him on the cheek.
“You look mahvelous, my dear. Something about you is positively glowing,” he says. I blush, as he knew I would. Derek stays quiet – always a smart move around Jeremy.
“I’m going to miss you. Take care of the place, hmm?” I say.
“You betcha, baby,” he says, but he sounds melancholy.
“Is everything okay?” I ask with a glance at my watch.
“Oh, just more drama. My life sucks. Nothing really new.”
“I’m so late. I have to go. But I’ll call you from the airport,” I promise.
He waves a limp hand. “No need. Go do what you have to do.” He looks at Derek with a raised eyebrow. “You staying here to keep me company, gorgeous?”
Derek shakes his head. “Off to the airport.”
“Probably just as well. You look all worn out,” Jeremy says, smirking.
Derek ignores the comment and we move to the door.
“Bye, Jeremy,” I say.
“Ciao, bella. Safe travels,” he says, and then we’re in the hall, making for the stairs.
The cab driver breaks about a hundred speed laws on the way to the airport, but I’m still worse than late. Derek kisses me for a half minute on the curb outside the terminal, and when I detach from him there’s a lump in my throat the size of an apple. I swore I wouldn’t cry when we parted, and I almost make it, only a single tear crawling down my cheek as I push into the massive building amidst a throng of rushing humanity.
I show my ID, swipe and push buttons and swear I’m not a terrorist, wait in a serpentine line that crawls at a snail’s pace, watch as bored guards study my bag and shoes as they trundle through the security scanner, and then I’m running for the gate, hair flying everywhere.
When I arrive, the attendant is making the final boarding call, and I’m gasping as I hurry down the Jetway, the flight attendants watching me disapprovingly. It’s a full flight, and of course there’s no room in the overhead compartment for my backpack, so I wind up stuffing it under the seat in front of me, cutting my legroom down to prison size for the five-hour flight.
I strap in as the engines wind up. As we push back from the gate, everyone but me is reading or watching the security film that pretends if we plunge thirty-something thousand feet that we’ll walk away from it as long as our seatbelts are fastened.
The big plane accelerates, and I’m pushed back into the seat, the pit of my stomach against my spine, and soon we’re soaring into the sky, mysterious clanking thunks and whirring whines coming from the wings as we leave the city’s skyline behind us. I’m replaying the prior night with Derek in my mind again and again as we climb to cruising altitude, and suddenly I’m tired, the lack of sleep catching up to me. My last thought as I drift off is that with all the hubbub at the airport, I never called Jeremy.
I jolt awake as we approach LAX, dropping into a sprawling beige carpet of smog pierced by a few shining towers glinting in the sun. The stewardess is standing beside me, warning me to put my seat back up and prepare for landing. I remove my shades, rub my eyes, and do as I’m told, and then peer out the window. Five hours of my life I’ll never get back, but at least I feel better.
My fingers brush my lips and a wave of melancholy washes over me. They’re still tingling from all the kissing. Or maybe it’s just my imagination. Either way, this long weekend has changed my life. I feel both overwhelmed, and anxious, because I know that there’s nobody in the world for me but Derek – and there’s a whole country between us, and now an ex with a baby waiting in the wings.
The jet’s tires bounce on the runway, and we slow before taxiing to the terminal. I wait until the crowd has pushed up the aisles and then tail the final passenger off the plane – I feel listless, and there’s nowhere to go until rehearsal in a few hours.
Back in the apartment, everything looks foreign to my eye. I power on my tablet and scan the gossip sites; it’s all just variations of the same story featuring Derek and Lisa. The video on YouTube shot from a jerky cell phone is the worst, though, and I cringe as I relive my only meeting with her. It’s already gotten two hundred eighty-six thousand hits. I want to die.
There are some old photos of her, one obviously from a yearbook, another couple taken at parties, where she’s all goth and badass, smoking and holding a beer.
Nice. Class act, Derek. I remember what Helen said about not judging, but I shake my head. Not in this lifetime.
I know I shouldn’t do it, but I pull up Facebook to see if she’s got a page, and of course she does. On it are hundreds of messages congratulating her on reuniting with Derek. Her page is littered with shots of her and Jason. My stomach twists the more I see, but I can’t help myself, and I scroll through her photos. Lisa at the beach in the summer, her tats on display, wearing a pair of the shortest cutoffs I’ve ever seen and a tank top that’s little more than tissue.
My phone vibrates: it’s Melody. She’s psychic, because she’s online and doing the same thing as I am – researching the enemy.
Me: You see her FB page? Hobag.
Mel: Tramp Central Station.
Me: What did he see in her?
Mel: He’s a dude. How was NY?
Me: Awesome.
Mel: U a fallen woman now?
Me: And how.
Mel: Jealous.
Me: No u aren’t. U have Sebastian.
Mel: No, I have SF. He has LA. Lot of miles between us.
Me: When u coming back down?
Mel: Depends.
Me: On?
Mel: Him. He’s a busy guy.
Me: Sucks.
Mel: No sucking going on.
I remember Jeremy and my promise to call. I beg off with Melody and try Jeremy’s cell. He answers on the third ring and sounds as morose as he did earlier.
“Sorry I couldn’t talk this morning,” I say.
“That’s okay. I understand. Too big for the little people now that you’re a diva.”
“Exactly.” I pause. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, you know.”
I lower my voice. “What happened, Jeremy?”
“I saw Eric again last night. It’s…it’s just so hard.”
“And you’re complaining about that?”
“Ha, ha. And yes, I am. I’m being a complete schoolgirl about this, but every time I see him it tears my heart out.”
“What are you going to do?”
He sighs. “I don’t know. I told him last night it was the last time I was going to see him.”
“What! Why?”
“I’m falling too hard, too fast. And it’s hopeless. So why torture myself?”
“What did he say?”
“That he understands.”
“Oh. Not what you were hoping for, was it?”
“Not exactly.”
“You have a show tonight?”
“Yes. I’m getting ready to head to the theater. Wouldn’t do to miss my curtain.”
“Well, remember that this will all pass. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”
“You sound so sure of yourself, sweetie. It’s nice to hear. Our little girl’s gone and gotten all growed up.”
“I don’t know about that. But I believe that if you want something, you’ll do whatever it takes to get it. I know you, Jeremy. You’re not going to mope around. You’re a star, and stars shine bright.”
“That’s so sweet. Did you read it in a greeting card?”
“Fortune cookie.”
He’s got to run, and when I hang up, the apartment feels cavernously empty. I sit on the sofa staring at the walls, waiting to go to rehearsal, reading the toxic sewage spewing from the web about Derek and Lisa – and the obvious shock on my face in the pictures. I wish I had someone I could talk to who could give me bett
er advice than Melody. I reluctantly press speed dial, and when my dad answers, I’ve never been so happy to hear his voice.
“Hi, Sage. How was your trip?”
I’d told him I was going to New York. I didn’t have to tell him why.
“Most of it was great, but part…can you talk for a few minutes?”
“Sure. I just left work.”
I tell him about the situation. When I finish, I know I sound hurt and confused. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and I hear his seat belt beeping a warning.
“That throws a monkey wrench into things,” he says.
“No kidding.”
He hesitates. “How do you feel about him, Sage? I mean, really. Would you go to the mat for him? Would he do the same for you?”
I reach to my shoulder where the tattoo is healing, a gauze pad taped over it for protection. I don’t hesitate. “I’d do anything for him, and he’d do the same for me.”
He sighs. “I’m not going to lie to you. A child changes everything. Suddenly you have a little life depending on you, and the decisions you make don’t only affect you.” He sounds sad, remorseful. We both know he’s thinking of his own choices. “A decent man steps up and takes responsibility for what he’s done. It sounds like Derek’s a decent man. I know you don’t want to hear this, but if you’re going to be with him, you need to get used to the idea that it’s not just the two of you anymore – it’s the two of you…and his son.”
“But we’re just starting out…”
“I know, but honey, trust me. You don’t want the kind of man that would walk away from this. Sounds like he’s not happy about it, and it was unplanned, but he’s wrapping his head around doing the right thing. If you care about him, you need to help him be that good man. He needs support and it’s going to be hard at times. You’re going to resent that you’ve got his son in your life, and that it’s not just you and Derek. That’s natural, but you need to rein it in and let him do what he needs to do.”
Crap.
This discussion’s not helping. I want him to say it’s her problem, not his, that a few minutes of unthinking pleasure shouldn’t change your whole life. In other words, I want him to tell me it’s okay for Derek to be irresponsible and turn his back on his child. I feel lower than dirt for thinking it, but I can’t help it.
“So you’d tell him you were fine with it?” I whisper.
“No, I’d show him. I’d help him cope. That is, if I wanted to make that my life, too. Sage, I know you’ve been through a lot, and you’ve probably seen things living on the streets that most people never do, but – and I say this with love and all due respect – you’re both really young. You’re just getting started in life. There’s going to be a lot he needs to figure out, and you can either be there to help, or let him work it out on his own. You need to think things through and decide whether you’re really prepared to invite a child who isn’t your own into your life. Because that’s what it’ll come down to. And you have to know the answer before the question comes up.” He hesitates. “Don’t rush into anything, Sage. Think it through. This is for keeps.”
I’m quiet, his words ringing in my ear as I nod. “Thanks, Dad. I…you’re right that I don’t want to hear this. But you’re also right I need to.”
“Just take your time, honey. Give yourself enough space to figure out what it is you really want. Forever is a long time, and whatever you do, Derek’s going to have that son forever. Question’s whether you want to sign up for the long haul.” He pauses. “And if you can get used to the idea, that means the mother’s going to be in your life to some extent, too. You need to think about whether you can handle that as well.”
When I hang up, my head is spinning. It all feels overwhelming. I rise, go to the kitchen, and stop in front of the refrigerator.
If I’m this off-balance, how must Derek be doing? I’ve been so wrapped up with the ramifications to my world, I haven’t devoted a lot of thought to his, beyond wishing Lisa into nonexistence.
As I stand there, frozen in place, the weight of the world on my shoulders, I realize that whatever I’m grappling with, Derek must be experiencing times ten. I snag a can of diet soda out of the fridge and walk back to the sofa, deep in thought, and don’t budge until the alarm on my phone beeps to warn me that I have to be at rehearsal in half an hour.
Chapter 5
When I arrive at the studio, the band’s already there, and so is Terry, sitting in a corner with her messenger bag, reading through a sheaf of documents and making notes with a felt-tip pen. I say hi to everyone and put my purse down on a stool. My wrist is still iffy, so I’m not going to be playing guitar on tour, which takes some of the load off me – standing in front of a mic is way easier for me than having to play a song and sing at the same time.
“How’s our girl?” Terry asks when she looks up. “Did you accomplish everything you hoped to?”
If she’s read the news about Derek, she could easily compete in the world poker championships, because her expression doesn’t offer even the smallest clue that she has. I give her a small smile. “Yeah. It was great.”
She nods. “Good. I’ve got a lot to discuss with you after rehearsal. Maybe over dinner?”
“Sure.”
“Perfect. Go ahead and do your thing. I just wanted to pop in and see how everything’s sounding. We’re closing in on D-Day, and I’m already lining up local warm-up gigs.”
I move to the mic stand and the guys tune up. Jay, the guitar player, gives me a sheepish grin and I grin back – he’s hella cool and really easygoing. If I wasn’t head over heels for Derek, he’d be the type I could see myself with. Nothing ruffles him, and he’s wildly talented but not at all arrogant. We’ve got good chemistry and that will have audiences rooting for us – a big part of the live thing.
Thankfully, my band’s all pro, and they’ve been to this rodeo before and know what’s expected. Everyone gets along with each other, and you can tell they’re having fun, even if it’s just a paying gig supporting me and not playing in a band they formed on their own.
We start with the standards. The first couple of songs are a little rough on my part – not the singing, but meshing with the harmonies. We try them again and they’re better, and by the time we finish up two hours later, we’ve run our forty-minute set twice and gone over the trouble songs several more times.
We’re kidding around together as they put their instruments away, and the camaraderie is genuine. It feels like we’re soldiers going into battle soon, which is kind of how it is. Us against the world, wholly dependent upon each other, only as good as the weakest member’s worst faults.
Terry leads me out of the studio like a mother hen, and we get into her Lexus and pull onto Sunset Boulevard.
“What do you want to eat?” she asks.
“Anything. I’m easy.”
“You want fancy or family style? I’m buying, so this is your big chance.”
“Low key works for me.”
“Good. I hate snooty places.”
We stop at Norm’s, an old-school diner. Everything smells reassuringly like grease and waffles and coffee, breakfast any hour of the day or night, and I immediately feel at home. I order pancakes and OJ. Terry gets a salad with chicken, dressing on the side, which is odd considering her ample frame. The waitress is tired and resigned to working her shift forever, with the practiced efficiency of the incarcerated. Our drinks arrive in seconds, and Terry sits back in the cushioned booth and stares across the table.
“Sounded okay. Not great,” she says, passing judgment with the finality of a hanging judge.
“We’ll get better in the next couple of weeks. Taking off four days was good for me, though. I feel like I’m recharged, you know?” I assure her, and it’s true. My voice has never been stronger.
“Good. You’re going to need stamina. We’ve got more photo shoots, interviews, and a slew of appearances ahead of the release. Talk shows, radio, magazines, the whole drill. An
d there will be some charity events and award shows between now and then.”
“Bring ’em on. I’m ready.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She stares at me with a blank expression. “I saw the coverage of you and Derek. How’s he handling things?”
So she knows. I shrug. “Good. I mean, as well as can be expected, you know? We’ll get through it.”
She nods again, but her eyes say she’s unconvinced. “I’ve been working with Derek’s booking agent, but it’s going to be hard to get him into most of the venues. The promoters like the lineup as it is, and the only possibility is a string of dates in the Midwest.”
I slump. That’s what I was afraid of. Regardless of how I view it, there are huge financial stakes in play, and Derek’s not A-list yet. I have no doubt he will be, but my opinion isn’t relevant, at least not until I have my own headlining tour, and that’s a ways off, if ever.
“The other thing we’re running up against is that he’s signed to a different label, and obviously Saul wants to keep things in the family. If you start to break big, why should he give a slot to Derek rather than one of his roster? You can see his point, even if he doesn’t say so out loud. That’s just how the business works.”
Our food arrives and it smells like heaven, oversized cubes of melting cholesterol globbed on top of my pancakes like icebergs swimming in a carbohydrate sea.
“But there are some dates you think you can get him on?” I say as I slather the pile of flapjacks with syrup. Terry watches without comment as I cut lumberjack-sized bites and fork a small mountain of pancake into my mouth.
She pours half her dressing on the salad and spears a chunk of chicken with her fork. “In the Midwest, for a week and a half.”
I must look crestfallen because she sounds defensive. “Sage, getting even that was a small miracle. Everyone loves the lineup as it is, and I had to pull a lot of strings to make that happen. I sold Saul on the idea that it would be a good move to capitalize on the nostalgia of you and Derek on the same stage.”
She chews thoughtfully on her salad as I hoover another mound of pancake. “Maybe I can sell Saul on the idea of some promo appearances together. The world is just fascinated with the young love aspect of your story. And obviously it’s more…sensational just at the moment.”
