Best Of Everything

by R. E. Blake

  I remember the pervert at the rest stop; I believe him.

  “Don’t worry about it. He’s going to jail. Hopefully for a long time.”

  “How bad are you hurt? Somebody leaked the police report, and it said something about contusions?”

  “Bruises. My neck and my back.” I sigh. “But it’s over. Let’s talk about something more important – like how was your show?”

  He seems taken aback. “Oh, it went great. I got an encore, and my manager says the video’s trending and my downloads are picking up. The way he put it is, they’re respectable.”

  “That’s great, Derek! I know you’ll have a hit on your hands.”

  “Well, nothing like you, but I’ll take it.”

  “That’s just because Saul put everything he has into making this hit. That will help you, too. It’ll just take a little time. But everyone who’s buying my songs remembers you, and they’ll buy yours, too. We just need to get you some more visibility. Touring together will do that…”

  “I know.” He hesitates. “I don’t care. I mean, of course I do, but I’m more concerned with you and this nutcase. It makes me frigging furious to even think about someone trying to hurt you…”

  “Derek, he’s psycho. That’s all this was. He hates me because I gave him the middle finger when I walked out on him, and now I’ve got a career, while he’s just some bitter loser with nothing. It’s over and done with. My plan is to do as well as I can and enjoy my life. That’s the best revenge I can think of.”

  “Good plan. With me right beside you.”

  “Absolutely, Derek. I can’t wait until we’re together again. You’re all I think about.”

  “You’re reading my mind. I’m counting the days. None of the rest of this matters. Just you and me.”

  I have a hard time swallowing. “Us.”

  “The Sage and Derek show,” he says.

  “Pretty soon it’ll be the other way around. You watch.”

  “Like I said, I don’t care. This is already way more than I thought I’d see. And the biggest plus is that I met…I met the girl of my dreams.”

  I don’t trust myself to speak. When I do, to my ear I sound hoarse. “Now we need to make those dreams come true. For both of us.”

  “Just under three weeks.”

  “Three of the longest in my life.”

  “That makes two of us.” He pauses. “I’m sorry you had to go through that with Ralph.”

  “It’ll wind up hurting him way more than it does me.”

  “Good. He deserves everything he gets.”

  I hang up, and my phone almost immediately rings again. This time it’s my father.

  “I saw the news this morning. I should have put a bullet in that prick when I saw him the last time.”

  “And gone to jail for life? No, I don’t think there’s anything you could have done, Dad.”

  “He’s going to wish he’d never been born. I still have plenty of friends in the joint.”

  “Dad…”

  “Don’t ‘Dad’ me. He tried to kill you. And it’s not the first time.”

  I don’t understand. “What?”

  “It said in the paper that he’s been charged with aggravated assault before. Fifteen years ago. Against his then-girlfriend. She wound up refusing to testify, but the point is, he’s done this before.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “That’s our system at work. And it probably won’t be admissible at trial because there was no conviction.”

  “Well, I’m testifying, Dad, so he’s not going to get away with it.”

  “How are you doing? Did he hurt you?”

  “Some scrapes and bruises, but he got the worst of it. Melody laid him flat.” I tell him about her wooden platform shoes and her enthusiastic soccer kicks.

  “Good for her. I knew I liked that girl for a reason.”

  “Well, that’s usually not the one most males pick, but I’m pretty glad she was there when she was.”

  I hang up after more reassurances, and Melody rolls over with a grunt and peers at me. “What are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

  “It’s already 9:00.”

  “Wake me at 1:00.”

  “I’ll shower first. We can take a nap in the van.” I correct myself. “I mean, on the bus.”

  Melody sits up. “That’s right! It’s styling time.”

  “Let’s hurry up and get ready. I don’t want to miss anything.”

  Forty-five minutes later we walk out of the motel door to be confronted by two things simultaneously – the biggest tour bus I’ve ever seen in my life, and about a dozen reporters and cameramen. Amber and the crew try to run interference, but it’s no good – the media smells blood, and I’m swarmed halfway to the bus. I decide to head this off at the pass, so I stop and face the reporters. They all start calling out at once, and I motion for silence.

  “One at a time. Please. I can’t answer everyone at the same time.”

  “Sage, is it true your father attacked you?” a tall bearded man in front asks.

  “No. My mother’s ex-boyfriend. But I’ve been advised that I shouldn’t discuss it.”

  “What happened?”

  “That would be kind of like asking me to discuss it, wouldn’t it?”

  A woman in a red success suit holds a microphone to her mouth as a cameraman adjusts his focus. “Are you okay?”

  “Thanks to my friend here, yes.”

  “Your friend? What’s her name?” a man cries out.

  I exchange a glance with Melody, who looks about ready to burst with joy at her fifteen minutes of fame.

  “Melody,” I say.

  Melody holds up her hand. “No last names.”

  “Is it true that you’re pressing charges?” another man asks.

  “Wouldn’t you?” I ask, and then stop myself. “Again, I can’t discuss this. Sorry.”

  I resume my march for the bus when another female voice calls out. “What do you make of the plagiarism allegations against your boyfriend?”

  I try to resist the bait, but can’t, and I slowly turn. “What are you talking about?”

  “This morning. There was a news conference just a few minutes ago. Someone’s claiming Derek stole two of the songs on his album.”

  “They what?” I demand, nostril’s flaring, and then Melody’s pushing me forward, whispering to me.

  “This is where you say ‘no comment,’ or that you have no idea what they’re talking about.”

  She’s right. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Thanks for coming out to check on me, though. I’ll be live tonight in Sacramento. Come see the show if you can!”

  I ignore the repeated calls from behind me and exhale with relief when the tour bus door hisses open and the driver looks at me over his shades. “Welcome aboard. I’m John.”

  “Hi, John. I’m Sage, and this is Melody. I don’t suppose you could put this thing into mach 2 and take off?”

  “I’d love to, but I have to wait for your band and crew. Here. Let me shut the door and I’ll show you around. Leave your bags there – I’ll stow them in the cargo hold below in a minute, unless you have something in them you need on the drive.”

  We both shake our heads, and he rises from his position behind the wheel and gestures to the back of the bus. “This here’s a top-of-the-line sleeper coach. It’s got eight bunks, a full galley, a bathroom, two TVs, two stereos, DVD players, satellite Internet…the works. This is the head” – he opens a door to reveal a small bathroom appointed in rich walnut – “and this is your hangout area.” There are two U-shaped sofas facing each other. “Bunks are in the rear.” He moves to a cabinet and opens it. “We’re fully stocked with treats and snacks, and the fridge is full of water, soda, and stronger stuff.”

  “Do we have a case of champagne?” Melody asks. John looks her up and down.

  “You’ll have to talk to your road manager about that, young lady.”

  The ba
nd is onboard fifteen minutes later, and Melody and I are sipping coffee. We’ve already claimed one of the bunk areas, which folds up, creating a small seating spot just big enough for the two of us. Amber steps aboard and explains that she and the road crew will be in the van tailing us, and that we should be in Sacramento in two hours, tops. She approaches and sits across from me after giving Melody an unfriendly look.

  “Terry called. She wants you to touch base as soon as possible. She canceled your appearances today, so all you have is sound check and the show. But she’s worried about you and asked you to call.” She checks the time. “You need anything?”

  “I’m starved. You think we can stop at a fast food place and pick up some food?” I ask.

  “This is your bus, Sage. You’re the boss. As long as you make it to the show on time, you can do whatever you want.”

  When we roll out of the parking lot, it feels like we’re floating on air. I call Terry and give her my version of events, and she’s supportive and concerned. She asks me how I look, and I tell her my throat’s a little bruised, but I can wear a scarf or something for a few nights and it’ll be fine.

  “I’ve got some good news about your friend Derek. His album’s starting strong and gaining momentum,” Terry says.

  “But what’s all this about stealing songs?”

  “I only know what I saw online. Some guy in New York is claiming the first two singles are his. Could be a nuisance suit or could be legit, I don’t know, but the publicity is getting Derek a lot of coverage he otherwise wouldn’t be receiving, so he owes this guy big.”

  “Crap. I talked to him this morning, and he didn’t say anything.”

  “He might not have known yet. This just happened a little while ago.”

  “Is there anything else? I want to call him.”

  “Just leave your phone on. The attack on you is big news. It’s on all the networks. Everyone loves watching a car crash, and this is as good as it gets on a slow day. I’ll get as much mileage as possible out of it – as long as they spell your name right…”

  “Will do.”

  I hang up and call Derek.

  “Hey,” he answers.

  “I just got asked by a reporter about my boyfriend’s plagiarism problems.”

  He’s silent for a second. “I just heard about that myself. My manager called. He wants to meet. But it’s complete BS, Sage. I wrote those songs. Nobody else did. I’ve never even heard of this guy.”

  “Why would he claim you stole his songs?”

  “Who knows? Maybe he’s a kook. Or a frustrated musician? Thinks this will drum up interest in his work?” He pauses. “Let’s face it, we’re targets now that we’re out there, you know? Every nut who wants to be in the spotlight will try to use us to get there. My manager says this is just par for the course. Although he also said he’s going to make a huge deal out of it and try to turn it into front-page stuff.”

  “That’s funny. Sounds like his brain works the same as Terry’s does. First thing she was thinking was how to make Ralph’s attack into a positive for me.”

  “We’re kind of learning how the business works, huh? Not like I thought, that’s for sure, where you write some good songs, perform well, and have a career.”

  “It seems like someone’s always trying to bring us down, doesn’t it?”

  I can hear the smile in his voice when he answers. “Sage, we were living in tunnels only a few months ago. Now you’re the hottest thing in music, and I’m starting to believe I might sell some records too. If having people trying to bring us down goes with this territory, then bring it on.”

  “I guess when you look at it that way, life doesn’t suck so bad. Other than you being on the other side of the country.”

  “Which we’ll fix soon. Anyway, let me find out what my manager wants to do with this guy. I know for a fact he didn’t write the songs, so he’s got some angle he’s working. We just need to figure out what it is and defuse it.”

  “While making it work for you.”

  “Exactly. I feel like I should send the guy chocolates or something. Oh, which reminds me. Thanks for the flowers.”

  “It’s the least I could do. Now go steal some more songs or whatever it is you do.”

  “Will do.” There’s a long pause. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

  “I’ll show you my new tour bus.”

  “No way. You got one?”

  “Yup. Fully bitchin’. Never seen anything like it.”

  “I’m so jealous.”

  “Once your record takes off, you’ll have one too.”

  “Let’s hope that happens soon.”

  “It will. I believe in you, Derek. I always have.”

  “That makes me the luckiest guy in the world.”

  “In three weeks it does, anyway.”

  Chapter 36

  The next two weeks go by in a blur of cities: Portland, Seattle, Salt Lake City, Las Vegas. And then, as we finish three nights in Las Vegas, it’s the big show – New Year’s Eve, with several special guests scheduled to appear with Bruno in what promises to be an epic extravaganza.

  Not to mention at midnight I’ll be eighteen. Sebastian is going to try to fly in from L.A. with June, who’s now almost fully recovered, and as she said on the phone a few days ago, “bored out of my skull with all this behaving myself.” Melody’s threatened to come torment me, but hasn’t mentioned it in the last couple of days, which tells me she probably couldn’t talk her mom into it.

  Terry’s got a good handle on the numbers now, and she was right – my bus barely makes a dent in my earnings. The money is surreal – even assuming things slow instead of continuing to accelerate as they have, I’ll be a millionaire before spring. At her encouragement I’ve stepped up my lifestyle, and now take flights rather than ride the bus if we’re going more than a few hours.

  Other than that, my existence is the same – an endless string of anonymous hotel rooms, unsatisfying phone calls with Derek, interviews, media events, and label people already discussing ideas for my next album.

  It’s like a kind of suspended animation, where the real world’s kept at bay by the constant demands of pushing the record and touring, and I completely understand how so many acts fall into drug addiction or are cases of arrested development – they’re living in a bubble, where their managers are handling every aspect of their lives, coddling them, and so it seems like the world is one big sandbox created for their amusement.

  And in that sandbox there are no rules. Nobody will tell you ‘no,’ or that you can’t have something or you shouldn’t do something. Fortunately, living on the street exposed me to the waste cases and the junkie life; otherwise I could see my future as a limitless series of parties and casual drug use that turns serious and ugly in a heartbeat.

  Christmas in Reno was fun. My dad flew in and we overate, stuffing ourselves at a resort up in the mountains, the peaks covered with fresh snow. I got him a voucher good for a round-trip flight anywhere in the U.S., so if he has a few days off and wants to come watch me play, or just go hang out at the beach or whatever, he can. He got me a sweater with what looks like a string of dancing pandas on it.

  Sometimes I forget how weird my dad can be.

  When he’s saying goodbye, we finally discuss the topic we’ve both been avoiding all weekend.

  “I checked, and they’re going for aggravated assault. The presence of the knife may be the deciding factor. He’s going to argue that he had no intent to use it and that it was in his pocket. The DA’s going to argue that he didn’t try to choke you to death and punch you because he planned to stop there. It could go either way.”

  “But he’s going to serve time?”

  “He should. Just a question of how much.”

  “I can’t believe that’s even up for discussion. He tried to kill me. An underage girl. What do you have to do anymore to go to prison?”

  “Well, if you were the wrong skin color and got caught with a few joints,
you’d be in like lightning. But Ralph’s white, middle-aged, and is claiming temporary insanity.”

  “Temporary?”

  “Well, he can’t claim he didn’t do it. Too much evidence and too many witnesses. So the best his attorney can come up with is why he did it – and of course, they’re saying it isn’t really his fault. He’s a victim. Since the death of your mother he’s been on medication, has been drinking, isn’t himself.”

  “I want him put away. He’s dangerous, and he’ll try it again,” I say.

  “I’m following it closely, honey. Don’t worry. He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

  “Dad, let the system handle it. Promise me that.”

  He looks away. “Of course.”

  Now here I am in a suite in Las Vegas, two shows under my belt already and the last one tonight, with tomorrow off. I have no plans for my birthday, but with June and Sebastian coming to town, I’m sure I’ll think of something.

  We spent a few hours on the strip this afternoon playing the sidewalk today, but our take was pretty weak – even during the holidays Sin City is a tough patch to work. Grim-faced gamblers and half-drunk rowdies press by, the neon blinking, and bells that trill at all hours nearly drown out our music. Still, it’s a worthwhile exercise, and I believe we’re better for it.

  My first single topped out at the number two slot on Billboard, and Terry’s saying that Saul is now planning a big push for the second single. Derek’s album has steadily climbed as well, and he’s now at number twenty-eight and rising. Any time you’re in the top forty you’re winning, and his tone has been more relaxed in the last week since he too got a tour bus. We’re both doing great, and I’m counting the hours until we hook up in a little over a week.

  Bruno spots me coming off stage from sound check and smiles at me. “Yo, pretty girl, whatchou doin?”

  “Same ol’, Bruno. You know the drill.”

  “How ’bout after the show? It’s New Year’s.”

  “I haven’t thought about it.”

  “I’ve got a mega party planned, so just consider yourself at it. Come back to my dressing room after we finish the show.”