Negotiating with him, taking back a little power, gave her a good feeling.
“I know, I know, I know. Believe me, I know. I haven’t been a good friend lately. But you have to own that when you’re drinking, there’s little room for interaction.”
“Ouch,” she said.
“Am I right?” he said.
Reluctantly, her lips squashed together, she nodded. Then, she said, “I suppose so.”
“I can’t make you stay away from him. All I ask is you give it a rest. Let’s get through the holidays. See how you do on the road again. Get yourself sober and see how that feels. Then you’ll be more capable of making healthy choices.” He gave her an eager smile.
She worked her mouth around and around. Finally, she let out a huge sigh and nodded.
“So,” Dante said, looking hopeful. “We start practice in a couple weeks, then we resume the tour. We have a big Christmas show coming up, then a New Year’s gig. Then, we get to chill for a time and work on a couple new songs I’ve been hammering out in my head. I really need your drummer’s mind to orchestrate this one piece. You know how much I love to collaborate with you.”
“Oh, you’re smooth. You’re trying to appeal to my ego here, aren’t you?” Gia said.
“Is it working? I’m afraid I’m out of material if it isn’t. Other than getting down on my knees and apologizing to you,” he said, smiling slightly.
“You big doofus,” she said, letting her lips curve into the first smile she’d made all day. She pointed to the carpet. “On your knees, knave, and we’ll take it from there. And yes, I’ll go to meetings or whatever. And the only person I’m doing it for is me, got it? I’m making a change because I want to make a change.”
And, she had to admit...I’m partly doing it for Brutus. But, if she wanted to stay in the band, she had to stay far away from the man she was barely beginning to love—at least for a while. She thought about the sexy soldier. She wasn’t sure if staying away was an option.
Chapter 15
Exactly two weeks and thirteen AA meetings later, Gia prepared to head to practice. Filled with both excitement and trepidation—excitement to be back in the band and trepidation over being around the entire crew since her intervention—she searched for a couple of her favorite drumsticks as lucky charms.
She’d thought about contacting Marco nearly a thousand times since last she saw him. Her fingers would poise over her phone, ready to text him when invariably Dante would interrupt. It could be in the wee hours of the night, and she’d get a text from him, saying he wanted to go over some ideas for a song, talk about the rhythm of his latest piece or some other nonsense. He was, no doubt, doing his best to make her feel included in the band but it was as if he sensed her weakening resolve to stay away from Marco. Hence, her main focus was being a cooperative band member and staying away from the drink.
When she had returned from the UK, she had thrown out every bottle, box, and flask of booze she could find. She’d even searched in long ago hiding places, to make sure nothing remained. Memories, however, weren’t that easy to dispose of. In fact, they’d been popping free from her mind like gophers in the garden—not a fun experience. Like that one about my father and my sister.
She let her eyes wander around her tiny apartment in quest of her beloved sticks. They’d probably been misplaced in her purging frenzy. Her eyes scanned the photography on the wall. Photos of Micky Hart of Grateful Dead fame, Sheila E., who collided with fame when she drummed with Prince, and a lesser-known Maureen “Moe” Tucker of the Velvet Underground hung proudly side by side. She’d met all of them at various times in her career and considered them idols, and she’d photographed each of them.
She straightened the one of Hart, pleased with her photography. She’d messed with cameras since she got her first Polaroid as a child.
“But Dad had a way of destroying everything important to me, didn’t he?” she mumbled, as that news flash tumbled from her mind. Her dad had found the camera, yelled at her mother for gifting Gia with something “inappropriate for her age,” and took it from her. “Good thing I’m smarter than him,” she muttered. “And he sucks at hiding things.”
Now, only Dante knew of her camera dabbling--if he even remembered.
She grew frustrated in her quest for the sticks. “If you’re so lucky, why can’t I find you?”
Finally, she spied them behind the sofa. Angling her body, she reached for them, snagging them with her fingertips.
Even though she made a shit-load of money, she lived in simple surroundings—only the basics of a one-bedroom apartment to keep her content. While Dante lived the rock star dream with his Manhattan penthouse and private home and tiger preserve in Cooperstown, NY., she preferred to keep things simple and real. Still, as she scanned the fourth-floor apartment nestled in New York City’s lower east side, she contemplated making a change. I’ve had far too many alcoholic blotto encounters here.
Right as she retrieved her leather jacket—the one she paid handsomely to restore to suppleness after the night in the cave—her door alert buzzed. Pressing the faded brass button, she said, “Yeah?”
“Gia, it’s me,” Kennedy said.
Gia hesitated, before buzzing her up. They hadn’t exactly turned the corner to warm and fuzzy over the last couple weeks. More like a ‘barely acknowledge one another’ truce.
Gia answered the door. “I, uh...I can’t stick around and chit chat. I’ve got practice.”
She regarded the blonde beauty thoughtfully from her newly sober perspective.
Yeah, I can see the attraction, Dante. I know why you chose her.
“I know,” Kennedy said. She stood in all her elegant “I could dress in rags and still look good” glory, holding a small shopping bag. With her free hand, she twisted the silky ponytail hanging over her right shoulder. “I’m here to give you a lift. I’d like to talk with you.”
“You know,” Gia said, letting her tough girl fly free. “I’m a little tired of people needing to talk to me, make decisions for me, and generally mess with my life. I think I’ll pass on the ride. But thanks. You probably should have phoned first and saved yourself the drive.”
Kennedy bristled. She looked like she wanted to deck Gia. “You think I don’t have a clue what you’re going through? I went through NA, AA. If there was an A, I went through it. That’s why I’m here. To lend support. You can take it or leave it. It’s as simple as that.”
Gia let out a long sigh. It’s not like I have a ton of friends. Sobriety had resulted in people dropping from her life like dead flies.
“Suit yourself.” She moved aside, gesturing for Kennedy to enter. “So, how’s tiger land?”
“The tigers are doing great,” Kennedy said, allowing herself to barely step inside the apartment. “They’ve adjusted to the move. Transporting them from their last home took some doing. My animal trainer and all around best friend Big Jim and I put in many around the clock hours, trying to ease the transition. We had quite a few moments of big cat tantrums. But, for the most part, they’re doing well.” Her gaze slid toward Gia. “Thanks for asking. I don’t think you’ve ever inquired about the sanctuary. We’ve lived there for months.”
“Uh huh. Think how you’d feel if Big Jim suddenly stopped paying attention to you,” she said, sliding to the real topic lighting up her insides.
Kennedy cringed. “I know. Dante told me. I’d feel awful even if I knew Jim was truly happy with his partner. I get it. I apologize, Dante apologizes, we both apologize,” Kennedy said, her blue eyes sparkling like fire opals.
Somewhat mollified, Gia said, “Thanks. I appreciate the sentiment. I’m sure I’ll have to make amends to you, too, somehow—what with the 12-steps and all—but thanks.”
“Oh—here. I brought you something.” Kennedy thrust a bag in Gia’s direction.
Gia eyed the bag suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Open it. It’s a gift,” Kennedy said, standing stiffly.
Gia
peered inside. “It’s a... camera?” She pulled out the white box. “Did I say I wanted a camera?” she asked, wondering if she’d requested one during one of her drunken binges.
“A kick-ass Nikon with a Lens Kit, to be precise,” Kennedy said, clutching her hands in front of her hips.
Gia turned the box over and over, scanning the marketing lingo, staring at the picture of the camera. A curious feeling of excited anticipation filled her belly. “What am I supposed to do with a camera?”
“I thought...” Kennedy began. “Look, you start back on tour in a week. Going back to your old ways might be tempting. For me, all my old ways were left in Africa near the tiger compound, where I started using. I was lost after my fiance was murdered by a tiger meant to end my life. I started with pain relievers and then went on to whatever I could to numb the pain.” She sighed. “Old news. You know the story. Anyway...we all stay up after gigs and find ways to unwind.” She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. “I bought it on impulse. I thought it might give you something to do with your astounding creativity after you get offstage—besides drink, you know?” She eyed Gia, working her mouth around as if trying to do something with her discomfort.
Gia stared with wonder at the box in her hands. Her gaze lifted to Kennedy. “You think I have astounding creativity?”
“Oh, my goodness, Gia. Sometimes I envy your talent. Me? I only play with tigers.” A smile spread across her face.
“Yeah, and that’s brought you global renown,” Gia said. “You’re pretty amazing, too. Thank you.” She set the box down on the small table meant to house her keys and her purse and leaned in to give Kennedy an awkward hug. She glanced at the clock. “I’ll have to play with this later. We have to jet.”
They exited, stepping into the hallway. Gia locked the door behind her, and then punched the button to the elevator. “You take Dante’s ride or your own?”
“The Porsche, what do you think?” Kennedy smiled. “I had to pry the keys from his fingers, though.”
“Tell me about it. I only got to drive that baby once. I wonder if his Porsche felt jealous of you two.” Gia said, almost smiling. Her heart seemed to have taken on a slight glow. They almost felt like friends—almost.
“No. We made sure she was the chosen one for most of our dates,” Kennedy said.
Once they were inside the car, sitting in traffic, Gia’s thoughts turned to Marco. “So, uh...how’s Brutus?”
“Brutus?” Kennedy said, her brows furrowing.
“You know...your cousin. I called him Brutus because he’s such a big guy,” Gia said.
Kennedy laughed. “Good nickname. And he’s okay. I’m sure he’s been kicking himself around the block. He takes his sober companionship status very seriously.” She side-eyed Gia. “He’s a great guy. My absolute favorite cousin. We lost touch for a while when I was in Africa learning the tiger trade but...well, here’s something you should know about him. He was deeply in love. Head over heels. I never met her but I heard about her plenty when I got back from the states from my aunt. So, long story short, when Marco got shipped to some combat region, his fiancée got killed in a drunk driving accident.”
Gia gasped. “Oh, my God!”
“Yes. That’s why he does what he does. And that’s why he’s probably kicking himself around the curb for messing up.” Kennedy sighed. She flipped on the turn signal and shook her head. “My aunt told me he was devastated. Crushed. Beyond repair for a while. And, had it happened under different circumstances—you and him, you know—we probably would have celebrated.”
“What?” Gia said, her brow furrowed. “You’ve lost me.”
“He’s barely dated since that time. He really liked you. A lot,” Kennedy said, a sad expression on her face.
Gia’s heart did a fluttery kind of Flamenco dance inside her chest. He really liked me? A lot? Her hands tapped out a rhythm on her thighs to keep from pulling her hair. Why do you have to fuck things up all the time?
Kennedy turned into the parking garage at Dante’s apartment. She waved her key card in front of a machine and the metal gate slowly opened.
A gate guard nodded to her. “Afternoon, Mrs. Vega,” he said.
“Afternoon, George,” Kennedy said with a warm smile. She pulled the Porsche into the concrete enclosure. “That’s his sad story. Heartbreaking, isn’t it?” She turned the ignition off.
Gia sat still with tears in her eyes. Ever since she started sobriety, her tears could start with one train of thought and insist on following another.
“That’s awful,” she whispered. The memory that had been nagging her the worst seized the opportunity to fly free. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure,” Kennedy said, her blue eyes soft.
“My...my...” Her chin trembled, and she couldn’t get the words out.
“Take your time,” Kennedy said. “The boys can wait.”
“My sister died in a drunk driving accident. Well, only inadvertently. I was drunk. Wasn’t driving though,” she said through sobs. Her heart began to shatter, detonated by the memory. “We lost touch with one another. Our dad, the famous psychologist in California,” she said, sneering, “he used to beat the crap out of us. Belts, branches, whatever he could get his hands on. I’ve still got scars. He looked like a monster when he lifted his weapon of choice. Wham! Thwack!”
Kennedy’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Instead, she reached for Gia’s hand.
Gia bore down on it like it was a lifeline. “My dad’s a son of a bitch. I haven’t seen, heard, or talked to him in years. I used to try to protect my sister, ya know? I’d throw myself in front of the belt. I caught the brunt of his evil tirades. She was innocent. And younger than me. So beautiful. Everyone loved her. She was an angel. But...” She sniffed, retrieved her hand from Kennedy’s, and wiped her eyes. “Even angels can bring back memories of things you don’t want to recall. After high school, I swiftly departed. I left her. I was her only protection from the madman who called himself our father. I’ll never forgive myself for that. And then…”
A fresh wave of tears assaulted her eyes.
“It’s okay, Gia,” Kennedy soothed. “Take your time.”
Gia picked up a paper napkin from the floor and blew her nose. “I moved to Brooklyn. Left my parent’s million-dollar lifestyle which came with so much family baggage even an elephant couldn’t support it.” She barked out a bitter laugh. “That’s where I met Dante. We were both slumming it, pretending to have no money. I had a trust fund I never used. It’s probably still sitting someplace. But as far as I’m concerned, it has a guillotine over the top, meant to be triggered should I accept the money. No fucking way.” She shuddered.
She tried, without much luck, to suppress the typhoon roaring inside. “So then, years later, I got as hammered as one could get one night. I’d been having nightmares of my father. I wanted them stopped. I got blitzed. Fucked up, stoned...whatever was passed to me that night, I took it.”
“Been there,” Kennedy commiserated.
“So...we...” Her sobs prevented the words from exiting. “So, I...oh, God, this hurts so bad.”
Her body shook and quaked as repressed emotion surfaced, her psyche a storm-tossed sea.
Even Kennedy cried, caught up in the emotion.
Finally, when the worst of the pain subsided, Gia said, “We hadn’t seen one another since living at our parents. A few phone-calls now and then, but other than that, nothing. And she saw me...” Gia shook her head as another pain wave burst through her chest. “She saw me hammered. Her last memory of me...” Her hands flew to her face. “I can’t do this. It hurts, Kennedy.”
“I know, Gia. I know. I’ve done things I’m not proud of either.”
Gia’s head whipped to face Kennedy. “You don’t get it. She begged to drive me home. She said no way would she let me drive myself home or take a cab. ‘Anything could happen to you,’ she said. ‘You’re my sister, and I love you,’ she said. ‘You always looked out for me.
Let me look out for you,’ she said. So we get in her car, and we drive...” Her chest ached with the assault of memory. “And we drive...and a...a tractor trailer veers into our lane and collides with the car. That guy was drunk. He’s the one. But it was all my fault.” Searing pain poured through her. “I saved her so long ago and then I...then I...I killed my baby sister.”
Once the words were out, she could never take them back. That’s why they’ve been hiding. I have to live with this knowledge for the rest of my life.
Chapter 16
A week following her painful confession, Gia sat in her apartment, full of anticipation for the upcoming tour. She picked up her sticks and her drum pad and practiced the new track she’d been working on, in collaboration with Dante.
“Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, and boom, boom, boom,” she vocalized, in sync with her sticks, imagining her drum kit in front of her.
Her phone blipped. She picked it up and scanned Dante’s latest text.
What about a woman sober-companion? She comes highly recommended.
Gia scoffed, her thumbs typing her response. Negative, D. She would be the 10th “highly recommended” companion you’ve found for me. The meetings are working. Give it a rest.
He typed back, Big sigh. You’re impossible.
Yeah, but you love me, she typed, grinning.
Kennedy loves you, too. We both do.
Her smile widened. That conversation with Kennedy proved truly healing, marking a turned corner on the friendship between them all.
She leaned back against the blue microfiber sofa and thought about what Kennedy had said about Marco. His heartbreak, coupled with her own, only reinforced her commitment to stay away from the booze.
“Maybe I should become a sober companion,” she muttered. “I could be a kick ass rock chick sober companion.” She guffawed. “Right.”
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