A Twist of Love

by Callie Bardot

  She’d gone to a gazillion meetings since they returned. Hell, I may as well put a cot in the community center. I can bathe in the homeless shelter next door. Maybe sleep there, too.

  She couldn’t remember smiling in the last few days. She refused to remember the night in Sausalito when she might have experienced an encounter with joy. Until it crashed and burned. But then, he was probably thanking her right now for ending it.

  She slid a crisp, white piece of paper from the pack she’d purchased at Office Depot yesterday. Her new sponsor had urged her to write two letters—one to Marco, and one to her sister. She’d tried to start last night but only succeeded in crying herself to sleep.

  Today, however, with Keys and Heat acting like morons in her living room, she decided to have another go.

  Dear Marco, she wrote. She scribbled it out with her fancy new pen, crumpled the paper, and tossed it into the waste can next to her desk. It landed with a soft rustle on top of a pile of other wadded up papers.

  “What the hell good will this do?” She let out a groan.

  She slid another sheet free from the pack. Marco said to speak from my heart. Too bad I don’t have one. She tapped the pen against the desk, blew her breath from her lungs, and started again.

  Shauna, she wrote. My beautiful sister. Protecting you was as easy as breathing when we were kids. I couldn’t imagine it any other way. Leaving you after high school was the beginning of my quest to escape. I hated myself for leaving you. Abandoning you. I took the coward’s way out, running away. I’ve been running ever since. And when you found me, blitzed in that bar in Greenwich Village, what might have been a happy reunion turned into one of the most sorrowful days of my life. The other was screwing with your fiancée’s heart, not counting what it did to him when you died. Can you ever forgive me? Can I ever forgive myself? I sure as hell won’t ever forgive the drunk asshole driving the semi. Or myself for being so drunk I never felt the impact. You, my sweet sibling, catapulted out of the driver’s seat like an angel shot through Heaven’s gate.

  Tears plopped onto the paper, making the ink run. Gia dabbed at it with her sleeve, doing nothing to stop the flow. After a lifetime of feeling nothing, she kind of, sort of appreciated feeling something besides numb, hoping the tears would stop someday. She finished the letter, writing, I loved you with all my heart. I love you still. May both our hearts be at peace, someday, somewhere, somehow. Your big sis, Gia.

  Her foot tapped the floor for a few seconds. “Truth time. We always told each other the truth when we were kids,” she whispered.

  Ever since I left home, leaving you behind, she wrote, there’s been a hole in my heart. A huge vacant crater. Meeting Marco made me feel whole for at least a moment. If he made you feel half what he made me feel, you were lucky to have him. I’m so sorry I fucked that up for everybody.

  A huge sigh left her lungs. A beam of sunlight chose that moment to stream in the window. Gia squinted, glaring at it, wondering why the sun chose to shine at that very minute into her room. Shouldn’t the devil appear with his pitchfork and leap into Hell with me, taking me where I belong?

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” her sponsor had told her a couple days ago. “You’ve paid for your actions a hundred times over. Now’s the time to ask for forgiveness where you can, forgive where you’re able, and to learn how to live, eyes wide, heart open.”

  “It hurts too much to feel,” Gia had answered.

  Her sponsor had held her, letting her cry, and, while it wasn’t Marco’s arms around her, it had helped somewhat.

  Writing Marco proved far more difficult than writing to her sister.

  Marco, she wrote.

  “Fuck that,” she mumbled, scribbling furiously.

  Brutus. The worst thing I thought I could ever do was be responsible for my baby sister’s death. That one hurt like a motherfucker. When I went through the DTs, with you as my anchor, thinking I might die, that came a close second. Little did I know, that was only the beginning. Far worse was hurting you. You know those thousand years you spoke of? If I could take my actions back a thousand times over, it wouldn’t be enough to make amends to you. If I suffer my actions for a thousand more years, maybe I’ll make a dent. I’ve got a lot of work to do. Because of you...because of my sister...I’ll do the work. Make amends. And cherish you for the rest of my life. You gave me a glimpse at what it’s like to truly be loved. I hope you find happiness because if anyone deserves it, you do. Her foot tapped against the floor as she thought a moment. Oh, and...I found your brains and gave them to a good charity. Some small child can now think straight, thanks to your donation. She chuckled at her little joke.

  “Okay, are we good? Did you say your piece, my heart?” She inclined her head as if listening to her thrumming inner blood-pump. “You say it’s a little sappy, but at least it’s sincere?” She listened again. “Nothing else to add?” More listening. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Really? All right. I’ll do it for you.” She picked up a different pen and made three hearts on the page. Then, in keeping with her character, she drew a skull and crossbones. She thought a moment, tapping the pen against the desk. Then, she drew another heart, captured in a spider’s web. In her best cursive, she wrote, Yes, it fell free, my heart, my heart, caught in the sturdy web of you.

  “Maybe Dante can use that line in a song.” She chuckled again.

  Now the sun did a full stage-show illumination through the window, like floodlights at concert’s end.

  “The big guy in the sky is messing with me,” she said. “Nice special effects.”

  She sat back, realizing she felt a tiny bit better.

  When her door buzzer sounded, she turned her head toward the living room.

  Heat and Keys were still making lots of stupid guy noises to go with their stories.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “Brain dead idiots in the living room...”

  “What?” Keys added.

  “Answer the door buzzer. You’re in charge.” God help me to be under the care of those two. She got up from her chair, stretched, and sauntered to her bathroom to relieve herself.

  When she returned, Kennedy stood near her desk, wearing some classy pants and a loose fitting blue top. The sunlight bounced off her blonde hair, making her look like all etheric and amazing, as usual. Kennedy never over-dressed, but, when she wasn’t mucking out a tiger cage or bottle-feeding them, she dressed well. Gia always admired Kennedy’s style, even when she was pissed at her.

  Gia hurried toward the desk and put her hand over the letters.

  “Those are private,” she said. “You didn’t read them, did you?”

  “No, I just walked in. I wanted to see if you needed a break from those two.” Kennedy stabbed her thumb in the direction of the living room.

  “Thanks, yeah. They’re white noise at this point. I’ve known them for far too long to take anything they say or do seriously,” Gia said, putting herself between the letters and Kennedy.

  “Still crying all the time?” Kennedy asked, her shrewd blue eyes tracking Gia’s face.

  “Damn. It’s like that’s all I do. Boo-hoo this and boo-hoo that.” Gia sighed. “I should have bought stock in whoever makes Kleenex before I went into recovery.”

  Kennedy snorted. “It gets better, promise. I went through it, too. It’s like once the lights go on, illuminating your feelings and you stop numbing yourself, your body makes up for lost time, expressing every sorrow that you ever endured or participated in. I know it’s crazy and it seems endless, but it will stop when you’re done with all this process of amends and so on. And then, you’ll only cry at the moment, when appropriate.” Kennedy smiled.

  “I sure hope so.” Gia put her hands on Kennedy’s shoulders, pivoted her around, and then pointed to the living room. “Wait for me out there, okay?”

  “Oh, no, you’re sending me out there to be with them?” Kennedy said, in mock horror.

  “Only for a moment. I’ll be right out, and then we can go grab a bite o
r something. Get!” Gia waved her hand.

  “Going,” Kennedy said, shuffling from the room.

  After she left, Gia eyed her handiwork.

  “It helped somewhat,” she whispered. “But there’s a better place for my sentiments.” She neatly folded the two pieces of paper, not wanting to crush them, and placed them in the waste can. “You’ll find a new home tomorrow when the garbage truck comes,” she told the paper. She brushed her hands together and proceeded to saunter out the door.

  The last thing she wanted was for Marco to know the depth of her feelings…because if he knew…more like if she let herself feel that much…she didn’t know if she could ever shove them back in the box.

  Chapter 23

  On the road again, a couple weeks later, life became its usual blur of thrilling excitement in the arenas, and hours of asphalt and Americana scenery, as viewed from the bus.

  Gia’s drum playing had never been more precise. Onstage, she focused on keeping the rhythm, her kit arranged around her like a fortress, as her sticks flew, driving the beat of the songs.

  Keys finger’s danced on the keyboards, while Heat’s fingers made magic on the electric bass. Sometimes he played acoustic, as well. Even though they were idiots offstage, onstage they were musical geniuses.

  And Dante...My God, he sings like he’s channeling some deity, Gia thought, as she stood in some city for the same kind of applause they got in the last city. Wet panties for all, she said, eying the screaming women.

  Marco had been right—all the usual temptations were there in spades, before, after, and even during each gig. She managed to avoid them, though. She even enjoyed herself now and then, cracking smiles and joking around with the crew and band. It kind of seemed easier to take—the applause, the hungry adoration—without the drink. Sort of...at least I have nowhere to run, hide, and drown...except the bus and maybe a bathtub.

  Her trusty camera traveled everywhere on the road with her, and she used it before and after the concerts to keep busy. And, there was this roadie, Brant. Although he was shorter than she usually liked, he was a lot of fun and cute in a Cocker Spaniel sort of way. He liked to flirt with her. He’d gone through sobriety, too.

  Maybe he and I can...She shook her head. He doesn’t hold a candle to Marco. Good God, I miss that man.

  After she’d written her letter to him, her feelings for him had only grown. She felt plugged into the socket of Marco like they shared the same electrical current. Her thoughts at night centered around him. When she woke each morning, a new thought, centered around him, sprang to mind immediately. He even seemed to be with her onstage when she played, right next to her, or buried deep inside.

  “Gia,” someone called.

  “Huh?” She shook her head to clear it, becoming aware of the stage lights, her drums, and the screaming fans.

  “Exit stage left,” Dante said, snapping his fingers at her. “This is the part where we head backstage.” He crooked his elbow for her to take, his other hand clutching his favorite guitar, a stunning Gibson Les Paul he named Cara, after his grandmother.

  An idea sprang to mind, and Gia ignored Dante, staring at the roaring spectators. The crew hadn’t turned on the house lights yet, so she figured she had a few seconds left. “Wait,” she said, as Dante reached for her hand.

  Her heart hammering, she strode to the front of the stage, stepping gingerly over the colorful array of panties littering the area where Dante had stood minutes ago. She picked up the microphone, gripping it tightly. She turned to look over her shoulder at Dante.

  He stood next to Keys and Heat. They all looked at her with questioning eyes and furrowed brows.

  Dante lifted his palm and gestured for her to continue whatever craziness she was up to.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “Can I have your attention?”

  The crowd continued to scream and cheer.

  “Come on. You know I don’t do encores.” She put one hand on her hip, remembering Marco’s superhero stance.

  A few people in the front quieted. The rest continued their enthusiastic tirade.

  “Hey,” she yelled. “Shut the fuck up before I lose my nerve.”

  The crowd stilled.

  Keys guffawed.

  “Way to go, girl,” Dante said, adding a chuckle.

  Facing the audience, her heart now clawing its way up her throat, she said, “I’m sure you’ve read the gossip rags about my alcoholism.” She scanned the faces, hoping they had a few ounces of compassion. “I’m in recovery now, and it’s…”

  “It sucks,” a guy called from the front of the audience. “Want to fuck me so we can take our minds off the need to drink?”

  A ripple of laughter spread through the onlookers. Then, they resumed listening.

  Gia smiled. “Thanks but no thanks. I think what sucks harder is the damage you can do when you’re blitzed.”

  “Tell it, sister,” a woman called.

  Encouraged, Gia said, “I hurt two of the most important people in the world. One of them’s dead now.”

  “Whoa,” a man said.

  “One of them…” She dragged her hand through her hair. “He probably wishes I was dead. I’d give anything for a do-over, but, hey—life doesn’t work that way sometimes.” She shrugged.

  The audience seemed captivated.

  “So…” She scanned her mind for the next sentence, rubbing her neck. “I grew up thinking I was worthless. And, my actions only reinforced my beliefs. I did things that caused harm.” She forced air between her cheeks and blew it out. “I guess what I want to say is…I’m in the process called making amends. That’s a fancy term for facing your shit which is a lot harder than it sounds.” She glanced back at Dante.

  He seemed riveted.

  “As I take responsibility, I’ve learned that I might matter. I might be worth something.” She pictured Marco’s eyes as he told her she was loveable. “Wait…I do matter. I am worth something.” Her voice took on an intensity that surprised her as she scanned the faces looking up at her. “You are too. You matter, each and every one of you.”

  A woman in the front dabbed at her eyes, her cheeks glistening.

  Gia’s eyes moistened with tears. She squeezed her eyelids shut for a minute before continuing. “I want to say to the guy whose heart I crushed…I’m sorry. With all my heart, I’m sorry. I hope you find someone real and honest and worth all the love you have to give.”

  The entire stadium grew so quiet; all you could hear was breathing.

  Someone sniffed.

  Another blew her nose.

  “I, uh…I don’t want to keep you all, so…” She eyed the faces she could see, noting their enthralled expressions. “I’ll leave you with this--love the one you’re with, be good to yourself most of all and have a great night.” She lifted her hand in farewell.

  An even greater silence engulfed the room.

  Gia wondered what she should do next. She tucked the microphone into the stand, her movements stiff and awkward.

  Then, one person clapped, and another, and another until everybody applauded, cheered and yelled.

  “We love you, Ms. Styx,” a woman called.

  “My offer still stands,” the guy who wanted to fuck her yelled.

  “I want to be like you,” another woman screamed.

  Gia stood, stunned, taking in the love, letting her encore count for something big—letting go of an enormous burden.

  She turned to see Dante, his fingers between his teeth, whistling long and loud.

  Keys and Heat clapped like maniacs.

  Facing the audience, she said, “Thank you. Thank you all.” Then, she lifted her arm in one last wave and sauntered offstage with her best buddy.

  “Wow, G. I’m so proud of you,” Dante said. He threw his arm around her and hugged her to his side. Leaning over, he kissed her temple. “Really impressed with you, G. You even brought tears to my eyes.”

  “Yeah. You stunned me and Keys, here,” Heat said.


  Gia grinned.

  “Great playing, by the way.”

  “Thank you. We’re all pretty dialed in. You, me, Keys, and Heat...” She swept her hand through the air and made a ka-boom noise. “We’re killing it.”

  “We are. Want to go grab a bite with us? Kennedy found an after-hours cafe that serves primo Tex-Mex.” He handed his beloved guitar to a roadie.

  “Nah, I don’t think so,” she said, eying Brant.

  Brant busied himself with his roadie duties but kept glancing in her direction.

  “Think I’ll keep that guy company before I take my camera for a whirl,” Gia said, indicating Brant.

  “Are you sure? We’d love to share a meal with you,” Dante said. “This place has quite a reputation.”

  “Get me a couple tacos, extra hot sauce,” she said. “The hotter, the better. I’ll eat it later.”

  “You got it,” he said, leaning to kiss her cheek.

  Gia sauntered toward Brant, smiling. “Hey,” she said.

  “Oh, hey,” he said like he’d only just noticed her.

  Like you haven’t been checking me out ever since I walked backstage. “Want to hang out when you’re done?”

  His eyes shifted side to side. “Uh...I’ve, uh...”

  “Out with it. What’s got you all tongue-tied?” Gia said. She propped her hands on her hips.

  “That was a great set,” he said. “Man, your drum solo...wow, Gia. And that speech. That took some balls, er…some courage.”

  “Thanks. What are you avoiding telling me?” she said.

  “I have, a date tonight,” he blurted, opening the lid to one of the storage containers for electrical equipment. He dropped a bunch of neatly coiled cords inside, staring at them like he’d never seen a cord before.

  “Oh,” she said. “Well...have a good time.”

  “It’s just that,” he continued, turning to face her. “You haven’t expressed any...and I’m...”