by N. N. Britt
Isabella was silent a long moment. Her eyes hardened. It made no difference whether she was going to record “Afterburn” right now or later. If she chose to finish tracking today, it’d be the only song on the album produced by Gary Torino.
“The studio is paid for,” I explained. “It’s your song. Your call. Whatever you decide.”
“Sure.” She nodded. “Let’s get this baby done since we’re all here.” Her smile was like a knife to my chest, a painful twist. I could tell she felt cheated, and sadly, there wasn't a single thing I could do to make it better.
Only Frank had that power.
Isabella returned to the booth for another take. Too wired to watch, I stepped outside to get fresh air and clear my head. The distant hum of Ventura Boulevard replaced the blasts of music. Clouds hung low above the Valley. Shy spurs of first fog licked the hillside. The evening was perfect. Dark, crisp, and full of dreams. Just not mine.
Levi found me a few minutes later. “What's going on, Cass?” Hands in his pockets, he strolled up.
I glanced at my phone, hoping to see a missed call or a message from Frank. “Don't know.”
“He’s not really sick, is he? He changed his mind. Am I right?”
I disregarded his question because I didn’t have an answer. “Let's get whatever we can for now.” A shuddered breath left my lungs.
“I guess the interview is out too?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
Levi didn't press for more.
The light rattle of Isabella's wheelchair cut our conversation short.
“My eyes can’t take this cockfest anymore.” She steered over to us.
I laughed softly, wondering yet again where this girl found the energy to joke while everything we’d been working toward was falling apart.
Levi rolled his eyes.
“What?” I slapped his chest with the back of my hand. “It’s like eight against three in there right now.”
“Sure.” He snickered and glanced at his phone. “I’m going to check my time-lapse. And you two”—his index finger bounced between Isabella and me—“behave. Don’t break any hearts while left unsupervised.”
“Can’t make any promises!” Isabella hollered. “It’s not every day you meet a girl with a bondage-ready chair.”
Laughing, I watched Levi disappear inside.
“He seems very tense.” She shared her thoughts on my partner.
“It’s all the Red Bull he drinks.”
“That explains it.”
I wasn’t sure what else to say or where to even start. I had too many things on my mind right now. But I felt that I was more responsible than anyone for Frank’s behavior. Had I tried hard enough with him? Had I done everything I could?
“I’m sorry about today, Isabella.”
She gazed up at me with her big, stormy eyes, which were full of defeat. “Why? It’s not your fault.”
“It is. I told you I’d make this happen for you.”
“It’s not the end of the world that a two-time Grammy winner doesn’t want to collaborate with some chick from the San Jose ghetto. I’ve been lowballed all my life, so I’ll get over it.”
“People suck,” I offered her my theory.
She took a deep breath and pondered something for a few seconds. “If this is what fame does to people, I don’t think I want it.” I heard the tremor in her voice. “Look at me.” She jerked up her chin. “I’ll never get up from this chair. I’ll never have another dance. I’ll never have another walk on the beach. But I will sing because that’s what gives me freedom. That’s what makes me who I am. Nothing or no one is going to stop me.”
I felt her rebellion against her circumstances with every single cell in my body. Tears welled in my eyes, but my gut told me to hold them in, to wait until no one could see me.
“You’re a beautiful young woman,” I said. “You have your whole life ahead of you. You’ll sell millions of records and you’ll tour the world. And if Frank isn’t part of it, that’s okay. His loss.”
I had no idea if she was going to sell that many records in the world of streaming, but I needed to tell her that because I truly believed she had something others didn’t.
“You shouldn’t take the blame for his shortcomings. You can’t change a person if a person doesn’t welcome the change.”
Isabella sounded a lot like my mother, and I wondered how a nineteen-year-old disabled girl had this much wisdom when a thirty-eight-year-old man with everything one could dream of didn’t have enough guts to stand up to his weakness.
“I wish it wasn’t so complicated, Isabella.”
“It doesn’t have to be. We tend to create our own demons when we could be doing something else instead of self-pitying.”
I let out a ragged sigh. My heart was a fresh wound, and Isabella’s words hit me hard. “I wish he could see that.”
“It must be difficult.” Her eyes remained locked on mine. “Being with someone like him.”
I kept silent.
“I’m crippled, not blind.” She shook her head. “You really think I can’t tell you’re an item? Have been for a while now.”
For some reason, a smile touched my lips. As much as I hated Frank at the moment, one mention of us stirred me up and warmed my shivering heart. Even at his lowest, he was like an eclipse, shadowing everything else, drawing all attention. And I hated him for that.
“You look at him the way Ayala used to look at me—like I was her whole world.” A pensive expression crossed Isabella’s face. “Then one night when we were at a party, she got too drunk and I was too soft to stop her. Now I can’t walk and she’s somewhere in college in Alabama. In a few years, her record will be expunged and I’m still going to be in a wheelchair.”
I needed a second to process.
“Sometimes people we care about don’t care enough in return.” Isabella broke our eye contact and looked up to the dark sky. Her voice was a deep rasp after hours of singing. “Sometimes letting go is the best thing we can do because we’re risking everything for that one person when that one person can’t be saved. There’s no point in dying while trying.”
“How do you know when to let go?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know. If I did, I wouldn’t be in a wheelchair.”
It was a profound exploration of human relationships that came from someone who hadn’t been an adult long enough to lose so much.
“You know what?” I kneeled and grabbed her hands. “We don’t need anyone, Isabella. When Levi and I decided to do this, it was your story and it should stay your story and no one else’s.”
“You’re very kind to me. Most people wouldn’t care to do what you and Levi are doing.”
“There’s enough hate and ignorance. I see so much of it every day online, and I wonder how we’re still a civilized society. If we’re not kind and if we continue to be selfish, the world may end sooner than we expect.”
“It’s too bad you’re straight, Cassy. Because I would totally ask you out right now.” She grinned.
“I might switch camps if Frank and I don’t work out. I’m about to give up on men.”
“Men are headaches. I’m in a band with three and they drive me nuts. I’d ditch them all if the fuckers weren’t so goddamn talented and I didn’t love them to death.”
“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” I agreed.
“You know what they say?” She grinned. “Fight fire with fire. If shit doesn’t work out, go find yourself another man…or a woman. Whatever you’re into.”
“You think that helps?”
“Hell yes, it does. That’s the first thing I did after my break-up. Went out on a date.”
“Was it fun?”
“Definitely better than sitting home and crying. At the very least, you’re getting a free dinner out of it.”
“I’ll keep that strategy in mind.”
“Izzie! Need you in five!” Maria’s voice called.
; “All right. I gotta go bust out another take, sister,” Isabella said, steering her wheelchair toward the door.
I took off for Malibu ten minutes later, leaving Levi in charge.
The French doors on the terrace were slid open when I pulled into the driveway. The garage was closed, and Jeff Buckley’s voice drifted at me from the house. I tossed my purse on the couch, then kicked off my shoes and sauntered through the music-filled rooms in search of Frank. My heart raced. I hated altercations, but after having witnessed Isabella’s dreams crumple today, I was too pissed off to keep it in check. Raw, unadulterated anger stirred in my blood.
Frank was in his studio. Back against the output panel, he sat on the floor across from the line of newly installed monitors. They were bright and shiny and mounted atop the cherry finish desk, and I wondered how long they’d last. I lingered on the threshold and noted a bottle in his hand.
“How was your day, doll?” Glazed eyes swept up my body and stalled on my lips.
The pungent smell of liquor crawled up my nose. The man was wasted again.
I stepped closer and surveyed the room, looking for traces of more damage. There was none. Today, Frank had resorted to simply drinking himself into oblivion.
“Where were you?” I asked firmly.
“Out and about. Needed to clear my head.”
“If you didn’t want to be part of this project, why couldn’t you just tell me?” I said in a shaky voice. “Why come and do a bunch of scratch tracks and then not show up to record the actual song?”
“I know you hate me right now.” He tossed his head back and absently stared at the ceiling. His chest heaved. “I hate myself too. Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t die that night on a freeway.”
The weight of his words hit me hard. My mind and my heart battled each other. One wanted to slap some sense into this man and one wanted to cuddle him. “Don’t say shit like that.”
“Why not?” He released a bitter chuckle. “We’re all going to die. We should be ready the day we’re born. Instead, we keep looking for ways to live longer when, in reality, we’re all slowly decaying on the inside.” Frank reached for the bottle. “Ask me.” His desperate eyes burned through my skin like a torch. “Ask me what it’s like, how it feels to rot on the inside little by little, day after day.”
I leaned over to take the bottle away, but he shot down my measly attempt by blocking me with his right hand. His shoulder wasn’t secured in the sling, and too scared to hurt him, I didn’t dare fight.
Instead, I tried to reason, “You promised, Frank. You can’t mix alcohol and painkillers.”
“Watch me.” He grinned and took a swallow. “It’s just like the good old days…when Dante and I worked on Breathe Crimson. Now he’s got a new best friend. Marshall fucking Burns.” His Adam’s apple wobbled beneath his skin. “You ever tried heroin, Cassy?”
The invisible wall of indifference and pain he’d built grew thicker with each second as he rambled on.
Annoyed and uninterested in hearing his rock ’n’ roll stories, I straightened. “You made a fool out of me today. You left us all hanging like we weren’t important enough.”
“You know you’re important to me.”
* * *
“Oh yeah?” My tone pitched. “How am I important when you don’t have the decency to tell me you don’t want to be part of my project? You didn’t have to agree just to humor me if your heart wasn’t in it. I wouldn't have gotten mad or loved you any less. ”
“Shhh,” he hushed me and pressed his index finger to his lips. “Don’t say it. Don’t let me hurt you more than I already have.”
Fury spread through my chest. “And you also don’t have the decency to acknowledge my feelings.” My voice broke along with my faith in us. I hated the ugliness we’d become and the game of pretend we’d been playing.
“I don’t need you to tell me,” Frank murmured, resting his head against the panel. He drew a deep breath, his gaze remaining on my face. “I know.”
Emotions swelled in my chest. “Is that all I get? A fucking Han Solo one-liner for splitting myself in half for you?”
He stared up at me with clouded eyes as silent seconds passed between us. “What do you want from me then?” He slurred.
The house felt foreign despite the music. Even the soulful crooning of Jeff Buckley couldn’t pacify my rage. “I want you to get help, Frank. Real fucking help!” I cried out. “What happened to you isn’t Marshall’s fault, and the world hasn’t conspired against you. Stop acting like a child and looking for answers in a bottle of whiskey. They’re not there.”
Jaw slack, he gave me a crooked, shiver-inducing smile. “You know, you’re very sexy when you’re mad.”
My patience had reached its limits. I was unamused and shaking with frustration.
Deep breaths, girlfriend, I said to myself. “Do you even understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“I’m not that drunk.” He shook his head and set the empty bottle aside.
“Yes, you are and you need professional help.”
“Fuck professional help.”
He pushed himself off the floor and stood. The room suddenly felt small. He wasn’t a tall man, but his height was impressive against my five-four. Without a word, he stumbled past me toward the hallway.
I followed.
He halted in front of the wall with the paintings and stared at them for a good minute. “Do you know how much each one of these cost, Cassy?” His gaze whipped to my face, dark and foggy. “Fifty thousand dollars. Can you imagine?”
“Where’s Roman?”
“Did you know—” He paused to catch his breath. “The first time I tried chocolate was after Janet and Billy took me in.”
My stomach spasmed. I hated that he made me pity him.
“Now I have a piece of paper in my living room that cost more than my birth mother made in a year.” Frank continued to stare. “And the funny thing is…I don’t know why I even have it.”
“Where’s Roman?” I repeated my question. I had no idea how disorderly he could get with this much alcohol in his system, but I wanted to be ready for the worst, and my hundred and ten pounds weren’t going to cut it against the wall of lean muscle and madness that he was.
“Why?” Frank arched a brow. “You don’t like my company?”
“Not when you’re drunk,” I said firmly.
He turned his back to me and staggered down the hall, every single ounce of his torment weighing on his shoulders, dragging him down to hell. His broken footsteps thudded against the floor like an off-beat rhythm. In the living room, furniture banged and keys jingled.
Heart in my throat, I raced through the house. “Where are you going?” My pulse skyrocketed.
“I’m not in the mood to listen to your pestering. I get enough of this shit from everyone. My parents. My assistant. My manager. I don’t need you to police me too.”
Ouch. “Excuse me? Me wanting you to get better is pestering?”
Helmet in hand, Frank was on his way to the garage. Skirting around his body to face him, I stood in the doorway and held out my hand. “Give me the keys.”
He didn’t stop. His shoulder knocked against mine.
“Give me the keys.” I twirled around and grabbed his arm.
He jerked away.
My mother was right. Saving someone from himself if he didn’t want to be saved was a waste of time.
In the house, Jeff Buckley sang “Hallelujah.” The majestic lull of his voice filled the air as Frank rounded the Escalade, his steps unsteady.
“You’re not going anywhere!” My shout boomed through the garage as I hurried along the line of cars parked there. All five of them. Including the Ferrari with its muddy wheels.
“Get out of my way, Cassy.” He shot me a mean stare and neared the Harley.
Determined, I positioned myself in front of the bike and grabbed the handlebar. My pulse roared.
“Move, Cassy.”
“Yo
u’re not going, Frank!” I screamed, my lungs and my throat tense with panic. “You’ll crash!”
The man was so drunk, he’d lost all his marbles. I had no idea how to reason with him.
“Get out of my way, doll.”
“I won’t. You’re going to have to run me over, Frank!”
We yelled at each other full throttle. Angry words spilled and soared through the garage, drowning out the soft sounds of the music. Staining everything good, every nice memory of this house and us with depravity.
Frank was a blur behind the tears forming in my eyes. He grabbed the handlebar and turned the front wheel to twist it out of my hold. I felt it crunch against the cement and grind against my jeans as my foot slid over the floor. Every muscle in me drew tight.
“Please stop it,” I pleaded, clutching his wrist. “Please, Frank! I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I need to ride. Move.”
It was a split-second decision. I knew he wouldn’t cease trying otherwise. He was teetering on the edge of insane, too stubborn and too drunk to hear me.
I pushed him. I pushed him hard. I didn’t want to, but I had no choice. It was either risk his stitches and a couple of bones or let him leave and never come back, because he wouldn’t.
Not after this stupid suicide ride he was so hell-bent on attempting.
My heart pounded so hard, my ribcage felt as if it was about to crack in half. The swell of moisture in my eyes made it difficult to see, but I heard a thud. Frank’s body had slammed against the Escalade. The helmed dropped to the floor.
“Fuck you!” he cried out in anger and pushed himself off the car. Pain twisted his face. “Fuck you!”
“Well, fuck you too!” I was shaking. “If you want paramedics scraping your insides from the bottom of the ditch, be my guest.”
“Who the hell are you to judge me? You don’t know anything about me, doll.”
“That’s right, I don’t. Because you won’t fucking talk to me. Because you’d rather drink yourself stupid. Guess what? I’ve already seen one man in my life go down that road. I’m not going to stick around to watch another do the same shit.”