One Last Verse

by N. N. Britt

  Only, it was Dante’s name that lit up my screen.

  Our last encounter concluded with him spitting foam on the floor of the bowling alley in Calabasas. Shock had blurred some of my memories, but I recalled the thick panic that’d taken over the building as paramedics rushed Dante into the ambulance. He’d been taken to the nearest hospital, and I’d spent a good hour sitting behind the wheel of my Honda in the parking lot, willing myself to start the car. The following morning, his name had been in every single headline. By afternoon, Jay Brodie PR had released an official statement. Dante Martinez had pulled through. Alive, though not well, but on his way to recovery.

  It’d been a minute since the update. Naturally, the preview of the email that’d just hit my inbox caught my attention.

  Flicking my gaze to the screen, I skimmed over the text.

  Jay Brodie PR PRESS RELEASE: Dante Martinez Exits Hall Affinity in Light of Health Crisis

  Disbelief tightened my chest. I blinked, hoping this was my sight playing tricks on my brain, but the words were still there. Clear as a Southern California Sunday morning. The background noise muffled. Demon child’s screams faded. Isabella’s voice was a thousand miles away.

  “Could you please excuse me?” I stood with my phone in my pocket and forced myself to smile. “I’ll be right back.”

  In the restroom, I read the press release twice.

  It’s with heavy hearts that we announce Dante’s departure from the band due to health issues that require immediate medical attention.

  My head spun. I didn’t understand why the news affected me so much. Strange worry settled in my stomach. Worry for Frank, worry for Dante. Worry for people like me who’d been going through life clinging to every song and every emotion the songs evoked.

  Dark puzzling worry for everyone and no one in particular.

  Was it the end of the road for the band or was it the beginning of something new, perhaps something different?

  The tornado of questions that swirled in my head made me dizzy.

  The news about Dante’s exit from Hall Affinity spread like wildfire. By the time I returned home, it was everywhere. Twitter, Facebook, his official Instagram account. Shayne had already published a quick post on Rewired, but of course, Levi pushed for a proper editorial. With all the man’s accolades, a list of his best solos, and a gallery of his hottest red carpet outfits. A farewell worthy of the subject.

  Do you want to do it? his late-night text read.

  Torn between hate and respect for the man in question, I contemplated. Dante and I had quite the history. I knew everything there was to know about his music. Almost two decades of rock ’n’ roll debauchery. The man had written some of the most iconic guitar riffs of the twenty-first century. I could knock out a banging article. The piece had my name written all over it, but my gut told me to take a step back and let Shayne finish what she’d already started. And my gut had never lied to me yet.

  I simply couldn’t be impartial anymore. Not after the conversation Dante and I’d had right before he OD’d. This wasn’t my editorial to write. This was someone else’s.

  I knew it and Levi knew it. He didn’t try to change my mind when I refused.

  The call came after midnight when I was already in bed. My stomach flipped. The number had been programmed into my phone by Dante himself years ago. And I was realizing it only now.

  He sounded different. There were occasional long pauses between the words as if he needed to make sure what he was about to say was exactly what he wanted me to hear.

  “How did you get my number?” I asked, slightly stunned. I didn’t remember giving it to him. I’d been the one on the receiving end.

  “I’ve got powerful friends.”

  “Such as?”

  “Geez.” There it was again. A stop. “It’s public record.”

  “Is everything okay?” I probed.

  “Yeah.”

  “I saw the press release.”

  “It was never my band. It was always Frank’s… We were all just tagging along.”

  “Says the man who tried to kick the other man out.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” His speech slurred. He paused again. “I’ve had a moment of clarity.”

  “What’s going on with you, Dante?”

  “I’ll live.”

  I didn’t know how to react. There was clearly something wrong with him health wise. He sounded lost and tired, but each question I posed was dodged.

  I wasn’t sure why he was calling, and the fact that he was actually calling rendered me speechless. The silence between us deepened with each passing second.

  Dante broke it first. “I wanted to thank you personally for not leaving my ass to die.”

  A laugh escaped from my chest. “I mean, I do hate you for what you did to Frank, but I’m not going to stand and watch you choke on your vomit just because you’re a selfish asshole.”

  “Was it really that bad?”

  “No, but you scared the hell out of me.”

  Dante’s voice crumbled with lingering anguish. “I think you’re a very kind person, Cassy. I’m glad you were there.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We fell back into another long moment of silence. Talking to Dante on the phone was strange. Almost too intimate.

  “Did you ever report that punk who pushed you?” he questioned.

  “I decided not to. He’s in high school and his parents begged me to reconsider. He erased the footage.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, he erased it in front of me.”

  “Trust me, people say a lot of shit and then two years later, your homemade porno movie is all over the internet.”

  “Honestly, I don’t have it in me to deal with a legal hurdle right now. We need to lock down the venue for the screening, and it’s been a stressful week.”

  “You still haven’t found anything? How hard can it be if Frank’s name is attached to the project?”

  “We’re not publicizing that he’s financing the album production. The documentary is nonprofit. His contributions are registered as donations. Besides, his stunt at your party was a big turnoff for people. We lost several sponsors because their reps felt very strongly about the footage of Frank circulating online. A lot of Isabella’s fans are teenagers who are still in high school. We can’t have a drunk lunatic as the face of the campaign.”

  “Drunk lunatic, huh? So you’re not going to give him another chance.”

  “I’m not a genie bottle full of chances. He had plenty.”

  “I really did root for you two.”

  “You were also the one who accused me of stealing demos and then came on to me.”

  “Oh, darlin’, I did a lot of bad shit. I do apologize for accidentally coming on to you. I was probably high. Doesn’t mean I don’t want other people to be happy.”

  “I’m not sure you have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You don’t give me enough credit.”

  “I haven’t seen you doing anything to deserve my credit. Music doesn’t count.”

  I heard a groan of frustration. “You’re a very difficult woman, Cassy.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Now I see why no one wants to work with you.” He laughed.

  “People do want to work with us, but it’s not that easy. If you haven’t noticed, Isabella isn’t your typical nineteen-year old. We need to make sure the facility meets ADA requirements. Not all do. Many places that were willing to donate their premises are located inside older buildings. Some are simply too small. I’m trying to find something similar to Melrose Cinema in size and layout, but most theaters aren’t willing to shut down for a nonprofit event on a Saturday night during the new James Bond movie release week.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  His question was unexpected, an eerie whisper inside my head. “I’m not asking you for help, Dante.”

  “I’m not implying you are, but i
f there’s anything I can do, you can tell me.”

  “I think maybe you should concentrate on getting better instead of making promises you might not be able to keep.”

  He was quiet. The stillness that stretched between us on the line was like rubber. The words that followed next almost hurt.

  “Listen to me, Cassy,” Dante spoke, tone soft and serious. “I know you’re mad at him for all the shit he did, but you should call him. I’m not saying forgive him…just call him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because life is fucking short, Cassy. Because you’re here one minute and gone the next.”

  He ended the call before I had a chance to respond. There was one part of me that wanted to dial his number and demand an explanation. But instead, I dialed Frank’s. My heart palpitated inside my chest. My ears rang. Anxiety swirled through my stomach. The room suddenly felt like a box. A trap. A prison. And the only way out was the voice on the other side. The voice that never answered.

  And then, three days later, I received an email from an anonymous sender with photos of Frank and another woman. Grainy, zoomed-in, cell phone quality images that didn’t tell me where and how he was, that didn’t tell me anything except the obvious. He had someone to console him. He didn’t need me.

  Fine. I didn’t need him either.

  There were other hot, willing, and less complicated men.

  Like Jax.

  “Let me take a look again.” My mother held out her hand, tone demanding.

  “There’s nothing to see there, Mom,” I countered in a low whisper. “He’s somewhere in Hawaii or Aspen, trying to seduce an elderly woman.”

  As always, I was exaggerating. The woman in the photos didn’t look that old, but she wasn’t my age either. She was just an odd choice for someone like Frank. Baggy pants, boyish haircut. There wasn’t enough for me to work with. The photos weren’t great. I’d been waiting for them to surface online or flood the tabloids ever since they’d hit my inbox two days ago, but nothing happened. Frankie Blade was still off the grid. Even the flowers stopped coming.

  My mother’s palm jerked in front of my face impatiently. With a groan, I gave up my phone.

  We waited for Ashton on the oversized couches next to the magazine stand in the lobby. He was in one of the glass cubicles with a bank representative, opening his checking account.

  “I really don’t understand why you dragged me out here.” I sighed loudly and surveyed the lines snaking along the teller windows, wondering if anyone here read the tabloids. Being the trending topic on TMZ for a couple of days had its drawbacks. This was the city where everyone needed to stay up-to-date with the celebrity gossip. Naturally, right after Frank’s meltdown, random people approached me in public. Not so much now, weeks later, but the anxiety of being watched and judged was constantly there. Like a tumor. I could feel it squeezing my guts every time I stepped outside my apartment.

  The AC was working full blast and the cool air pleasantly danced against my skin.

  “I haven’t seen you in forever,” my mother croaked, bringing my phone to her face to zoom in on the photos.

  “I was just there the other night, Mom.”

  “You had one cookie and left twenty minutes later.”

  “That’s because I’m busy. You know the screening is in five weeks. There’s too much to do. I promise we’ll have a real dinner after Levi and I finish this project.”

  We fell into a short moment of silence.

  “Honey, I don’t think this woman is someone he’d date,” my mother concluded after careful inspection of the images that were clearly a very poor attempt at paparazzi.

  “But he’s somewhere and he’s with someone.” I didn’t know why it bugged me so much. I was the one who’d walked out. I was the one who’d ignored his calls and texts for weeks before he’d finally given up. Now that he clearly had a companion, my jealousy was getting the best of me. The day after I received the photos, I decided to follow Isabella’s advice. I’d texted Jax and asked him if he wanted to grab something to eat.

  There was no way in hell I was going to cry myself to sleep for years to come while Frank was moving on with his life. Never.

  “Did you try to call him again?” My mother didn’t let up.

  “No.”

  “I think you should, honey.”

  “Why are you taking his side?”

  “I’m not taking his side, but the man has clearly gotten under your skin. Both of you need closure.”

  “Mom.” I turned to face her and tried to use my nicest voice. “Did you like getting eighty phone calls a day?”

  Shoulders slumped, she returned my phone. “I don’t like you right now, Cassy.”

  “It’s because I had my heart ripped out of my chest and tossed into the trash,” I hissed through my teeth. “Can we not talk about this anymore?”

  Telling my mother about my break-up with Frank and about the photos was a mistake. I’d never expected her to try and understand him, especially since she’d lived with an alcoholic for over fifteen years and because she’d seen the footage from the release party, but she kept bringing it up, and it drove me nuts.

  It made me nervous.

  It made me doubt my decision to agree to a date with Jax.

  It almost felt like I was cheating.

  He was picking me up at six and I spent a good hour styling my hair and changing outfits while a cloud of guilt hung over me. My overactive mind kept going back to my very last conversation with Frank, looking for something to hold on to, looking for the words I’d missed then, looking for a way out of this date. But then I remembered what he’d said to me at the party, how my goodness was suffocating him. And my anger returned tenfold.

  At five fifty-five, my phone buzzed. Jax was downstairs. After I tossed my ID and credit cards in my Michael Kors purse, I slid into the matching dress booties and hurried to leave the apartment before Ashton showered me with more questions.

  The sun sat low on the horizon and opulent shades of orange and red streaked across the darkening sky, propped up by the tall palm trees lining my street. The sidewalk was littered with dog-walkers and runners, and I felt naked in front of all these people. The wild thrum of my pulse in my temples made my head hurt.

  Jax’s convertible was parked across the street. He stepped out of the vehicle and skirted around to open the passenger door. Skittish, my heart jolted into a sprint. It wasn’t the same beat that pumped through my veins when I was with Frank. This was a broken rhythm. A poor imitation. A rough demo.

  “Hi.” I halted, unsure of what was appropriate, a hug or a handshake or maybe a kiss on the cheek. My stomach turned over when Jax closed the distance between us.

  “Hi.” He gave me a megawatt smile and opened his perfect muscular arms. They begged to be admired and they probably were, just not by me. “You look beautiful.”

  What the hell am I doing? “Thank you.” A nervous laugh escaped from between my lips. I remained still.

  He leaned forward and our chests collided in an awkward embrace. His smell, aftershave and expensive cologne, crawled up my nostrils. His body was hard and warm and his T-shirt felt nice to the touch. There were so many insignificant things that my brain registered and evaluated while we stood glued to each other next to his car that it almost felt too clinical. As if I was comparing him to Frank.

  Actually, I was comparing him to Frank. Weight, height, skin tone, eye color. They were nothing alike, which was exactly what my battered heart needed. A change. A distraction. A different man.

  We drove with the top down, Nirvana blaring from the speakers, a cool evening breeze dancing across our skin. Pushing back my nervousness, I did my best to enjoy the ride and the company.

  By the time we arrived at the restaurant, a small Brazilian place in the heart of Hollywood, both my mind and my hair had turned into a hot mess. Thick accents and the mouth-watering scent of exotic barbeque welcomed us as we made our way to the door.

  “I’m sor
ry I forgot to ask you, but do you eat meat?” Jax checked as we joined the end of the line. “They do have vegan options.”

  “I’m fine. Thank you.” I inched forward as the group in front of us moved. His palm rested carefully on the small of my back, a gesture too intimate and unexpected.

  Inside was dim, loud, and busy. Almost chaotic. The kitchen staff spoke Portuguese and the patrons looked drunk and happy. A hostess escorted us to a small table in the center of the dining room.

  My eyes darted left and right as we settled.

  Jax sensed my unease. “We can go somewhere else if you’re not comfortable here.” His inked hand slid across the table to meet mine, but I didn’t have the heart to reciprocate.

  “No, this is fine.” I shook my head and swallowed down my apprehension. The fear of crowds that I’d developed after the release party fiasco was all Frank’s fault. Fear of dating was his fault too. Fear of being alone. Fear of failing. Fear of not meeting expectations. Fear of never being enough for anyone.

  We started off with appetizers and drinks. The buzz hit me almost instantly. My tortured mind didn’t fight it. On the contrary, I embraced the dangerous daze, and for the first time since my break-up with Frank, it didn’t feel like the sky was falling. Deep down, I knew this calm was just an illusion. A fake. A cloud of magic dust that was going to evaporate the moment the alcohol’s hold on my consciousness weakened, but I was enjoying the ride while it lasted and I understood why Frank was so drawn to the numbness liquor provided.

  Intoxication made all the bad go away, made all the pain, confusion, and the feeling of hopelessness disappear.

  The realization terrified me.

  “Have you been here before?” I asked Jax, trying to keep our conversation going. My tongue felt thick and heavy inside my mouth. I was on my second drink. On the way here, we’d resorted to discussing music and now, it felt like the right time to talk about other things. Or just talk. Because time seemed like it had stopped. Every second turned into a minute and every minute turned into an hour.

  “A couple of times.” Jax nodded.

  The food looked and smelled delicious, but my stomach continued to riot. I didn’t know what exactly it was, but the barbeque tasted like paper, the air was too hot, and rivers of sweat streamed down the nape of my neck.