by Gabrielle G
“I said, were you here long?”
Traitorous stupid brain is as obsessed with the song as everybody else. “No, just lost in my thoughts.”
“Yeah, we have a lot to tackle today, I’m not surprised.”
“Is Naomi already here?”
“Yes, she brought coffee and Tim Horton’s donuts for everyone,” George says. “She’s so nice. She’s on the phone in the kitchen-to-be.”
I nod, entering the building and starting my quick inspection on my way to find my assistant. The structure looks fine, the work is on time. George and I discuss a little about what still needs to be done, but it all seems under control. I’m thrilled.
As I enter the kitchen, I feel good. I hear shreds of Naomi’s conversation, and it doesn’t take me long to realize she’s speaking about me.
“I don’t think she’s listened to it yet. Yes, I agree it explains a lot. No, I didn’t tell her. I said I won’t. I’ll call you back tonight, bye.”
“Lars?” I ask her once she pockets her phone.
“Yes.” She blushes.
I’ve never seen Naomi embarrassed—except maybe the time I found her in my kitchen early in the morning, when I made a comment about hearing her moaning my brother’s name all night long. She didn’t think I was home. I didn’t think the moaning girl was my assistant until I found her standing in my kitchen. It was a mortifying moment for both of us. Luckily, we acted like adults and never talked about it again.
“Lars and I are just friends,” she says defensively.
“I didn’t say anything, I just asked if it was him.”
“He wanted to know if you’ve listened to the song yet?”
I roll my eyes. Punching people is frowned upon.
“Because you should really listen to it.”
I take a big breath to calm my nerves. Planting a pen in my assistant’s throat calls for a lawsuit.
“You know, it might help you understand what—”
I interrupt her. “Where are we?”
“On a site?” she says, flinching.
“Yes! On a site! And in case you forgot, on site or at the office, I’m your boss. I’m a cool boss, but still your boss. And I won’t have you discuss my private life at work. Understood?” Snap out of your Darling Devils tragedy Naomi or I will shove my foot in your ass and bend you in two so much, you will lick your own pussy. I so unprofessionally add in my head.
Naomi looks at me as if I’ve bitten her dog. The whole crew is silent, and George is looking at the wall, apparently trying to make his giant body as small as can be.
“Very well, Miss Spencer. I’ll stand here and take notes then,” she says with a false respect, stepping back.
“Thank you, Miss Tanaka. Glad we’re on the same page.”
Two can play this game.
Fighting with your assistant is never a good idea. If I thought I held any power because I’m the boss, I’m sure rethinking my position now. Naomi is the one ordering my lunch, the one bringing my coffee when I have my afternoon slump, and the one with the stack of candies I crave when I’m PMSing. But I hold on and ignore all her glares and scoffs.
Starving, exhausted, and candy-deprived, I don’t cave when Naomi decides to leave at five on the dot. I stay focused on my screen and snub her, ready to run to her candy drawer as soon as she’s out the door. She goes to the elevator, looks at her phone, turns around, looks at me, turns back, and disappears in the elevator.
I sigh, knowing I should apologize but not ready to do so. If I cave, I’ll have to listen to the song as Oliver, Julie, and Debbie have told me to do for a couple of weeks. I feel as if the world is against me. And if it’s just a song to them, to me it’s a reminder that what Dan has to offer isn’t a life I can be part of. So why should I listen to it? Only one person holds the answer to my question, and I need to ask him why everybody around me is so obsessed—or maybe that’s just my excuse to text Dan today.
Me: Why should I listen to the song?
Asshole Rock Star: Because I’m not courageous enough to tell you who I really am.
Me: What do you mean?
Asshole Rock Star: Listen to the song and text me afterward. I need to know you’ve heard what I can’t tell you.
Not even a minute later, my phone chimes with Naomi’s text ringtone.
Naomi: Deal with your shit and listen to the song or let him go and move on.
Move on to what? Or on to whom? Ben the boring guy? Another sequence of one-night stands? Do I want to be the forty-year-old bachelorette? Will anybody in this world take me as I am, with my anger, my blunt honesty, and my insecurities? Dan did—until he didn’t. Our conversation via text last night helped, but I’m still not certain I can trust him. But I can’t deny that we had chemistry, that we shared something no Henry, Jack, or Paul can offer me.
Moving on seems more insurmountable than forgiving.
The idea of letting Dan go scares me more than he could hurt me.
The thought of never hearing from him again overwhelms me.
Sighing deeply, I decide it’s time to stop being a chicken, but I’ll leave it to fate. If I hear it on my way home, I won’t turn off the radio. I’ll listen to each word and see what Dan has to say that was so hard for him to tell me. One of us needs to have the balls to go over whatever is holding us back.
Of course, I turn on my car and immediately hear the radio announcing that Dan’s song is coming up after some advertisement.
“It’s amazing really, after a twenty-five-year career,” the host comments. “It’s certainly not easy on his bandmates. Lars Trouble and Art Sweet are incredible friends. Most of the women who’ve crossed his life are probably wondering if that song was written for them. Blossom Cohen reached out to social media and said that she educated herself on his condition and she was sorry she didn’t understand it ten years ago. The Darling Devils haven’t commented since the first interview Dan Darling gave when the song came out, but there’s a lot of speculation about if the song has any link to the mysterious Anna he dedicated a song to during his concert in Montreal. Text us at 94736 to let us know what you think about this whole story, or share your thoughts on our Facebook page.”
I would love to turn off the radio. Whatever Dan said or did, they shouldn’t gossip about it. And why are we back to wondering who I am?
The song starts and it’s a fast beat with a lot of guitar, like they used to play at the beginning of their career, before they became too commercial, too pop, too trendy. I smile, remembering our first text exchange. Then Dan sings, and my heart swells.
“Cause my love can leave indelible scars, worse than a sword through your heart,
‘Cause my actions are unpredictable, and my thoughts even more unreliable,
‘Cause love is a high I can’t afford; ‘Cause I’ll hurt you even if I love you,
There is something you should know, Love, something I have to tell you,
I’m not sure if I love you or if I’m gone,
I’m not sure if I hate you or if I’m down
After the high repetitively comes the low.
After the love always comes the heartbreak.
After mania undoubtedly comes depression.
It’s my only way to love
It’s my manic love.”
I listen to every word, and I regret it now that his voice is piercing my soul and his words are making me cry.
“I’m grasping my last thread, making promises I can’t hold.
Because I realize I’ll wound you as soon as we’re apart.
I can’t help the hunger, the cheating, and me growing cold.
I need to erase you to reset my brain, to focus on my art.
I need to forget you, I’m in no mood for love.
I need to forget us, it’s my punishment to be in manic love.
After the high repetitively comes the low.
After the love always comes the heartbreak.
After mania undoubtedly comes depression.
It’s my only way to love
It’s my manic love.”
I listen until the last note, sobbing for a story that didn’t begin and feelings that didn’t exist. It’s a great song, but I never thought it would hurt me so much to realize that all we lived was a lie, a product of his imagination, an illusion of a feeling. And after hurting my ego again and again, his wish just became reality. Tonight, he broke my heart.
Me: Were we ever anything?
Asshole Rock Star: At the time, I thought I’d found the only one I could love. By the time I wrote the song, I thought it was mania. And now…
Me Now?
Asshole Rock Star: Now, I don’t know.
22
Dan
I knew accepting another interview wasn’t a good idea. The stigma surrounding bipolar disorder is a difficult one. Being judged negatively because of a diagnosis, before people even get to know you or the disorder, is the cross to bear with every mental health condition.
Crawford flew from LA to help with this interview, and though I can’t lose my cool because it will only stigmatize my illness even more, I can see he’s close to going wild on this journalist. We sent her an email with websites to visit so she could educate herself before the interview, but she clearly hasn’t read a single link we recommended. Crawford’s jaw is clenching, and he’s cracked his neck five times already. I try to deflect every question that has to do with me being crazy or overcoming my thoughts, but she’s unremittingly stupid.
I try once again to explain. “Living with bipolar disorder doesn’t define who I am. My cycles are the worst part of me, but it’s not entirely me. Yes, cycles can last for years, but I’m lucky to have shorter cycles between mania and depression. Medication helps. It’s important to have control, because the less control you have, the more you’ll circle from one cycle to the other. I went off my medication for a year, and it became hard again. I shouldn’t have, but I thought I was fine. I thought I could do it by myself.
“With bipolar disorder, you have the feeling you can fly, you’re invincible, you’re the superhero of your own life—that’s what mania does to you. During depression, it’s a constant battle of the mind. With bipolar disorder, you live at the extremes, but you have to learn to see the triggers coming and work through the mood swings. In my case, I meditate, work out, have a rigorous schedule I follow. It’s not easy, it’s never easy, and each person living with bipolar disorder is in a constant battle between their highs, their lows, and the guilt that follows.”
The journalist crosses her legs. “What you’re saying is that you’re not always crazy, just eccentric most of the time?”
I don’t have time to take a breath in when Crawford intervenes. “Okay, we’re done now. You clearly haven’t educated yourself enough to be giving this interview. If you print anything different from what Dan told you, I will sue you for defamation. Next time you have a celebrity coming to talk to you about something as personal as his mental health and how he deals with it, I recommend you do some research. When it’s Dan Darling, you work even harder. Be sure you won’t interview any of my clients or friends in the future. Dan, let’s go.”
Smiling apologetically at the dumbfounded woman in front of me, I stand and leave with Crawford. He’s good at protecting his clients, that’s for sure.
“Thank you for coming,” I tell him, shaking his hand.
“My pleasure. And thank you for trusting me with your condition in the first place. I generally don’t represent people I don’t know, but if there’s anything I can do for you, you can always call me.”
“I’ll have Chad call you if necessary.”
“Please call me directly. Did you ever read the file I gave you on Miss Spencer?”
I nod. I already knew she didn’t have a great relationship with her parents, I already knew she couldn’t have children and that her ex was a scum. Crawford’s file didn’t teach me anything new. The press will undoubtedly have a field day about her ex, but I’m bipolar. Isn’t that what the media will talk about if we decide to be together?
Being together. I’m still not sure if that’s what I want. I’m sick of losing people, sick of being alone, but can I drag her into my madness? Can she even like me and understand me?
“I lost you there for a second, Darling. I’m going to tell you what I tell all my clients. Not every story can be killed, but every storyline can be changed. I just need to know everything to do my job properly.”
I nod. “I thought you were a lawyer?”
“I’m a fixer. Never hesitate to call me, whatever the time of day or night. Better for me to know the shit is going to hit the fan than to clean shit after it spreads everywhere.”
“Will do.”
“And call me when you come back to LA. Maybe we can have a drink together. I know a bar that serves the best Diet Coke in the state.” He smiles.
“Sure thing, Crawford. Thanks for your help in there, and sorry for the last meeting. Might happen again. Just so you know.”
“I know. That’s what I’m here for.”
He climbs in his taxi, and my driver takes me back to the hotel we’re staying at.
I was surprised when Lars said he wasn’t coming to the interview with me, but I think he trusts Crawford to babysit me for the day. I know he’s with Art, looking for some girls to spend the night with. I have to stop being a cock-blocker for those two. I just hope they’re not in my bedroom again.
I’m in no mood for sex. My psychiatrist assures me the medication has no side effect on my libido, but since being out of the mania cycle, I haven’t desired anybody. I only get hard while dreaming of Anna. It would be romantic if it weren’t pathetic. I’m not sure she wants to hear from me since I told her I don’t know what I want from her. If I weren’t the lead singer of the Darling Devils, I would certainly try to date her, see if there’s something more there. But between my stardom, my mental health, and the fact she lives in another country, we have a lot of issues to overcome.
But I can’t stop thinking that if she’s not the one who saves me, I’ll end up alone. Which could be okay. It wouldn’t be, but it could be. Belonging to someone, having the feeling that this person gets you, wants you, is on the same page as you, it’s something I felt with Anna. I think that’s why I can’t totally let her go.
Me: Tell me something you haven’t told anybody.
Anna: I change contact names regularly depending on my relationship with someone.
Me: Give me an example.
Anna: You were Dan until you became Asshole Rock Star.
Me: Ouch.
Anna: At least I didn’t block your number.
Me: Touché. But I’m sure your brother or your friends know that about you. Tell me something you haven’t admitted to anybody.
Anna: I liked you.
Me: Past tense?
Anna: I don’t know if you’re mine to like.
Me: You stole my line.
Anna: You broke my heart.
Me: I thought I only broke your self-esteem.
Anna: Listening to a specific song changed my perspective.
Me: I get it.
Anna: I don’t think you do. I don’t seem to be able to move on.
Me: So don’t.
Anna: And then what, Rock Star?
Me: I don’t know Love, I’m figuring it out as well.
Anna: Going into a meeting. Got to go. Talk later.
Me: Will do.
I look at the screen for a few more seconds before putting my phone away. Stepping out of the car, I smile at the groupies screaming my name in front of the hotel. I sign a handful of autographs, take a few pictures, and find refuge in my suite.
Lars is waiting for me. “You didn’t take one for the night?”
I shake my head. “Can’t do. I’m not feeling it these days.”
“Depression?”
And here we go again. People always think everything I feel is because of a high or a low. Lars is extreme
ly attentive after an episode and can’t let anything go without being categorized.
“No. Even during my depression cycles, I still have sex. It’s just… I’m not feeling it.”
“You know what you need?” Art says, coming out of my bathroom.
I look around. “I need you to stop fucking girls in my suite. This is so fucking disturbing. You don’t need to play the Dan Darling card to fuck girls, so you don’t need to bring them to my suite. You’re both so fucking weird.”
“I didn’t fuck anybody here,” Lars says. “I just arrived.”
I send him a pointed look.
“Okay, we might have made out, but I took her to my room for the rest.”
I turn my head toward Art.
“Oh, I fucked her here. Not my fault if they get wetter thinking of your bed.”
I roll my eyes at his stupidity. “I really hope one day you’ll find a girl who will bite your dick off for wanting to fuck her in someone else’s room.” I call the front desk for them to change my sheets.
After I get off the phone, Lars sits on the sofa. “How did the interview go?”
“It didn’t.” I shrug. “I always knew it would be difficult.”
“Are you ready for tonight?”
I look at them, confused.
“We’re all going to your father’s for supper,” Art says.
I raise my hand to stop the conversation. “No, we’re not.”
“Come on. Don’t be embarrassed. He knows not to take it personally.”
“He lost his legs because of me. I’m pretty sure he takes it personally. He’s just smart enough not to show it.”
Lars leans in. “No. We’re not going back there. You don’t want to believe us? Read the police report. You were not the one driving. He was. Yes, he picked you up. Yes, that’s why he was driving, because you were drunk and high and in a terrible place, but you weren’t driving the car. He was. And he was under the influence too. You could have died. You do not have the right to feel guilty for this. I’m not letting you go there, imagining things and punishing yourself. Your father holds nothing against you. He’s not mad, he’s not trying to get money out of you, he just wants to see his son. So you’re going, and Art and I are coming with you because hell if we don’t need a homemade meal and hell if you don’t need to see your father. Let’s shower and go.”