by Erika Vanzin
“Explain.” His voice is hard, icy.
I don’t even know where to start. “That time you met Emily and Albert in my apartment for pizza night, at the end of the evening we got drunk... Albert was being an asshole, accusing me of sleeping with you, and I didn’t even know you... I mean, fueled by alcohol, I said something about you...maybe too much...and he used the information.” The more I try to explain what I did, the more I realize it was because of my stupid desire to prove something. Not knowing how to continue, I simply take out the court documents that Albert gave me and hand them to him.
Thomas grabs it, and his expression is all the confirmation I need to know it’s all true. The warmth leaves his face and is replaced by a tall, impenetrable wall. Anger flashes in his eyes.
“Did you sleep with me just to find out information about me?” he hisses with such fury he’s scaring me. Not physically, but the distance his rage puts between us is so vast I know nothing can ever bring us together again.
“No, I swear. I realize I screwed up, but I would never do something like that on purpose, I swear,” I stammer one pathetic excuse after another.
Thomas laughs, a laugh so bitter and full of sarcasm it makes my blood freeze in my veins. “Oh, so you just stumbled across this information? You didn’t ask your friend to find out more? You just happened to trip over my feet and end up with your legs wide open? How long were you waiting on that fire escape to fall down into my arms?”
The venom that permeates his words makes me feel small, very small. “I...”
“Shut up. I don’t even want to hear your pathetic excuses. I don’t want to see your fake sad puppy-dog face anymore. You’re dead to me!” he shouts while he types the code to open the elevator with one hand, and takes me by the arm and pushes me inside with the other.
I don’t dare say anything. Tears fall down my cheeks until my neck and the scarf I’m wearing are soaked. When I stumble outdoors, I’m so lost I don’t even know where to go. All I can do is pull out my cell phone and call Emily. “I screwed up. You have no idea what a mess I’ve made,”
I babble, sobbing and sliding down the wall to the ground, oblivious to the strange looks I’m getting from passersby.
People:
Shocking news from the Jailbirds. Sources report that Thomas Simons, the band’s drummer, spent his teenage years in prison for drug trafficking. The documents have been sealed because he was a minor at the time, but as you can see from the photos, the evidence is overwhelming. Is this the downfall of the world’s most famous band? Not only is their career at risk, but their record company could drag them to court and claim damages for millions of dollars, leaving them penniless. And how will their fans react? A lie that has lasted for ten long years is hard to swallow and forgive.
Gossip Now!
Thomas Simons is a former inmate! You read that right. The Jailbirds’ drummer spent his adolescence in prison for a serious offense: drug trafficking. The famous musician has deceived everyone for years, pretending to be a good guy when he actually has a dark past that fans will not appreciate. It is unclear whether their record company—or the band itself— knew about this, but we are confident that his career has come to an end. In all probability, he will be replaced shortly, and someone has already started naming names.
Rock Now:
The recent story that has shaken newsrooms across the country is one that no one expected. Thomas Simons of the Jailbirds spent his teenage years locked up in a juvenile prison for drug trafficking. No statement has yet been released by the record company or the band’s manager, but we are sure that more details will be released in the next few hours. If the information turns out to be true, we’ll have to expect repercussions on the drummer’s career and his bandmates—there are rumors the record company could drop them.
@jailfreakingbirds I’m speechless. No. You shouldn’t have done this to me, Thomas.
@jailbirds_groupie I don’t believe it. I was at the listening party for the single, and he didn’t seem like a prison scumbag.
@wannabe_rockstar Now we know who gets Michael the drugs.
We’re all in my apartment when the news hits the tabloids. Evan, Damian, Michael, Simon, and even Lilly, because this thing will turn her life upside down as well.
“Wow, we’re all here. I hope at least she got good money out of this so she can take care of her mother for a few years.” Michael’s voice is so sarcastic I don’t even want to object. “And to think I wanted to thank her for opening my eyes. She screwed me too, that bitch.”
“Don’t be a moron.”
It’s Lilly’s voice that scolds him, and I look over at her tense face. She’s the only one who didn’t believe Iris could do such a thing, and when the news first appeared in Ron’s paper, her face twisted into a grimace of pain. I wished I could hate Iris for it, because she hurt not only me but all my friends as well. I don’t care about my life, but I care about them, and seeing them so knocked down makes me sick.
Evan has been walking back and forth in the corner of the room, not far from us, on the phone since Iris left my apartment this morning, and I called him. His face is tense, focused. He smiles in front of us, he says everything will be okay, but this is a big thing even for him. It’s no longer about paying people who ask too many questions, covering scholarships for the children of those involved in our old lives, or tricks like that. This time it’s a matter of trying to stop the flood of bad news all over the United States, and worse, the whole world. It’s no longer just Manhattan, New York, or the States. There are articles in Chinese and Japanese posted with our worst photos.
“Don’t be a moron? She sold Thomas out after fucking him. She doesn’t deserve any respect from the world. I trusted her, I liked her, and this is the result.” Michael is mad, more than the others who took it like a punch in the stomach.
“You don’t even know for sure it was her,” Lilly says in an attempt to defend Iris. I have no idea why she cares so much about Iris. I suspect she caught a glimpse of a potential friend in her, a girl to confide in amid all the testosterone around her, and it pisses me off even more because Lilly is a good person and doesn’t deserve to be betrayed this way.
“She came here this morning and told me that her friend had researched me. What other proof do you need?” I ask irritated, earning a nasty look from Damian that I decide to ignore.
“Confessing that her friend did research and selling herself what he discovered to the papers are two completely different things. What reason would she have had to come here and warn you? Do you even know the name of this friend who helped her? Did you wonder what the hell of a role he had in this whole thing?” Lilly is livid, and it pains me to look at the suffering in her eyes.
“Lilly.” Damian’s whisper is sweet but firm as he wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her to his side. A simple gesture that hurts me. Only this morning, I did the exact same thing with a person I thought I could trust, and now I’m here rethinking her every gesture in an entirely negative way. I wonder why she kissed me with passion and sweetness, why she caressed me like she was exploring something new or precious, why she allowed me to enter her and sink into her most intimate parts, letting me know her like few people have.
Evan comes back to the conversation and sits on the couch. “We’re getting to the bottom of it to see who actually released the information and how much he got for it. That document she gave you comes from the court records, so whoever found that information had to ask for a favor from someone who had a legal responsibility not to reveal sensitive information about a minor. In addition to losing his job, he also risks a felony charge.”
I’m surprised to notice I sincerely hope that person is not Iris. After all that’s happened, after even more proof that women cannot be trusted, I find myself wishing that she’s not involved, proving once again that there is something profoundly wrong with me.
“What the hell is there to get to the bottom of? It was Iris, and that’s it,” Michael snaps, standing up and throwing his laptop on the couch he was sitting on.
“Michael. If no one had given you the chance to explain and give you a second chance, you would still be cleaning toilets at Joe’s bar,” Evan harshly scolds, turning everyone’s eyes on him. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m not going to slaughter someone in court if I don’t have proof that she’s really involved. So, I ask you to be patient until I get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, we all have to move to the hotel. The paparazzi are starting to arrive in front of your house. Max, Dave, and a couple of other drivers are already in the garage with four cars ready. We’re going to Connecticut.”
Evan’s words cut the air like a reprimand and an order. At this point, I understand how much we need someone like him to manage our lives better, because they’ll no longer be the same after tonight.
*
The drive to Connecticut is a string of confusing images running past the window and as many equally confusing ideas flowing through my mind.
I relive every single moment I spent with Iris: every single conversation we had, every single moment of intimacy and shared breath. Not one moment did she seem insincere or even ambiguous, not even when I found out she’s a paparazzo. She took me to the clinic to meet her mother, refused any financial help I offered her, and I can’t help but wonder if it was all a grand plan designed to get more information about me. But I don’t understand why. Why invest so much energy in something that could easily earn her nothing? At the end of the day, dozens of bands have a boring and monotonous life. Ours could have been too. Maybe she enjoyed the sex? Was that what she got out of this? If so, she could have given in earlier and enjoyed the roller coaster. Instead, she pushed me away for a long time, almost like she was trying to protect me.
When Peter, one of our drivers, opens the door for me, I realize I’m in front of a cottage in the middle of nowhere. It’s probably one that Evan rented at the last minute to avoid paparazzi.
“This way,” he points me to a side door from which I can see Evan and Damian with Lilly.
I go into the house without taking too much notice of my surroundings. I reach the kitchen and, when I meet Lilly’s gaze, I see she’s been crying, though she tries to give me a comforting smile that actually never reaches her eyes. I inhale thoroughly to not freak out and approach the small wine refrigerator next to the counter.
“I had the pantry filled as soon as I booked this place two hours ago. I don’t know what they have, but I hope you can find something you like,” Evan suggests in a calm tone.
Michael and Simon have yet to arrive, and the atmosphere is much more peaceful. It almost seems like the negative energy melted away the moment we left Manhattan. The anger didn’t last, because it wasn’t the worst of it. I feel betrayed, emptied, terrified of what will happen; the anger left a void in my chest that is almost suffocating.
In the fridge are cheeses, fruit, and sliced bread, as well as eggs. I don’t want to cook. The last time I did was this morning, now yesterday morning, for Iris, in a completely different world when I thought I might have a future with her. What’s so ironic is that I was always hesitant about what I wanted from her when there was no threat of losing her. Now that I don’t have her anymore, I realize there was really nothing to be undecided about. In the corner of my brain, very far from my reason, I had already established that she might be my future.
I start laughing out of the blue. A laugh that makes me bend in two and slump on the floor, hysterical, out-of-control laughter. Damian reaches out. Lilly clings to his arm. She doesn’t know whether to stop him or to hide behind him for protection. No one touches me. No one dares to get closer. They just stare, not knowing what to do.
I laugh until the tears come, until I almost stop breathing. I laugh until I sob, until I can’t hold back anymore. I tighten my knees close to my chest, wrap them with my arms and sink my head between them to hide. Only I can’t hide from the others. My crying is so raw, so desperate that I couldn’t disguise it if I tried. I miss my father, my mother, my sister. This story brought back memories that pierce my heart like that first day I got out of prison. I can’t push them to the corner of my heart anymore, the heart I managed to seal shut in order to survive.
I feel Damian’s sturdy body sitting down next to me, wrapping his arms around me and drawing my head against his chest. I let myself be taken into my friend’s embrace. I let myself be held together by his strength, because this time I don’t know if I can keep from falling apart.
*
We’re all sitting on the deckchairs on the back porch—I’ve got a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I’m not crying anymore, but my eyes are still swollen. I don’t care. My friends have seen the worst of me; crying certainly won’t change their opinion of me.
“What do you think they’re going to say at tomorrow’s meeting? Do you think they’re going to dump us?” Simon breaks the silence with a question we’ve all asked ourselves.
The record company has called an emergency meeting. They know our situation, of course, but I don’t know how they’re going to react to the wave of criticism they’re getting right now. Some of it for keeping quiet, some for making criminals famous. There are too many ways this could end up, and we don’t come out well in most of them. We still can’t quantify the damage. It will take time. We’ll find out with the next album just how badly this shit has affected our career.
“I don’t know, I don’t think they can let go of a band with millions in sales and a new album ready to come out because of a scandal that could actually be to their advantage,” explains Damian.
“Especially knowing that every small record company would go into debt to offer us a contract,” adds Michael.
I don’t know whether the silence that follows is good or bad. It’s too dark to read their expressions to see if they really believe these things or if they’re just trying to bolster themselves for the morning ahead in a few hours. It’s the bitter cold of winter and you can see our breath in the air, but the icy cold that fills my chest is not because of the season. What if this is really the end of our career? I could never forgive myself for ruining the lives of these four.
“In case they decide to drop us, I’m leaving the band. I don’t want to drag you into this shit. At the end of the day, it’s just me under attack. They don’t know anything about you yet,” I say and I mean it. They can stay afloat and keep what’s theirs.
I get a punch from Damian on my shoulder as he laughs. “Do you really think our bullshit isn’t going to come out? It’s only a matter of time. And by the way, we were together in that prison, we got out together, and we’re going to face this together, too. Don’t even think about getting rid of us,” he reassures me.
A chorus of “yep” and “exactly, well-said” comes from Michael and Simon, and I don’t need to see their faces to hear the sincerity in their voices. That’s what has always united us, and got us through everything, until now.
Never before had I thought my job could ruin my life. The photos I’ve taken of celebrities have always been to earn money. I knew they would create problems for people, but I always thought that a well-paid press office could fix them. I never dwelled on what the people in the photos might be going through because of me: they were strangers, and I never saw the direct consequences of my actions on their lives. At least not until now. Because of me, my carelessness, I have a front-row seat to how much damage those magazines can do. They are doing it to Thomas—he’s completely crushed by this news and media attack—and also to me. I’ve lost the only man who has ever loved me, in spite of the lies I told him and the weight of my family obligation. A fantastic man who does not deserve to be lynched in a public square for what happened in the past. Gossip magazines, media, the fans, even parents’ associatio
ns are lashing out at him and the band.
“Hey, you have to eat something.” Emily pushes the plate in front of the computer I’ve been obsessively checking since last night.
She came to my house as soon as she got the call, and she never left, not even when I didn’t mention going to sleep and stayed up all night searching for a way to stem the damage.
“I’m not hungry.” Right now, I couldn’t get even the head of a pin in my stomach without vomiting.
“I know, but you also threw up the only thing you ate yesterday morning. You have to make an effort.”
“He hates me.” It’s a simple observation that comes out in a desperate whisper.
“Probably.” Her sincerity is what I appreciate most about her, even if it sometimes hurts like hell. Right now, though, I deserve to feel sick. I deserve to suffer, even if it will never be as much as he’s suffering right now.
“I don’t know how to clean up the shitstorm I’ve created. I don’t know how to help him.”
The despair in my voice reflects what I feel in the middle of my chest. I’ve been thinking all night about what I could do, but I’m nobody. I don’t have a reputation big enough to overshadow voices from all over the world. I’m a tiny drop in the middle of the ocean.
“I don’t know either. I don’t think anything can be done at this point. But you have to go tell him it wasn’t you that sold the information.”
“What difference does it make?” I look up and find her looking as tired and worried as I feel.
“It makes all the difference in the world. As wrong as you were, you didn’t intentionally hurt him. He may not want to talk to you anymore, but he needs to know you didn’t throw him under the bus on purpose. You owe it to him, and you owe it to yourself. Do you think he’s ever going to trust a woman again, after you pull something like that? He’ll never get close to anyone in his life again, and no one deserves to spend their whole life alone. If you want to do something for him, that’s the one thing you can do.”