by Greg Taylor
Its end.
Yes, it was time for me to go back to Twin Oaks.
I didn’t realize that in a big, thunderclap, aha kind of moment. It was a quiet and simple moment and just like that, it was crystal clear to me that I’d only been pretending that I was staying.
Don’t get me wrong. I had totally convinced myself that I was going to start a new life in L.A. with Mom and Bradley and all my new, best friends. But that had only been a pose. Abernathy, wise man that he was, knew that before I did.
Still, he had left me alone to figure out the last piece of the puzzle by myself. The last move I had to make to finish my rock ’n’ roll game and reach my final destination.
Home.
31
Like most people, I’ve made some New Year’s resolutions over the years. Last year I decided I was going to train to run a marathon. The year before, I was going to go out for the school play. Every year I convince myself that this is the year I’m going to play some of my songs to someone other than myself.
It takes energy to sustain charades like that. That’s what they all turned out to be, I’m sorry to say, the above resolutions. I never wound up doing them. But the thing is, once I had let those resolutions go and concentrated on the things that I decided were actually doable, it was like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
That’s how I felt after I knew my wish come true was coming to an end. My charade of thinking I was staying was gone and I felt kind of free, in a way. But there was still stuff to do, like try to figure out how I was gonna get back home.
Before that, however, I needed to get ready for the Grammys. After a quick, aghast look through the clothes Trey had brought, I knew I’d be wearing something I brought from home. (The skirts and tops looked like something from P.C.H.)
It was after I had my outfit selected and was laying it out on my bed that I saw Stuart’s CD on the floor. It was barely visible under the side bed table. I felt guilty when I saw the CD. I’d never listened to the songs. Never called Stuart.
I picked up the CD, put it in my laptop, and took the laptop into the bathroom so I could listen to Stuart’s songs while I worked on my hair. Even though Stuart lived in this wacky world of make-believe, he didn’t know that, right? Maybe it would mean something to him to get a few words of encouragement.
I had my hands over my head, brushing out my hair, when the first song came on. I froze at the sound of the guitar strumming the opening chords to a song called “No Drama.” I knew the name of the song because I had written it. Totally stunned, I stood in front of the mirror and listened to Stuart play and sing my song.
How on earth did he know it? I’d never played it for anyone. After listening for a few minutes, I got over the shock of hearing someone other than myself play one of my songs. The more I listened to “No Drama,” the more I thought, Sounds pretty good, actually. Of all my songs, I think it’s maybe my best.
The next song was another one of mine. And the next. I was so caught up in listening to Stuart’s interpretations of my songs that I literally jumped when someone pounded on my door.
It was Dad. He was shocked to see me open my door in my underwear, with half my hair brushed and the other half exploding from my head like a fright wig.
“Regina. We’re leaving in half an hour!”
“I’ll be ready. Look. There’s my clothes, all laid out.” I pointed to them proudly. Dad looked skeptically at my costume choice, which was basically a pair of jeans and a ratty T-shirt. “Don’t worry. I’ll be down in the lobby in half an hour.” I gave Dad a smile and shut the door on him.
My false smile immediately faded. A jumble of emotions and questions were fighting it out in my head. The most immediate question was …
How did Stuart know my songs?
I went back to the bathroom, took the CD out of the player, picked up the bathroom phone, and punched in Stuart’s number, which he had written on the CD. I tapped my foot nervously as I waited for him to answer. Then I heard:
“Hello, Regina.” It was a recording. Abernathy’s voice. “This must mean that you listened to the CD. But before you were able to do that, you had to take the time to stop and talk to a young man who desperately wanted to get his music to you. Not everybody who has come here, to this world, has done that. The Instigators’ Rory, for example. But you did. You have a good heart, Regina. You might have been seduced a bit by your L.A. trip, but you never really lost the essence of who you are. That essence is in your songs. Don’t ever forget that. They’re good because they’re you.”
There was silence for a moment, then Abernathy said, “By the way, in case you haven’t figured it out, I was Stuart.” Another brief moment of silence. “Oh, and I was also the oboe player. But the girl the security guards almost stopped from getting to you? That was you. The original Regina.” The tape clicked off, and I stood in the middle of the bathroom, holding the phone.
Nice, Abernathy, I thought. Very, very clever.
But also very, very confusing. What did it all mean? Maybe nothing. Maybe Stuart and the oboe player and the original Regina were just random “moves” in my wish-come-true fantasy game. But then, in another six-solid-color moment, it came to me. Stuart’s—or, rather, Abernathy’s—CD was not a random thing. It was a clue. A clue to what I had to do to get back to Twin Oaks.
I suddenly felt weak in the knees. If I was right about this, Abernathy was not making my last day in La-la Land an easy one. If I was right, maybe this was the price I had to pay for taking such an incredible journey. If I was right, I hoped one thing.
That I was up to it.
32
My heel tapped nervously. My knee went updownupdownupdownupdown. I sat in the back of the limo between Julian and Danny. Mom and Dad were across from us. Not sitting too close, but they were together, anyway, in the same place at the same time and not arguing, so that was good. I hoped that I was looking at the future. That when I got back to Twin Oaks, if I got back, this is what I would eventually see. Mom and Dad, sometimes in the same place at the same time, sort of friendly to each other. I knew now that it was up to me to see that that happened.
Anyway, we had a new driver. That wasn’t a surprise. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be seeing Abernathy anymore. Which made me feel pretty lonely. And very, very nervous. Actually, I was beyond nervous. I couldn’t believe what I had to do once I got to the Shrine. Or at least what I thought I had to do. And, seeing as I couldn’t confide in anyone, that made me feel even worse. It does help to unload all your problems on someone when you’re feeling bad or uptight or out of sorts. But this … this I had to bear all by myself.
Maybe that was the idea.
* * *
“Slightly out of control.” “Partylike atmosphere.” “Disorienting, but exciting.” Those were some of the phrases I used to describe the vibes at the Shrine the day before during our rehearsal. I suppose I could use those same words to describe the Shrine the night of the Grammys.
Times one hundred, maybe!
You’ve seen the Grammys on TV, right? Maybe you’ve checked out some of the red-carpet shows before the Grammys. If so, you have some idea what it’s like. But let me tell you, nothing could have prepared me for the burst of energy and excitement and screaming fans and jostling paparazzi when we arrived at the Shrine.
The best way of describing what it was like would be to run it past you like a series of snapshots. That’s what it felt like when we arrived at the Shrine Auditorium. The whole scene was so completely overwhelming that I wasn’t able to process it in a normal kind of way. It wasn’t like slow motion. Or fast motion. It was more like …
POP! (Pulling up to the Shrine.)
POP! (Getting out of the limo.)
POP! POP!! (Heading down the red carpet.)
POP! POP!! POP!!! (Photographers blinding us with flashbulbs.)
POP! POP!! (Microphones being shoved into our faces by one celebrity interviewer after another.)
POP! POP!! POP!
!! (Fans screaming!)
POP! (Suddenly inside the crowded Shrine lobby.)
POP! (A young guy in a uniform leading us through the crush of people.)
POP! POP!! (Finally. Backstage. Cocoonlike darkness.)
WHEW!
That’s when things returned to their normal rhythm, relatively speaking, and I was able to breathe a bit. But my little oasis of calm didn’t last very long. That’s because Trey appeared out of the darkness and asked to have a word with me. It wasn’t a pleasant word, either. And believe me, it would test my resolve to do what I had come to the Shrine to do.
33
“What was that all about back at the hotel!” Trey hissed in my ear after pulling me around a curtain at the side of the Shrine stage. The look on his face was really scary. He looked like he wanted to hit me. “Just because you know about me doesn’t mean you can get flip. Understand? I know about you, too. Remember that.”
I realized that Trey still had a firm grip on my arm. I yanked it away from him.
“It was Rory, wasn’t it?” Trey said disdainfully. “He’s the one who told you.”
“None of your business.” I was starting to boil with a hatred for Trey.
“This is all my business! And don’t you forget it!” Trey took a deep breath to calm himself. “Much as I’d love to continue our little chat, you obviously need to get ready for your opening number. In the future, my dear? It’s customary to get dressed before you arrive at an event.”
I wanted to wipe Trey’s sarcastic expression right off his face. So I did.
“I don’t need to get ready,” I said. “I am ready.”
Trey’s mouth literally fell open when I said that. My jeans and old T-shirt—a pre-wish gift from Julian with The Caverns painted on it, just like the one Julian had worn the night we played T.J. back in Twin Oaks—was the polar opposite of glammed out. Plus, I was wearing hardly any makeup. But that’s how I wanted to present myself to the millions of Grammy viewers.
Trey’s shock morphed into a smile. “Ohhhhh, OK. I get it. Very good, Regina. You think you’re going home, don’t you?” Trey sounded like he was talking to a child. “Well, I have a news flash for you, honey. No way do you have it in you to do what you think you’re going to do.”
Trey’s smile was actually scarier than his frown. Backlit by red stage lights, he truly looked like … well, I know it was my overactive imagination, but he looked like the devil to me in that moment. I felt small in his presence, that’s for sure. His powerful persona seemed to drain the energy and confidence from me.
“I’m going out onstage looking just like I am,” I insisted. But I could feel myself weakening every second I was with Trey.
“One bit of advice,” Trey said calmly, confidently. “If I were you, I’d send for those little outfits I got you. Then I’d get my butt to hair and makeup. Then I’d thank my lucky stars I was given this opportunity. Because without all of this, Regina?” Trey leaned toward me until his mouth was practically kissing my ear, then he whispered, “You’re just ordinary.”
I felt like I’d been hit in the stomach by a heavyweight. My legs went all rubbery and I got light-headed and I really thought I’d have to sit down right there on the hardwood floor of the Shrine stage. Trey gave me a final hard glare, then turned and walked away. As I watched him stop to say hello to Eminem, I totally panicked. I hated myself for my weakness, but I knew Trey had broken me over his knee like a stick.
What were you thinking, Regina? You can’t do this! You don’t have the guts, the confidence, to do this! Trey’s right!
I actually took a few steps toward Trey at that moment. I was going to grab him and tell him I was just joking. Of course, I was going to mask my imperfections and try to look as perfect as possible. Of course, I was thanking my lucky stars for this opportunity.
But then … I stopped.
Stand your ground, Regina. I urged myself. I wasn’t really sure if I could, though. Standing in the darkness of the backstage area, looking at all of the beautiful, famous people, I experienced a final, crook-of-the-finger, come-join-us moment. It was all just a Grammy away.
How I managed to resist that last come-on, I don’t know. But I did. I didn’t go throw myself at Trey’s feet. I didn’t make peace with him. Believe me, it was one of the hardest things I ever did. Scratch that. It was the hardest thing I ever did.
I leaned up against the back wall of the Shrine stage and closed my eyes. I still felt weak and shaky and now kind of exhausted, like I’d just been through a battle of some sort. OK, so maybe I had managed to resist Trey, but did I have the energy to go the rest of the way? To do what I needed to do to finish this thing?
As I stood there feeling invisible in the midst of all the swirling activity and the multicolored overhead lights, I heard:
Believe …
in …
yourself.
I didn’t just think I heard that, either. Coming from out of nowhere, I literally heard Abernathy’s voice. It was like Luke hearing Obi-Wan say, “Believe in the Force!” I couldn’t help but smile. Abernathy was still with me! I wasn’t alone, after all.
OK, Abernathy, I thought in reply. I’ll try. I’ll try to go out onstage just as I am. And sing from my heart.
But I wouldn’t be singing “Hello, Goodbye.” “No Drama” was going to be the Caverns’ opening song. (Did you guess that?) That’s what Stuart’s (Abernathy’s) CD had told me. That I needed to go out onstage, look millions of people right in the eye, and say, “Here I am, in all my ordinary glory. Take me … or leave me.” Do you know how hard that is?
Of course you do.
Everyone does, from time to time.
34
“Regina?”
I was pacing alongside the Caverns’ dressing-room trailer that was parked in the back of the Shrine along with dozens of other trailers for “spillover” bands, artists, makeup, and TV people. Julian had come from around the corner of the trailer behind me. I stopped my pacing when I heard him say my name.
“You OK?” he asked after I turned to him. I nodded, but that was a lie. I felt like I would throw up, actually. And I wasn’t fooling Julian, that’s for sure. He walked over to me, put one hand on each of my shoulders, and said, “If it’s any help, I’m really nervous, too.”
Julian looked and smelled really good. I felt like hugging him. Instead I said, “Julian?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Forget it. Never mind.”
“You can’t do that, Regina.”
Actually, I couldn’t believe what I was thinking at that particular moment, but I was, so I asked, “Are you in love with Hayley?” It was a question I had wanted to ask ever since I knew there was a Hayley.
Julian sighed. He smiled, in a sad kind of way, and said, “You know I’m not.”
“No, I don’t, Julian. I wouldn’t have asked you if I did.”
Julian gave me a soulful, deep-in-the-eyes kind of look. After what seemed like a very long time, he said, very softly, “Don’t you know, Regina? I’ve never gotten over you.”
It was one of those incredible, this-doesn’t-happen-but-maybe-a-few-times-in-a-lifetime moments. A moment when you hear someone say exactly what you want to hear them say. I wanted to kiss Julian. Needed to kiss him. If not now … when? When would there be a better time?
But I held back. Just like I had all those other times when I felt like kissing Julian. Back in my old Twin Oaks life. I knew the moment, the fleeting moment, would be gone before I could blink.
You have the power, Regina.
And just like that, I did it. I kissed Julian.
I caught him by surprise, I could tell, and he instinctively pulled back a bit. But I held on tight, like my life depended on it, which in some ways it did at that moment. Maybe Julian realized there was no way I was letting go. Maybe he could feel that I was for real. That I really meant this kiss. All I know is, after a moment … he returned it. That completed the kiss. Made it whole. It becam
e a real kiss then.
It wasn’t like my kiss with Bradley on the pier, or at Bradley’s house. It wasn’t as intense, as explosive, as assured as those. But it was definitely better than the ones with Bradley. It was more tender. But, ironically, it seemed to have more weight. In short, it was everything I had imagined it would be. And more. When we parted, we looked at each other. A slow smile spread across our faces. But then …
I saw Bradley standing between two trailers about ten yards behind Julian! Shocked at what he had just seen, Bradley turned away and walked out of sight behind one of the trailers.
“Be right back!” I told Julian. I caught up with Bradley as he strode briskly toward a nearby parking lot full of cars and limos. “Bradley!”
He didn’t respond.
“Bradley! Please!”
Bradley stopped, turned, and stared at me. I stopped a few feet from him. It might as well have been a hundred. We were both silent as technicians ran back and forth between the trailers with last-second preparations for the big show. Way in the background, someone yelled, “Caverns! You’re on! Now!”
“Better go,” Bradley said coldly.
“It just happened,” I said.
“Yeah. Most things do.”
We were silent for a moment, then Bradley said, “I can’t believe you still like that guy.”
“That guy has a name, you know.”
“Yeah, I just can’t remember what it is.”
Bradley was being intentionally nasty at that point, which made me angry, but I held my anger in check. I didn’t want to end all this with an argument.
“You know what, Bradley? I’ll admit, I totally fell under your spell. But you know it wouldn’t have worked out between the two of us. We’re both so completely different.”
Bradley didn’t say anything, which I took to mean he agreed with me. Which was OK. I knew that Bradley didn’t love me—like he claimed he did that night on the phone message—he just loved the idea of having a famous rock star for a girlfriend. And to be honest? I kind of liked the idea of having a famous actor for a boyfriend. At least, for a little while.