Eventually, we faded into each other’s arms. Not really making a choice either way on where our relationship was headed. All we knew was it wasn’t what either of us wanted. I wanted her with me, and she wanted me with her, and that wasn’t going to happen.
28
Jake
As time passes, dipping back behind the horizon, the debilitating pain of loss fades into a dull ache. Hope is raised from the ashes, from once-in-a-while text messages, sprouting like a weed. Like the Northern Lights, it cascades, feathering, teasing with its illumination, hinting at warmth, but it’s too far away to feel. You fill yourself with whatever helps you survive; good, bad and everything in the middle. Sometimes we stay delusional for far too long, feeding our demons, just to stay alive.
It’d had only been two weeks since I left Aly in California, and within those two weeks, we went from texting and talking several times a day to barely communicating at all. She was busy pursuing her dreams, and I was busy living mine – right. All I could imagine was her fucking around with Nathan during any free time she had. I knew old habits died hard. Thinking about Aly putting off having a life with me for the foreseeable future made me resent her. Regardless of her aspirations, I truly felt like she was stringing me along.
Eva sat curled up in a black flannel bathrobe, a white heart-covered scarf wrapped around her skull as she watched me strum my guitar. That’s all I was capable of doing these days, was playing old melodies. I had zero inspiration. My separation from Aly was different this time. It didn’t ignite the love-loss creativity as it had before. It was as if a big boulder blocked the exit of anything worth expressing. My guitar sat cradled in unmotivated hands as I watched Eva move about, unbeknownst to my scrutiny.
It was a relief to have Eva there. It was an easygoing friendship now. All the sexual tension from the past was gone. She would smoke her weed, and I would take swigs off of my flask filled with whiskey. The auburn liquid made me feel warm and quickly took the edge off. An edge I’d been teetering on for far too long became a distant memory. I jumped back into feeding my demons real good, and I could have cared less. Eva and I dissected the past and made our predictions about the future.
Maybe I’d stay numb until Aly came around.
“Sorry that I fucked with her.” Eva exhaled a cloud of smoke and coughed lightly. “I’m jealous, but not in an I want you kinda jealous.”
“There’s nothing to be jealous about,” I said flatly. “But control yourself, willya? Don’t be a bitch. You acting that way kinda fucked things up for me.”
“How so?” Her tone challenged my remark.
“I take that back. It just solidified some of the things she’d been grappling with.”
“Like what?” she scoffed. “How perfect her little fucking life is? Give me a break.” Eva’s voice trailed off bitterly.
“There’s nothing to be jealous about, just put it that way,” I reiterated, changing my mind about divulging any of our issues with her.
“Sure there is. You have the kind of love everyone is searching for,” she remarked, not knowing she had no idea what was talking about.
“It’s not what you think.” I laid back against the hard bus cushion, bringing the flask to my lips. I watched Eva stare off, ruminating on her jealousy, and I wondered. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Nope.” She shook her head slowly, but didn’t look at me.
“Are you fucking anyone?”
Her eyes darted to me, and she smirked. “Nope.”
I nodded my head. “I don’t wanna fuck you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Good. Because I don’t wanna fuck you either.” She smiled, and we both chuckled, but our laughs weren’t the happy, easy kind. They were laced with woe.
“Hey, so…” I strummed the old tune. The only tune I’d been stirred to play. The one tune no one had heard before. “Listen to this.”
I cleared the phlegm from my throat and sang the long ago song that I’d written for Aly – I Swear. Eva’s eyes went dreamy and sad. They held a sense of longing as she watched me play, and I closed my eyes finishing the song.
“It’s a duet.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly and threw her arms out at me. “See, the kind of love that bitches all over the globe wished they’d find, including myself.”
“You wanna sing it with me?”
Her eyes flashed wide, and a wave of nausea swept over me as soon as the words parted my lips, but I ignored it.
Eva happily agreed to sing the song with me, and we spent the rest of the night harmonizing, until she decided it was time for her to be nosey.
“What’s up with you? All sad n’shit. Just tell Aly to get on a plane already.” She crossed her legs under her and leaned forward, waiting for me to reply. I took a huge mouthful from my flask, finishing it off. She extended her arm, palm up. “Give that to me.”
“You want some? Too late, it’s all gone.” I tipped the silver flask upside down.
“Nope. I don’t think you need that thing anymore.” A sudden surge of anger ignited in me, and I almost told her off, I didn’t need a babysitter. She must have seen it in my eyes, and uncurled her legs, standing slowly. “I’m gonna go.”
“Yeah,” I said, clamping my mouth shut. I didn’t say anything more. If I did, all the anger I’d been pushing down would explode right in her face.
Eva stopped as she got to the door of my bus and stared at me long and hard, stepping down and opening the door. We were at a rest stop, and the music and voices drifted in; whose, I didn’t know. “Don’t do this.” I heard her say. “Don’t be a fuckup, Jake.” I heard her sigh, “…oh, and that song is amazingly raw and beautiful, thanks for sharing it with me.” I sat there with my head leaning back against the hard laminated wall of the bus, my eyes closed, until I was sure she was gone and I heard door slam shut. I didn’t take another drink, but I popped a pill. One I shouldn’t have taken.
I didn’t know what time it was when I crawled into my bunk or where the guys were, but when I woke to take a piss, they were back and asleep. I laid there, listening to them breathing deeply, thankful that none of them snored too loudly. I curled up, thinking way too much about Aly and how she told me she wouldn’t be able to come to Miami for the days she’d planned. She’d been invited to some training facility with her new partner, in Brazil of all places. It was hard for me to be happy for her, even though I wanted to be.
***
In a blink of an eye, Halloween, Thanksgiving and our last tour were an afterthought, and I was back in New York. Holiday music blared and Christmas decorations were displayed wherever I turned. I was schlepping through three feet of snow to meet with Duncan Martin, a British producer, whom worked with nearly every award-winning, history-making band and artist known to date. He was a Midas and probably one of the very few producers who actually played more instruments than I did – now that inspired me. I made a mental note to begin listening to everything he’d produced.
Pushing through a garland-laced doorway of a Midtown-West recording studio, my heart clamored. I couldn’t recall the last time I was nervous about meeting someone – maybe it was because I was unprepared. I hadn’t written anything new in over three months. Two months had passed since Aly and I last saw each other, and it was like a cork plugged my flow and it was sealed with wax – nothin’ was getting’ out; it was weighing on my me hard. I had nothing to give, and to top it off I’d just signed on to something else new. I was hoping this meeting would spur something creative in me.
Aly was still in Brazil, unsure if she’d be back for Christmas, which was only ten days away. She’d planned on staying in Brazil right up until her classes began at Pepperdine University in February. She’d begged me to fly to her, but ironically, I was headed back to LA. We’d been commissioned to write a song for David Fincher, of Girl With the Dragon Tattoo fame, amongst other music video and movie accolades. David’s work spanned decades. He was producing and directing a new
movie, set to release the following winter. As it happened, I’d be in Los Angeles for New Year’s Eve until mid- January. Aly said she’d try and make arrangements to come home.
Distracted by the frustration and uncertainty of my musical conundrum, knowing my band’s reputation hinged on it, I shook my head and pulled off my wool beanie and prayed – for the fifth time. I glanced around the unfamiliar room. The black painted walls of the entry area sported more gold and platinum records and discs than I could count. There were black and white pictures of old time, long-ago musicians taken back in their heyday. A timeline ticked by as I glanced to my right, the history of the establishment played out all the way to modern day. Familiar faces smiled back at me. Maybe I’d be on this wall soon.
So typical, I thought, of waiting around in places like these, for someone to come out. I could hear the distant sound of a guitar, and wondered who it could be. A cold bluster of wind rushed through the door, running up the back of my neck, prompting me to turn around. A slender man wearing a black wool overcoat, scarf, and fedora stopped in front of me, smiling. It was Duncan Martin, and he looked as ancient as Mick Jagger.
He held out his hand. “Jake Masters. Duncan Martin.” I took his hand, shaking it firmly. “You’re more handsome in person, though looks like you need some sleep,” he commented abruptly, smiling and nodding matter-of-factly.
Nice backhanded compliment. I was taken aback at his directness. Even though I knew I looked like shit, it was strange hearing it from a man so openly. He whisked away without another word, going through a closed door, leaving it open. Was I to follow him? I stepped toward the door and ran into him as he called out my name, right in my face.
“Jake, geez man! Keep up!” he ordered enthusiastically. “I’ve only an hour today, and that started five minutes ago. Come.” He waved me along.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t…”
“Don’t be sorry. Just pay attention. This is important business. I’m extremely thrilled to be working with you. I’ve read everything about you and listened to everything you’ve recorded, and I have to say you’re supremely talented.” He flung his coat onto a nearby chair as he spun to sit on the black leather sofa, crossing his legs.
I sighed, feeling my airways tighten. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me. It’s fact.” He watched me closely as he rubbed the greying stubble on his chin. I could almost feel pressure on my face as his eyes scanned over me. “Are you sober?”
A jolt of fear and shock numbed my hands. I closed my mouth when I realized it was hanging open. I half-laughed, and he held his hand up to shut out the words, the excuses, I was about to feed him. I wasn’t going to lie to him.
“Uh, uh.” He shook his head, and displeasure marked his face.
“Mr. Martin. It’s not what you think.” A reluctant sigh parted my lips. “I have trouble sleeping, and at times I do take medication to help me sleep. As you’ve noticed, I haven’t had very much shut eye lately.”
He drew in a breath, and drummed the tips of his fingers on the arm of the sofa, contemplating. My heart thudded hard in my chest, and I reproached myself for contacting my old pill supplier in the first place. My first illegal shipment of pills, Ambien and Vicodin, arrived just the day before. The pills were burning a hole in my jacket pocket.
“Jake. I’m not here to reprimand you. I just want to know what I’m dealing with.” He clasped his hands under his chin, inspecting me further. “I’ve seen it all. All the greats wade with the Devil, at war with the angels.” He reflected on the past as he stared at the wall of pictures behind me. “I’ve created the greatest works with people who have no memory of how they became so great. Thankfully, many of them lived long enough to kick the Devil’s ransom and realize their great fortune.”
His honest words made a burn inch up my throat, and I swallowed it down. He’d probably never been in my shoes, but I didn’t want to ask. I pulled myself together and told him a half-truth. “I remember every sorry step I’ve ever made, Mr. Martin.” Truth. “I’m not on anything but Jim Beam and Ambien from time to time.” Lie.
I admitted to Duncan I was stagnant in my vision these days, and he understood why as he repeated what he’d heard in the media and from my management – “Your whole world imploded. Losing a loved one is tough business.” He smiled, almost wickedly. “What a vast canvas.”
My hair stood up.
I didn’t share the thing that dogged me the most. He had no idea that my dad wasn’t really my dad and that my whole existence was based on deceit and disloyalty – past and present. “I’ve decided to share some music with you that no one has heard. Maybe resurrect something that was once very special to me.”
“Once?” His eyebrows rose.
My stomach cinched. “It still is.”
I took out my phone and mounted it to the speaker system, playing him some tunes that I’d written while in Europe, and then I played him I Swear. His head tilted with interest. His eyes darted to meet mine when he heard Aly’s lithe voice fly out of the speakers. He wasn’t expecting a duet.
“It’s very raw. I can hear the emotion in both of your voices.”
I felt a sting in my eyes and sniffed, looking away from him. “Yeah. That’s the first duet I’d ever done, other than the one, Talk About It, that was a hit.”
“I like it.” He smiled. “Tremendously.”
When I left Duncan, I wasn’t sure what I felt, but it wasn’t happy. I knew Aly would die a thousand deaths if she knew I’d played that song for anyone. But if I had to be honest, I was at a point where I no longer gave a shit what Aly thought. She clearly didn’t care about me at the moment. I wrote the song, and it was mine to share.
I arrived home through a sleet storm and looked forward to being back in California, regardless of Aly being there or not. Part of me wanted her to stay in Brazil. I would be forced to focus solely on my music and the band.
I began to feel desperate for the first time about my future in making music. Self-doubt coursed through me with each step toward the elevator bank in my building. I waived at Simon, my other imposing doorman, and wondered where Miguel had been. I hadn’t seen him in days.
As I stepped through my front door, I was shocked to see Sienna sitting on the sofa with three huge boxes stacked to the side of her. She had a pile of papers and envelopes sitting in her lap and at her feet. She’d been crying, and her brown hair was a tangled mess.
“What are you doing here?” I rushed to her side, caressing her mussed hair. She was in disarray. I inspected the boxes. They were filled with mail: fan mail, bills, bills and more bills. “What is all this? I thought you took care of all this.” I waved a disconnection notice in the air. “Aren’t you supposed to be Milan?” I was beyond confused to why she didn’t call me.
She sniveled. “I got a call from Mark, you know, our attorney. And he said that I was being evicted. and that…” she sobbed, dropping the papers she held and covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t want to bother you anymore.”
Sienna kept to her word and had never gone back to the apartment, staying with me periodically between her modeling gigs. I had no idea that she’d done nothing at all, as in nothing. She’d not paid one bill, nor had she told her building manager that she’d be moving.
“They’re selling everything in the apartment to recoup the rent.”
I stood from my crouched position. “Sienna.” I leaned down grasping her shoulders, forcing her to look me in the eyes. “You can’t let that happen. Don’t you want to keep some of Dump’s things? Your wedding pictures? Some of his shit?” I was flabbergasted. “What’s Mark’s number?” I grabbed the cream colored paper she’d let drop to the floor. It was the legal document notifying her of the sale – it was in two days. I ripped my coat and sweater off, throwing them across the room. I was sweating, even though I’d just come in from zero degree weather. I sat down next to her in a heap.
She threw herself backwards, sinking into the sofa pil
lows, and the air filled with the scent of Aly. My hands began to sweat. I don’t need this right now, I thought. I looked at the time, and it was after 7 PM. I could call Mark, her attorney, to see if there was anything we could do, but it’d have to wait until morning. I let Sienna cry it out as I reached around her, taking a handful of letters from the box that sat next to her.
“Please don’t.” She croaked, touching my arm with her cold, pale fingers. “It’s mostly fan mail.”
“Don’t you want to read them?”
“No. I’ve read enough.” She wept. “I want to burn them.”
On some level, I identified with the way she felt as I looked around my apartment – everything in it was Aly. “I know. I feel the same way sometimes.”
Her breathing ceased. I glanced at her, and she was staring off around the room like I had been. Then her eyes met mine. “I’m sorry, Jake.” Tears dripped from her eyes. “I know you’ve been going through a lot too. I don’t mean to be so selfish. I swear, I don’t. I just can’t help it. I want it to all go away.”
I reached for her and pulled her to me. “I know. Trust me. I know.”
29
Jake
Sienna pulled herself together, collecting all the scattered documents and fan mail littered around her feet. It was as if she went from envelope to envelope, searching for something that would change her life. There must have been over one hundred ripped open letters piled and scattered about. She apologized over and over again through fits of tears.
I stuffed a plastic trash bag with all the paper and bent to pick up one of the boxes to move it to the trash. Sienna stopped me, staring blankly into the stone fireplace that had yet to be used.
“Let’s burn them.”
I hesitated, staring at the grey stone hearth. Who was I to talk her out of it? If it would help her move on and heal, why not? I set the file box down, dropping the trash bag. I walked over to the fireplace and inspected it, as if I knew what I was doing.
Broken Notes Page 21