Abby Road

by Ophelia London

  “Excuse me?”

  He chuckled to himself, waving me off. “Nothing, babe. Forget it. Just trust me, I was doing us all a favor.”

  I huffed dubiously, confused and frustrated.

  Max studied me for a moment, then chuckled again, like he’d figured something out. “Oh, I get it. You’re hard up.” A corner of his mouth pulled back into a sardonic smile. “Tell ya what. I’ll make a call and get Miles Carlisle to fly out for a visit. Will that cool your engines?”

  My top lip curled in disgust. “Miles?” I said, swallowing a sour blob in my throat. “Max, why on earth would you think I would ever want that idiot Miles again? He’s a prick, and gah! An idiot! Don’t you know he cheated on me in front of the whole world?”

  Max pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. “I’m just saying, if it’s only some . . .” He cleared his throat. “Extra-curricular recreation you’re after, I’ll bring him back, for a couple weeks even. No strings, no prob. Like before. Maybe that can be your vacation.”

  I looked at him, struck dumb. Literally.

  “No?” Max said, correctly appraising my state of disgust. “Fine. He was the only one who boosted your career, but whatever.” His focus was pulled to my purse hanging off the chair; my phone inside was singing with an incoming call. “Shut that thing off.”

  Hastily I reached inside, silencing the ringer. “It’s only Hal,” I said, knowing his ring tone.

  Max made a face. “Thrilled that’s almost over,” he muttered.

  “Are you mad at Hal or something?”

  He made the same face. “Not worth the energy, none of them. When we take you solo—” He stopped himself and coughed distractedly.

  After rewinding what he’d just said, I lifted my eyebrows. “There’s something you’re not telling me.” After I spoke, I nearly laughed. Such an understatement.

  “No,” Max said. “We’re done talking, babe.” He pointed at me and then toward the mike on the other side of the glass. “Time’s up.” He swiveled to the computer—discussion over. “Back to work. Now.”

  Slowly yet obediently, I rotated around.

  A split second later, something made me stop, something like a little prickle at a memory, an itching of so many unanswered questions. “Max?” I said, staring at the florescent green exit sign above the door.

  He sighed. “Yeah?”

  “What did you and Todd argue about?”

  When I turned around, Max was looking sideways at me with an odd expression.

  “He wouldn’t say, and he left that night. What happened?”

  “It was nothing,” Max answered gruffly. “I told you.”

  “No, you didn’t. You didn’t tell me anything.”

  Max turned back to the computer. “Not tonight, babe. We’ve got work to do.”

  “I want to know.” I folded my arms like a pouting child. “I have the right—”

  “Hey!” he barked. “I don’t know where all this attitude is coming from, but I don’t like it, and I won’t have it.” He stood up, taking a long stride toward me. “First, the ridiculous obsession with painting, and now this.” He reached out and flicked the ends of my short hair.

  I jerked my head away.

  “All these crazy things you’ve been doing lately. People around here think you’ve lost it.”

  “Tell me what you fought about,” I insisted. My mind was a heat-seeking missile now.

  Max’s eyes remained glaring down at me.

  I glared right on back.

  “He was getting too close, that’s all,” Max finally offered, his meaty fingers thrusting through his hair. “Asking too many questions, just like the others, like that sister of yours. Questions that were none of his business. So I warned him to back off or else.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said, blinking. “What questions?”

  He sat down, swiveling away from me.

  I planted my feet firmer on the floor beneath me, stabilizing my stance. “Tell me what questions Todd was asking you,” I demanded.

  “It . . . it was nothing, babe,” he said dismissively, but his voice was colored with deceit. I could tell he was hiding something important. “He got all bent out of shape about, well, you know, about what happened with your brother.”

  “What about Christian?”

  “Damn it!” Max’s growl made my heart thud like two football players crashing into each other. “Won’t you ever shut up about it? No one cares about your little dramas.”

  His words made me flinch. But I’d come too far. I couldn’t back down now.

  So I closed my eyes and shut out the world, thinking first of my happy place and then praying for some kind of divine intervention to help me understand. Ideally, I would have preferred an earthquake or a bolt of lightning or even a nice flood. But what I settled for was a tiny voice.

  Abby, you need to do the right thing.

  The words came crystal clear, as if from little Jiminy Cricket perched on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. My thoughts were able to focus again, and my eyes popped open. With muscles clenched, I narrowed my eyes. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Max huffed sarcastically at my altered expression. “Okay. Fine. You wanna know? You want me to spell it out for you?”

  I nodded firmly.

  “He heard about what happened in London. Nate must’ve told him that last night; he’s the only other person who knew, because I sure as hell didn’t say anything.” He pressed his lips together, apparently through speaking.

  I thought for a moment, but came up with nothing. “What did Nate tell him?” I finally had to ask, my stupid brain not quite there yet. “Do you mean about why I missed Christian’s funeral?”

  Max didn’t move, wouldn’t acknowledge my comment either way.

  “So what?” I folded my arms. “There were no flights out of London that night or the next day, remember? Max, you told me the airports were closed. You told me . . .”

  Once it started, I couldn’t stop it from coming. Once I knew, it was like I’d always known the truth about what really happened all those nights ago. The excuses, the whispers, keeping me busy, keeping me away from my phone, not letting me talk with anyone else, not even giving me time to cry when I’d found out my brother had died.

  Standing there, learning the truth about my manager and his long-reaching control, I had a new kind of burning in the pit of my stomach.

  The lids around Max’s black eyes narrowed. He blew air out his wide and flaring nostrils like a charging bull. Even while caught in a bald-faced lie, the man was unabashed, pompous, and shamelessly proud.

  I felt sick to my stomach—first at his betrayal and then at my past submission to him. “I could’ve flown home,” I whispered, mostly to myself, a small part of me still unsure if I was on the right track. “I could’ve been with my family. We needed to be together.” I stared at him, waiting for him to tell me I was wrong. But he only stared back. “Did you threaten Nate?” My voice was elevating to shriek level. “Is that why he didn’t tell me?”

  He shrugged. The smug attitude was back.

  This news, this most recent piece of information—I felt like the revelation should have shocked me more than it had, or maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it was nothing more than the smoking gun on top of an overflowing table of evidence, showing the kind of man Max Salinger really was. I didn’t blame Nate for not saying anything to me. Max had probably cowed him into silence, just to cover his own deception.

  “I went onstage for you!” I said, enraged. “You knew I was sick and in shock, but you forced me, the day of my brother’s funeral. You made me perform that night.”

  The sound of the distant siren from the street was coming closer, practically right below the window.

  “You bet I did.” He seemed almost happy to accept the accusation. “I wasn’t about to lose revenue, all those ticket sales and merchandise, screw up an entire concert schedule, just for you.” He arched one eyebrow. “Despite what
you think, this is a business, babe. You’re nothing but a commodity. An asset. A brand. My own personal wind-up doll that spits out money.”

  The image nauseated me. “Jeez, Max.”

  He smirked, but I was not about to show weakness.

  “Come on, babe. You take things so personally.” His voice was calmer now, almost kind, the way he used to be. The man was a genius with the guilt. “Get over yourself. Laugh it off, and let’s move on.”

  “I’ll laugh in a minute,” I assured him, “but I need to get a few things straight first.” I started counting off on my fingers. “You treat me like a piece of meat and then you lie to me. You lie to everyone.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “You never listen; you freak out when I make a tiny decision for myself. You’re a slave-driver.”

  He opened his mouth to contradict, but I cut him off. “It’s midnight, Max.” I pointed at the clock to prove my statement. “I’ve been working since six this morning. What do you call that? Oh, and let’s not forget how you’re willing to pimp me out to Miles Carlisle.”

  Max chuckled.

  “Shut it, Salinger,” I snapped, wanting to karate chop him. “Apparently I’m going solo now?” When I took a step toward him, a muscle in his cheek jerked. “Do the guys know about this? Do I get a say? Or was that going to be another decision you made behind my back? I don’t want to go solo. Do you hear me?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I shook my head, and my eyes slid off his face to stare at the space beside him. Strange, but I actually felt relieved, almost giddy. So many things finally made sense. How stupid had I been? How completely brainless?

  Things had changed. I wasn’t sure when, exactly, but I knew I was different. I wasn’t crazy after all! I was someone who could be trusted to make a decision, someone who wouldn’t resort to sneaking behind the back of her paid employee to do what she wanted, to cut her hair, to paint a damn tree.

  “I hurt my family,” I pressed on, “and my friends. The man I love left, and still, I did everything you wanted and you . . . you lied to me? You could have gotten us out of London, even with the fog.” I made myself say this last piece of the puzzle aloud, the most damning bit of evidence. “You knew Christian, Max. You . . . you liked him, right? How could you do that? How could you make me—”

  “I never made you do anything. Stop playing the victim. We’re all tired of it.”

  A little derailed, I exhaled, regrouping. I gazed methodically over the room, the place that had become my second home for the past five years. I looked at the long desk, the computers, the chairs, speakers, and shelves. Everything was out of focus, everything except a pathway out the door, which seemed to be traced in fairy lights.

  “You’re right.” I stared down, nodding, like it was suddenly dawning on me. “You’re so . . . completely right.” As I lifted my chin, I felt myself smiling, practically beaming at him. “It’s always been my decision. All of it.” I reached over and grabbed my purse. “Just like right now.”

  It was a pleasure seeing his stony expression balk.

  “I’m so outta here.” My voice was a fusion of fortitude and resolve, sounding strange coming from a mouth that had been metaphorically gagged for so long. My smile grew when I noted how Max’s smug smirk dropped when I hooked my purse over my shoulder. I spun an about face, gliding under that green exit sign.

  “You’re not leaving!” Max bellowed from behind me. “You’re not leaving till I say you are.”

  I kept steady my forward march, steps solid and determined.

  “You’d better think long and hard about what you’re doing, babe!” he called out as I passed through the glass doors and into the vestibule. “There’s no such thing as a graceful exit in this business!”

  I pushed the down button of the elevator with a strong and steady finger.

  “Don’t do this, babe!” he roared, right behind me now. “Don’t you leave!”

  Say nothing. Just walk away. Deal with it when you’re both calmer.

  “Remember all the things I’ve done for you.”

  Ignore him, Abby.

  “You owe me everything.”

  Or not.

  I wheeled around, compelling myself to once more stare down the beast.

  Max’s bulbous, pathetic face was red, his expression livid.

  “You,” I hissed, jamming my finger right in his face, “are fired!”

  The elevator doors opened, and I backed inside.

  He stared at me, mouth ajar.

  “And . . .” I tilted my head, lifting a sticky-sweet smile, “this is my studio, and I’m calling security.”

  Right before the elevator doors closed, I displayed a single finger.

  My descent to the ground floor began. The only sounds I heard were the mechanics of the elevator, paired against my pounding heart. “By the way, Mister Salinger,” I said, feeling true relief for the first time in years, “the name is Abby.” I nodded to my reflection in the mirrored doors, feeling like I weighed as much as a feather.

  Right on the heels of relief, however, my stomach made a little squeeze, knowing what I had to do next.

  By the time the elevator hit the lobby floor, I’d already taken out my long To-Do list, checked off another item, and drew a thick circle around item number three. It was the only one left.

  {chapter 33}

  “THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD”

  “I hope I didn’t wake you,” I said, slightly winded.

  Not even an hour had passed since I’d left the studio, straight down the elevator, straight to my car, and straight to the freeway. I hadn’t even bothered to stop at home. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “You fired him.”

  I blinked. “What?” I asked after I passed through airport security, hopping on one foot while I slid my shoes back on.

  “Nothing, nothing,” he said, sounding a little embarrassed. “Silly, duchess, I thought—”

  “No, Hal, you’re right.”

  Silence. “You fired him.” He sounded disbelieving. “In, like, person?”

  I laughed. “Right to his face. Then I flipped him off.”

  A girls’ softball team was running past on its way down to Baggage Claim, too busy to notice me.

  “Woo-hoo, duchess! You’re one badass rock star. Where are you, anyway?” he asked, probably hearing my labored breathing.

  “LAX,” I said, looking down at my boarding pass and then up at the screen of gate postings. I might have to make a run for it.

  “Oh, yeah. Of course,” Hal said after a beat. “So then, what’s the new plan?” he asked, but his quiet voice answered his own question: “You’re leaving the group.” There was another pause. “Aren’t you, duchess?”

  “Hal . . .”

  “Uh-uh, Abby.” He cut me off. “No tears. This is a celebration. Rhapsody! Don’t worry; we’ll be okay without you.”

  “But I won’t,” I said, looking down the long terminal at the gate numbers. Mine was the last on the end, so I picked up the pace. “The four of us, we’re one big dysfunctional family, Hal. We’ll figure out what to do next. Together. We’re a team.”

  “Badass rock star,” Hal repeated with a grin in his voice.

  I laughed, hooking my purse strap over my head and shoulder. I was running now, toward my gate before the last boarding call. “Now that that’s settled,” I said, “who’s there with you?”

  “Just some of the guys. Shugg’s playing Guitar Hero. Molly’s around here, too, somewhere . . .” He trailed off, intentionally. “With Jord.”

  “You’re kidding!” I said, agog, switching my phone to the other ear. “My Molly? And Jordon? Hooking up? Since when?”

  “Ahh, that’s been in the works for a while.”

  “Wow, I did not see that coming,” I admitted with a laugh, drawing closer to my gate.

  “You’ve had a lot on your mind.” Hal’s voice was comforting through the phone.

  “Put her on.
We have to talk.”

  “She’s a little busy, Abby.” He snickered. “I’ll tell her to give you a shout tomorrow, ’k?”

  “Okay.” I skidded to a stop, nearly losing a shoe in the process. “Hal, I have to go. I’m at the gate. They’re boarding.”

  I handed my boarding pass to the woman at the gate. “No carry-on?” she inquired. I shook my head. She smiled, examining the paper and my ID a little more closely. “Have a nice flight, Ms. Kelly.”

  I returned her smile and passed through the gray doors onto the ramp.

  “I won’t be at work tomorrow, or the next day, if . . . you know . . .”

  “Well, obviously,” Hal shot back, sarcastically.

  “Would you call Nate, please?” I asked, lowering my voice as I approached the line of other passengers queuing on the Jetway, eager to take their seats. “And Jillian and—”

  “It’s done, duchess. You did a great thing tonight. The guys are gonna be so effin’ proud. Now go. Go do what you gotta do. Don’t worry about anything else right now, okay?”

  “Okay.” I exhaled, resting my cell against my mouth. “Thanks, Hal. I love you.”

  He chuckled away from the phone. “Dude, now she gets around to saying it.” His voice dropped a notch. “Yeah, I love you, too, Abby. Good luck.”

  {chapter 34}

  “OB-LA-DI, OB-LA-DA”

  The sky was pouring down rain, which seemed fitting. Barricades were up, caution tape was strung from end to end, blocking all entrances.

  I had never seen Seaside Town Square under construction. To me, it had become something out of a book—a fantasy place where wishes dwelled and dreams came to life. At least, that was how I’d been painting it lately.

  My eyes scanned the setting through sheets of December rain. It was still too dark, too early in the morning to make out any details.

  “Will you pull over here, please?” I asked the cab driver after paying him the hefty fare from Pensacola to Seaside. “Thanks for letting me talk.” I gave him an extra big tip.

  After splashing my way through the circular lawn in the middle of the Square, I dashed to the sidewalk and under the protection of the roof extensions that covered the shops. I passed by Ye Olde Fudge Shoppe, McGaraghan’s Gardens, Scenic City Toffee Company, Modica Market, and Sundog Bookstore.