Thankfully the mascara was already dry.
Spring in my Step
Spring finally came which meant the school year was winding down. Once it was over, Sandy and I would head to Manhattan. The plan was that she would spend a week with the band as the boys geared up for the tour—rehearsing, finalizing their wardrobes, recording interviews, getting their final press shots, et cetera.
Then everyone, including the band and some of the crew, would head out to our house in the Hamptons for a relaxing weekend before the tour started.
While Sandy wanted to spend the whole summer with the boys, Dad would only approve her to go with them for a week, since she was still underage and he didn’t want the responsibility of being her babysitter.
It made sense, plus it also meant we could still have our summer together, so it seemed like a good compromise for everyone. Dad had worked it all out with her parents, who trusted him and were already used to the idea of her spending the summer with me, so they were fine with it.
But before all that happened, we had to get through the last weeks of school and finals.
It was a Sunday in May, and I was sitting with Sandy and some other girls from my Social Sciences class as we worked on our term projects in the floor lounge when Brooklyn came to find me.
I looked up to see her there and was confused since we only usually saw each other in the stables. But once we got down the hall to my dorm room, she quickly got to her point: she wanted me to help her get a band for the end of year party. I agreed right away that I’d contact my dad, already cooking up what I thought was a pretty good idea that would help a lot of people.
When I called Dad the second Brooklyn left, he loved my idea and agreed the band would benefit from some real-world practice before the official tour. He just had to work out a few details before he could say for sure.
I was in my room after dinner the next day, catching up on some homework, when I got the official word; Dad had arranged everything with Emmeline Somerville (who was in charge of the party) and the dean had okayed everything, and the band was a go. Wiretap was booked for their first real gig.
I thanked Dad and ended the call, genuinely happy that it had worked out. Except that as I looked down at my phone, there was something nagging at me.
Taking a deep breath, I opened up my e-mail, realizing I hadn’t spoken to Dave since spring break over two months before. It had been so long now that it was awkward to contact him, but I didn’t want him to hear about the band playing at the party from someone else. I don’t know why I felt he should hear it from me; it wasn’t like he’d tried out for the band and hadn’t made it. Whatever it was, it compelled me to compose a message to him.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Wiretap
Message: No, I’m not e-mailing you to get you to join the band. They’ve actually recorded their album and are going on tour soon, but I wanted to let you know they’re going to be playing here at the end of year party—it will be their first gig. I just thought you should know.
V.
My heart pounded as I waited for a response, which was stupid, so I put the phone down and forced myself to go take a shower, telling myself I wasn’t waiting for him to write back. It actually didn’t even matter if he never wrote back because I was just sending him an FYI.
Which meant I didn’t care at all when he did write back. Obviously.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: Wiretap
Message: Okay, thanks.
Okay, thanks? That’s it? I still had no idea how he felt about the whole band thing and if he would have been interested in auditioning if his grandfather hadn’t been ill. Was I rubbing his nose in it?
Speaking of his grandfather...
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: Wiretap
Message: Are you okay? Also, I know it’s awkward and we haven’t talked since break, but
I stopped typing, not sure what to say. We didn’t really know each other at all, and I couldn’t call myself a friend. But I remembered what it had been like when I’d had to deal with the crushing grief of losing people close to me.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: Wiretap
Message: Are you okay? Also, I know it’s awkward and we haven’t talked since break, but I wanted you to know if you need to talk about your grandfather or anything, I’m here. I’ve lost people and I know how it is.
V.
Two seconds after I hit send, I wanted to smack myself.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: Wiretap
Message: I’m not assuming your grandfather has died. I hope he hasn’t. I’m so sorry. Now I feel really stupid. Is there a way to erase e-mails before someone can read them? Asking for a friend. Obviously.
Thankfully, his response came almost immediately.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: Wiretap
Message: I needed to laugh today, so thank you for that. He passed away last week—the funeral was on the weekend.
As I read his message, my heart felt like was imploding in on itself. I wanted to reach out, to hug him or say something non-stupid that would help, but my own experience told me that there was no cure for grief and no words could make it better. Still, I needed to say something.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: re: Wiretap
Message: I’m so sorry. :’(
––––––––
It was horribly inadequate and felt so thin, but it was the best I could offer. I swiped away a few tears and waited for a response, randomly noticing the tree outside my window was starting to bloom before my phone finally sounded.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: re: Wiretap
Message: Thank you. I thought I was ready to say goodbye—he’d been sick for a long time. But I wasn’t ready. Is that stupid?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: re: re: Wiretap
Message: It’s not stupid. Death is so final and I don’t care how much time you have to prepare, it’s still a shock to turn that corner knowing you can’t ever turn back.
Can I call you?
As I waited for his response, I got up out of my desk chair and went over to my little fridge and took out a bottle of water. I twisted off the cap and took a long drink.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: re: re: Wiretap
Message: If it’s okay, I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t really know you well enough to cry on the phone to you. Maybe when my next grandparent dies.
Halfway through reading that message, I got the next:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: re: re: Wiretap
Message: that was a horrible joke. Let me know if you or your friend find out how to erase messages so people can’t read them.
To: [email protected]
From: vanessa.ca
[email protected]
Subject: re: re: re: re: Wiretap
Message: I understand that you don’t want to talk live. I’ve been there. But if you change your mind, let me know, okay?
V.
p.s. Joke? What joke? ;)
We e-mailed back and forth a bit more—long enough that a phone call definitely would have been more efficient, but I wasn’t lying when I’d said I understood him not wanting to talk. This way, he could lose it completely, and I’d never know. But by the end of our exchange when I told him my fingers were cramping and turning into arthritic paws, we’d gotten completely off the topic of his grandfather. He’d asked about the band, so I’d told him about the album and how great they sounded (I’d returned to New York for a weekend to visit and had gotten to hear their progress) and about their upcoming tour.
He said he’d definitely come to the year-end party now, even though he originally hadn’t planned on it. I was tempted to ask him why he hadn’t planned to come but thought best to leave that alone for now. He was still grieving after all—it probably had a lot to do with that.
The Bad News
“They boys are going to have to cancel,” my father said into the phone two days later.
I froze, stopping almost mid-step on my way from the library to the dining room for dinner. “What?” I stepped over to the wall, out of the throng of girls heading the same way. “What do you mean, cancel?”
“Chris’s appendix burst, and he’s in emergency surgery.”
“What?” I asked, instantly concerned, not just for the fate of the band, but for the guy. Just because I didn’t want to date musicians didn’t mean I could care about them as humans. Plus, I’d actually liked Chris, maybe best of all the guys. “Is he going to be okay?”
“They think they got him in time, but he’s going to be out of the band, at least for the time being,” Dad said, his voice strained. “This is...” He sighed into the phone, not finishing his thought. Not that it was necessary. Of course, he cared about Chris, but having to cancel the tour or at least part of it was a distinct possibility. That was going to cost him and his partners a lot of money after they’d already invested a lot in getting to this point.
“Is there someone to fill in?” I asked. “At least for the gig here?”
“I tried to find someone. It’s too short notice.” He sighed, “They were really looking forward to it—they need the real-life practice.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, but before I could think of it, Dad said, “You could fill in. You play, and you’re definitely good enough.”
I laughed at that but quickly realized by the silence at the end of the line that he wasn’t completely joking.
“Dad,” I said. “I’m really rusty, and there’s no way I could get up to speed in a couple of days. Not to mention that I’m not a boy. How would that work for the boy band formula?”
He sighed into the phone, and I could imagine him scrubbing his hand over his face, a thing he did when he was stressed. “You’re right. I...I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I guess the first thing I have to do is call your friend and let her know.”
I thought about Emmeline—Emmie—who was going to be so disappointed. In that moment, I actually did consider filling in because maybe fumbling through would be better than having no band. But no, I’d never be able to learn the songs well enough to fumble through in three days, even if I didn’t have school. Which I did.
“Don’t worry about it, Dad. I’ll let her know,” I said as I started walking again, this time toward the gym, remembering they were in there to meet with the custodian about the stage and all the electricity things they’d need.
“You sure?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re a good kid,” he said. “Tell her I’m really sorry and that I’m still looking. If I come up with someone, I’ll be in touch right away.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I ended the call and slipped the phone into my blazer pocket as I continued toward the gym. I wasn’t sure if Emmie was the type to freak out, but she seemed pretty high strung, and I was worried about a potential meltdown at my news. Still, had to be done.
Not wanting to put it off, I walked into the gym and right up to her, barely registering that Brooklyn was with her and some guy in a Westwood uniform was over near where the stage was to be set up. Emmie must have read the expression on my face because her own got pinched and she said, “I don’t want to hear this.”
No one likes delivering bad news, but at least she seemed already resigned to whatever it was. “I’m so sorry...”
“Tell me,” she said, her fingers pinching her nose as though fending off a pressure headache.
Brooklyn edged closer, and I gave her an apologetic look. “The band has to cancel,” I said. “I’m so sorry. The guitar player just got rushed into emergency surgery—his appendix burst.”
Emmie’s eyes went wide as her entire demeanor changed from one of disappointment and frustration to one of grave concern. “Oh my God! He’s going to be okay, I hope.”
I nodded. “I think so, but obviously they didn’t see it coming, and he’s not going to be okay to play in just a few days.
“Of course not,” Emmie said sympathetically. “It can’t be helped, I guess.” She turned toward Brooklyn. “Maybe one of the teachers will DJ.”
Brooklyn came closer and looked at me. “You couldn’t find someone to fill in?”
In three days? Of course, I’d asked my dad the same question. “Dad called a bunch of musicians, but no one was available. It’s too short notice.”
“That sucks,” Brooklyn said.
As she did, an idea came to me. “Unless...” As soon as the word was out of my mouth, I regretted it. There was no way it could work. Was there?
But Emmie had heard me. “Unless what?”
I looked at the girls, weighing the idea of making something up because what I was thinking was really stupid. Except I couldn’t come up with something less stupid while they were looking at me.
May as well spit it out. “Well, maybe this is crazy, and I don’t know if my dad would go for it, but...what about if we knew someone?”
Emmie seemed surprised. “Like who?”
“Like...Willmont Davidson from Westwood,” I said.
Emmie and Brooklyn looked at each other, and both said, “Dave?”
They seemed incredulous that I’d suggest him. “You saw him at the talent show, didn’t you? He’s really talented.”
Emmie turned to Brooklyn. “He performed after the thing with Chelly happened so we never got to see him, but of course, he’s good.”
Ah, yes. It made sense that they would have left after their friend had inadvertently flashed everyone.
Just then the guy who’d been by the back wall of the gym sauntered over, having obviously been eavesdropping and now decided to join in. “Davidson is top-notch. He’s in my music class. He’s always been good, but this year he seems to have really hit his stride. Plus, he can play just about anything after only hearing it once. He’s got an amazing ear.”
This didn’t surprise me. Also, my stupid idea didn’t seem quite so stupid anymore if that was true. My heart raced as I thought more about the possibility of it. I hoped he wouldn’t think it was insulting that we were even asking. Would he be into it? No way to know for sure, but his wasn’t the only agreement I needed.
I pulled out my phone and texted my dad. Remember that guy I told you about who wasn’t interested in auditioning? What if I could get him to fill in for Saturday?
He responded right away. In 3 days?
He’s a savant, I sent. And that good. Trust me.
Always. Go for it.
“My dad says it’s okay to ask him,” I told the girls, my heart pounding even harder now. Maybe this would work.
“Just like that?” Brooklyn asked. She didn’t know th
e backstory about how I’d approached Dave months ago. She also didn’t know we’d been talking since. Not that I was going to fill her in.
“He trusts me and better they get to practice with an unknown than not at all,” I said with a shrug. “He said the guys were looking forward to their first real gig, so...”
I was about to e-mail Dave to ask him, but Emmie beat me to it. “Okay,” she said as she started tapping at her screen. “Let’s hope he’s into it.”
She was smiling as she stared down at her phone. I wondered what had happened with their relationship and if they still talked a lot. Maybe Emmie did know I’d invited him to audition for the band. I also wondered if she knew about his grandfather. He’d asked me not to say anything because he didn’t want anyone to know. Did that include Emmie?
I barely had time to think much about it because he got back to her right away.
“He’s in,” Emmie said with a huge grin.
The Good News
I left the girls so I could go call my father and let him know the good news, but first I sent an e-mail to Dave, practically bursting with excitement.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set Page 6