IT STARTS off with an email. I’m writing a song one evening as I sit alone in my dad’s apartment. He’s gone out with some guys from work. They invited me along, but I’ve had this song banging around in my head all day and I need to get it down. When it’s finally done, I sit and look at it. It’s about her. But then, they all are.
So often I think about sending the songs to her. Trying to tell her what I feel. I’m not sure why this time I act on it, but before I can stop myself, I give in to the need to tell her. I touch the email icon on the iPad and open up a new window.
To: picsbymel
From: RockStar1
I once told you that every love song I’d ever written was about you. Now I can truthfully say that every song I write is about you. The love songs, the sad songs, the happy songs, the beautiful songs, it doesn’t matter, they’re about you. Today I wrote this. I hope you like it.
The Girl From Shangri-La
I knew her once, the girl from Shangri-La
She taught me what it meant to fall and fall
It was but a minute in her life
But it was all the minutes in mine
She taught me what it meant to fall and fall
That beautiful girl from Shangri-La.
Love, Joss.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself, and then I begin the wait.
Mel
TAMMY IS determined to find Walsh. She hasn’t told me what she intends to do once she knows where he is, but I’m really worried it won’t be good for her. I talk to her therapist about it and she agrees that Tammy needs to tread carefully. Her recovery is going well, and being rejected by Walsh right now might be more than she can handle. But we’re seeing that as she gets well, the old Tammy is reemerging, and she’s a force to be reckoned with. Not many people are able to tell her what to do.
My life has been in a holding pattern for over three months now while I’ve taken care of Tammy. I haven’t checked my school email account in all that time, so I have no idea what happened with the remainder of my case, whether Seattle College decided to let me retake the class or not. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. So many things don’t seem to matter anymore. I spend my days taking care of Tammy, making sure my parents know how she is, coordinating with her doctors, and supervising what needs to be done at her house. It’s all I can really deal with right now.
Luckily, I too received a severance package from the band. Plenty of money to keep me going for the next year, open my own business, whatever I want. It would have made me feel like a hooker if I hadn’t also delivered the tour photos to Dave. It wasn’t the story of a rock band on tour, however. When we returned from California, during the many times Tammy either slept or was in therapy, I looked through the hundreds of photos I’d shot. I was shocked to see that it told the story of endings—the end of friendships, the end of loves, and the end of a band.
When I started the Lush project, I thought I’d be faced with photos of rock stars behaving badly. What I ended up with was photos of rock stars suffering pain. Things like Mike and Joss arguing, Tammy watching Joss with guilt and pain in her eyes, Walsh holding Tammy protectively, and Colin alone, apart from everything and everyone around him. The things that clearly showed the path we were all on but couldn’t see when we were in the midst of it. I don’t think anyone else will ever see what I created for Dave, but at least I’ve seen it, and at least he knows what happened. I feel like he deserved that much, given he lost his most lucrative client overnight.
I’m cleaning up some of the final files from the band project late one night when the flag on my inbox flashes. I click on the icon and open up the screen. There, as if not a day has passed, is an email from RockStar1. Joss.
My hands start to tremble, and I gasp. I feel the tears well up as a sense of panic explodes inside my heart. I lean back in my chair, hands over my mouth as I try to regain some control. It takes me nearly five minutes before I can extend a shaky hand to click on the message. I never even consider not opening it. The primal, visceral reaction I always have to him extends through the miles, the technology, the pain. I cannot turn away from Joss Jamison, no matter what he’s done.
When the message opens, there’s no “Dear Mel,” no “How are you?” Nothing trite or ceremonial, just essential Joss—a few lines and then the lyrics to a song.
I read it over and over again. The Girl from Shangri-La. I sit and stare at the computer screen for hours. I stare until my eyes burn and I can see the sky growing lighter outside. There are no thoughts in my head, just a low hum that accelerates and recedes in time with the pounding of my heart. Finally, something inside of me snaps. I reach out, click delete, and move to the bed, where I close my eyes and dream of Joss like I have every night since he left.
THE GIRL from Shangri-La is only the beginning of the emails that come from RockStar1. Every second or third day, I open my email to discover a new song along with some small description of what Joss is doing that day.
November 12: Staying with my dad right now. Today we started tearing out one of the walls in his dining room. I convinced him to put in French doors—
November 15: I wrote this one while I was at City Park. There were about a thousand geese there, and one kept trying to bite my foot. Luckily I was wearing boots because the fuckers bite and shit everywhere—
November 20: Talked to Dave today. I’ve decided to sell some of my songs. I don’t know when I’ll perform again, if ever, but I won’t sell The Girl from Shangri-La. That one’s for you alone—
November 23: Had my first real run-in with the paparazzi today. I guess they’ve found out I’m in Denver. Luckily they don’t seem to know where my dad lives, so I haven’t had to leave yet, but it’s just a matter of time. I might have to move to a hotel, which is kind of a bummer. My dad’s a good roommate. We’ve done well together. He’s a pretty chill guy, but he never had an iPod until I bought him one. Hard to imagine, isn’t it?
November 29: I’m hoping you had a good Thanksgiving, sweet Mel. My old man’s got a few “lady friends” (I bet that doesn’t surprise you), and one of them had us over for turkey. I think she really just wanted to introduce me to her daughter who is a very large divorcee with six Pomeranians.
Luckily my dad knew it was coming, so he spent a bunch of time talking about “that gorgeous redhead you had on tour with you.” One of the Pomeranians came in handy when I wanted to get rid of the stuffing I hated. He barfed it all up later, but at least it was him and not me. I realized it was the first Thanksgiving dinner I’ve had at someone’s house since my mom died. The things that strike you out of the blue like that are strange sometimes—
Each email talks more about his life. I keep deleting them, but I read each one, and I never empty the trashcan in my inbox. I’ve hover over that “empty” button a thousands times over the weeks that go by, but I can’t bring myself to press it.
Finally, on December 12th, I open up another email from Joss, and this time, for reasons I will never understand, I don’t hit “delete.” I hit “reply.”
To: RockStar1
From: picsbymel
Yes, I do still like my coffee with almond milk instead of real milk. Someday you’ll find out I’m right about that. You should tell your dad that I saw a photo of that huge neighborhood he’s building where the old airport used to be. I could picture him there, his hard hat on, staring everyone down with the Jamison scowl.
Dave came by the other day to talk to Tammy. I’ve been living here at her place since we got back from California. I’m not sure what Dave told her, but she seemed really happy after he left.
And so it begins. Emails between Joss and me. I don’t know if it’s a good idea or a bad one. I only know that, for the first time in over four months, I feel as if I’m closer to being whole. More than this tragedy that has defined me. More than a robot caring for her sister while her heart bleeds inside her chest. I feel like me again just the tiniest bit, and I’m not willing to give that up,
no matter how dangerous Joss is.
Over time, the song lyrics in Joss’s emails fade, and the stories about his life become longer and longer. We talk about our days, about his dad, about my sister, about the silly little things that you notice and think about—a song you loved, a beautiful sunset you watched, the person who was rude to you in line at the grocery store.
We talk, and it isn’t about a future or a past, it’s just about our lives. He’s writing and selling songs, I’m thinking about opening a photography studio. It’s simple, and it’s without expectations or promises. We become friends, something I realize we never really had a chance to be before.
It’s six weeks after I start replying to Joss when I get a letter in the mail from Patterson and Assoc., Attorneys at Law. It’s informing me that Seattle College looks forward to enrolling me for the summer session in an independent study course that will fulfill the requirements for my degree. In August I’ll be granted my MFA. Joss’s lawyer has been working this whole time to get me reinstated and I had no idea.
I sit in the huge kitchen at Tammy’s house, surrounded by marble and stainless steel, staring at the sheet of paper, so relieved that my entire body feels limp. I hadn’t realized how intensely I still cared about this.
Tammy walks in from the garage carrying a suitcase. “What’s happened to you?” she asks. “You look like you’re going to faint.”
I hold out the letter. She scans it and stops on the letterhead.
“These are Lush’s attorneys.”
I nod.
“What are they talking about? You’ve been reinstated? You finished your degree last spring.”
I’m grateful that Tammy’s well again, because now I have to confess to my mistakes. Somehow after everything we’ve been through though, my escapades with Professor Marin don’t seem very significant anymore.
I’m shocked when I tell Tammy the story and she laughs. “Oh my God, Mel. Seriously? You were sleeping with your prof?”
“Yes. What’s so funny about that?”
She shakes her head. “Well, it just goes to show that I didn’t know you nearly as well as I thought I did. To me you were my sweet little sister, this sensitive artist who needed to be sheltered from the world. I guess I just pushed that on you, because you’ve turned out to be so much stronger than me.
“All our lives, I’ve acted like you needed me to take care of you when you were the one who went out in the world and tried things, met people, took on challenges. I’ve never been anything but Walsh Clark’s girlfriend, here in my hometown, since I was fourteen years old. Without that—without him—I have no idea who I am. Meanwhile, you catch the eye of these powerful, sexy men, you try life and love, and when your world comes crashing down on your head, you pick yourself up, assess the damage, and fix shit.”
“I didn’t fix this. Joss did,” I remind her.
“Joss was the weapon you used to fix it, Mel. If you hadn’t told him, hadn’t had him wrapped around your little finger, hadn’t already been in there fighting that dick professor, Joss couldn’t have helped. Don’t ever doubt yourself, Mel. You’re so much more amazing and resourceful than I ever gave you credit for.”
I look at her for a moment and realize she’s got a point. I’m not the little sister anymore. I’ve taken care of her. I’ve survived losing Joss, I’ve held it together, and now I can finish my degree and move on to the life I had planned. I don’t think I’ll be eligible for the Eddie Adams, but really, who cares? I don’t think I need approbation from anyone else anymore. The only person I care about impressing is me.
“Thanks,” I tell Tammy. She starts to walk out of the room. “Tammy?”
“Yeah,” she answers, turning to look at me, her long hair shiny again, her eyes sparkling.
“I’ve been in touch with Joss. We email. For the last couple of months.”
She looks thoughtful for a moment. “Good,” she says concisely. “That’s really good. Tell him I said hi.”
“Okay.”
She smiles and leaves the room. I sit and watch some pigeons out the window eating the breadcrumbs I left for them this morning. Sometimes your world can change on a dime, and sometimes it takes lifetimes, but no matter what, you can bet that it will change.
Joss
I’VE STARTED feeling restless, and I know that my days of hiding out at my dad’s are numbered. As much as I love writing songs, the urge to perform some is rearing its tenacious head. The question is, what the hell am I going to do about it?
My work with the energy woman is helping me define what I want for the future, and one thing is becoming clear. I don’t think I’m cut out for the life of a rock star. Not the way I was headed with Lush, anyway. I enjoy performing. I like to be able to share the songs in a live venue with the fans, but the big auditorium shows with the constant media and promotions really screw with my psyche.
I want to be able to go to the grocery store without being mobbed. I like to see my audiences’ faces when I sing to them. I like driving the car myself, and I don’t want to worry that I’ll wake up with a naked seventeen-year-old in my bed if I don’t have security outside my door 24/7.
As frightening as it is to think about, when I consider my future, what I see is me and Mel, a nice brownstone somewhere near my dad, my own sound studio in the basement, and some summer concert tours to outdoor venues and old theatres. Mel doing her photojournalism, me traveling with her as much as possible, maybe a baby eventually. A little girl that looks just like her gorgeous mom.
Yeah, that’s the kind of life I think I’d like to have. But I know I don’t deserve it, and it would be too much to hope that Mel would ever agree to live it with me. I think though, that if she isn’t in it with me, no one will be. I’ve felt it now, what Tammy and Walsh had. There’s no way to go back to something less once you’ve had that.
One of the few people I can talk to about my ideas is Dave. I give him a call on a Wednesday afternoon as I sit on my dad’s old plaid sofa watching the snowdrifts outside and the kids marching home from school in their fleece and down snow clothes.
“Hey, man, you got a few minutes?” I ask as I pop open an O’Dell 90 Shilling and take a long, cold swig.
“Sure, Joss. What’s up?”
“I’m thinking maybe I want to perform. You know, some of these songs I’ve been writing. Just me. What do you think?”
“I think I need to know more about what you’re wanting. A tour? A single concert? With backup? As the lead-in to a new album? Does this mean you want to start a solo career?”
“Whoa, whoa, Dave. Shit. I don’t have answers to all that. I just want to sing to some people, you know? Be able to see their faces while I perform. Share the experience with them. That’s all. Maybe once, maybe more if it goes well.”
Dave is quiet for so long that I wonder if he’s gotten pissed and hung up on me. Finally he says, “Okay. We’ll start you someplace local here in Portland, friendly, and supportive. I’ve got just the right spot. My secretary’s pulling up the manager’s number right now. If that goes well, we’ll move up and try some more challenging locales, but we’ll keep it quiet. No real promo so we don’t cause a stampede. You just let me know how it’s going as we go along, and keep writing. If at some point you decide you’ve got enough for an album or you want to do an actual planned tour, you tell me.”
“Really? That’s it?”
“Yeah. What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Expectations? Pressure?”
“Joss,” he says as I hear him thank his secretary for the phone number to the club, “you create your expectations. You make the pressure. I’m here to help you get paid for making music. However you want to do that is fine with me.”
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem. I’ll be in touch as soon I’ve got it set up. In the meantime, get together a set list and practice up. You’ve got a debut to perform.”
We hang up and my heart is racing like a freight train. This is
real. I’m about to step into the void that will become my new life.
IT’S A few days later when I get an email from Mel. It’s the first time she’s initiated the contact.
To: RockStar1
From: picsbymel
When I woke up this morning, Tammy was gone. She left me a note. She managed to get Dave to give up the address he had for Walsh, and she’s been planning on going after him for weeks now. At first I was really worried. I’ve told you some of what she’s been through, but not all of it. When we first brought her home from the hospital, she was like a dead shell, Joss. So depressed she could barely speak. I had to bathe her and dress her and cajole her into eating every day.
She’s been in therapy two times a week for over six months now. She’s on antidepressants and all kinds of special supplements, a strict diet. If Walsh rejects her, I’m not sure she can take it.
But the fact is, she’s been healthy for weeks now, able to handle her own finances, making good choices, taking care of herself. She left me a note telling me exactly where she’s going, and we’ve already texted twice today. She’s sworn she’ll check in with me at least once a day. So, I have to let her go, and now I’m left all alone, faced with everything I’ve been ignoring for six months.
Hope things are well with your dad.
--Mel.
I hit “reply” immediately.
To: picsbymel
From: RockStar1
Mel. Your sister is one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. She’s also loyal, loving, and fierce. I trusted much of my life and my career to her for many years. I trusted my best friend to her, and I still do. I want nothing more than for Tammy and Walsh to find each other again, to be where they belong, with each other. If her going to him will accomplish that then I think she’s made the right choice. I’m sorry for what you and she have both been through, and for my part in all of it. There aren’t words I can say to fix what happened, but you are not alone. As long as I have breath in my body, you will never be alone.
A Lush Betrayal Page 21