“He wants to quit baby…”
“And what about you, Mom. How long have you been off the pipe?”
“It’s been over a month since I’ve touched the stuff.”
“What are you substituting for it?”
“Nothing, baby. We both want to be clean. We want to be the parents to you that we used to be…”
“Are you delusional? When were you ever parents to me? Even before you both discovered how much you loved getting high, you weren’t ever parents.” She had the audacity to look like I slapped her in the face. Then she said, “It hurts me when you talk that way, Tristan. You know I brag on you…even now. I was at the shelter the other night for dinner and that Fresh Voices show was on. I saw your beautiful face flash across the screen and my heart swelled with pride. I told everyone, ‘That’s my boy’.”
“That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re wasting your time, I haven’t won yet and even if I do win, you got the money the first go-around. I get the money this time and you can keep living on the streets. You’re done living off of me and my talent. None of which I got from either of you by the way.”
I went over to the cabinet in the kitchen and took a full vial of cocaine that I’d just bought out of the flour canister. I didn’t care that I would be without, whatever it took to get rid of them. “Here, share this with him,” I told her, like they were little kids with only one candy bar. It was pathetic. “He’ll be fine in a while. Turn a few tricks and make some cash until your welfare check comes and everyone will be okay. Alright? Get it out of your head that I’d give you a single penny if I won that million dollars. It won’t happen.”
Again, she looked hurt, and shocked that I would talk to her that way. She was looking at me with what looked like real tears in her eyes now. The old man was on his feet, headed towards the vial in my hand.
I tossed it to him and he looked at her and said, “Come on, Brenda. He doesn’t give a shit.” It was all a fucking act. They came for money for drugs, just like they always do.
I laughed again. The old man was taking my last G of coke and he wanted to get in the last word before he left. These people were too much. They would be poster children for sterilization before they managed to procreate. Dad took my mother’s arm and led her towards the door.
Before they got there, she looked at me again and said, “I don’t know what happened to you. You used to be such a sweet boy.” That was it. I walked over and pulled open the door for them.
“Get out, and please don’t come back. I really don’t want to do this again.”
They limped out together, old and broken before their time. My mother turned around and looked at me one last time and that was when I got in my last word…I wanted to make sure that she knew her guilt trip was lost on me. “You happened to me, Mom. I’m a product of your raising.” She started crying again. I didn’t give a shit. It wasn’t my fucking problem. I had my own crap to worry about.
Their surprise visit had pissed me off so bad that now I was all amped up and I couldn’t fucking concentrate. I opened the fridge and was at least happy to see I had a couple of beers left. Other than a lime and something that I think used to be cheese, that was all that was in there. I grabbed one and twisted off the top, drinking half of it in that one big gulp. I fucking hate that I’ m related to those losers. I took another long swig off the beer and then tried to refocus on the music I’d been writing before I was so rudely interrupted.
I sat down on the barstool and picked up my guitar. I played a few notes of what I already wrote but my head just couldn’t let all the crap with the parental units go. I got it in my head then that maybe I should write a song about that. Maybe it would be cathartic to release some of the anger and frustration I felt towards them in a song.
I started writing and within a half an hour, I had written the most dark, depressing song in history. I set it to the melody of another song I’d written not too long ago and I sat there, alone in my crappy apartment and sang the song I’d written about my crappy life. When I finished it, I was more depressed than before I started. I always tried to tell those freaking stupid therapists in rehab that talking about depressing shit didn’t help. It didn’t change anything and it only served to remind me of what a crappy hand I was dealt. They used to tell me that it would destroy me if I kept it inside. I always thought it was a bunch of bullshit and this is proof as far as I’m concerned.
It took another beer a few good hits off the bong and another hour to get my head back where it needed to be. I tried to put the parents back where they belonged…at the bottom of the shit pile in my brain and I set about finishing what was important…my song for round three.
CHAPTER SIX
ELLY
Tristan actually acted somewhat normal today while he was in the contestant waiting room. He didn’t touch me or kiss me. He actually barely acknowledged me. He said hello and talked to a few of the other guys before finding a quiet spot in the back of the room and going over his sheet music. I did my best to not look over at him every two minutes, but it was hard. He looked really good. He’d showered and worn a black muscle T that showed off his tat’s with a pair of jeans that showed off the rest of his assets. His hair was clean and styled and he had just a spattering of a five o’clock shadow that looked really hot. I couldn’t help thinking about the sex in the janitor’s closet. My belly was full of butterflies and my pulse raced and I felt tingly between my legs when I remembered how he felt….
“Earth to Elly!” It was Keith. He’d been trying to get my attention, I guess. Tristan is finally behaving and I’m going to act stupid and screw it up.
“Yeah, sorry Keith, I was deep in thought.”
“I can see that,” he said. “Hey Jake called the trailer and he said to ask you if you can come see him when you get here tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah, sure…thanks.” I wondered if Jake was going to offer me the production job when the top ten went on tour. I’d all but decided that if he did, I was going to take it.
“You okay, Elly?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Keith.” He looked like he wasn’t ready to let it go, but the stage manager’s voice floated through my earpiece…
“We’re ready for Tristan,” she said.
I stood up and told Keith, “I have to get back to work.”
“Okay, Elly. Let me know if you need to talk.” I smiled at him; it was nice of him to worry but Keith and I were definitely not close enough to talk about what was worrying me.
“I will thank you.” I told him with another smile. Then I walked half-way over to where Tristan was at.
He still had his head down and I had to find my breath before I said, “Hey Tristan, they’re ready for you on set.”
He got up and for the first time all morning he made eye contact and smiled at me. I smiled back, that was acceptable I think I smiled at the other contestants all the time.
He looked a little nervous and before he stepped through the door I said, “Good Luck.”
He took a deep breath, winked at me and went on. That little wink sent shock waves through my body. I closed the door and went over to the television monitor where I could watch. Tristan had a full band, a piano, bassist, drummer and banjo player. He played his guitar along with them, and at first the music was beautiful. Then he started singing and I was taken back to that bar the first night I’d seen him after so many years. I think I may have actually grimaced. He wasn’t singing…he was yelling. It was a rock song and it called for the yelling, I guess but I was cringing inside because I knew that it wasn’t something our judges were going to care much for. The purpose of this show was to showcase talent…vocal abilities. This song didn’t do that at all. It also seemed to go on and on and on.
When he finished, he looked confident. The judges were all looking like they didn’t want to be the one that had to talk first…that wasn’t a good sign. My chest ached a little because I knew what they were about to say and he looked like he
had no idea. I think it would have been easier if he’d known how bad it was. The country star got stuck with the short straw.
“I’m sorry Tristan…for me that was…I just didn’t like it at all.” I had my eyes trained on Tristan’s face on the screen. He flinched a little, but that was it, he didn’t say anything. “The music didn’t seem to match the lyrics and the lyrics were hard to understand because you weren’t actually singing them…you were yelling them. You have a great voice, but this just didn’t showcase that in any way.”
The “Diva” went next. She looked like she was going to cry as she said, “I really like you, Tristan. You’re one of my favorites and you have so much talent. Wow, I hate having to say this baby but…that was just all bad. You were all over the place….” She stopped there and said, “Sorry baby.” Tristan had kept his eyes on her the whole time, but his facial expression didn’t change at all. He looked at the last judge then, the harshest one.
The aging record producer simply said, “I hated it. It may well have been the worst thing I’ve ever been forced to listen to.”
The country singer started saying something else. I think he was going to talk to him about the importance of song choice, but Tristan wasn’t going to listen to any more of it. He picked up his guitar and walked off the stage. He came out the wrong way, back towards me. I’m guessing he didn’t want to ham for the cameras and answer the emcee’s stupid questions. I don’t think he was making a lot of points with my colleagues. I tried to say something to him as he walked by. I just wanted to tell him that there was always next week…but he brushed past me like I wasn’t even there. Before he went out the door into the hall, he slammed his guitar into the wall, hard. Pieces of it went flying.
The assistant producer, a man named Tony ran after him.
“Tristan, man calm down. Their opinions aren’t always what matters man. All you can do is your best and then wait and see what happens with the votes.”
“Fuck that! I did my best. That was a fucking great performance! I wasted my whole week working on that just to be told it was awful by three tone deaf mother fuckers! This damned show is rigged. They all have their little favorites and they’re trying to skew the audience in their favor by talking shit to the rest of us.”
The A.P. chuckled and said, “Come on, Tristan, you don’t believe that.”
“The hell I don’t. Fuck this stupid ass show and fuck you!”
He turned to storm out again and I said, “Tristan, wait!”
I hated seeing him like this. I felt so bad because even though that kind of music wasn’t for everyone, and it wasn’t what he did best, I could tell that he’d worked hard on it. I went over and put my hand on Tony’s arm. I had a feeling that Tristan related better to women.
“You should get back out there, Tony. I’ll talk to Tristan, okay?”
Tony looked at Tristan and back at me. I could tell he was worried that Tristan was going to get violent.
“It’s really okay,” I told him.
“Alright,” he said, finally. “Remember security is right outside.”
“Oh fuck you!” Tristan yelled at him. “I scared you ya big pussy? You have to call security on me?”
“Tristan, hush!” I said. He was his own worst enemy and he didn’t even know it. I turned back towards the P.A. and said, “Go ahead Tony, I’ll be fine.”
Tony reluctantly left and I said, “Come with me, Tristan.” He continued to stand where he was. I think he was already pissed at me telling him to hush. I softened my tone a little and I said, “Please.”
He grudgingly followed me into the conference room and I closed the door. “Tristan, you really need to calm down. If they feel threatened by you, they can kick you off the show. It doesn’t matter how far in you are….”
“Let them kick me off. I don’t need this shit. This show is a fucking joke anyways.”
“Oh come on, Tristan. You can’t just give up. Surely you’ve had constructive criticism before.”
“Constructive? They said it was terrible…on live television. You don’t think that’s going to skew the votes?”
“Sometimes, it works the opposite way. People get pissed at the judges and vote for the one they like whether or not the contestant did well. The general public is smart enough to know that sometimes even professionals have an off day.”
“Whether or not they did well? An off day? You sound like you have an opinion of your own.”
“No, Tristan please stop. We are not all against you. The judges had an opinion, it’s not fact. And okay, I have an opinion too, it isn’t my favorite kind of music and I like…no, I love your voice when you sing the softer stuff. It just seems to suit you better.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. This whole time I thought you were just a behind the scenes lackey. I didn’t realize you were some kind of music expert.”
“Tristan…” His attitude was pissing me off. I don’t know why he thought it was necessary to be rude to me. Instead of focusing on that though, I was doing my best to keep it professional. We had more than one class on handling difficult artists and I was trying to put some of that education to good use.
“I need to get out of here,” he said. “I can’t breathe in here. This is all fucking pointless anyways. None of you know anything about music, you all make me sick.”
“Tristan!” My voice landed on the closed door as he slammed it in my face. He wasn’t going to give me a chance to show off my education, go figure. This was the man I haven’t been able to stop thinking about for even a second in the past twenty-four hours. My judgment in men had gone from questionable to: What the hell were you thinking?
I sat there for a few minutes, trying to regain my composure before I went back out and had to face everyone. Taking several deep breaths to calm my nerves I finally pulled the door open and went back out into the contestant room. Molly and Keith were awesome, they’d jumped in and handled things for me while I was dealing with Tristan the tyrant.
“Are you okay?” Molly asked me.
“I’m good, thanks,” I lied.
I got back to work and a few minutes later when there was a break in the action out on stage, Tony came back out.
“How’d it go with Tristan?” he asked me.
I had a clipboard in my hand with absolutely nothing I needed to look at on it. I looked down at it like it was super important work, hoping it would ward him off.
“It was fine, he calmed down.”
Tony leaned over to make me look at his face. I looked up at him and he said,
“Are you sure? He seemed like the type who would leave and come back with an automatic rifle and take us all out.”
I laughed. “I doubt it,” I told him. “He was really fine by the time he left.”
Tony didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. After he walked away, I thought about what he’d said about the automatic rifle. I laughed to myself again. The thing about Tristan was that I got the impression that he genuinely didn’t care enough about anyone or anything to go to that much trouble. That was a sad fact.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TRISTAN
I woke up the next morning determined to write that fucking show off. I wasn’t going to waste any more time or energy worrying about those fucking talentless haters. It was like a glorified game show and I had more talent in my little finger than all of those hacks had put together.
I called my agent as soon as I got up,
“Hey Mitch, what have you got for me that’s good?” I was trying to start the conversation out upbeat. Mitchell and I hadn’t been getting along that great lately. I honestly couldn’t stand him but I couldn’t find another agent willing to take me on either.
“Sorry Tristan, I haven’t even really been looking. You’ve been doing so well on Fresh Voices. I just thought you’d want to concentrate on that.” I really was planning on being nice, but the first sentence out of his mouth had already pissed me off.
“And what if I get eliminated, then
what? You know if I don’t make any money you don’t either, right?”
“Yes Tristan, I realize that. I really thought you were focused on the show. If you’re not and you’d rather I book you a bar…”
“What I would like is for some fucking body to do their job for a change. Your job is to book jobs for me not to sit around and hope I win some stupid rigged ass contest and you get your cut of a million bucks.” He started to say something else and I just hung up on him. He’s as useless as the rest of them. I’d be better off representing myself.
I went and got the box under my bed where I kept my Acapulco. I was getting low; I’d have to go see my guy this week. I needed to make some cash first though. I’ll have to call Huggy’s myself and see if they’re looking for a band this week. That’s an easy three hundred plus tips. I took out a little baggie full and took it over to the couch. I had to dig for the glass pipe under a bunch of laundry. I wasn’t lazy, I hated living like this. I just can’t remember if the laundry is clean or dirty most of the time. I don’t want to wash clean clothes and I don’t want to hang up dirty ones…I’d rather waste my energy on something else.
I put the red in the pipe and lit it. I took a long, slow drag and leaned back into the couch. I sat there like that most of the day, still in the same clothes I’d worn the day before, clicking through the channels. Daytime television is crap, soap operas, game shows and talk shows where a bunch of rich nosy women sit around and talk about things like they know two rat’s asses about it. I was going from one station to the next when I saw the advertisement for tonight’s results show. They flashed the contestants across the screen and I saw my face. I changed the channel again. I didn’t want to think about it. I wasn’t going to go. If they were going to run me off the show, I was going to do it with as little humiliation as possible and not in front of twenty million people. I’d already had to talk to a couple of the guys in my band last night.
After the show aired they called to say, “Sorry man, tough break.”
My Rock #2 (The Rock Star Romance Series - Book #2) Page 3