Fall Of The Rock Girl: A Lesbian Romance (Revolving Record Book 2)

by Nicolette Dane

  “I’m sorry about that,” said Sarah. “The twins.”

  “The twins,” I repeated absently.

  “I suppose you’re here to see James,” she said, her eyes going soft.

  “I am,” I said. “Is he here?”

  “He’s downstairs in his studio,” said Sarah. “Why don’t you come in? It’s raining.”

  “Okay,” I said, walking into the house as Sarah stepped aside. She shut the door behind me and I looked at her sheepishly for a moment.

  “I can’t believe you’re in my house,” said Sarah, looking around to see if anybody else was seeing what she was seeing. “I mean, I know you and James have a history, of course, but you’re still — to me, at least — kind of an icon.”

  “That’s really sweet of you,” I said in earnest.

  “Let me call for James,” she said. Sarah was unable to take her eyes off of me.

  “If he’s busy,” I said. “I don’t want to interrupt his recording or anything like that.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Sarah with a smile. “I’ll get him for you. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  Sarah picked up a house phone attached to the wall and pressed a button. After a moment, I could see her talking quietly into the receiver, her eyes dart to me, and then looking down as she resumed her conversation. It made me feel pretty naked, actually. I wondered what James could possibly say to her. Maybe he’d turn me away. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from venting out all the awful things he thought about me.

  Then the twins ran in again, still screaming wildly, having a ball. When they saw me standing there, their Mom on the phone, they stopped in their tracks and looked up to me.

  “Who are you?” asked the little boy.

  “I’m Layla,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  “Rocket,” he said.

  “Rocket?” I repeated. “Interesting name. And what about you, little lady?”

  “I’m Fiona,” she said.

  “Very nice,” I said with a smile. “You two are quite cute.”

  “Are you in a band?” asked Rocket. “Like my Dad?”

  “Yep,” I said, nodding along. “Very similar. Your Dad and I are music friends.”

  “You’re pretty,” said Fiona.

  “That’s very nice of you to say, Fiona,” I said. “I needed to hear that.”

  “I’m sorry, Layla,” said Sarah, interjecting and trying to wrangle her kids away from me. “They’re a handful.”

  “I don’t mind,” I said, trying to maintain a pleasant face.

  “She looks fancy,” said Fiona, tugging at her Mom’s pant leg.

  “She is, baby,” said Sarah. “She’s very fancy.”

  “I’m not that fancy,” I corrected. Sarah smiled at me.

  “She means famous,” Sarah said. “She can tell if someone who comes here is, you know, famous or whatever. But she says fancy.”

  “Okay,” I said to Fiona, bending down a little to speak with her. “Well, yeah, I suppose I am quite fancy.”

  “Layla could be one of the most fancy people you’ve ever met,” said Sarah to her kids. “So be nice to her, okay?”

  “Okay,” they said in unison.

  “James said you can come down,” Sarah said to me.

  “You’re sure?” I asked, almost as though I were looking for a way out. “He’s not annoyed or anything.”

  “Well,” she said with a very political smile. “Just follow me and I’ll show you the door to his studio.”

  The house was very open and airy, tastefully decorated in an almost Victorian style. A lot of nice ornate wood, bronze light fixtures. It wasn’t any kind of style I’d ascribe to James, so I figured it must have been Sarah’s doing. James had his studio, anyway, and he was never the type of guy to fuss over his living situation.

  “Good luck,” Sarah said to me with that same smile across her lips, opening up a door for me near the kitchen, revealing a carpeted staircase. I thanked her for her help, and I stepped down the stairs, unsure what I had gotten myself into.

  As I neared the bottom of the stairs, I could hear rock music playing. It wasn’t live, but it sounded rough, like it was a demo or some kind of early mix. I followed the sound, my heart beating hard, my mind racing, my breath shortened. Rounding a corner, I came into a wide open room, filled with all the requisite instruments you’d need for a studio. The drum kit, the guitars, the amplifiers, microphones, he had it all. The walls were papered with black foam for sound dampening. It was a very comfortable, cozy space if you were a musician.

  Off to one side, I saw James looking at me from within a separated room through a big glass window. Once our eyes met, he waved me toward him.

  There could be no turning back. I was here, he had seen me. This was why I’d come back to Michigan. I had to make things right.

  Opening the door to James’ control room, I entered and shut it quietly behind me. James was sitting behind a monster sound board, level controls and sliders and knobs numbering in the hundreds. He had his arms crossed, like he was on defense, but he looked like the same old James I knew. Long, stringy, greasy hair, some stubble on his face, a thin and wiry guy. He was dressed all in white — white jeans, and a white t-shirt. No shoes, no socks.

  “Hi,” I said softly.

  “Hey,” said James. “You wanna sit?”

  “Sure,” I said, ambling up to him. There was a chair close to him, so I yanked at that, rearranged it, and sat down.

  “You met Sarah,” said James, biting his lip.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I never got the wedding invitation. I didn’t even know you had twins.”

  “Well…” said James with a shrug.

  “Should I not be here?” I asked. “Like, was this a mistake?”

  “I don’t know,” said James. He tucked his hair behind an ear. In that moment, I could tell he was hurting. “Why are you here?”

  “I haven’t been doing all that great,” I admitted to him. “And it’s made me question my life a lot.”

  “Oh,” said James. “And you wanted to see if maybe I’d say ‘I told you so’ or rub it in your face or something?”

  “No,” I countered. “Not at all. I’ve just been thinking about how it all went down, James, and it makes me sick to my stomach. The way Cast Party died…”

  “You made the decision, Layla,” he said. “You just have to own that.”

  “I do,” I said. “Yes, it was my choice ultimately.”

  “You chose this pop path,” he said. “You chose… the big bucks.”

  “I don’t think you’re doing too bad yourself,” I said, motioning to his studio.

  “I’m not,” he said. “I’m doing quite well. But, you have to know that you’re on a much bigger level.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “You won a Grammy,” James said.

  “I know,” I said again.

  “And I did tell you how this would go down,” he said, shifting on his stool, trying to get comfortable despite our uncomfortable conversation.

  “You did,” I said. “You were right.”

  “It was really shitty to see you fall,” he said.

  “You watched?”

  “Of course,” said James nonchalantly. “Dude, I mean, you were up for a Grammy. Of course I had to watch.”

  “You know,” I said, the thought just now coming to me. “You probably could have been there. Why didn’t you go?”

  “I don’t like getting wrapped up in that pat yourself on the back shit,” he said. “And I didn’t really want to run in to you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “But when I saw you fall,” he went on. “I could tell. I could tell what it was all about.”

  “I’m struggling,” I admitted to him. “It’s been so hard. Wherever I am now, it’s just… it hasn’t felt like me in a long time. Like what you said.”

  “It changes you, man,” he said. “T
hey make you be something you don’t feel. They pressure you to do what they think you should do.”

  “That’s what you told me,” I said. “And I didn’t listen.”

  “Then they think you’re crazy when you revolt,” he continued.

  “They do.”

  “Cast Party was like…” James said, stopping himself and sighing, thinking about that time in our lives. “It was something special. And people really loved us.”

  “We had a lot of great times,” I said.

  “It was too abrupt of an end,” he said.

  “I’m sorry for that,” I said. “I allowed myself to be enticed. I can be weak in that regard.” As I said this, I thought about Daisy.

  “Well, it turned out okay for us,” said James matter-of-factly. “I’ve got Funhauser, Renee is playing with a bunch of bands in Detroit, Paul is a hired gun. We did good.”

  “We’re all still living this dream of being musicians,” I said with a small smile, trying to get James back on my side. “It’s all pretty okay.”

  “You really hurt us at the time, Layla,” he said. “It started when you signed that first solo contract behind our backs. But I gave you a pass. I should have known Municipal was up to something.”

  “They were up to something,” I said. “I know that now for a fact.”

  “It really hasn’t been that long, ultimately,” he said. “I can remember how betrayed I felt.”

  “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” I said. “I know what I did was super shitty. And, yeah, we probably can’t have the relationship we once had. I’m coming to terms with that. But I’m here just to let you know that I’m sorry. I fucked up. I’ve regretted it for years. And it all finally hit me in the worst way possible.”

  “I know you’ve got a lot of shitty things going on,” said James.

  “This kinda feels like rock bottom,” I conceded. “People think I’m crazy, off the handle, my relationship is shitting the bed, the media is out for blood, my manager is getting pissed, the label wants this and that. James, I’m holding on by a thread.”

  “You can stop,” he said. “Right? Can’t you just tell them to fuck off?”

  “I’ve signed a lot of contracts,” I lamented. “When they give you the kind of money I got, they fucking tie you against a post.”

  “So you lose some money,” said James. “That’s not the end of the world.”

  “It’s not that necessarily,” I said. “It’s more about pissing off all the people in power. I’d be totally blacklisted. They’d find a way to ruin me. I’ve already given them enough ammo.”

  “So what do you do then?”

  “I guess I gotta get strong and fulfill my promises,” I said. “I’m being tested a lot lately.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve been a shit friend for all these years,” said James, his face becoming very childlike. I actually saw Rocket in him in that moment. “I was just holding a grudge. Maybe I was, like, jealous of you. Your success.”

  “It’s okay,” I said gently. “I was a shit friend, too. So we’re even.”

  “Look,” said James. “Funhauser has this thing out in LA in a month or so. Maybe when I’m out there, if you’re back by that time, maybe we could hook up and do something like old times?”

  “James, I would love that so much,” I said. “I’ve got nothing out there that reminds me of what it used to be like. I’m in, like, a whole different world out there.”

  “Cool,” he said. I could tell James was feeling relief. His face relaxed, his eyes grew kinder. He was coming back to me. Life seemed to lighten up.

  “Your wife is super hot,” I said, trying to change the subject. This comment gave James a laugh. “No, really,” I went on. “She’s gorgeous.”

  “Hands off!” said James, wagging a finger. “I saw what you’ve been up to while you’ve been back.”

  “That’s not fair,” I said in mock-seriousness. “I can’t hold you accountable for your secrets because yours aren’t blasted on TV.”

  “Right,” he said with a tender smile. “C’mon. Let’s go upstairs and have a beer or something. And you can ogle my wife some more.”

  “She seemed pretty into me,” I said casually, as we simultaneously stood up. “Starstruck, really. I bet I could convince her I was a good idea.”

  “Right,” said James, placing his hand on my shoulder as we walked together out of his studio and toward the stairs. “You pop stars don’t care who you step over on your way to the top.”

  “Hey,” I said, giving his ass a smack. “I’ve still got feelings you know.”

  “I know,” said James. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close. And I put an arm around him, too. James had been my best friend for so long, too long for whatever bad blood we had between us to continue to fester. When you’ve got a friendship like we had, you can’t let it die. Not many friendships come along like that in a lifetime. I was happy to breathe some new life into ours.

  “Yeah, we seem to be okay now,” I said, rubbing my fingers over my sock covered toes as I sat cross-legged on the couch. “We hashed it out, I met his family for the first time. His wife and kids, I mean.”

  “How did it make you feel to see them?” asked Dr. Murphy.

  “A little sad, actually,” I admitted. “Sad that I missed those milestones in my friend’s life. You know what I mean? I should have been there.”

  “Don’t dwell on regret,” she said, writing something quickly down on her notepad. “There will be a lot more milestones in the future for James that you will get to be a part of.”

  “I know,” I said, nodding and considering.

  “And Daisy?” Dr. Murphy asked. “You spoke to her?”

  “I did,” I said. “She forgave me, even though I don’t really feel like I deserve it.”

  “That’s still going to be an uphill climb for you,” she said. Dr. Murphy crossed her leg over her knee and placed her notepad on her lap. “Breaches of trust like that don’t heal overnight.”

  “I know,” I said with a long sigh.

  “But you’re feeling better,” said Dr. Murphy, smiling at me. “I can tell.”

  “A little better,” I said. “Coming home to Michigan wasn’t the relaxing trip I thought it would be. I’ve discovered that I can’t run away from my problems.”

  “Well, you can,” she said with a knowing smirk. “But they’re always close behind.”

  “Right.”

  “I think a lot of high profile relationships, whether it be in Hollywood or in music like with you, a lot of them fail because of the pressure felt by the individual partners,” said Dr. Murphy. “You’re so used to it all being about you, that when it comes time to focus on the other partner, it feels foreign and difficult. Do you think that’s true?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “It sounds good, at least.” This gave Dr. Murphy a slight laugh.

  “Well, instead of working on the relationship,” she continued. “It feels easier to start fresh. To move on to the next possibility. Maybe whoever comes next over the horizon will be a better fit.”

  “Is that what I was doing with Audrey?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “She was young, pretty, you felt she got you. And your relationship with Daisy was on the rocks. I know consciously you didn’t want to hurt your established relationship, but something within you orchestrated this possible out so that you could absolve yourself from dealing with the problems.”

  “That’s very perceptive,” I said.

  “Do you think that when you go back to LA,” said Dr. Murphy. “That you will just fall back into your life as it has been? Do you think you’ll double down on the pop star image you’ve cultivated?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I like to hope I won’t, but the pressure to do so will be immense.”

  “You know, you really are in charge, Layla,” she said. “You can say yes, you can say no, you can compromise. You can communicate with the people in your life so that they can be aware of
your feelings. This is important for your own mental stability.”

  “I’m going to take it more seriously,” I said. “I feel too old to be dealing with my problems the way I’ve been dealing with them.”

  “I think that’s a really mature way to see it,” said Dr. Murphy. “You really are in a unique position and you can have it anyway you like.”

  “Thank you,” I said, looking away from her and feeling embarrassed.

  Dr. Murphy was right. I had the opportunity to craft my life, both professionally and emotionally, in the way that could best benefit me. I could be my own worst enemy at times, letting my anxiety rule me, and at the same time passing the blame instead of realizing how in control I actually was. You can’t necessarily control the external, what other people do or say or how they act, but you can control your own insides. You can control how you react to the external. And that’s a powerful thing.

  “This has been so helpful,” I said as our session came to an end and we both stood up.

  “I’m glad, Layla,” said Dr. Murphy. “I think it’s about time you got back to your life and use some of these tools we’ve talked about.”

  “I’ll be returning to LA soon,” I said. “I wish you were out there.” I smiled softly at her.

  “I’ll help find you somebody, okay?” she said.

  “What is this called?” I asked confusedly, pointing to the floor as though it represented what she and I had together. “Behavior therapy?”

  “Cognitive behavioral therapy,” Dr. Murphy corrected. “The idea is that we challenge your negative patterns of thought, thoughts about yourself or the world you live in, to try to get to the root of why you act in the unproductive ways that you do.”

  “And there’s somebody out in LA who can help me with this?” I asked.

  “Most definitely,” she said with a smile.

  “Okay,” I said, returning Dr. Murphy’s smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome, Layla,” she said. “It’s been a pleasure working with such a thoughtful woman as yourself.”

  After saying goodbye to Dr. Murphy, and feeling rather sad for having to leave her, I resolved to be a stronger person, more resolute, and make an attempt to face my problems head on rather than bury or avoid them. I had a complicated life, and that wasn’t going away any time soon. If I could accept that, accept my reality for what it was, I knew that I could deal with it all a lot more productively.