Higher Octave (Heavy Influence #2.5)

by Ann Marie Frohoff

  I stood taller and smoothed my shirt when I saw Gabe point in my direction. The other fairy-featured woman with short, shoulder-length brown hair, led the way. I assumed she was Gabe’s wife. She beamed up at me when Gabe introduced her. She was a whole head shorter than her friend.

  “Jake, this is my wife Margo and her friend Grace.”

  Grace, indeed.

  I smiled at the both of them and extended my hand to Margo. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

  Margo grasped my hand, shaking it vigorously. “I love your music. I always have, since your early days. I told Gabe here when we first saw you play, when you were just a teen…watch out for that kid.” She wagged her finger at me. “We saw you play at Gibson Theater, which is something else now…” she looked up thoughtfully, trying to recall the new name. “Well anyway, you know, at one of those awards shows. Gabe was driving someone famous.”

  Margo giggled and looked at her friend, finally releasing my hand, and I extended it to Grace. She placed her delicate hand in mine, and I felt as if it would snap if I squeezed too hard. “Grace.” I bowed my head; I wasn’t sure why, feeling compelled, like she was royalty. She smiled faintly at me. “Thank you for coming,” I said. The urge coming out of nowhere, I brought her hand to my mouth, kissing the top of it. She tilted her head toward me, and I dropped her hand gently.

  “You’re too kind, Jake.” This time the smile reached her eyes, and she blushed. This warmed me, and not in a sexual way. There was something about Grace. I glanced at Gabe and Margo, and they both wore satisfied expressions.

  Margo clapped her hands. “Let’s get a drink.” Just as she spoke and moved to the bar, the venue opened their doors and people began to fill the room and I excused myself.

  I lurked around the heavy red curtain, side-stage, to watch Grace. She moved with finesse, and there was a despairing allure about her. I wondered how old she was; she looked quite a bit younger than Gabe and slightly younger than Margo.

  I noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  ***

  “Thank you all for coming,” I spoke into the mic. Hoots, whistles and clapping filled the small room.

  The venue was a sit down kind of joint, where people sat at cocktail tables with candle centerpieces, to watch performances. Tiny metal lanterns hung from the ceiling, with cutout designs casting a dim light. Standing room was in the back or off to the side. I heard someone shout out Bobby’s name, and cheers from a small group off to the left got Bobby waving. More clapping ensued.

  I cleared my throat and looked at Bobby. “I gotta thank this guy. The last time he played with me, I think I may have mowed some of you people down in that audience, when I jumped off the stage and ran out the door…and never came back.” Laughs filled the room. “Nah, but on a serious note, thanks for being here. Things are different, and I’m stoked to have you all sharing this moment with me, and to have Bobby playing with me.” I gestured to Bobby, on the verge of getting emotional; then my eyes landed on the audience, specifically on Grace.

  She was staring at me thoughtfully, with such a reverence that it touched me to my core. I could barely take my eyes off of hers. The silence stirred me. “That’s Stoney back there. I’m sure some of you know who he is; he’s played with some great bands.” He raised his sticks, and clapping and hollers permeated all around. “Thanks, man, for being here for the cause.”

  I sucked in a breath and continued, “On a business note, all of you that are here should have filled out a Photo Release Form. If you haven’t, please raise your hand, and Marty over there will bring you one.”

  About twenty people raised their hands, and Marty and a few venue staff quickly got the documents signed and collected all of the forms from everyone in the room. “This is going to be a very special evening. Thank you for wanting to be a part of it…some of you will be getting your close-up.”

  The Hotel Café erupted in applause.

  I strummed my girl, and the vibration from her caressed my arm and inched its way through my entire body. The more intensely I stroked her strings, one by one, people began to disappear from the room, until the only two people that were left were Grace and I.

  That moment made me fall in love with music all over again; there was no separation from my heart and my hands. The pure bliss of watching Grace enjoy my emotionally raw lyrics from song to song, playing out my love and my pain for Alyssa and Dump, for my mother and Notting, and my taboo time with Sienna. My melodies cascaded over Grace, bringing her to tears.

  When I was finished, the crowd’s intensity brought me back to the ground. “There’s my soul. I just laid it out for all of you.”

  ***

  I slipped on a clean dry t-shirt, and all I could think about was Grace and how emotional she’d gotten. I needed to see her and thank her for making the night so special for me. I couldn’t recall ever affecting a grown woman in such a way. I didn’t get that chance to see Grace again. She and Margo left as soon as my set was over.

  “Gabe, what’s Grace’s story?” I inquired as nonchalantly as I could as we drove home. “She got all emo, you know.”

  There was such a long silence that I thought he didn’t hear me, but as soon as I opened my mouth to repeat myself, he spoke. “Grace’s husband died almost two years ago.”

  My stomach sank. “Damn.” I shook my head, disturbed by this knowledge.

  “This was the first time she’s been out of the house.”

  What? “Gabe, she’s had to go out of the house.”

  “Other than taking her kid to school.” He glanced at me, gripping the steering wheel. “She has a young son, about four years old now…” His voice trailed off.

  “No wonder she lost it, hearing some of my songs.” Love, loss and death filled them.

  “Yeah,” he said somberly.

  For the next week, I stood over Marty, hovering like a drone, watching him edit the footage from the performance. I was ecstatic. The sound and picture quality were insanely good, and I’d become obsessed with watching Grace.

  “Send me stills of her.” I pointed at the massive Apple monitor we had set up in my mother’s spare bedroom. I’d arranged for Marty to have whatever he needed, like he would have had back in New York. I wanted the work done in front of me. I was now a micro-manager.

  He nodded. “She’s stunning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so perfect. She’s perfect.”

  “She’s pretty amazing.”

  “How old is she?” he asked.

  “Thirty-nine.”

  “Geez.” Marty scratched his head. “She looks younger than that. I would have guessed ten years younger.”

  I nodded and wondered if I’d ever see her again, seeing that she lived in my town, albeit as a recluse. I pondered Grace’s existence and my own, and thought about Aly. Kyle informed me that she was finally graduating from college in May. I would be there to watch her walk, Nathan or not. I didn’t plan on letting her go so easily. Not until she was married to him.

  Maybe I would change her mind.

  Feeling as if I’d conquered climbing Mount Everest, I collapsed onto the sofa in my mother’s house. I finally felt like I could go back to New York. It was now mid-April and warming up in the city. The release of my video, I Am Here, exploded with more than a million views in a matter of hours. Within two weeks, it had over a hundred million.

  I was back.

  5

  The thick white creamer splashed into my black coffee as I stirred it in slowly, swirling it around like a pinwheel, finally turning it a caramel color. I was at some obscure coffee house, filled with tired-looking screenwriter types staring at their laptops, on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood, California. Gabe, my driver, dropped me off to meet Bobby, who was staying just up the street. Bobby was my childhood friend, and a member of my band Rita’s Revolt...well, my former band. Now, after nearly ten years, millions of records sold, my drummer dying from cancer and my complete fall from grace (amo
ngst other fucked-up shit), I was now a solo musician and Bobby had begun playing bass for me again. I’d hired a pretty cool dude, Stoney, as my drummer (RIP Dump). Stoney was the type of seasoned hand that I needed in my life – and he was sober. A recovering drug addict, like me.

  I dug my phone out of my pocket to check the time. It was 4 PM on a warm spring day in April. I spun around to catch a few people staring at me, smiling politely. I couldn’t get away from the recognition, but at least most of the people in this town left me alone, as the locals were used to seeing their fair share of celebrity types – it was Hollywood, after all.

  I found a wobbly two-top table next to the wall of windows with a street view and planted my ass in a wooden seat, checking out the scene a bit more. Every other person in line had a dog, from a yellow lab to a tiny toy-like Shih Tzu puppy. They were all well behaved, with wagging tails and smiles on their snouts. A dog town, I thought, just like my town, Manhattan Beach. I dug when establishments didn’t get all freaked out about dogs. I loved dogs, and wanted one some day, when I settled down.

  Settle down.

  I looked out the window, searching for Bobby, as I thought of Marty (my assistant, videographer, journalist-turned-friend) back in New York, living in my apartment. The apartment that I’d acquired to settle down with Alyssa…Aly…my Alycat. My childhood friend and next-door neighbor, turned obsession, turned love of my life. I owed all my success to her, literally. Every song, every pang, every detail of my life was spun around her. Our lives would forever be entwined because of friendships. Her other best friend, Nadine, was still seeing Marty – an incestuous petri dish of relationships.

  I laid my phone on the table and pressed the button to check the time again; it was 4:13 PM.

  Where the fuck was he?

  I sent a text to Bobby – ??

  He replied – AROUND THE CORNER

  I spotted Bobby walking briskly toward the front door, smoking a cigarette. He looked a bit more put together than he normally did, as in…not homeless, in torn and fraying garments. I’d never seen him in sweatpants before, these were the fashionable kind of peg-legged pants, black with a white strip going down the side of each leg. He wore new black Converse tennis shoes and a fitted white v-neck tee shirt. I smiled, amused; Marshall finally got to him. He stopped short, throwing down his cig, stomping it out. For a second, I thought he was going to leave the butt there, but he picked it up and tossed it in the city trashcan on the corner – good boy.

  When he arrived at the table, I couldn’t help but give him a hard time. “Isn’t it against the law to smoke on these streets?”

  He looked around. “Fuck’em,” he murmured, dipping his head and chuckling. “They can sue me.”

  “You’re lookin’ snaz,” I smirked, crossing my legs.

  “You like?” He tugged at his v-neck. “I thought I might as well wear the clothes Marshall keeps buying me. He left me no choice when he packed my bags and didn’t put any of my old shit in there.” He shrugged. “I actually don’t mind lookin’ good.”

  He’d mentioned it to me several times after he moved up north that he’d have to invest in a new wardrobe if he wanted to fit in with Marshall’s friends. Not that he really cared, but Marshall did.

  “What? Time to grow up?” I teased. “And throw away the sneaks you’ve been wearin’ since high school?”

  He clutched his chest in mock pain. “My babies? Who have carried me a million miles all over the world? Never!” he threw up his arm and pointed to the sky in animated conviction. “I’ll never grow up.”

  I laughed. “Me either, man.”

  Bobby yanked on the chair pulling it out and sat down. “So what’s this all about?” He leaned in intently. “We’re going in to record those songs, right? In a couple of days?”

  “Yeah, and some journalist wants to interview me, and I thought you should be here, too. I know he’ll probably be more interested in the past, than my future.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, man.” Bobby tried to be optimistic.

  A guy named Glen Lim, a Huffington Post and Rolling Stone contributor, met us a short while later. A fortyish, athletically slender white dude with blonde hair – Huh? His last name threw me off. I was expecting an Asian dude. Glen reminded me more of a pro-golfer than a music journalist. I’d read many of his articles, but never knew what he looked like. He was nervous, jittery in fact, and I found it odd, considering his long list of exclusives with music greats. Maybe he’d had too much coffee.

  He introduced himself to Bobby and I with a damp hand, and for the first fifteen minutes, he stuck to talking about the video Marty produced from the Hotel Café show. Then Glen began treading lightly on my rocky road, and I was as gracious as I could be with answers, until he asked about Sienna and if any of the rumors of our affair were true.

  I stiffened and cast a glance to Bobby, who scowled at Glen. Poker face, I thought before I spoke. “Sienna and I were very close, Glen. People can assume what they want about us.” I shrugged. “I haven’t seen Sienna in a few years. We primarily keep in touch by texts here and there. She knows where I’m at if she ever needs me.”

  “I recently met with her to discuss her book deal. You must know she’s written a book titled, With the Band – it’s about her life and time with Rita’s Revolt.”

  No, I didn’t know, and all the tendons in my body tightened. I nodded and forced a smile. “Good for her. I’ve heard embarking on a project like that can help you heal.” I sighed, crossing my legs. “You know, Sienna and I went through a few rounds of rehab together. We were, unfortunately, each other’s enablers for a while, until we parted and got serious about our recovery. I love Sienna. Tough times make people do crazy shit…but much like my solo endeavor, it’s all self-therapy, and I think she’d be able to share some interesting, fun facts about her time with us and her life with her husband, Dump.”

  Glen smiled satisfied and continued. “Sienna explained that there’ll be a big surprise for Jake Masters’ fans, saying she can’t deny the truth any longer.”

  “Sounds like we’ll all have to wait for the surprise.” I chuckled, making sure the sincerity reached my eyes, though I was far from happy about what Sienna had decided to share in her new book. I wondered if Glen was just baiting me. Why would Sienna talk about our time together? It would make her look bad, too. I pushed it from my mind, but Bobby had other ideas after Glen departed.

  Bobby and I sat silently staring at each other for several minutes after Glen took off. “Is there anything you need to tell me?”

  I almost choked. I swallowed and took a drink of my coffee, which was now grossly cold. The only person I should have been really concerned about knowing what really went down with Sienna was Aly, and she already knew the truth. Did I really care if the whole world knew how fucked up I was?

  “I’m not the same person, Bobby. Anything that Sienna has to share about me was when I was fucked up on drugs, and so was she.” I stood and stepped toward the trash receptacle, tossing my empty cup inside. “Is what it is. I just hope she focuses on all the good times and the love of her life.”

  “It’s true, what they’re saying, isn’t it?” Bobby eyed me skeptically.

  I gripped the back of the chair I’d been sitting in and leaned over it, balancing on tense arms. “Bobby I’m not proud of some of the things that went on between Sienna and me, okay? We were both fucked up, and now we’re not.”

  Bobby’s eyes drifted over me, trying to read my mind and the meaning of what I’d decided to share with him. He just nodded his head dolefully, and it made my stomach curl. “Okay.” That was all he said.

  We walked back to his townhouse a few blocks away, the one that Marshall used to occupy when they’d first started dating. I didn’t want to wait around at the coffee house for Gabe to pick me up, so I sat on Bobby’s blue velvet couch, tapping out a text to Sienna—first a long one, telling her what I’d heard. And then I erased it and went with:

  THINKIN’ AB
OUT YOU. I HOPE THINGS ARE GOOD.

  I stared at the screen until Gabe’s text interrupted my duress.

  “Bobby. I’m out!” I shouted. He came out from his bedroom, wiping his hands with a white hand towel. I threw a thumb over my shoulder. “Gabe’s here.”

  “Alright. See ya tomorrow.”

  I stalled for a moment. I wanted to better explain myself about Sienna, but Bobby held his hand up, stopping me. “Dude. I’m not the one you have to worry about. I’m not gonna judge you.”

  I bowed my head. “Thanks, man.”

  Gabe and I drove back in near silence to my mom’s, and all the while, I held my phone, waiting for Sienna to reply. I’d talked myself into going on the defense, in a tactical sort of way. I was going to get ahead of any potential damage. I’d written a song about us, about all the speculation. About our grief and loss, finding comfort in each other. I hadn’t debuted it during my set at The Hotel Café, but now I would. I’d be meeting Bobby to rehearse and go over the songs we’d be recording over the next week. That song would now be included.

  We pulled down into our downtown neighborhood. I spotted the Von’s supermarket on the corner, and it reminded me that my mom asked me to stop for eggs, I’d been eating hardboiled eggs like nobody’s business, trying to stick to a protein diet as much as possible. I remembered looking at her like she was crazy, feeling like I was fifteen again. I’d usually smart off, making some excuse as to why I couldn’t run an errand for her, but this time I told her, no problem.

  I pointed. “Pull over at the Von’s. I need to grab something for Kate.”

  I made quick business of grabbing a carton of eggs and getting in line. I waved to familiar faces and was happy that they just smiled and waved back. I wasn’t in the mood to chat; of course, that was before I saw her again.