By Degrees

by Elle Casey

  I swallow the misery that rises up and gets stuck in my throat. My words come out strained. “I wonder what the temperature is. Eighty? Ninety? A hundred?”

  “I know Jack’s not helping the situation, but he and I talked about it and we both think it’s Tarin who’s causing you to go off the rails a little.”

  My temperature is rising from the anger that’s rolling around in my belly like hot lava. I power through, refusing to let go of my meteorology. “The humidity must be terrible. I’m glad I’m not going out there today. My hair would frizz out everywhere. I look like Jeff Daniels in Dumb and Dumber when that happens.”

  “And there’s something I need to tell you about him. About Tarin. Something I probably should have told you when we first starting talking about getting this job.”

  For some reason I feel like crying, so instead of bawling like a baby, I get angrier instead. “And I absolutely hate it when I look like Jeff Daniels. Hate it. Hate. It. Makes me want to shave my hair off. Jeff Daniels only looks good on Jeff Daniels.”

  “I know you hear me, Scarlett. I’m going to tell you something about Tarin I haven’t told you before. It’s about Austin too.”

  I whip my head around, wincing at the pain it causes my ribs. Tears leap to my eyes but it’s not from the physical pain I’m enduring. “Don’t, Scott. Just … don’t.” A giant, black wall comes up between us, and I will not let him scale it.

  “You need to know this. I don’t want you going into anything with Tarin without knowing the whole story.”

  I struggle to stand, but it leaves me breathless with pain. “I’m not going into anything with Tarin, you stupid fuckweasel. Just help me up.”

  “What’s going on in here?” asks Tarin as he walks through the door. He sounds angry. Protective.

  Scott twists around, but not before I catch the expression on his face. Guilty.

  “I was just getting up,” I grunt out. I huff out a few sharp breaths, trying to push the pain away. I’m prepared to walk over broken glass to get away from Scott and his stupid attack of the truthies. I hate when he gets all principled on me like that. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, he always unloads a basketful of shit on my head. Last time it was to tell me that he’d caught Austin cheating on me right before he died. That was a fun conversation. I have a feeling this one was going to be a real delight too.

  “Let me help you.” Tarin rushes over and stands in front of me, holding out his arms like he’s going to bend over and pick me up under my arms.

  I slap his hands away. “Stop. Go away.”

  “Want me to help?” asks Scott.

  He looks so innocent and sweet it just pisses me off more. He’s sitting there acting like he wasn’t about to unload a bunch of garbage on me and like I’m not pissing mad at him. He and Jack have been scheming behind my back and I feel like I’m living with a traitor. Not totally a traitor but someone who I need a break from at least for today.

  “No, I don’t want you to help,” I say angrily to Scott. “I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”

  Scott stands abruptly. “Fine. If that’s how you feel about it, I’ll just leave you with … with …” He scowls at Tarin. “The guy who started this whole bullshit.”

  He storms off, leaving Tarin and me to stare at his retreating back. The door slams shut behind him.

  I look over at Tarin, taking my rage out on the only other person in the room. “What in the hell is he talking about?” Suddenly I want to know the big mystery. I want to hear it from the source, whatever this fuckery is. Painful revelations are like ripping off bandaids for me; get to the source, hear it straight up, and deal with the pain. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. “Go ahead, Tarin. Confess your sins. Tell me what I need to know about you and Austin.” I don’t even know that there is anything for me to know about them, but maybe he’ll surprise me and let me in on some big secret he and Scott have been keeping from me. I couldn’t be any worse than the shit I’ve already heard about the love of my life. Austin is dead but his ghost will never stop haunting me. Today is just another reminder of that.

  Tarin lets out a huge sigh and rolls his eyes as he flops down onto the couch next to me. I don’t even feel the pain from him jigging the couch as I listen to the words coming out of his mouth.

  “Where do I start?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “HOW ABOUT YOU START AT the beginning?” I suggest, settling into the couch, trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt. There isn’t one.

  “The beginning … the beginning …” Tarin is staring at the coffee table where his foot rests. It’s jiggling nervously, his ratty skater boy shoes rocking up and down over and over.

  I kick him lightly to get him started.

  “Fine. The first time I really saw him and talked to him was the night I met Mel.”

  “Yeah, I heard that. He got you on stage when Mel was watching.”

  “Exactly.” Tarin starts drumming a thumb on his knee. “Mel was only there for a little while. For that one band we went on instead of. Austin knew Mel was there, knew he wouldn’t be staying. He fucked up their equipment so they had to go on later. He liked our sound, he said. He told us he wanted to get us a chance at being heard by a larger audience.”

  “And you got your agent.”

  “Yeah. Not just any agent either … Mel fucking Warner. The Mel Warner. He took us right to the top.”

  “It’s been a great ride,” I say softly.

  “Yeah. And no.” Tarin sighs.

  “Tell me about the no.”

  He shrugs, the foot jiggling and thumb drumming increasing in speed. “I did some shit I regret. Some little stuff, some big stuff. And one really, really big thing. Something I can’t ever let myself forget. Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

  I laugh. “What’d you do, kill someone?” I’m still laughing when he turns his tortured expression my way.

  “You could say that,” he says.

  My laugh cuts off mid-stream. “That’s not funny.”

  “I know. I’m not joking.”

  Guilty. The tattoo isn’t showing, but it’s all I can see when I look at him.

  “Tell me.”

  He stands up and begins pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table. He’s staring at the ground, one hand on the side of his head. “I was in Chicago two years ago for that big music festival. The one where … Austin … you know.”

  “The one where he died,” I say, my voice devoid of emotion or inflection. I really, really do not like where this is going. I’m sick and I know it’s not the pain or the meds. I’m sick over our future, over what he’s about to say. But I don’t stop him.

  Truth.

  I need to know the truth.

  “It was after the show, and a bunch of us were in the hotel suite together. It was total mayhem. There were girls and drugs and booze … an unlimited supply. Somehow Austin and I ended up in a bedroom together with some girls. One of them - I don’t remember her name - she brings out this black zippered case from her purse. She’s got H in there and she offers to shoot us up. Me and Austin together.”

  I look away from him. I can’t stand to see his face right now. I stare at the wall where his family’s coat of arms is hanging.

  “I told her to fuck off. I was scared. I did coke occasionally and weed a lot, but nothing that hard ever. I told ‘em, ‘That’s not me.’ I said, ‘I don’t do that kind of shit.’” He looks up for a second, no longer pacing, a bitter smile passing over his face. “By degrees, right? You say never one day and the next … it’s not never any more.”

  He shifts his focus to the floor again, pacing once again. “They laughed at me. Austin said some shit, I don’t remember what exactly, but it made me feel like a total amateur or something. I got pissed at him. He was like my hero, you know, and then he just cut me down in front of those girls. They all were laughing and whatever.” Tarin’s pissed now, mad at the memories maybe or himself. It doesn’t matter
.

  “I stayed, though. I watched her cook up a rock and pull it into a syringe. She was wasted … so fucked up. She could barely keep her hands steady. When she was tying off Austin’s arm, I asked him. I asked him if he was sure that’s what he wanted to do.”

  I look over at Tarin. The anguish in his voice is palpable.

  “You know what he said?” Tarin turns to me, tears in his eyes. “He told me to go fuck myself. He called me fucking pansy loser.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Austin,” I say, hurting for Tarin, hurting for myself, but most of all, hurting for Austin. He had completely disappeared by the time that night had come around. The man remaining was only a hollow monster.

  “No, it didn’t sound like him at all. That’s the point. He wasn’t himself. I should have punched that bitch in the face and sent that shit flying to the floor to protect him. But I walked out instead.” Tarin chokes on the tears and sobs that refuse to be held back any longer. “I walked out as she slid that needle into his vein. I let him go, and somewhere inside, I knew it was going to go bad. I just knew it, but I let him go anyway. And he died that night. From those drugs. Probably minutes after I walked out.”

  I can see it perfectly in my mind: Austin lying there with two idiot, wasted girls making him feel like a king. Tarin running around at his heels telling him he can do no wrong. And Tarin knew I existed then. He knew about Scott too. He knew Austin was playing with fire.

  And he did nothing.

  He was there in the last few minutes of Austin’s life and he watched it fade to black. He stood to the side and watched Austin burn out. He saw Austin on his last day on earth, his last minutes on earth, when neither Scott nor I had the privilege. And he only bothered to tell anyone now.

  Guilty.

  I struggle to get to my feet. It hurts like crazy, but I manage it. No way in hell am I going to stay in the same room as him. I can’t even look at him now.

  “Say something, Scarlett,” he begs. “Please say something.”

  Limping to the door, I focus on taking one step, one breath at a time. One, two, three, four … now I’m almost to the door. Five, six, seven, eight … find a place to store the hate.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “Away,” I say, as I pull open the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I’M CRYING AND PACKING MY bag when Scott walks in. He stops at my side while I fold clothes and lay them inside.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Baking a cake.” I sniff, and then more tears come. This is so crazy and stupid. All I know is I have to get out of here. I can’t think straight surrounded by Tarin’s life.

  “You can’t bake a cake right now.”

  “Yes I can. Watch me.” I throw my running shoes in the bag.

  “But we have to finish this … meal first.”

  “You finish it. I’m going home.” Scott can handle this. Or he’ll have to. I’m done.

  “The apartment’s going to be dirty. Don’t you want me to send someone to clean it first?”

  “I don’t mean that home. I mean home, home.”

  “Chicago? You hate Chicago. Why would you go there?”

  “I have to get away. I have to think.”

  Scott takes me by the shoulders and turns me around gently. “What happened? He said something or did something, didn’t he?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” I try to twist away but it hurts too much. “Let me go, Scott. I can’t do this right now.”

  “He told you about Austin, didn’t he?”

  My hand freezes in midair. The shorts I’m holding drop down towards the bag, missing the opening and hitting the side of it. I just stare at it. “What are you talking about?”

  “He told you about Austin. About that night. In the hotel room.”

  I look at Scott, my heart leaping into my throat. “You knew?” My words come out strangled.

  He nods. He’s scared how I’ll take it, I can tell. His face goes very pale. “I knew. I’ve known for a long time. Mel told me.”

  “Mel?! How the hell does he know and I don’t?!”

  Scott looks at the ground. “Remember when they called someone in to identify him? They called me in because I was the closest relative.”

  “They wouldn’t let me in. So?”

  “So, afterwards, I guess they had my name on the form and then the cops came to talk to me and told me about this investigation they did into the people who were there at the time. Tarin’s name came up. Mel was representing him, so … you know. He heard stuff.”

  “And yet no one thought to tell me a thing.”

  Scott puts his hand on my arm, but I shove it off, ignoring the pain slicing through my body.

  “Come on, don’t be like that, Scar. You didn’t want to know that crap. You didn’t want to know he died with a slut sucking him off and Tarin in the next room. That wouldn’t have helped you get past all of that shit.”

  I grab my purse off the bed next to my bag. “Fuck it. You can keep my shit.” I walk out of the room as fast as my injured ribs will move. What was left of my heart is now destroyed. Even Scott has left me behind.

  “Where are you going?” he yells out after me.

  I slam the door to the bedroom and don’t bother answering.

  As I’m going down the stairs, Ricky comes out of the hallway. “What’s up? Going somewhere?”

  “Airport. Can you take me?”

  “Of course.” He opens the door ahead of me.

  I pass him by and work at controlling my emotions. I want to scream and rail at the world, but now’s not the time or the place. Chicago’s just going to have to deal with my sorry ass when I get there.

  “Don’t you have any bags?” he asks, following me out.

  “Nope. It’s just me.”

  I get in the back seat and wait for him to start the car. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat just looking at me in the rearview mirror. “If you don’t mind me saying, it’s never just you. You’re not alone, even if you might think you are. Even if it might feel like you are sometimes.”

  “I do mind you saying, Ricky. Can you please just drive?” I look out the window and let the tears fall silently all the way to LAX.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “HELLO, MEL, THIS IS SCARLETT Barnes. I know it’s late, so I’m calling your office voicemail to leave you this message instead of bugging you by calling your cell. I’ve left Tarin’s house and I’m done working with him. Scott’s taking over. If you’re not okay with that, I’ll understand, but I recommend you stay with him. He’s worked side-by-side with me for almost two years, and he’s pretty much single-handedly managed the whole show from behind the scenes. As you know, he has personal experience in this area, so he knows what your clients are going through. You’re probably wondering why I’m quitting. I’ve never quit before, and I’m not happy that I’m doing it now, but I really feel like I have no choice. I found out that you kept something from me, something I consider pretty much unforgiveable. All of you have. You knew about Tarin and Austin. You knew what Tarin saw and what he didn’t do. I can’t believe you let me take this job knowing that and also knowing that I was completely in the dark. You probably don’t care - I know this is all business to you - but I’m not sure I can ever forgive you for this. Goodbye and good luck with your retirement. Oh … and of course, don’t worry about the fee. I don’t expect to be paid anything. I hope if you continue with Scott’s services, however, that you will honor the fee and pay it directly to him.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  FOR TWO DAYS I MOPE around the apartment Austin bought a few months before he died, refusing to answer my phone or the twenty-five emails and texts from Scott and Mel. I send away the maid that Scott hired, choosing instead to lose myself in the monotonous task of cleaning up the place. After spending a small fortune on cleaning products and equipment, I turn the two bedroom dust palace into a showroom. The solid surfaces sparkle. The leathe
r gleams. The carpet has geometrically precise vacuum marks. It’s like a ghost lives here. Her name is Scarlett.

  Once I’m done with the cleaning of areas people can see, I tackle the hidden places. Boxes of Austin’s things are stacked in closets and shoved under beds and in a crawl space in a wall. Someone had come in here after he died to erase his presence, to get the place ready to sell, but neither Scott nor I could stand the idea of this piece of his life disappearing too. Since it belongs to us jointly, we both decided to keep it until we could figure out a better plan. This is the first time I’ve been back since it was first purchased. It’s a stranger’s house with stranger’s furniture in it. It’s not even Austin’s style - cold and modern, everything black, white, and chrome. If Austin had been the one to pick the couch, it would have been red. He loved red. It wasn’t my favorite color for furniture, but that didn’t matter to me at the time. Now I wonder why I didn’t get a couch I liked when we shopped for things.

  In one of the boxes I find framed pictures. I cry for hours over the stuff in that box with a glass of red wine in my hand the entire time, eventually emptying the bottle as I travel down memory lane. Scott was so little when this whole thing started. I babysat him after his mom died and his father was at loose ends for child care. That’s how Austin and I met. After the first night I watched Scott, the three of us were pretty much inseparable. Over our mutual love for his little brother, Austin and I fell for one another, hook, line, and sinker. There is no love like a first love for its intensity and single-mindedness. We were blind to reality when we were looking into each other’s eyes.

  As I hold one of the frames that holds a photo of just Austin and his favorite Les Paul guitar, I trace his face and body with my finger, thinking back to our time together. We were so young. So naive. We thought we could join this crazy world of rock stars and immerse ourselves in the celebrity lifestyle and yet keep our innocence, keep our wide-eyed excitement over the fantasy and all it had to offer. Little did we know how staring into the bright light of fame can permanently damage your eyesight and make everything take on a dullness that begs to be polished. Spend some money here, travel there, make friends with this person and party until the sun comes up - do anything to make life exciting and new again. It brings new meaning to the term ‘burned out’.