Limelight

by Alyson Santos

  “I’m glad you called.”

  “Me too.” The too-hot coffee doesn’t stop me from singeing my lips and tongue.

  “How have things been going?”

  I release a long breath. “Honestly? Shitty, but that’s why I’m here. I want my life back. Scratch that. I need it back.”

  “Yeah? What’s your motivation?”

  I swallow another scalding draught. There’s a question. Are we here for coffee or a weekend retreat? “Simple answer? I’m not really living. I have no control of my life, no future on this path.”

  “That’s a scary place to be.”

  “I’ve lost everyone,” I mutter to my drink.

  “Not everyone.”

  I glance up and meet her warm smile.

  Not everyone. Even at my lowest.

  Rock bottom.

  “Are you in control of your substance use, Jesse?”

  I clear my throat. Another great question. Why does everything have to be so damn complex?

  “I’m not physically dependent, but mentally…” My fingers twist a path through my hair as I study the table. “There’s so much… I need breaks. From my head. From life. I can’t handle it without help.”

  “Chemical help.”

  I nod.

  She leans back in her chair. “And that’s not working for you.”

  It’s not a question. Of course not. My coping strategy sounds ridiculous out loud, even if it’s a truth I lived inside and out my entire life.

  “No. I need to find a better way. I’m ready to ask for help.”

  I expected some kind of jubilant eruption from her when I finally committed. Don’t they have t-shirts and name badges or something? Instead, she stares back with a solemn nod.

  “I’m so happy to hear that. What you have is a substance use disorder, and like many diseases, the path to healing is difficult but possible. Are you prepared to work hard toward recovery?”

  Work hard. Harder than fighting the demons alone every second of every damn day only to lose again and again? Harder than watching your friends, your brother, the woman you love walk away? Harder than being an overrated, garage-band wasted, crying little shit?

  “I’m ready,” I say. “Whatever it takes.”

  Her gaze settles on me, punctures deep into my resolve. And suddenly, there’s the smile I’d been waiting for. Better than a t-shirt.

  “This is a great day, Jesse. We’ll be seeing you Thursday night?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  ∞∞∞

  Seth’s office isn’t as lame as I remember. His hair is still slicked back in an unnatural assault on gravity, but the arch of his brows is probably concern, not disdain like I originally thought. He waits as I squint through the blinds and consider his latest request.

  Tell me about the demons.

  The words slither through my head and lodge in my stomach. The demons just are. Like oxygen. And brain cancer. I pull a long stream of air into my lungs. How do you talk about something you don’t even understand?

  “They scream,” I say finally. My eyes trace the outline of a tree through the window. Spring flowers fill the branches in an alarming explosion of pink.

  “When?”

  “All the time.”

  “That must be difficult. How do you make them stop?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Never?”

  I shake my head. “Not without chemicals.”

  His brows are arched again when I dare a look.

  “Do these voices ask you to do things?”

  “I’m not schizophrenic,” I huff.

  “I’m not suggesting that. What do they say to you?”

  “That I’m a worthless piece of shit.”

  “Do you believe them?”

  “A lot of the time.”

  “When don’t you?”

  “When I’m high.”

  Exactly, Counselor Seth. Good luck with this case file.

  “Would you like to be free of them?” His tone is gentle like he knows the answer.

  “No.”

  Those brows again. “No?”

  “They bring the music.”

  “I see. That’s quite a dilemma then.”

  Quite. “I’m pretty fucked up, doc.”

  He doesn’t like my joke, though his lips crinkle into a polite smile.

  “Actually, you’re not. Your situation makes perfect sense to me.”

  My gaze shifts from the window, locks on his.

  You make sense.

  I make sense?

  “You suffered severe trauma in an environment that modeled addiction as a coping behavior.”

  A heavy knot gathers in my stomach. I cross my arms to hide it.

  “And the demons?”

  “Sounds like a cerebral manifestation of depression in a highly perceptive and creative individual.”

  My throat closes around my response. I’m telling myself I’m a worthless piece of shit.

  “Jesse, it’s obvious that you are extremely gifted. You have an awareness of your existence and the world around you that’s different from most people. Combined with your musical talent, this gives you access to a host of creative insights others could only dream about. It’s also a huge burden to carry. Your brain will process and interpret stimuli at a profound level that can be overwhelming and exhausting.”

  I smirk. “So you’re saying I’m not fucked up but gifted?”

  Not even a polite smile this time. “Do you find auditory stimuli more heightened and distracting than others seem to?”

  Yes.

  “Do you feel overwhelmed by your own creativity and a pressure to make sense of yourself and your world?”

  Yes.

  “Do you find yourself seeking solitude for reflection and daydreaming?”

  Yes.

  “Ever face silence from humor that’s often too subtle for others to appreciate?”

  Similar to the silence he’s facing now? I focus back on my window, loving the way the setting sun forces its orange streaks through the slats. Ocean ceilings, sunset blinds.

  “Do you see the intricate complexities in the world around you? Find yourself lost in the beauty of ordinary things? How about risk-taking? Do you feel confronted by an overwhelming host of possibilities, problems, and complex relationships that make it hard to choose a course?”

  Fuck.

  “Jesse, do you find it difficult to connect with others because they seem to be living in a different world than you do?”

  Point made, I sense his stance soften across from me. His chair creaks as he leans forward.

  “You’re not a mistake, Jesse. Your brain is special, and instead of being nurtured, it was assaulted by trauma. It’s no wonder substance use got a foothold in your life.”

  The glowing blinds are nice, but suddenly I’m struck by the corresponding slices of light adorning the opposite wall. How did I miss that?

  Daylight candlelight. What if there’s beauty beyond the darkness?

  “Interesting theory, doc.”

  “Do you disagree?”

  No. I pull my attention from the wall-candles and focus back on him. “So now what?”

  “Now we help your brain process the interfering obstacles and set it up to thrive.”

  ∞∞∞

  I’m exhausted by the time I return to the house. The guys want to do a full rehearsal for the Smother gig, but I’m not sure I can handle that right now.

  Strange that the place is dark when I climb the front steps. I mutter a curse to myself. Guess they’re already setting up in the practice space. So much for a rest.

  I push through the front door and stop at the barrage of deliciousness wafting from the kitchen. Is Reece expecting Gina again?

  “You cooking takeout, dude?” I call out. Smells too divine to be an authentic attempt. At least he’s trying.

  “I hope that’s okay.”

  I freeze. Heart in my lungs, brain skipping all over the place. She comes
around the corner, and now I know I’m dreaming. Maybe I am schizophrenic after all. How else do you explain the most beautiful woman on the planet, in my hallway, encased in a glow from the kitchen?

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says, perfect lips curving into a devastating smile.

  “An angel, maybe.”

  “Not an alabaster queen?”

  My heart can’t take it, the weight of her presence. I’ve missed her too much, and the void starts to swallow me again. I’d come so far and now—

  “What are you doing here?” My voice trembles, caught in the battle between pain and ecstasy.

  God, I miss her so much. She must really hate me to show up here looking like that.

  Her smile fades as she reaches back through the doorway and pulls something off the fridge.

  “Is this for real?”

  My hurried scribbles glare illegibly in the patchy light.

  I swallow the host of explanations, defenses, and apologies that rise in my throat. “Yes” is the only word I let out.

  Suddenly the dark hallway is alive with sparks and color. Her warm body molds against mine as I sink my face into her neck.

  “You have no idea how much I wanted you to say that. How hard it’s been to stay away until you did.” Her words are thick with tears. I feel them soaking my shirt, and I pull her tighter.

  “I’m not running anymore. I promise.”

  Her arms slip under my shirt and lock around my waist.

  “Then neither am I.”

  ∞∞∞

  Mila wasn’t kidding. The woman can cook. I lean back in my chair and it’s hard to argue this isn’t the happiest moment of my life. Is this what it’s like to live? To want something? To chase a future because you crave more of the present?

  “You’ve got that far off look again,” my alabaster queen says.

  My attention settles back on her along with a smile. A genuine one. A content one.

  “I’m just happy,” I say, and wish I could say it again to see her face light up like that.

  “Me too. Jess, I…” She blinks. Blushes? I didn’t think I’d ever see Mila Taylor blush. She clears her throat. “Parker said you were at counseling today. How is that going?”

  I smile to myself, disappointed, but I can’t exactly blame her for backing down from those three words. I haven’t had the courage to say them either.

  “It’s going well. Hard, but well. You’ll laugh,” I add, mentally reviewing this past session.

  “Why?”

  I shake my head. “Only because of what Seth told me today. He thinks I’m gifted.”

  She does laugh, forcing a shine to her eyes I haven’t seen in a long time. “My professional opinion? No shit, Sherlock.”

  “An I-told-you-so would suffice.”

  “Really… what about this?” She leans forward and presses her lips to mine.

  “Even better. Should I list more things you were right about?”

  “Please do.”

  I grin and steal another kiss instead. “So you still never told me what you’re doing here.”

  Her eyes wrinkle into a coy expression. “Maybe I was just in the area.”

  “And decided to pop in and cook Italian for two?”

  “I was hungry.”

  “And the guys?”

  “They went out.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I draw her in for another kiss. A long one this time so she knows this is where she belongs.

  “You want the truth? Jonas rang me and said you were committed to turning things around.”

  “And you believed that? I screwed it up before.”

  Her gaze becomes serious. “I believed him.” She sucks in a breath. “The man loves you, Jess. Like it or not.”

  Her words strike hard.

  “I know,” I say finally.

  “Do you?”

  I nod, and our mood lifts with her sudden grin.

  “Then you should also know that I’m leaking the ‘Jonas’ footage tonight. By tomorrow morning Limelight will have blown up the internet again.”

  26: SMOTHER

  “Jerky?” Derrick swings the package in an arc over the back of the seat.

  “No, man, we’re good,” I say. Mila shakes her head when he slides it over to her side of the seat.

  “No thanks, love.”

  Derrick snickers. “Love. Heh. She’s so British,” he tells no one.

  A smile tickles my lips, then flares into an all-out grin at her expression.

  Don’t encourage him, her look warns.

  It’s killing her that we’re only halfway through the eleven-hour drive to Smother and we have no more band business to discuss. She’s already recapped, summarized, and picked apart every one of the torrent of industry responses to our now-viral “Jonas” video. We’ve discussed the plan, venue, and crowd at Smother so many times, even Derrick is crystal clear on the highlights. We’ve even reviewed, one-by-one, each of the many requests for shows, interviews, and appearances, including SauerStreet’s apologetic bid. Mila handled the thanks-but-no-thanks rejection of their offer.

  Now my high-energy, go-getter girl is stuck in a van with five laidback dudes who are perfectly content trying to identify various likenesses in slices of beef jerky.

  “Hey, Jay! Who’s this?” Derrick holds up a large chunk so his friend can see it from the seat two feet away.

  “I dunno. Kinda looks like a strip of dried beef, dude.”

  “No, Mrs. Hall! Remember? From sixth grade?”

  Parker and Reece exchange a glance from the front seats, and I hold in my snicker. He drives you insane, but we can’t imagine not having the guy around. Life is so simple for him. I would benefit from studying the Derrick Rivers manual for human existence.

  “Eh, look at this,” Mila says. She twists up in my arms and slants her screen toward me.

  “Seamless is sweetening the pot?”

  She nods. “That’s a pretty good offer.”

  “What about Seamless?” Parker calls back. The dude has rabbit ears when it comes to shit he cares about.

  “Seamless sent another deal,” I say.

  “You think Dad had anything to do with that?”

  I shrug. “Why? You ready to do elevator rock now?”

  He throws a dirty look to the back of the van, and I grin in response.

  “I was thinking we should do another new one besides ‘Jonas’ tonight,” Parker says. “Thoughts?”

  Which in Parker-speak means if you disagree you better have a damn good reason.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask.

  “How about ‘Agitator’?”

  “Ooh, yes. This crowd will love that one,” Mila says.

  “Okay.” The word no sooner slips out of my mouth than the entire van zeros-in on me. Even Reece peers in the mirror from the driver’s seat. “What?” I ask.

  Parker clears his throat. “Nothing. I mean, that’s great. I’ll pencil it into the set.”

  “You never agree to anything without a fight,” Derrick says, much less tactfully.

  A collective cringe registers from front to back. Of course. It’s eggshells and tiptoes around the unpredictable Jesse Everett powder keg. I have some epic friends and bandmates to still be here after everything I’ve put them through.

  “I love you guys,” I blurt out, and now the stares shadow with concern. “I’m serious! It’s way past time I tell you that.”

  Derrick, who’s closest, leans even further over the edge of the seat. Is he staring into my eyes? Oh my god.

  “I’m not high, loser,” I say, shoving him back to his zone.

  He shrugs, and relieved chuckles drift from the front seats.

  “You all are impossible,” I mutter, settling back into the cushion.

  “Hey, Jess,” Parker calls out. “We love you too, man. Good to have you back.”

  ∞∞∞

  Now, this is a club. We know the second we pull up to Smother that we’re ab
out to have an experience for the ages. A reverent hush falls over us at the approach of a man who must be the owner—when he’s not modeling for underwear commercials. Damn, if I were a chick… I’d react just like Derrick.

  “Oh my god,” he whisper-shrieks to me. “He’s so hot!”

  I smack his chest. “He’s married, dude.”

  “Leon, good to see you again, love,” Mila says, taking his hand and initiating two posh cheek brushes.

  “You too. We’re really looking forward to this. Arriane has gone all out for Limelight Night. I’ll introduce you and she’ll take it from there.”

  “Great.” Mila turns and waves us after her.

  “We sure about this?” Parker mumbles to me.

  “Playing a club?” I ask.

  “Becoming superstars.”

  I glance over and exchange the smile with my brother we’ve been waiting over twenty years to share. God, I love that man, and at the risk of turning all Derrick on him, I swallow the emotion and focus instead on taking in more of the venue.

  The club is even more impressive on the inside. A DJ booth overlooks a nice-sized dance floor, and the space has obviously been reorganized to accommodate a large platform.

  “Looks like you’ll have room for both basses,” I quip to Reece.

  He’s too excited to take the bait, and huddles with Parker and Jay to discuss logistics instead. I check for Derrick, but he’s already off exploring the sick-looking patio bar. A beautiful woman by the main bar directs employees with a calm authority, making it obvious who runs the show at Smother.

  “Arriane,” Leon calls over, and she turns with a breathtaking smile. On her approach, we catch a glimpse of a little human following shyly behind her. The kid is a devastating mix of his parents, and there’s no doubt he’ll be breaking hearts in twenty years.

  “We’re so happy to have you. Welcome to Smother,” Arriane says, shaking each of our hands.

  “Thanks for hosting us. I’m Jesse.” I point to the others. “Parker, Reece, Derrick, and Jay who will be running front of house.”

  She nods. “You said you’d be bringing your own audio equipment, correct?”

  “Yes,” Mila says. “Hiya, I’m Mila. Nice to finally meet you.” The women exchange greetings, clearly evaluating, then approving of each other. We’d be a mess without Mila, and I suspect Limelight Night would not be happening without Arriane. I relax knowing they’re in charge.