Dirty Like Me

by Jaine Diamond

  Even I could see I was beyond reason, for the moment. I just needed to wallow a bit. And Devi could respect a good wallow. As long as it was brief.

  We sat at the far end of the bar, where I hoped no one would recognize me. I had my hair pulled back and my sunglasses on just like that chick in The Boys of Summer, a rocking cover of which was currently playing over the sound system, though I was pretty sure I didn’t actually have the love of the hero in my personal story of—unrequited—summer love. I was just trying to be invisible.

  Somehow it had never even occurred to me, until now, that if I was uncomfortable with the negative attention I got as Jesse Mayes’ girlfriend, the attention I’d get as his ex-girlfriend could only be worse. I was trying to prepare for that eventuality, but the news had not yet dropped that I’d left the tour or that the great Canadian love story was over. Apparently Jesse’s people weren’t talking, and I was hardly going to be the one to break the news.

  Devi kept saying I didn’t need to worry about it, that she’d handle it, that we could even hire a PR person to deal with it. I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around that. I just kept replaying the last few months of my life in excruciating detail. Every thrilling, amazing, crazy-ass moment of it. Even the ones that had led some paparazzo to believe I was some kind of whore.

  And all the things I’d said to Jesse when I walked out on him… those were pretty much on repeat.

  I felt dazed, horrified, and emotionally wrung out.

  But I was also getting mad. As fuck.

  Because it hadn’t exactly escaped my notice that that whole slam piece had little to stand on other than the fact that I’d kissed another guy while I was supposed to be Jesse’s girl, as evidenced by the incriminating photo someone had leaked. Never mind that Josh was kissing me. According to that photo, I was guilty as sin.

  And I had a pretty good idea who’d turned that over to the media.

  “So do I go talk to him or what?” I asked Devi for at least the dozenth time.

  “Hell yes, you go talk to him.”

  “Not him. I mean Josh.”

  Devi gave an exasperated sigh, for the dozenth time. “Fuck that. Why would you waste another second on that creep?”

  “I don’t know. Closure or something? Tell him to F off once and for all?”

  “For what? Nothing you can say will ever get through to him. You’ve just got to accept that. The guy is an entitled prick and he always will be. You’d do much better leaving him in your rearview, like permanently, babe.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Hell, no!” Devi spun around on her stool and called across the bar to my sister, who was making an espresso at the other end. “Turn this panty-peeling vagina heroin off.”

  Dirty Like Me had just come on, the original Dirty version. Normally I would’ve laughed my ass off at Devi’s description of the song, which was bang on, but at the moment I was far closer to tears than laughter. I waved Becca away from the iPod dock anyway. “No. Just leave it on.”

  Because I loved this song.

  It was pretty much the best of what Dirty was. Their most famous song. Their biggest hit, ever.

  It was probably the last thing I needed to hear right now, but I loved it. Couldn’t help loving it.

  And everything I was feeling right now, this song pretty much said it all. I could barely breathe while I listened to it, each word, each grinding chord from Jesse’s guitar chafing at my heart.

  It wasn’t a love song, exactly, or a breakup song, or a make out song, but some kind of blood and gut and soul-fueled synthesis of all three. A kind of musical hate fuck wrapped in the sweetest love letter.

  Flaying flesh and bone to reveal the raw underbelly of lust, need, and marrow-deep desire for acceptance. That’s what one reviewer had wrote about it, and the words had stuck with me.

  Another called it The anthem of the done-wrong.

  And they were both right. Because deep beneath that underbelly of lust, need, and desire was an anguish so soul-splitting it set my hairs on end.

  As I listened to the song, it felt like my heart was gaping open, raw and aching, for everyone to see. Like a wound that had never been allowed to heal because each time it started, I picked at it, just enough to make it bleed... all over again.

  I only realized I was crying when the tears dripped off my cheeks, my eyes so flooded I couldn’t see Devi right in front of me. “Oh, hon,” she said, just beyond the tear-blur. “We’ve got to turn this off.”

  “No,” I managed, as I wiped the tears away. Thank God for the sunglasses. “Just let it play.”

  I was kind of in shock, it had been so long since I’d cried.

  Over two years.

  And now, the tears I’d been holding back since that awful day standing at the altar, alone, were finally pouring out. I’d never cried over it. Not that day, not any day since.

  Not once.

  And if I thought it hurt when Josh left me, that was nothing compared to this.

  This was heartbreak in slow motion.

  Why did I think I could just walk away? Like that would make it better? Like I could somehow magically avoid getting hurt, when my heart was already involved?

  No. This was way too deep for that. Jesse was way too deep.

  When I was with him, I wanted things I didn’t think I would ever want again until he rocked his way right into my life, my bed, my heart. The man was in my head, in my blood, and under my skin.

  “You were so right, Dev. I’ve been living my life like I can’t be loved. I’m totally in love with Jesse, but I’m afraid he can’t possibly love me back because I’m fundamentally unlovable or something.”

  Even I heard how fucked up that sounded. Because I never even gave Jesse a chance to love me. I just assumed it wasn’t possible.

  “Are you ever going to return his calls?” Devi asked for like the zillionth time as she glanced at my cell on the bar between us. It was vibrating and playing The Black Keys’ Girl Is On My Mind, thanks to my best friend reprogramming it while I dumped all my woes at her feet last night; her way of reminding me that Jesse probably actually did miss me, like his texts said, and I was being a dumbass.

  “I’m telling you, Dev,” I said as I ignored the phone and devoured about the dozenth maraschino straight from the jar, “from this moment forth, you run my life. Friends style, just like Monica did for Rachel when she realized she made bad decisions.”

  “First of all,” Devi said, seizing the jar of cherries and sliding it out of my reach, “those things stay in your system for like seven years, just like gum and licorice.”

  “Urban legend. If that were true, I’d weigh like a thousand pounds, nine-tenths of it cherry gut.”

  “Ew.” Devi wrinkled up her perfect little nose but I just shrugged. I’d spent the last five weeks on a tour bus with a bunch of men—gross humor didn’t even faze me anymore. “Second, your life is not a sitcom, babe. I think that storyline lasted like half an episode. Why? Because no one’s actually supposed to run your life but you. It’s called free will and you’re the only one who has to lie in the bed you made, so buck up and get your shit together.”

  “Fugh. Fine.” I slurped my whipped cream and shoved my glass toward Becca. “More whip!”

  My sister scowled at me but went to get the whipped cream canister.

  “And third…” Devi said with a weird inflection in her voice. I turned to see the perfectly threaded arch of her eyebrow raise in a way that made me follow her gaze toward the door. “You can’t hide forever, babe.”

  My heart lurched into my throat.

  There was a man standing in the doorway kind of blocking out the sun, moment-of-destiny style, and while it wasn’t Jesse Mayes it was a gorgeous brown-haired dude in a leather moto jacket and jeans, a cool tat on the back of his hand when he took off his sunglasses. His eyes were locked on me, because clearly he was here for only one reason.

  To make me lie in that bed I’d made.

 
Brody headed over and I looked from Devi to my sister, who were both watching me. Becca had just topped up my glass with whip. I sighed. “I’ll take it to go.”

  I turned to Brody in defeat. I knew he was one of Jesse’s best friends, but since he was also his manager, I figured he was here to square up the business end of this deal. I’d already been paid for my weird-ass services, in full, and it was only fair that I return at least some of that money. Not to mention I’d broken my verbal contract with Jesse, so maybe there were more complicated ramifications to that.

  “Am I gonna need a lawyer for this?”

  “Don’t think so, Katie.” His eyes crinkled in a warm, friendly way. “How about I just give you a ride.”

  I studied him. I didn’t know him well, but I was pretty sure even if Jesse was disappointed in how I ran out on him, he wouldn’t send someone to totally screw me over.

  “Where?”

  He moved to the door and opened it for me. “Wherever you’re going.”

  ◊◊◊

  I gave Brody the address of where I’d just decided to go, then sat back in the passenger seat of his big-ass black truck and waited for him to lecture me, or grill me, or whatever the hell he’d come here to do.

  He didn’t say a thing. He just drove, westbound, headed for the tree-lined streets and gated mansions of Shaughnessy.

  “I’m sorry for leaving the tour,” I finally blurted when I couldn’t take the silence any longer. “I really am. It was a mistake.”

  Brody looked at me sidelong, his deep blue eyes assessing me. All that look told me was that I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of a business negotiation with the man. It was the look of a man who had the patience, the persistence and the low tolerance level for other people’s bullshit that, in most situations, probably got him exactly what he set out to get.

  “I mean… I think it was a mistake. It was. I’m pretty sure.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I just… I don’t know. I couldn’t handle it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You know, all the bullshit stuff in the media. Creepy dudes with telephoto lenses taking pictures of me with my family. People taking pictures of me in clubs with their cell phones and putting them online. Watching me. Judging me. Saying all kinds of shit that wasn’t even true.” I glanced at him guiltily. “And some that was. But, you know, it was pretty shitty to have to read about it.”

  “Is that the truth? Or is that what you’re telling yourself to give yourself a way out?”

  Ouch. “Shit. Are you always like this?”

  He laughed. “Yep. According to your boyfriend, I’m a real asshole.”

  The smile fell from my face. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “That so?”

  I looked out the window. I took a breath, then took a fortifying sip of my coffee. I focused on the blue ridge of the mountains in the distance, erupting above the downtown skyline. Even though I was smack-dab in a world of hurt, it felt good to be home. I loved Vancouver. I grew up here. Everyone I loved lived here.

  Even Jesse lived here, somewhere.

  I watched the city roll by and thought, I don’t even know where he lives.

  I glanced over at Brody, whose eyes were on the road.

  “You knew them before they were famous, right? How did they handle it? Was it so easy for them to adapt to fame?”

  “Easy?” he said. “Hell, no. We lost Seth at the end of the first tour.”

  Seth. I knew that was the name of Dirty’s original rhythm guitarist; he played on the first album, Love Struck—the one that rocketed Dirty to fame.

  “He couldn’t handle it?”

  “Well, it’s fair to say Seth was already headed off the rails before the band made it big.” He glanced over at me. “Drugs. But Zane almost went that way, too. In his case it was booze. He went to rehab though and stuck it out. Hasn’t drank a drop in six years, but I can’t say that’s been easy on him, living the life he lives.”

  “I had no idea.” My Google searches had centered so much on Jesse that I’d neglected to stalk the other band members for gossip. Definite oversight. Surely there must’ve been a lot of it over the years, and Brody was right—none of that could’ve been easy on them. Not if they were good people, like I knew Jesse was.

  “They’ve all had their struggles with fame,” Brody went on. “Maybe not as serious as all that, but… I can’t say it’s been easy on Jesse. Being on the road so much, away from family.”

  “Family. You mean his sister?”

  Brody got quiet. For a long, long moment I wondered if I’d said something out of line.

  “Jesse mentioned…” I said, but I didn’t know quite where to go with that. Brody looked at me again, but whatever he was thinking behind those deep blue eyes, he wasn’t sharing. “He mentioned he’s worried about her. And I got the feeling it’s been that way a while.”

  Finally, Brody said, “Jesse’s had a lot of loss in his life, Katie. Both of his parents gone when he was young, never got to see what he’d make of himself. That still hurts, I’m sure, but Jesse’s not one to talk about his pain. He writes music, gets it out that way. Which is maybe why writing with his sister is so important to him. It’s a bonding thing. A chance to get to know her better.”

  I stared at him. “Jesse writes music with his sister?”

  Brody glanced over at me. “She’s a fantastic lyricist. She co-wrote most of the songs on Sunday Morning.”

  Okay. Totally new information. “How long have they been writing together?”

  “Used to do it all the time when we were kids. But this is the first time she’s written with him since Love Struck.”

  My jaw dropped a little. “She wrote with Dirty?”

  “Fucking right. That album still outsells all of their other albums combined. It’s a fan favorite. Jesse’s favorite too.” Brody looked over at me. “Or it was, until this one. Jesse’s always said the songs she co-wrote are the best Dirty ever recorded. Got that same feeling on this new album.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “I guess there’s a lot you don’t know. Maybe you should stick around, find out some more.”

  I ignored that, because I wasn’t about to be swayed to stick around for anything, by anyone, other than Jesse himself, and he wasn’t here telling me these things. “Why didn’t she keep writing with Dirty?”

  Brody shrugged. “Wanted to go off and do her own thing, not tour the world on her brother’s fame. Wanted something of her own.”

  Something of her own.

  Shit.

  That was the same thing I told Jesse I wanted when I left him in L.A..

  I’d promised to call him when I landed to let him know I got home safe, but I didn’t. I’d been avoiding him, ignoring his calls. And I could picture perfectly the look on his face during all those phone calls with his sister, that look I now knew to be deep worry.

  Was I making him feel that way now?

  God. To think I’d kicked him right where it hurt… It was kind of unforgivable. I didn’t even think I could blame him if he couldn’t forgive me for it.

  “I know it wasn’t cool of me to leave him like I did,” I said quietly.

  “He cares about you, Katie,” was all Brody said in return.

  “He wanted me to help him sell music. That’s all,” I said, feeling kind of desperate to still believe it, because then maybe I wasn’t such a total ass. “I did that. As much as I felt I could.”

  Brody looked at me like I was dead crazy. “That’s all you think this was?”

  I didn’t know. I just didn’t know anymore.

  But if Jesse wanted anything more from me than that, why hadn’t he told me so?

  So far, he hadn’t even told me he wanted me to be his girlfriend for real. Or stick around two seconds longer than the end of the tour.

  “Then why did he hire me in the first place, Brody? He said he needed me because ‘together, we sell.’ He said he needed help staying in the mind
s of the fans, that this album had to be a success or the record company wouldn’t let him do another solo album.”

  “That’s true, but Jesse doesn’t need more money or more fame, Katie. He just wants to keep bringing Jessa’s lyrics to the world. That’s what this album was about.”

  Shit. I didn’t fucking know.

  I mean, it’s not like he told me.

  I had no idea all of this was for his sister. To try to help her?

  “So he wants this album to be a success… so he can make more music with her?”

  “He’s hoping it will convince her to come home and write with him again full-time.” Brody glanced over at me. “He’s afraid if we can’t get her back for the music, we’ll never get her back.”

  I noticed this time he said we.

  “Do you think she’ll come back?”

  “No,” he said, and my heart kind of fell at his bluntness, at the thought that Jesse wasn’t going to get what he’d hoped for. “It’s not like we don’t all hope… but the girl’s been gone a long time. She changed when Dirty left on their first tour. Jesse’s always blamed himself for that.”

  “But couldn’t you guys just pay for her to come home? Maybe she could take a break from modeling or something?”

  “Jessa Mayes doesn’t need money from big brother,” Brody said. “And she wouldn’t take it anyway. She doesn’t even accept royalties for the songs. It all just goes into a trust account.”

  “Why?”

  “She says she wants to make her own way. Incredibly stubborn on that point.” He gave me a meaningful look.

  “I get it,” I said. “But I’m not Jesse’s sister. I’m not family. I’m not even his girlfriend.”

  “Maybe that’s how it started five weeks ago,” he said, “but things can change, Katie.”

  Yeah. Things could really fucking change.

  We were getting closer to the very familiar mega-mansion where I knew I’d find Josh. Even though I hadn’t been there in over two years, I knew there was no way he would ever miss Sunday brunch at his parents’ house. And I’d been so sure, when I got into Brody’s truck, that I had to talk to him. To face him once and for all, to tell him I was over him and that he needed to let me go. No more showing up uninvited in my life. No giving photos of us to the media. No more us.