by Emily Snow
“Yeah.” He sniffed. “Well, I’ll tell ya, if you’ve felt it, you’ll do anything to get it back. Even drink yourself to death. Nothing beats being happy.”
After that, he fell back asleep, and the next day he went into rehab. We never talked about it again, but if I’d known then what I know now, I’d have had a different answer for him. I’d have told him that I might not have ever been that happy, but I’d also never been that sad. The sad didn’t come until later. Until I slept with Tammy—and betrayed myself, and her, and Walsh. Until I got the love all scrambled in my brain and in my heart and had no love left for anyone, especially not for me.
Chapter Six
Mel
The night after I’ve been to Studio B to meet the guys, I sit in the completely overdone guest suite at Tammy and Walsh’s house on the big king-sized bed and look through the day’s photos on my laptop. I scroll past pictures of the band standing around Tammy, her long dark hair falling alongside her face as she bends over a paper Mike is holding, photos of the sound tech’s hand adjusting dials and buttons, and pictures of Walsh watching the love of his life as she talks to the guys. Then comes the final group, a series of photos of Joss during the afternoon meeting.
I zoom in on them one at a time, looking at the sheer male beauty that is Joss Jamison. The structure of his face is like a work of art, the planes and angles so geometrically perfect that he’s a flesh and blood sculpture. His golden skin fits across his bones like a glove, a piece of satin stretched taut. His dark blond hair is the perfect length, not long enough to be feminine but long enough to attract all things feminine.
In most of the photos he is looking down at his iPad. He wrote on it throughout the meeting, his brow furrowed in concentration, his lips parted slightly while he followed the stylus in his hand as it traveled across the screen.
In the midst of the series, there is one photo of Joss looking up to where Tammy and Walsh were sitting. I gasp in shock when I enlarge it to full screen because it shows me a glimpse of a man so torn asunder by pain and loneliness that it makes my own heart ache. The look on his face is sheer devastation, and his eyes are pools of despair. This is the rock star uncut. The man the fans never see. A man I never would have seen if I’d had my camera pointed a different direction or taken the photo a split second later.
I push the laptop to the side and lie down on the big bed, resting on my back, my right arm bent behind my head. My mind wanders to questions of what could make Joss Jamison so sad that he would mirror that kind of devastation. The beautiful, talented, sought-after man with fame and fortune and any woman he could possibly want at his beck and call. How does someone like him become so utterly bereft? I decide that one of the mysteries I will solve on this tour is the mystery of Joss. I want to know what makes him work as a human being, as a man, as a friend. I want to know what’s brought him such pain. And in the end? Some deep part of me wants to be the one to make it disappear.
Sunday comes quickly, and I find myself standing outside an enormous luxury bus, bags in hand, watching the chaos that is a rock band about to depart on tour. Tammy and Dave are running around, shouting like a couple of buskers at a carnival, and the guys are hanging out, leaning up against cars in the parking lot outside Studio B, where we’ve all met. Mike, Colin, and Walsh are eating doughnuts I brought them, and joking around with some of the crew. That is, until Tammy marches over and starts hollering at the roadies to get their asses in gear and load up their shit. Walsh laughs and tells them to take his word for it and do what she says.
Someone finally comes over and takes my bags from me to put them in the bus. Thankful to have use of my hands again, I make my way to the folding table that’s been set up with coffee and tea and grab a cup of Starbucks. I turn around just as a big black limo pulls up in the parking lot a couple of dozen feet from me. The driver hops out and walks around to the back passenger side just as Joss is stepping out. They chat for a moment and then the driver shakes Joss’s hand and they smile at one another.
As the driver goes to the trunk to get Joss’s bags out, I see Joss lean down into the open door of the car and talk to someone inside. Then he stands up and helps hand out a long-legged blonde wearing nothing but a mini-dress and fuck-me pumps. Her hair is a perfectly shiny curtain that hangs to her waist, and her breasts are so obviously fake that I almost spit out my coffee when I see them. How she keeps from tumbling over like a top-heavy cake, I don’t know.
From behind me I hear Walsh mutter, “Well, he went for the full-on rock-star entrance I see.”
Then Mike responds with, “What the fuck? Why does he always have to be such a prick?”
“Dude, you’re just pissed you didn’t think of it,” Colin jokes.
My initial reaction is to be disgusted with Joss. To sneer, along with Mike, at what a clichéd dick he is. But as I watch him show the girl around the outside of the tour bus and introduce her to a few roadies and Dave, I really look at both his face and his body language. He does everything with her as though he’s onstage, even looking around frequently, as if to see if anyone is watching. He smiles at all the appropriate moments, laughs and jokes with everyone as though he’s the host of multimillion-dollar party, but that same bleak look from my photos is in his eyes the entire time. And when he touches her, it is with no passion, no interest at all. He touches her as though they are filming a commercial and she is an actress he met moments before.
After a few minutes, Joss walks the Barbie doll back to the waiting car, yanks her skinny ass up against him, and parties with her tongue for a good half a minute. The roadies catcall and wolf whistle; Walsh chuckles and rolls his eyes. I feel nauseous.
Once the girl is safely tucked away in the back of the car, Joss turns around and executes a little bow for the crew. They all laugh and cheer some more. Then he walks briskly to the bus. I wonder if anyone else sees him wipe the back of his hand across his mouth as he goes.
Chapter Seven
Joss
I’m sitting in a captain’s chair on the bus, turned toward a window, watching the state of Oregon pass away behind us. We’re an hour out on the road and heading to Los Angeles, because really, where the hell else would you start a mega-famous rock band tour?
Tammy has been shooting daggers at me all morning, and I take a really perverse satisfaction in the possibility that my little production might have bothered her. Since screwing Katrina last night did nothing to make me feel better, I thought maybe becoming who Tammy thinks I am might. I rake my hand through my hair at this thought, wondering when I became such a bitter jerk.
The irony of the whole thing is that I have no idea if Tammy saw all that shit or not. When I stepped out of the car, all prepared to make my big entrance, the very first thing I laid eyes on was Mel. She was standing by the coffee table, a green beret on her head and a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. As I looked her direction, she brought that cup of coffee up to her cherry red lips to take a sip, and bam. I’d never wanted to be a coffee cup so badly in all my life. After that, I stumbled my way through my little deal with Katrina, and all I could see or think about was Mel. Which is so incredibly fucked up. I can’t even go there.
She’s entirely different than Tammy. There’s this softness to her where Tammy is all hard edges. Mel reminds me of a room from one of those Pottery Barn catalogs, where everything is pretty and relaxing and feels like home. Tammy is Architectural Digest—sleek and gorgeous but not user-friendly.
This contrast makes me question how I could possibly be attracted to them both. They don’t look alike—well, with the possible exception of the really fantastic racks—sound alike, or act alike. Yet, I’ve been torn to pieces because of Tammy for more than a year and now find myself inextricably drawn to Mel. I feel like she’s some sort of magnet and I’m a piece of iron, slowly inching my way toward the undeniable force. I’m afraid that, like a magnet and iron, the closer I get, the stronger her pull will be.
During my worship of the wind
ow, Mike went back to bed in his bunk, Colin threw on a set of headphones and is playing a game on his laptop, and Tammy retreated to a back bedroom to holler at more people on her cell phone. The two security guys are up front with the driver, leaving Walsh, Mel, and me the only ones here in the main cabin.
“Joss, man, you going to grace us with your presence sometime today or is this the bus of silence?” I hear Walsh chide from across the aisle.
I swivel my chair away from the window and give him a smile. It’s definitely not his fault I royally screwed up my life. I need to quit avoiding him simply because it makes me feel like crap to be near him.
“Nah. I need to talk some or my vocal cords will shut down and I won’t be able to sing.” Walsh grins at my bullshit. “Any more of the coffee left on this rig?” I ask.
Mel smiles from her seat near Walsh. “Sure. How do you take it?”
My heart skips a beat at her beautiful smile. “Um, just a little cream if there is some. Do you mind?”
“No. It’s right here.” She stands and moves to the small kitchenette that takes up the front portion of the bus. I watch the way she quietly moves, her limbs fluid and silky. After she pours me a cup and one for Walsh as well, she sits back down, but in the seat next to me. My heart stumbles, and I recognize the tingle of electricity that zips through me.
“Did you know you smell like lemon meringue pie?” I ask, unable to control myself now that she’s so close.
Walsh busts out with a snort but doesn’t say anything.
She giggles, but it’s not the kind of phony giggle that groupies give me when I sign their chests. It’s an authentic, girly giggle that is accompanied by a little bit of a blush.
“It must be my shampoo,” she says. “It’s some sort of lemon stuff.”
“Well, you’re going to have to keep the bus stocked with pies, because lemon meringue is my favorite and now that I’ve smelled it it’s all I can think about.” I wink at her, feeling somewhat self-conscious. I haven’t practiced being charming in a hell of a long time, and I’m a little rusty.
“He’s not bullshitting, Mel,” Walsh adds. “He once ate an entire one all by himself in less than two minutes. He used a mixing spoon. I kid you not.” He grins at me, and I can’t help but smile back at the memory. We were twelve, he had chocolate cream, and I had lemon meringue. He bet me that I couldn’t finish mine before he finished his. I won, and then we were both sick the rest of the night. Didn’t do a damn thing to diminish my love of the stuff though.
“Well, I don’t have any pie at the moment,” Mel says. “But here—” She leans over to her former seat and reaches into a box sitting next to it. She comes out with a doughnut that she hands to me. “Lemon-flavored jelly-filled doughnut.”
I take the magical morsel from her and down it in about two bites, which has Walsh shaking his head. “Still got it, man,” I tell him with my mouth full of Mel’s pastry.
“You suck. Just wait until we get to L.A. I’m hitting up the first bakery we find and then we’ll see who the real champion is.”
We all laugh, and I can’t remember the last time I was able to enjoy my best friend like this. Somewhere deep inside, I feel like Mel is a catalyst for joy.
We arrive in Los Angeles at one a.m. Everyone is exhausted and bitchy from sitting for fourteen hours. We check into the Beverly Wilshire, and even before I head to my suite, I know I won’t be able to sleep. Nighttime is the worst for me. It was night when it happened, the biggest mistake of my existence, and ever since, I’ve been unable to sleep at night. I usually pass out from complete and utter exhaustion around five or six a.m. and then get up sometime around lunch, which is actually my breakfast. Luckily, I’m a rock star, so no one gives a shit when I sleep.
I dump my stuff in my suite and decide that a run would do me good. After tossing on a t-shirt, shorts, running shoes, and a backwards Portland Trailblazers cap, I take the elevator up to the rooftop and hit the twenty-four-hour fitness center the hotel maintains for guests. As much as I’d prefer to run outside, this is first and foremost L.A., land of nonstop cars and pavement. In addition, Dave would no doubt call in the National Guard if he found out I’d left the hotel on foot at night without the security detail. I don’t have my ass insured by Sotheby’s or anything yet, but it’s pretty well understood that I’m not to take any unnecessary risks with my person these days.
Upstairs, I hop on a treadmill, throw my ear buds in, crank the Amy Winehouse, and start pumping my legs. I’ve been going steady for about forty minutes when I see a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. I look through the windows in front of me to the outdoor pool that sits on the hotel’s roof. I see a slim body arc into the water. Golden skin and a flash of deep red hair cause my breath to hitch. I watch as the form glides back and forth across the water for several minutes and then finally surfaces at one end. She tosses back her wet hair and leans her arms on the edge of the pool. Mel.
I slow the treadmill down until it stops before I grab a sweat towel to wipe off and head outside, that magnetic pull guiding my every movement as if my body has no self-determination. I come to a stop at the edge of the pool and look down at her.
She lifts her head and squints at me. “You’re awake too?” she asks nonchalantly.
“I am,” I say as I squat down so we’re closer to eye level with one another. “But then I’m usually awake this time of night. What are you doing up?”
She grimaces. “I, uh, wasn’t so thrilled with my accommodations.”
“Wait, what? Are you serious? Tell me what the problem is. I’ll have them get up there and fix it right away. Or I’ll get you a new room. As much fucking money as we’re spending on this place, you should get anything you damn well want.” I move to take my iPhone out of the armband, but she gently touches my knee.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” She looks oddly uncomfortable, so I sit my ass down on the concrete pool deck, take my running shoes and socks off, and stick my feet in the pool next to her.
“C’mere.” I motion with my index finger and she scoots closer to me. I lean down a touch and hold my hand out. She grabs it and I pull her over in the water until she’s between my feet. She wraps her arms around my shins and uses my legs as floats. My shins are really fucking happy, but other parts of me are jealous. “Tell Uncle Joss all about it. What’s wrong with your hotel room?”
She sighs. “My sister. She’s great and everything, but she can be a little—”
“Bossy?” I interject.
Mel laughs. My heart skips. “That’s a diplomatic way of putting it. Yes. Bossy. And she seems to think I’m still twelve. So, apparently, she booked me into suites with her and Walsh the whole tour.”
I raise an eyebrow at her but decide not to comment.
“Exactly,” she mumbles. “Well, the last thing I want to do is spend the whole summer listening to Walsh bang my sister. I mean, eww. I also don’t want to have to worry about parading around naked in my own room.”
“I’m sure Walsh would have no problem with you doing that,” I tell her very seriously.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Yeah, well, Tammy might. I told her to change the arrangements from here on out and she was a bitch about it, so I decided it was better to come out here than to keep arguing with her.”
A drop of water is slowly rolling down her chest, making its way into her cleavage. I’ve noticed this at some point during the conversation, and now I can’t keep my mind or my eyes off of it. I clear my throat, knowing by the silence that it’s my turn to say something. Then I look up at her face. She’s grinning at me as if she knows exactly what I’ve been thinking.
“What?” I say with faux innocence.
“Dog,” she replies.
“No, just human, and male, and all that entails.”
She laughs but pushes back from the wall of the pool with her feet. I catch her by squeezing my legs together, however, and I continue to hold her while she runs her hands along my calves
. It feels so good and so natural at the same time. I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed with a woman I hardly know.
“But hey, I have the solution to your hotel problems.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, because you see, I’m actually your sister’s boss, so she can argue with you all she wants, but she has to do what I say. I’ll tell her to change your bookings to your own rooms. You’re not Tammy’s little sister on this trip. You’re our documentarian, and as such, you get a room just like any other member of the team.”
She gives me a glittering smile that catches the brilliance of the lights around the pool. “Thanks, Joss. I really appreciate that.”
“Sure thing.” I smile back at her, and I realize in that moment that I have smiled more today than I have in the previous four weeks combined. Mel is like a ray of sunshine, and I think I might like having her around.
Eventually Mel hops out of the pool, nearly poleaxing me with the tiny scrap of fabric she’s using as a swimsuit. Like everything else about her, it is unique. Technically a one-piece but only because there are narrow strips of fabric that run down each side between the top and the bottom, the whole thing is a deep emerald green, which seems to be one of Mel’s favorite colors. The top is cut in a scoop and the bottoms are cut high on the legs. Overall, I think it may be the best-looking swimsuit I’ve ever seen, and I consider myself somewhat of an expert on women’s swimwear.
We both sit in lounge chairs and talk. She’s remarkably easygoing and quick to laugh. She brings a lightness to everything and it’s so welcome to me that I feel like a man who’s been in a desert for weeks and suddenly found water. It’s as if I can’t get enough of her worldview, the way she looks at things and speaks about them.
“So, this cat of yours. It’s named after some ancient area of the Middle East that was also called Babylon, and it’s all because the cat babbled?” I shake my head. “That’s the most complicated way of naming a cat I’ve ever heard.”