by Chloe Plume
“My friend gave me some stuff. I’ve never done it before and I didn’t do it. I just, I got scared and I dumped it in the bedroom.”
The officer who’d followed me upstairs raised his eyebrows in obvious disbelief. “Yeah, so where’d you dump it?”
Madison shrugged. “It was dark, I was scared and kind of spacing out…”
“Spacing out?”
“Yeah. As I told you officers, this is the first time. I made a mistake.”
The first cop continued, “You know we’re going to have to take you in on possession, right?”
I stepped in. “That’s bullshit! She hardly—“
“And what do you have to do with this?” the cop asked. “I wonder…”
Madison turned to me and gave me a look that said “shut the hell up.”
Unbelievable that she was doing all this for me. I don’t know a single person who would. And it’s not like I ever treated her right.
I’m such a fucking asshole.
All this time, she’d been right in front of me. And it was only now that I realized how amazing she was. In a single night I’d realized the most beautiful girl I’d ever laid eyes on, inside and out, was her. This was some story book shit.
Zayde the romantic sap.
Well, it was about time I had a good thought after years of cynicism and seeing the worst in people. I had nothing but admiration for Madison. And I didn’t deserve, not one bit, the sacrifice she was making.
“Alright, then, let’s go.” The first cop led her away.
The remaining officer ushered everyone else out. “Alright, party’s over.” He turned to me. “Listen, man, sorry about all this…”
I was puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, well, you know my partner’s a hard-ass, one of those—you know?”
“Sure.”
“Well, at least it worked out, right?”
I winced. “Yeah…okay…”
Fucking asshole.
“Listen,” he continued, “it’d be great”—he withdrew a photo of me and then grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket—“my daughter’s a big fan.”
I reluctantly autographed the photo and nodded. “Just make sure she’s alright in there.”
“Oh that girl?” the officer asked casually.
“Yeah, that girl.”
That unbelievable girl.
Chapter 17
Madison
I was only in there for fifteen minutes, but I almost wished it were longer. Zayde had called my dad right after they led me out of his apartment, and my dad had reached out to the right people. I was lucky, very lucky. But I also had to face my dad.
I wish I had more time.
I needed time to come up with some kind of explanation that wouldn’t break his heart. After everything he’d done for me and everything he’d gone through…I was more than embarrassed. I was ashamed.
For something I didn’t do.
He picked me up at the station and we rode home in complete, unbearable silence. When we arrived back home, I followed him into the home office. He sat down behind his desk, and the small picture of my mom that he refused to put away stared down at me from the bookshelf.
“What the hell do you have to say for yourself, Madison?”
I couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry…I just—”
“It was yours, right?” my dad asked suspiciously.
“Yes.”
His jaw visibly tensed as he thought for a short and quiet moment. “You’re very fortunate I was able to salvage your record Madison. You do realize how serious this is, right?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t even imagine what your mother would think, if she were—well, I...I can’t even what this would do to her.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? This could have ruined your future. Stanford and everything you’ve worked so hard for.”
“I know.”
“Well, I was able to arrange for an adjournment in contemplation of dismissal. The record is sealed.”
“Thank you…”
My dad crinkled his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t thank me. Just make sure this never—I mean, never—happens again. I mean…I still can’t believe…what were you thinking?”
I gave him the best made-up explanation I could. “It’s L.A., everything’s so different. And the pressure to just…I gave in. I wanted to fit in with everything…”
My dad sat thinking for a moment and looked my outfit over with surprise before standing up and finally speaking. “Sometimes I forget just how hard it is for you. And you really don’t have anyone over here. And you just turned eighteen. I treat you like a grown woman, but…” He sat down next to me and put his arm around me. “I want you to know I love you and I’d do anything for you.”
“I know dad. I’m sorry.” Surprisingly, I felt better in that moment than I had in a very long time. I couldn’t remember the last time my dad and I had been this close. Ever since my mom passed, we really only spoke hurriedly and over the phone.
“But you’re on thin ice, Madison, do you hear me? Consider this summer a probationary period. You go to work and you get ready for college. That’s about it.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
The only problem is Zayde.
Chapter 18
Zayde
Wow, she did that…
I couldn’t get over it. No girl I’d ever known would put her ass on the line for me.
The question is why?
I was thinking maybe she realized how I felt about her. Despite my best efforts at a standoffish attitude, maybe she could see through it?
Nah. No way. I act like the consummate asshole. There’s no mistaking me for someone who gives a shit about anything.
Which left the even more worrisome conclusion: maybe she liked me for the asshole I make every effort to be.
That’s not good.
In the end though, I was sitting there wondering about all this crap when I should be thinking of ways to make this up to her.
Well, I should probably do something nice for her.
I grabbed some BeastKing from the fridge—it was great for hangovers. Not to mention the endorsement checks…
Yeah, I’ll take her out somewhere. Something meaningful.
A fucking date?
No. But I’d show her I was more than meets the eye. Maybe not be an asshole for the day.
The Masque.
That place was the birthplace of real music in L.A. Graffiti walls, a basement filled with history and the raw meaning of authentic music—maybe she’d like that. I knew I loved it. I was pretty sure it was a part of L.A. she’d never seen.
So, let’s do it.
I dialed my buddy from World of Wonder. Unbelievable that this piece of history was private property, most of it erased forever, inaccessible to the public. It was a tragedy.
“Hey, Alex, my man.”
“What up, Zayde. You finally decided to be part of the collaboration?”
“I would like to, but my manager and agent and all the suits are keeping me locked down. It’s all about ‘family-friendly’ now.”
“Bummer…”
“Listen, I don’t mean to inconvenience you guys,” I said. “But, I’d like to maybe check out the basement, the old Masque stuff, you know—bring a girl.’
I could practically see Alex’s smirking face. “Ah…Alright…my man. Who’s the girl?”
“No. Alex, it’s not like that man. I’m just taking someone out to see this because it’s important. I promise, no funny business. Just two people interested in the relics of Los Angeles culture.
“Yeah. Come by like…man, you want to come by today?”
“Uh, Saturday?”
“Yeah, I’m in until 3. Swing by. Place is empty.”
“Sure.”
I hung up. Shit. Alex and some of the producers were on me to contribute to an L.A. rock documentary. Of course, my agent and manager were a
gainst my participating in any World Of Wonder project.
Pain in the ass…
Maddy would love this. I know it. I’d put the attitude on the backburner for a day and try to show that I appreciated what she’d done.
Fuck, she’s beautiful and has my back—what the fuck am I going to do?
I couldn’t believe how much I wanted her. I never thought it was possible.
I downed a couple energy drinks and got dressed. For once in my life, I pulled on a blazer. It was some designer shit I got for free so I’d be seen wearing it. Problem is, it wasn’t my speed, and so the custom Italian cashmere jacket just stayed there in my closet.
It’s about time.
It felt great, pulling it on.
Fuck, that’s soft and sharp at the same time.
I admired myself in the mirror. I looked a little less edgy than I’d like, but I knew this was more Maddy’s speed, and I was committed to thanking her for standing in the line of fire.
Shit, man…
I still couldn’t believe what she’d done. For an asshole like me.
Unbelievable…
By comparison, my friends seemed like selfish, celebrity-obsessed clowns, leading fickle lives guided by their dubious intentions.
Welcome to the world of pop music.
Seriously, though, I had this weird feeling, like I was in a giant crowd of faceless people and all I could see was her, her piercing green eyes and that fucking beautiful face and I was drawn to her and only her. Now it was more than just the way she looked and how she got my blood going. It wasn’t just gratitude. More like attachment. For the first time in a long time, I was getting attached.
Watch out.
Yeah, no kidding. This was how guys lost focus. This was how you got distracted and started to make stupid decisions and fucked everything up. Because, Madison wasn’t just on my mind. It was more than that. She was gnawing on me, deep down inside, every second of the day. I was losing interest in everything else, because all I was interested in was her. I hadn’t touched a guitar in days.
That’s the problem with attachment.
I was sure this would help. Doing something nice for her would assuage any lingering regrets I had about how I treated her in the past. We’d hang out for the day; I’d express my gratitude and whatever. We’d be friends. That was the ideal resolution to this whole mess. I’d diffuse the situation. I had to get rid of the tension and move on.
I surveyed the dirty floor of my apartment, littered with microbrew beer bottles and American Spirit cigarettes. It looked like hipsterdom itself had thrown up all over place.
Oh, wait, it did.
There was also actual vomit. Wonderful. I was seriously reconsidering these wild parties full of people who didn’t have the slightest bit of consideration. People who almost fucked things up for me big time, and did a number on my apartment every single time they were over.
These people are my friends.
I thought about that for second. Then I really started to dwell on it. It started to gnaw at me and fill my mind with doubts.
And that’s exactly the problem here.
The problem with Madison was that she got me thinking.
Of course, as soon as I started thinking too deeply about one problem, another buzzed to life on the kitchen table, reminding me that trouble always comes in a Costco multi-pack. “Yeah, hey mom.”
“What the hell are you doing Zayde? Now? Really?”
A flurry of questions spat from the phone like machine gun fire.
Oh boy. Again.
“Mom, I don’t know. I didn’t know she had it.”
“Zayde?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
My mother’s tone took me by surprise. “No.”
“I know Madison Pierce, of all the people on God’s green earth, is the least likely to be caught anywhere near cocaine.”
“That’s why it comes as such a surprise—“
“Shut-up Zayde.”
“—Okay.”
“I know it was you or one of your friends, and honestly it doesn’t matter which. You really have to stop. The parties, the people you associate with, all of it is going to ruin what you worked so hard for.”
I breathed deeply and exhaled, maximizing the amount of dramatic static heard over the connection. “That’s the music industry mom.”
“No,” she shot back bluntly, “that’s you Zayde.”
“All right, all right.” I muttered obligingly into the phone while grabbing my last BeastKing from the fridge.
I consumed an average of twenty times the recommended daily value of caffeine. But I hadn’t done coke in a very long time.
“Mom, I just want you to know, it wasn’t me. And I know I have to keep things chill for a while.”
I heard a sigh of relief before her voice continued. “You know I always wanted the best for you, right?”
“Yeah…yes.”
“Just, remember who has your back. Remember that people like Madison, people like the Pierce family, they don’t care about people like you and me. Soon as they can throw us under the bus—well, it’s why I’m always watching out Zayde. You get that.”
Seemed to me like Madison was the only one who gave a shit or had my back. “Yeah, sure mom, I get it.”
Her voice suddenly modulated. “Oh, and don’t be late for your flight Monday. We’re having you on a couple shows in New York next week. From here on out, it’s all back to normal.”
Somehow I doubted that.
Chapter 19
Madison
More than anything, it makes me wish I could do something to help.
I was on the sofa, recovering from the night before, reading up on the earthquakes in South America. The series of natural disasters had obliterated cities, towns, and villages. Infrastructure like schools and hospitals had fallen to ruin while everyday logistics like the growth and transport of food all but ceased to exist.
All I could think about was the kids. They were abandoned and lost, wandering the streets and starving. Which is how my mother described the town in Romania where she grew up.
Although it wasn’t a natural disaster that rendered whole street villages of orphaned and abandoned children. It was the regime of Ceausescu and the damaging policies that created a hell-on-earth that my mother was lucky to escape. Abortions were illegal and babies were dropped in the barren streets. When food was unavailable and tens of thousands of children struggled from malnourishment, the regime performed mandated blood transfusions instead of solving the underlying food crisis.
I remembered all this from the time my mother and I visited her hometown. We went ourselves, since my father was working incessantly to build Pierce Media. She showed me how those villages had grown into towns, but still lacked basic services and access to adequate healthcare. The most troubling thing was that the blood transfusions in the 80s had led to thousands of cases of HIV. The blood supply had been contaminated and the country was in the grips of a full-blown AIDS epidemic.
Whenever I read about the serious problems of the world, I felt like I did when I was with my mother in Romania. I had to do something, especially when children faced great odds to even marginally access what we took for granted here. I would consider the shallow life I sort of glided through—school, internships, buying this and that thing, talking about it, rinse and repeat…on and on—and feel like I was purposefully ignoring anything in the world with value.
But I wasn’t so sure some kind of genuine altruism drove these thoughts consistently through my mind. It seemed more likely that I was trying to connect with my mother by engaging with the experiences that had shaped her life. And so, in a way it was just as selfish as working for my dad at Pierce Media. And, of course, he was still here to derive whatever joy it was from having me there beside him, his family together with his legacy.
Of course, it was just then, when I had really started to dig into these deeper consideration
s, that Zayde—the very opposite of deep consideration—strode into the room.
And I mean strode. He had an inappropriate jauntiness to him, especially given what had happened last night. His entrance was like a slap in the face that pulled me instantly from all trains of thought, and so I turned off my iPad and swiveled my legs off the couch and into a seated position to face him.
“Listen Maddy,” he said, “I owe you…”
I wiggled into the couch, inching higher so that I sat with my back arched tall and proud. “Yeah, that’s for sure.”
Zayde ducked down and took a seat in the living room across from me. “Well, right Maddy…you’re right… Listen, I just wanted to see if you had an interest in checking out the old Masque location with me. You know, it’s an old club, former punk rock scene, lot of good history, and I just thought—“
“Sure.”
“Cool. So, we can go now if you want.”
I stood up and stretched out. The coffee had helped, but I was still so tired from yesterday. I was overly conscious of how Zayde observed me as I lifted my hands into the air and arched my back, unkinking my body after having been curled up in the couch for so long.
I couldn’t help but notice how damn hot he looked today. Instead of some stupid sleeveless hoodie, he was wearing a sharp blue jacket that looked so soft I wanted to reach out and touch it. Of course, what made it so hot was how that softness and impeccable tailoring contrasted with the hard lines of his jaw and the rugged edges of his shoulders. Instead of a collared shirt, he wore a slouchy t-shirt that rode low enough under his muscular neck that the beginning of his chest tattoo was enticingly visible. His jeans glided perfectly over his legs and his distressed brown boots gave him just enough of a rocker vibe.
I need to change.
“What’s going on Zayde?” I teased. “Did you run out of leather jackets or something?”
He glanced down and smirked. Getting up he said, “I’ll wait in the kitchen,” and walked over to the fridge, which he promptly began to rummage through. “Huh, you guys actually have food in here.”
“Most people do Zayde, you know, since that’s what it’s for,” I shot back before running upstairs.