More Than Anything

by R. E. Blake

  “Neither did I.”

  “I didn’t say you did.”

  “You hinted at it.”

  “I’m not happy you’re spending every moment with Sebastian, but I didn’t think you were doing anything more than having dinner.”

  “Could have fooled me.” Now I’m just baiting him because I feel guilty. I’m defensive. I don’t do contrite well.

  “Maybe we should talk later,” he says – the first sensible words out of his mouth. But I’m not going to let him have it. That’s not my way.

  “Fine!” I snap and hang up.

  Grrrrr.

  It takes a few seconds, and then I feel petty for being so harsh, because he was in the right.

  Which I’ll never admit.

  At least not now.

  I go into the bathroom and draw a bath while reading all Melody’s messages, focusing on how big Sebastian’s lasagna is, asking me whether I had a problem handling his super-sized portion, and so on. She can be funny, but I’m not in the mood.

  Half an hour later I’ve calmed down, and I’m debating how long I should wait to call Derek and apologize for being a complete brat. Melody would say never apologize, never flinch, never let them see you sweat – but then again, Melody plays by different rules.

  I wonder how much of my anger is due to the flashback I had while Derek and I were talking, of him drunk, passed out, his fists bleeding, his hand in a cast. I thought I’d moved past that, but it jumped front and center when I got angry, so maybe I’ve been kidding myself. Apparently I’m still plenty pissed at him for ruining everything, even if it resulted in me winning the contest and getting the shot of a lifetime.

  Because I don’t see it that way, deep down.

  I see it as Derek failing me due to alcohol issues and fighting, which brings Ralph and my mom into the mix – a potent combo. And even if I want him as badly as I’ve ever imagined wanting anyone, I obviously haven’t let that go.

  But I’m going to have to find a way to do that, unless I want to ruin what we have. I know that as clearly as I know my mom won’t live out the year. And I’m scared, because I feel powerless to make the anger go away. Which makes me as bad as Derek, in a way, who’s grappling with his own anger from the past.

  I need a lift, so I call Jeremy.

  “T minus three and counting,” I say, referring to the number of days until he arrives.

  “I know! I’m so jazzed. I’m going to the fake bake places daily so I don’t look like a beached fish when I get to Lala Land.”

  We talk for a while about nothing and everything, and then he broaches the topic of the tabloid site.

  “I see you and lover man have been busy.”

  “That’s all BS. They’re trying to make news out of nothing.”

  “Derek hanging all over Miss Thang didn’t look like nothing to me.”

  I explain what happened and tell him about my argument with Derek, and at the end of it he’s quiet for a long beat.

  “Girl, I can’t tell you how to play this one, but if he’s not in the wrong, don’t play him for a fool.”

  That’s not what I want to hear. I want support, validation that I’m right, or at least have some valid points.

  We talk for a few more minutes, and I sign off. I know I’m procrastinating, putting off calling Derek back, but I can’t help it. Times like this I wish I had someone level-headed to talk to – Melody doesn’t qualify. And then I remember Helen, from our trip to New York.

  I scroll through my contacts until I get to her number. After hesitating, I press call and listen as the phone rings and rings. I’m about to hang up when she answers. I hear engine noise in the background. She’s on the road.

  “Helen? Sorry to call so late. You may not remember me, but this is–”

  She cuts me off. “Sage! Oh, my god! I watched you through the whole contest. I’m so glad you won! You deserved it.”

  I keep forgetting that the whole world tuned into the show. I flush at the praise.

  “Are you driving?” I ask.

  “When am I not? How’s everything with you?”

  “Great. I’m in Los Angeles now. Getting ready to cut a record.”

  “I’m so happy for you! That’s got to feel incredible.”

  It should. But not right now. “Yeah, well, it’s all kind of overwhelming, to tell the truth.”

  “I can imagine. Big change, huh?”

  “You can say that again.”

  She pauses. “How’s everything else?”

  “Oh, you know. Lots of twists and turns.”

  “Right. And Derek? I read about you two splitting up. I was sorry to hear about it.”

  “Well, we didn’t really split up. I mean we did, but now we’re sort of back together.”

  Her tone changes. “Sort of?”

  “He’s still in New York. I’m in L.A. That kind of sort of.”

  “I see. How are you handling that?”

  “Pretty good until tonight.”

  “What happened?”

  I tell her about the tabloid article, the photo, and the phone call with Derek. When I’m done, I ask her how she thinks I should handle it.

  She’s silent for a long time. When she speaks, her voice is kind, but there’s steel in her tone.

  “Sage, there aren’t a lot of ways to say this gently, so I’m just going to tell you straight, okay?”

  “Sure. That’s why I called.”

  “Fine. Here’s what I’d do: instead of assuming a bunch of stuff and playing games, why don’t you just pretend you only have one day left on the planet to live your life? Tell him the truth. That you’re worried, you miss him, you’re still angry at him, and you wish you could make it all go away, but it’ll probably take time. You may be surprised how he responds.”

  “Just like that?”

  “You have to decide if you’re defending yourself against a threat, or trying to talk to the guy you care about. Right now it sounds like you’re looking for an excuse to justify your reaction. I say instead you own it, you level with him, and trust that he’ll get it. If you and he are going to last, you need to be sure he’s in your corner. I’m betting he is. And Sage?” She hesitates. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy or pleasant. It never is. But it’s the right thing to do.”

  I think about it. She’s right. I thank her, we promise to talk again soon, and I hang up, feeling even worse than before.

  I’m terrible at apologies. Almost as bad as I am with getting compliments. I decide to write out what I’m going to say so I don’t blow it, but as I scribble a line, then cross it out, then another two, then stare at them thinking they sound fake, I realize it’s not working. By the time I put the pencil down I’m sweating, even though it’s cool in the room, and I bite the bullet and call.

  When Derek answers, he sounds cautious, and I don’t blame him. Before he can say anything, I start in.

  “Derek, I’m sorry about earlier. I know I was unreasonable, and I didn’t mean to be. I was just…seeing you with her, I kind of went a little crazy and assumed the worst.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Sage. I can understand how you feel. I really can. I wasn’t super delighted about the picture of you and Sebastian, either.”

  “I know. But the only reason it makes me go off is because I’m frustrated. I wish you were here, and you aren’t. So then I see you with some tramp…”

  “Right. I get it. And the media makes it look as bad as possible.”

  “They do.”

  “I miss you, Sage. I wish you were here right now with me. I’d show you how much you mean to me.”

  “There’s nothing in the world I want more, Derek.”

  “This whole situation is making me a little crazy, too. Every time I think about you, about your face, your hair, our kiss in the rain…”

  I’m choking up, but I want to sound strong, or at least normal. When I speak, it’s in a quiet voice. “I’ve never wanted anything like this before. You’re all I can think about.
”

  “Me too, Sage. I’d give anything to be with you tonight.”

  At the sound of his voice I’m slipping away, his words smooth as velvet, warming me, and when I close my eyes, all I can see is his naked torso, his smooth skin and strong arms and rippling muscles and tattoos…

  “We’ll figure out a way, Derek. If I have to walk to New York, or you to California, we’ll do it.”

  “That won’t help me tonight.”

  I shift on the sofa, the thought of being with Derek right this moment overpowering. There’s so much I want to say, so much I want to tell him, but not over the phone. The stirring I feel inside is insistent, and I know it’s going to be a long, frustrating night.

  “Me neither, Derek. Me neither.”

  Chapter 13

  June’s at the studio the following day, and after spending three hours with her, I like her more than ever. She’s super fun, irreverent, knows everybody, and is completely unimpressed by Sebastian’s mega success. I wish I could be as confident as she is, but it seems like she and Sebastian got it in their genes.

  We agree she’ll show Jeremy around town while I’m working with Sebastian, and then we can all go out one night. It sounds like a blast, to hear her tell it, and I realize I haven’t done any of the touristy things I did like when I first got to New York. Other than a few blocks of Westwood Village, some office buildings, and the studio, I haven’t seen anything.

  “That’s got to change. At the very least you have to do the Strip at night, watch the freak show, hit the Rainbow and Whiskey and Troub, maybe the Chinese Theatre and the beach. And you have to go to Malibu. For Christ’s sake, you’re in L.A.”

  “I know. I just haven’t been motivated. And I’ve been in here most of the time.”

  She leans into me and lowers her voice. “You don’t want to turn into Sebastian. You’re way too young, and there’s a lot of road to travel. Let him slave away over a hot console. I’m going to show you the sights.” She pauses. “Don’t tell Sebastian, but there’s a big party tonight up in Beverly Hills. A friend’s parents are in Europe, and she’s having an all-nighter at their mansion. You should come. It’ll be a blast.”

  I look doubtful. “I don’t know. We’re going at this pretty intensively…”

  “Right. And then you leave this pit and have some fun. All work and no play sucks big time.”

  “I don’t really drink or do drugs or anything…”

  “Ha! A rock star who doesn’t do anything bad. Don’t worry, I forgive you. I’ll drink enough for both of us. Tell you what, I’ll pick you up at your place at nine, we can do a low-key late dinner, and then we’ll hit the party. Nobody worth seeing’s going to be there before midnight anyway.”

  “I have to be here at nine tomorrow morning.”

  “We’ll only stay until one. I promise. What’s a few hours of sleep, anyway? You can sleep when you’re dead.” She eyes me suggestively. “Come on, grandma. Just say yes. You know you want to.”

  I laugh. “Okay, okay. Yes.”

  Sebastian comes out of the control room. “Yes, what?” He looks June over, who has a blank expression on her face that’s as innocent as a newborn lamb.

  “Yes, she’ll let me show her friend around when he comes to town,” she lies.

  Sebastian’s eyes narrow, and he shakes his head. “Are you up to something?”

  “Why are you so suspicious? Do I come here and ask you what you’re up to?”

  “All the time.”

  “That’s different. I’m worried about you. Most men of a certain age are trying to hook up. You’re in love with your console.”

  “That’s not true. I’m just in lust.”

  We laugh, and he walks down the hall to the bathrooms. June smiles. “They’re really like puppies. Give them a treat and distract them, and they’ll wag their tails off. Nine at your place, right? What’s the address? Hurry, before he gets back.”

  I tell her, and Sebastian returns. He grins at me. “Ready to bounce around some ideas, or has June talked you into a Vegas gambling trip?”

  June straightens up. “Ooh. I haven’t been to Sin City in forever. Good idea, bro. What do you say, Sage? Fear and Loathing time?”

  I shake my head and laugh. “No. We’ve got work to do.”

  “Spoilsport. Oh, well, if you’re both going to bore me to death, I’m outta here. There’s shopping to do and hearts to break.”

  Sebastian watches June depart and then turns to me. “How does she seem to you?”

  “June? She’s great.”

  “She had a really hard time when our mom died last year. It’s been a tough road.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Cancer. All the money in the world couldn’t help her.”

  “And your dad?”

  “Heart attack. Young, too. Forty-eight. Ran twenty miles a week, ate like a monk, never drank or smoked…sometimes when your number’s up, it’s just up.”

  “I’m sorry, Sebastian.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m just happy to see she seems better these days. It’s one of the reasons I let her hang out here. It seems to lift her spirits, and the artists love her. A good balance to the serious stuff.”

  “She’s really cool. I’d keep her.”

  The day grinds on, and we don’t finish until 7:15. I’ve started laying down some demos of the other songs we’ve picked, but none of them are keeper tracks – more for Saul to give the selections his thumbs-up.

  I call Derek, and we talk for twenty minutes. The intensity of the other night has faded, but it’s obvious that he misses me as much as I miss him. I tell him I’m going out with June, but he isn’t upset, and I’m again grateful that I have him, as well as ashamed that I distrusted him. When we hang up, I still feel a little conflicted about the party. I almost call June three or four times to cancel, but talk myself out of it each time. At nine, wearing my black jeans and one of my peasant tops, I go downstairs, where June’s Mercedes is idling at the curb.

  “Hey there. Right on time!” she says when I open the door.

  “I got an A in promptness. And an F in congeniality,” I say, which is more than partially true. But every day’s a chance to turn that around.

  We go to a sushi restaurant near Beverly Hills and take our time. Each roll costs as much as my apartment, but June’s unconcerned and won’t take my money when dinner’s over. She drinks sake while I stick to mineral water and green tea, which is ironic considering who’s driving. By the time we’re out of there, it’s well past eleven.

  “What’s the story on where we’re going?” I ask, to make conversation.

  “My friend’s dad is a bigwig in TV. Reality shows, and before that, really dreadful dramas. He’s filthy dirty new-money rich. You’ll see what I mean when we get to the house. But she throws some really cool parties. When she’s not in rehab, Trish is the most fun you can have with your clothes on.”

  “What does she do?”

  “She’s an actress. Which is code for ‘not much.’ But she doesn’t have to worry. She’s daddy’s girl.”

  “Huh.”

  When we arrive at the house, it’s a mansion, all right. It takes up a triple lot, and you could play the Super Bowl on the lawn. Lights are blazing and cars are clogging the large circular driveway. June parks behind a lifted Humvee with vanity plates that say PapaCap, and we walk up the drive to the front entrance, which reminds me of a cathedral, only bigger.

  The door’s unlocked. When she pushes the ten-foot-high slab of mahogany open, we’re assaulted by thumping music and the din of party conversation, thirty decibels louder than it has to be, voices vying to be heard over the bass beat. June nods at a group of young women standing in a clump, holding martini glasses, dressed in the latest distressed fashions from boutiques whose names I probably couldn’t pronounce. I feel like a bum. But then I’m used to that, and I follow June through the crowd like a lost puppy.

  We wait at the bar for five minutes
, and then the no-neck bartender, who looks like a weightlifter stuffed into a monkey suit, takes our order. June asks for a cosmopolitan, and I debate asking for Coke. June seems to sense my doubt and holds up two fingers to the man.

  “Have you ever had a cosmo?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Um, no.” I’ve never had anything but cheap red wine at the restaurant in New York, champagne at the various functions since I won the contest, and beer in high school, which is fine by me.

  “They’re to die for. But you’re cut off after ten of them. You have to know your limits.”

  The cosmo tastes like turpentine with some cranberry juice splashed in it to me, but I smile and make approving sounds. June slurps half hers down in one swallow, and I decide then and there not to even try to keep up.

  We walk out to the pool deck, where most of the party’s hanging out, and a tall girl in a super-short black dress approaches and hugs June. “Sage, this is Trish. She’s the party monster on the block. Trish, Sage.”

  Trish shakes my hand, and I can tell she’s really stoned. She’s nodding slowly. “Yeah. Sage. Cool. Welcome. Lemme know if you need anything special, right?”

  “Uh, sure. Thanks.”

  “Sage won that recent talent contest in New York. Did you see it?” June asks.

  “Mmm, no.”

  “She’s doing a record with my brother. It’s going to be big time.”

  “Oh, wow. That’s awesome,” Trish manages, but her attention’s already wandering along with her gaze. She waves at a new arrival and smiles at us both, and then pushes her way into the room, leaving us staring at each other.

  “Looks like she’s back on the skag. That’s a shame. She’s got a real problem with it.”

  I think about Derek’s mom and about how different Trish’s life must be than hers, but how the same destination’s at the end of both their roads, and I shake my head. “It gets a lot of street people, too.”

  “It’s super big in the party scene here. I don’t touch that shit, but you’d be surprised how many do. Stupid,” she says, her tone bitter. She holds up her martini glass and clinks my still full one. “Cheers.”

  I meet more of her friends, none of whom seem particularly thrilled to be there, and recognize a young actor who’s currently one of the hot names at the box office. He’s talking to a male friend who looks like a wannabe beat poet, right down to the beret.