More Than Anything

by R. E. Blake

  My dad’s sorting through the photographs and comes across a bunch of us together before he went away. Me standing in a half-full backyard plastic pool with floaties on my arms, me at a birthday party with a bunch of kids who I can’t remember except as annoyances, me and mom at a water park, me riding on his shoulders, no more than six or seven years old.

  “Those were the good old days, honey,” he says. “Happier times.”

  “Yeah. But she was already drinking pretty heavily by then, wasn’t she?”

  He nods sadly. “When you were about five, she was already overdoing it, and by the time you were eight, she was becoming actively abusive and violent. It’s such a shame. She could have had a good life. A lot of things probably would have been different if she’d laid off the bottle.” He pauses. “Thank God you don’t like to drink. In the music business, there are drugs and alcohol everywhere. You’ve seen how they can ruin your life.”

  “I have zero interest in killing myself with anything. The world’s dangerous enough without me doing something stupid,” I assure him. He’s morose, and I realize that when he’s thinking about what could have been different had my mom been sober, he’s not just thinking about her death, but also the whole ugly chain of events the drinking touched off. Her abusive behavior is what ultimately drove him out of the house to live with his cousin, which turned into six years in the pen. It resulted in me running away from home, and with her hooking up with that shitbag Ralph.

  Everyone pays a high price for the addict’s habit. It’s not just the person doing the drug, be it alcohol or something else. Everyone around them pays and pays, and it colors the reality of those who are close to them. The destruction spreads like ripples on the surface of a calm lake, where even the tiniest act has far-reaching consequences.

  I shake off the melancholy and show Melody my bracelet.

  “That’s pretty cool,” she says. “Nothing else you want to keep?”

  I shake my head. “Nah. All she’s left me is a chest full of bad memories. This is the only thing I associate with better times, so it’s all I want.”

  Melody studies my face. “You’ve got to be hella sick of that collar by now, huh?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Didn’t have a designer version?”

  “This is the designer version.”

  She grimaces. “Ooh. How much longer do you have to wear it?”

  “The doc wasn’t clear. He just smiled and said I’m young so I should heal fast. Makes me wonder what kind of codgers he’s used to seeing.”

  We both look over at my dad. I hope he didn’t hear me. He gives no sign of it.

  “Ralph’s a real piece of work,” she says, more a comment than a question.

  “That’s the tame version. He totally threatened me. Gave me the evil eye, told me it’s not over, tried to scare the crap out of me.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Hell no. I told him I’m buying a gun.”

  “Nice. But you’re not really, are you?”

  “Nah. How would I travel with it? I’m going to be on tour soon. Or on the other side of the country. No, Ralph’s just a lowlife trying to feel powerful by scaring teenage girls. But he’s got another think coming.”

  Melody nods. “You don’t really scare easily.”

  “No, I don’t. I’ve seen things on the street that would turn his hair white. He’s a nothing.”

  “You have to admit the shotgun was a ten on the loony scale.”

  “Yeah. Maybe he was thinking of going all OJ, but the cop scared him out of it.”

  “If you’re lucky, he’ll get wasted and use it on himself,” Melody says with no trace of viciousness. Just matter of fact. Like it would be nice if we made it home quickly, or I got upgraded to first class.

  “Idiots like him never hurt themselves. They’re all about hurting other people. Sometimes I think that’s why he stayed with my mom. She was destroying herself, and he felt superior around her. Says a lot about him, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah. A real charmer. But how about Officer Jeff? Tell me he isn’t cute in a kind of backwoods overalls kind of way?”

  “If you go for the farm stuff.” I shake my head. “You didn’t give him your phone number, did you?”

  She smiles. “I told him if he ever comes down to the Bay Area and wants to spoil a girl with food and liquor, he knows who to call.”

  “I gather your being only seventeen never came up,” I say dryly.

  “Don’t ask, don’t tell. Besides, he’s a cop. There’s probably some kind of exclusion for them, right?”

  We pack back into the car and continue south. By the time we make it to the bridge, it’s getting dark and the fog’s rolling through the mouth of the bay.

  My dad drops us off at Melody’s and promises to keep the boxes until I have more time to finish sorting through them. I don’t tell him to just burn it all. I can tell he’s working through some emotional issues the photographs rekindled, and he doesn’t need my smart mouth making things worse for him.

  “Sure, Dad, that would be cool. Once I’m done with the record maybe I’ll come back up for a few days before I go back to New York.”

  He looks surprised. “I didn’t realize you were planning to live there. I thought maybe you’d stick closer to home.”

  Home? If he means him, I’d rather fly back a few times a year than stay in California just for that. No, home is wherever Derek is, and right now that’s New York. None of which I say.

  “I’m still paying rent on Jeremy’s. And the city’s pretty cool. I like it. Way different than anywhere else I’ve been.” Considering my total life experience outside of Clear Lake amounts to living on the streets of San Francisco, passing through a few places on the trip east, and five blocks in Los Angeles, that’s not saying a lot; but it’s true that I enjoy the vitality of New York. And I’m not really leaving anything behind.

  “Well, you might feel differently after you’ve gone through a winter there. Gets seriously cold,” my dad offers, and I shrug. We’ll see.

  “Looks like I’ll be on tour a lot, so it kind of doesn’t matter. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” I lean into him and kiss him. “Sorry I was such a butthead about flying up here.”

  “No problem. It’s always good to see you, sweetie. Good luck with the rest of the recording.”

  Melody made her mom promise not to invite half the Haight over to stare at me like a circus freak. We have a quiet dinner, just the three of us, Mexican food that’s mouthwateringly good. I’ve got a morning flight, so after watching TV for a few hours and bagging on all the celebrity basket cases, we go to bed, chocolate residue smeared on our faces like preschoolers, where we giggle about nothing until midnight. The only time it gets serious is when Melody probes about Derek, but I can handle that. I’ve already filled her in on our four days from hell, which she was appropriately supportive about.

  “I’d have found a way to skin that cat,” she chides.

  “Melody, I was pulled out of a car that was upside down. I was one massive bruise. It hurt to breathe.”

  “Slacker.”

  “Seriously. If there had been a way…”

  “So you’ve decided to do this, right? You’re not going to chicken out at the last minute?”

  I adjust my hated collar. “No backing out.”

  “Yeah, baby. You go. I want pictures.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on. Sell it to one of those porn sites. You should be worth at least a few million.”

  “That’s a nice thought. I’ll keep it in mind if I ever need help making ends meet.”

  “If somebody would pay to see my end meet Derek, I’d be all over that. Even if they didn’t pay, come to think of it.”

  “I thought we had a no-Melody-on-Derek agreement.”

  “Right. I know. I was just F-ing with you. But we’ve got no bans on Sebastian. He’s open season. I’m already planning my trip in two weeks. I sent y
ou the details.”

  “I thought you were joking.”

  “About meeting my future ex? That’s no joking matter.”

  If she could harness that single-mindedness and focus it on something besides guys, she could run the world.

  Emperor Melody.

  As she turns off the light, I smile, thinking about Derek, always Derek, and counting the seconds till we’re together at last.

  Chapter 26

  Returning to the studio is a trip after being gone for so long. John and the other engineers are super nice, and even Sebastian seems to be going out of his way to be reasonable – which feels a little odd after weeks of him being such a perfectionist. The background vocals are done, and we’re down to the finish line – a few vocal fixes on the lead, some instrumental flourishes, but no major surgery. Even the nightly rough mixes of whatever we worked on sound incredible, and I can’t wait to hear the finished product.

  Two weeks go by in a blur, with several appearances coordinated by Sabrina to publicize the show, so I have some walking-around money in my pocket. When I get the chance, I go to visit June at her condo. She’s recovering, but it’s going to be slow. Her face is fine, but she seems a little slow – probably from the painkillers. Unlike me, she needs them for a lot longer, and I remember how out of it I felt after taking them.

  “How’s the music biz treating you?” she asks, her voice dreamy and relaxed.

  “Great. Your brother’s a magician. It sounds really good.”

  “Shouldn’t be too much longer now, huh? Then it’ll be the Year of Sage. Promise you’ll still talk to me when you’re on top.”

  “Of course. You’re one of my bestest bestest.”

  “I’d probably be your absolutely bestest if I drove a little better, huh?” she asks with a wry smile.

  “When are you getting another car?”

  “I won’t be driving for a few more months, looks like, so no hurry. Apparently they make new ones every day.”

  “Who knew?”

  “What about you? Are you going to get one?”

  I haven’t really thought about it much. That seems like the kind of thing other people do, like buying a house or having a career.

  “Nah. Nobody drives in New York.”

  “That’s right. Back to the Big Apple. When do you leave?”

  “As soon as possible. Once the record’s mixed.”

  “You really miss it, huh?”

  I blush at the thought of Derek. “It’s a pretty cool town.”

  I stay for another half hour, but she’s only partially there, drifting in and out of the conversation. I feel so sorry for her, and if I prayed, she’d be at the top of my list. She’s done nothing to deserve this.

  Maybe that’s just how things work. I like to believe that everything happens for a reason, but there’s a big part of me that doesn’t buy it. There’s no reason I can see for a drunk to almost kill June and me. It would be nice if I could only think about the good that’s happened, but that’s not how my mind works.

  I walk home, and as I round the corner to my building, my cell rings. Jeremy’s voice is bigger than life, even over the phone.

  “Hey, doll. You near a computer?”

  “No, but I will be in a few. What’s up?”

  “We opened the show last night. It was wunderbar. The mayor’s naming a street after me, and it’s going to be Jeremy Day next Friday.”

  Crap! I totally spaced on his show premiere. “That’s awesome! I can’t wait for Jeremy Day!”

  “Dahling, that makes two of us. I sent you some of the reviews. Call me back when you read them.”

  “That’s so cool. Of course I will. Give me a minute to get to my building and check the web.”

  “I’ve got nothing but time.”

  I hang up, happy and excited for Jeremy. I know how much this means to him – he’s made the cut from wannabe to sensation. I never doubted he’d do it, but it’s one thing to believe, another to see it happen.

  When I get upstairs, I immediately retrieve my tablet and check my email. There are four attachments. The first is from the biggest paper in New York, and I can understand why Jeremy’s walking on air.

  Having seen many productions of Phantom of the Opera come and go over the years, with leads that have ranged from virtuoso to workmanlike, it was with considerable pleasure that this reviewer was surprised by Jeremy Sellers, who not only carried the new production that opened at the Pantheon last night with his incredible tenor and vibrant energy, but by his reinterpretation of the Phantom role that made it feel like I was seeing it for the first time.

  Sellers is no stranger to the limelight, having come close to winning this season’s America’s Top Talent, but there’s a huge difference between singing for three minutes and dominating a production for two hours. I was frankly skeptical of the choice of Sellers, whose wild hair color changes were his claim to fame on the program, but after seeing him in action – as the Monkees said, I’m a believer.

  The review goes on for another three paragraphs about the female lead, the production values, and the rest of the cast, all of it glowing.

  I open the next one as I redial Jeremy’s number. When he answers, I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “Move over, Liza!” I say, and he laughs.

  “Well, maybe not, but it’s an auspicious start.”

  “Start! For crying out loud, the biggest papers in the city are saying you’re all that.”

  “They were rather complimentary, weren’t they?”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “Did you see the one from the Journal?”

  “I’m reading it now. Seems like the reviewer had to dig into the dictionary for some more words for awesome.”

  “I’m humbled.”

  “Oh, stop. You knew you were going to rock it.”

  “Well, I did think that rehearsals sounded pretty good.”

  “What’s with you? This is your dream come true, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is. But now I’m wondering when it crashes in on me. Because it always does. Nothing lasts forever.”

  “Jeremy,” I say. “Liza. Think about Liza. She went forever.”

  “Mmm, well, not exactly.”

  “Dude, this is your year. You knocked it out of the park. The critics are saying you’re amazeballs. Enjoy it already.”

  “I am, Sage. I don’t know why I’m sort of blue.”

  “Because you don’t know how to be happy?”

  “I don’t think that’s it.”

  “Because you wish I was there to celebrate with you?”

  “Trust me, girlfriend. There’s going to be some serious celebrating after tonight’s show.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I should be ecstatic, and I’m excited, but I’m not excited excited, you know? Maybe I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don’t know.”

  “Jeremy, what would you tell me if I was moping about getting rave reviews for my record?”

  “I’d ask you who pissed in your Wheaties and slap you silly.”

  “Exactly. And if I was there, that’s what I’d do. But I’m not, so you need to do it for yourself.”

  “I know. I’m just being all menopausal.”

  I hesitate. “Did something happen you’re not telling me about?”

  His tone changes. “Whatever are you asking?”

  Bingo.

  “Did you meet someone? Or did you break up with somebody?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Which is it?”

  “I met someone. But he’s taken. Why is it the good ones always are?”

  “You’re going to let that ruin your best day ever?”

  “Of course not. I’m just being overly dramatic. There are plenty of fish in the sea. Maybe not as gorgeous as this one, but still.”

  “You told me that New York is the world capital of hot guys.”

  “Well, I’m here, aren�
��t I? What more do you need to know?”

  “That’s more like it. You’re a total catch, and just because one you think’s hot is taken doesn’t mean they all are.”

  “Right, but remember how you felt about Derek?”

  I should have known he’d bring that up. “I didn’t feel that way immediately. Not even after a week. It took a while.”

  “I work faster.”

  “Well, slow down. This is your moment. Enjoy it.”

  He sighs. “You’re right. I know. I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Poor me. Wahh.”

  “Right, poor you, the newest star on Broadway, and probably the youngest. Certainly the prettiest.”

  “Now we’re talking.”

  We continue with the congratulatory banter for several more minutes, and by the time I get off the phone, Jeremy’s back to normal. But the discussion has me missing Derek in a big way, so I call him. He doesn’t pick up. Probably tracking.

  My phone vibrates, and I see I got a message. Melody. Crap. I forgot. She’s coming to town tomorrow!

  Melody: Hey. After seeing how your last trip to pick someone up went, I’ll cab it to your place. B in at 4. U b around?

  Me: Might be at the studio. I’ll give u the address.

  Melody: Call me if u r.

  Me: Ok.

  I’m looking forward to a long weekend with Melody. I’m better by the day, and the doctor said one more week and I’ll be out of the collar. I’m hoping we can go see all the sights I’ve missed after living here for six weeks, which are most of them.

  My only concern is that Sebastian is going to hate her, or feel like he’s being set up, ganged up on. I mean, I can only guess that he might not like almost-eighteen bombshells. I personally think Melody’s out of her league, but you never know – stranger things have happened. I remember Derek telling me about Elvis hooking up with Priscilla when she was fourteen, so maybe I’m overthinking it.

  It’s not like Melody’s a shrinking violet. I almost feel sorry for Sebastian if he decides to go for it. She’s got youthful energy on her side and seems much older than seventeen, so you never know.