The second Dylan’s voice filters through my speakers. I shut off the radio.
It hurts too much.
Not only have I lost Jamie, I’ve also lost Dylan.
My phone comes to life, ringing loud and startling me from my trance. I grab it from my purse and find Lindsay’s name flashing on the screen.
“Brooke!” Her voice is loud and booming from the receiver.
I cringe, holding the phone away from my ear. “Hey Linds.”
“I’ve been demon dialing you for what feels like a year now!”
I shut my eyes, resting the back of my head on the seat. “Sorry. Things have been a little crazy around here.”
Her tone drops to a concerned octave. “What’s going on, Brooke? Are you okay?”
Sighing, I shake my head, knowing full well she can’t see me.
“Brookie?”
“I’m still here.” My voice is small. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind. Things haven’t been that great to be honest.”
“Before you go any further, you should know I was in Paris. I saw Jesse and…Dylan. It was a last minute schedule change. I had a shoot in Milan that ended up finishing two days earlier than expected. I ended up going to their show.”
All of these questions race through my mind. How is Dylan? Does he look as miserable as I feel? Was he with anyone else? But all I can get out is, “Did you have fun?”
“Seriously, Brooke? I just told you I was in Paris and saw Dylan, and the only question you want to ask is ‘Did I have fun?’”
Instead of facing the possibility Dylan is moving on, I try to change the subject. “What’s going on with you and Jesse? Is this becoming a more than fuck buddies kind of thing?”
“Me and Jesse? Yeah, I’m sure that’s what you want to focus on.” She laughs, amused with my avoidance. “Okay, in the spirit of being open and honest with my best friend, I’ll entertain your attempts at distraction. Jesse and I are still fuck buddies, but we’ve kind of become friends, too. He’s sweet in that cocky way of his. He’s easy to talk to, makes me laugh, and doesn’t mind I’m not ready to settle down with someone. He’s views on monogamy are the same as mine. Which makes our relationship—whatever you want to call it—work really well. Plus, he fucks so good. Like so good. I can’t even explain it.”
“Please, don’t feel like you have to explain it.”
“Are you sure? Because he does this thing with his—”
I jump in, giggling. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure. I’ll take your word for it.”
We laugh for a good two minutes. Loud, cathartic kind of laughs that bring me relief.
But then the line falls silent again, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to ask the questions on my mind. I think it’s the various answers that scare me the most.
“Are you going to get the balls to ask me about Dylan?”
I let out a long exhale. “I don’t know. Probably not.”
“Since this is something you need to hear. I’m going to tell you anyway. Dylan didn’t look good in Paris. He looked pretty damn miserable.”
“He did?”
“Yes. He did.”
“W-was he with anyone?”
“If you can consider a fifth of Jack someone, then yes, he was very much occupied all night. Jesse’s worried about him, Brooke. And you know what? I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine, Linds.”
“Is that why Jamie asked me to call you? Because you’re fine.”
My eyes go wide. “What? He asked you to call me?”
“He’s worried about you too. He didn’t give me all the details, but said you two had a fight.”
“What details did he give you?”
“Enough for me to know that shit isn’t going so well for you.”
A large part of me wants to know if he really talked to Lindsay, but another part is too afraid to pry. What if he didn’t open up to her? What if he’s still refusing to open his eyes and realize he’s good enough just the way he is?
“I really messed things up,” I whisper. “With Jamie and with Dylan. Especially with Dylan.”
“There’s a part of their Paris show you need to see. I’m texting you the link. Watch it,” she demands.
I don’t respond. Honestly, I’m not sure if I can watch it. It might destroy me.
“Seriously, Brooke. Promise me that you’ll watch it.”
“Okay. Okay. I promise.”
“Good. And Brooke?”
“Yeah?”
“You can thank me later.” There’s an announcement about connecting flights in the background. “Okay, Brookie, I gotta run. Olive juice.”
“Olive juice too, ya nosey hooker.”
Two seconds later, I get two texts from Lindsay. The first one is a link to a YouTube video and this message follows behind. ‘You need to watch this. Seriously. There’s still hope, sweetheart.’
Despite my better judgment, with shaky fingers, I click on the link. The YouTube app appears on my screen, and then a video starts playing. It’s Dylan and Jesse sitting on stools, guitars in their laps, and two mics in stands near their faces. They’re obviously in the middle of a show.
Dylan’s perfect voice fills my ears. He’s talking about the song I Know It’s Over by The Smiths. And then he’s telling the crowd what that song might mean to him.
And then he’s singing it. His face is etched with pain. His voice is bleeding anguish.
He looks so very miserable in this moment. I find myself reaching out towards the screen and running my fingers across his face. I want to ease his pain.
Dylan takes the cover of this amazing song and makes it his own. And, of course, he kills it. The crowd is eating out of his hand by the end. Before the song started, they were a loud, lively group. But by the end of this cover, you could have heard a pin drop in the venue. It’s like he put them in this sort of trance-like awe.
I can relate. And it’s probably why I listen to it another fifteen times before I get out of my car.
God, I just want to call him or text him and let him know how brilliant he is. I want to wish him luck on the album release and tell him I miss him. I want to hear his laugh and watch his smile light up my screen.
I miss him so badly. Dylan wasn’t just this guy I had fallen in love with. He had become my best friend. My lover. My muse. My smile. My heart. My soul. My everything.
If only Millie were here. She would know exactly what to do, what to say. She would bestow that wisdom of hers and help me navigate through this mess.
Once I’m out of the car, and in the house, I find myself standing in my bedroom, eyes locked on a white envelope. Lilah Belle.
I’m tired of being weak or scared or letting fear stand in my way.
I’m tired of hiding behind these walls.
I’m tired of walking through life with this veil over my eyes.
I want to be more like the Brooke I was in Paris. The girl who sang karaoke for about eight hours straight in front of a drunken crowd. The girl who explored the city by herself and didn’t care. The girl who met this amazing guy and sang with him on stage. The girl who wasn’t afraid to open her heart, even if it was only for a short time.
I want to find that girl again.
And the first step towards finding her is reading Millie’s letter.
Blue-blooded Politics: The elite come together tonight in LA to celebrate Mitch Howard’s official Senate nomination
LiberalandProud.com
Hundreds of thousands of dollars will be donated tonight in hopes to get someone with one of the most right-winged agendas we’ve ever seen a California Senate spot. Plenty of the country’s elite have come together for a VIP party in honor of Mitch Howard, who’s been elected as the official Republican candidate in next year’s Senate race.
Even music-mogul Alistair Wallace is an attendee for tonight’s dinner, and both he and his son Jamie Wallace will be presenting him with the official Republican Senate Candidate nomination. Alistair Wallace
and Mitch Howard have been friends for years, and it’s very apparent with the generous donations he’s given Howard’s campaign in the past that he’s in full support of his close friend’s agenda.
Despite numerous reports that the Republican Party is ready to drop its strong opposition to marriage equality, Mitch Howard will continue catering to the party’s extreme anti-gay stance. Despite America’s voice, and the critical gay right’s milestones that have been achieved, he’s openly vowed to defy any ruling from the court in favor of gay marriage.
This is a candidate who has voiced strong views about stopping any government funding for HIV/AIDS research.
This is a candidate strongly opposed in supporting any type of universal healthcare.
This is a candidate who doesn’t believe schools should provide our youth with education on safe sex and birth control methods.
Time and time again Mitch Howard has proved he’s about as far right as you can get.
He strongly believes in the 2nd Amendment and has plans to strengthen conceal carry laws throughout the United States.
Howard wants to abolish the federal minimum wage and wants to cut jobless benefits so harshly that California wouldn’t qualify for federal compensation.
He has advocated cutting millions of dollars from education funding and blocking any type of Medicaid expansion; all of this is under the pretense of fiscal stewardship. But in reality, any type of tax breaks created from these budget cuts will only benefit the top earners and massive corporations, all the while raising taxes on the rest of us, the lower eighty percent.
Brooke
The light in my room switches on. I shut my eyes against the harsh contrast from the darkness I had burrowed myself into. Seconds later, footsteps move across the hardwood floor, and my covers are tossed from body and onto the floor.
“What the hell?” I shriek, shocked from the sudden onset of cold.
“Get up, baby girl. We’ve got places to be.”
I blink several times, clearing the spots from my vision. Jamie stands beside my bed, dressed to the nines in a black suit and tie.
“What are you doing here?” I croak. My earlier crying jag evident in my voice.
“I’m here because you need to get you cute butt up and get dressed. I’ve got something I need to do, and I need my best girl by my side.”
“Huh?”
“Look, I know we said a lot of shit to each other, and I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but I promise, this is something you need to see. And the only way I’m going to be able to do this is with you by my side,” he begs.
I stare at him for a silent minute. Taking in his apologetic eyes and soft smile and black eye…What the hell? “What happened to your face?”
He grins. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“It looks painful, Jame. Seriously, who did that to your face?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not getting into it right now. Just know, in a roundabout way, I probably deserved it. And it looks worse than it really is.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I need you, Brooke.”
I sigh. “But isn’t that the problem? I’ve been your crutch far longer than you’ve been mine. It’s not healthy the way we’ve been relying on each other to hide our demons. Yours especially.”
“I know, sweetheart. Believe me, I know. And that’s why I’m here. I’m fixing this.”
Confused, my face scrunches up into a ridiculous expression.
He chuckles softly. “Trust me, okay? Just trust me on this one. I promise you won’t regret it.”
I sit up on the bed, my feet dangling off the edge. “I thought you had that political dinner tonight?”
“I did. But I’m not going.”
“You’re not going?” I don’t even have to voice my biggest concern. His father. Jamie knows what kind of backlash he could receive if he doesn’t attend that dinner. Unless he’s deathly sick or actually dead, Alistair Wallace won’t take his absence lightly. He’ll flip his shit.
He shakes his head. “I’ve got something far more important to do. It’s something I should have done a long ass time ago. But now isn’t the time for regrets, baby girl. Now is the time to take a stand.”
Take a stand? Against what? “But what abou—”
He cuts me off. “My father can go fuck himself.”
My jaw drops, eyes the size of saucers.
His blue eyes turn serious. “He’s not your problem. He’s my problem and one you should have never been battling.”
“But what about the label’s medical insurance and all of the medications you’re on? What about the inheritance we were going to use to start our own label? Jamie, this sounds crazy. You need to tell me what’s going on.”
He brushes his thumb across my cheek, smiling down at me. “Brooke, don’t worry about any of it. It’s not your problem. It’s mine. And it’s about time I step up and take responsibility.” He walks to the door, coming back with two large bags in his hands and a garment sack strewn over his arm. “Since I’m throwing this on you last minute, I took it upon myself to find you something to wear.”
Jamie empties the bags onto my bed. Shoes, accessories and a gorgeous dress to boot, the man has put out all the stops.
“Where are we going?” I stand there, gawking at everything.
He flashes a secret grin. “The Beverly Hills Hotel.”
“I wish you’d stop being so damn evasive.”
“And I wish you’d hop in the shower, get all dolled up, and let me escort you to a …” he pauses, flashing a furtive smile. “A secret event, so to speak.”
“Ugh!” I groan, tossing myself back onto the bed. “Just tell me!”
He tsks under his breath, grabbing my arms and pulling me back to my feet. “No time for a hissy fit.” He slaps my ass and has the audacity to laugh at my evil glare. “Let’s go, gorgeous. You’ve got about thirty minutes to get pretty.”
A hand goes to my hip. “But I thought I was always pretty?”
He raises a brow, glancing pointedly at my head. “Sweetheart, you’ve got a rat’s nest the size of Kanye West’s ego on your head. Not to mention the snot from your recent sob fest plastered to your cheeks. I’m not saying you’re ugly, but pretty isn’t exactly the word I’d use, either.”
“You’re kind of a bitch, you know that?”
He winks, not at all offended. “Takes one to know one, baby girl.”
I give him an exaggerated shove, moving to the bed and picking up the goodies. “Thirty minutes and I’ll be prettier than you.”
He runs his fingers over the crisp lapels of his jacket. “I don’t know about that. This suit is smart. Michael Bublé singing Feeling Good kind of smart.”
I sashay towards my bathroom, calling over my shoulder, “Yeah, but I’ve got boobs. That’s half the battle in the pretty department.”
His laughter follows me the rest of the way.
“A press conference?” I stop in my heels, hesitantly looking inside the conference room. “Jamie? What’s happening?”
“Something that should have happened years ago.” He tugs my hand, leading me into the room.
Cameras bombard us. Beams bounce off the walls like lightning. Two bodyguards flank our entrance, keeping the reporters at bay. I have the urge to cover my face, but know my eyes just need to adjust. I focus on a random vase at the corner of the room, avoiding the blinding lights.
Jamie guides me towards the makeshift stage, gesturing for me to sit down in one of the chairs beside the podium. “All you need to do is sit here and look pretty. This is my show, baby girl.”
He glides to the podium, standing tall and confident. This is a rare version of the Jamie that I’ve come to know and love.
“Good evening, ladies and gentleman.” He holds both hands up, motioning for the journalists to take their seats. “I’d like to thank you for attending this press conference on such short notice.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at
the Wilshire attending Republican nominee Mitch Howard’s dinner?” a reporter shouts from the floor.
“I was, but this is more important,” he responds, unfazed. “If you could please hold your questions for a moment, I’d like to say a few words.”
Jamie pulls two sheets of paper from his inside jacket pocket and sets them on the podium. He inhales a resounding breath. His face morphs from quiet uncertainty to steel determination.
When he turns towards me for a brief second, we lock eyes. An infinite amount of words silently pass between us. And instantly I know what he’s about to say is going to change everything.
“Before I begin, I want to personally thank the Human Rights Campaign and amfAR for the awe-inspiring things they have accomplished, and the work they continue to do. Things do not get accomplished by simply sitting back and letting life happen. It takes hard work. It takes resolve. And when it comes to the Human Rights Campaign and The American Foundation for AIDS research, it takes an infinite amount of heart.
“They are both tireless and unrelenting in their efforts to change the world. Their work is critical. It is desperately needed. And most importantly, it is life-changing. And on this fine evening, I’m honored and privileged to now count myself as a member of their communities.
“I’m a part of them, just as much as they are a part of me. I was born and raised in Los Angeles. Lived what most would call a charmed life. I have wanted for nothing when it comes to money or success. But there’s a deeper part of me that has been starved for more vital things like love and friendship and support. Warmth, strength, and honesty.
“Obviously, there are reasons for those feelings. I’ve never considered myself spiritual. My household was void of affection and love. I wasn’t raised in the kind of family where nightly meals and conversations about our day were shared. And I’m gay. Growing up, I was a target. I spent most of my adolescence worrying over acting the right way, speaking the right way, hell, evening holding my wrist the right way. Every day felt like a test, and I was scared beyond belief of failing. Scared of what people would say. Scared of what my father would think. Scared. Of. Everything.
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