Erika stirred. “Baby, you’re crying.” Delicately, she thumbed the tears from Dess’s cheeks.
The morning light filtered lazily through the blinds, bathing the room in a dusky glow. It was going to be a cloudy day, which suited Dess’s mood perfectly.
“Are you okay?” Erika asked with urgency.
Dess rolled onto her back. She didn’t want to hide the way she was feeling, because there was no way to soften the blow. And no more time to delay the inevitable.
“No,” she said simply. “Not really.”
“Is it because I’m leaving today?”
“Yes.” Dess’s breath caught painfully in her chest at the thought of being alone again. She’d spent every waking moment with Erika—and Sloane—for almost three months. Not only had she become used to their company, she enjoyed it. Talking about music, fooling around on guitar and piano, writing songs with Erika, bantering with Sloane, playing for appreciative but small crowds—all of it had become a lifesaver for Dess. It had given her life meaning again, gave her a reason to get up in the morning, made her feel more alive than she’d felt in years. “I’m going to miss you,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “So much.”
Erika caressed her face lightly. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind about joining us for the rest of the tour? I wish you would.”
“No. We’ve been over this. I can’t have the paparazzi all over us, hounding us every minute.” Her hands balled into fists beneath the sheets. “And I can’t be around her.” Meaning Dayna, of course.
“Then fly in and meet me every couple of weeks. Or I’ll fly here. We can spend a couple of days together before—”
“No, honey. We can’t.”
Anguish swept across Erika’s face. Her voice was barely above a whisper. The look on her face said she knew exactly what Dess was about to propose. “Dess, no. Please.”
There was no denying that what she was about to say was going to crush Erika and, by extension, herself. But there was no other way. Erika was going to have to embark on her musical journey without her. At least for the foreseeable future. It was the fair thing, the sensible thing, to do. Dess had had her career, had attained her dreams and goals and then some. Erika, on the other hand, had barely begun.
It took great effort to find her voice, to sound strong. “Erika, what you need to do right now, you need to do on your own. Without me.”
“No, no. Please don’t say that, Dess. I can’t do any of this without you.” Tears sprang from Erika’s eyes.
Dess let Erika cry, even though each tear pierced her heart. She rocked her, kissed the top of her head, held her in a way she’d probably never been held before in her life, it occurred to her. “You know,” she whispered after a while, “that I would only hold you back. And I can’t allow that to happen. Not until you’ve shown the world your gifts.”
“No,” Erika said, her voice unyielding. “It won’t mean anything without you.”
“That’s not true. It will mean everything. I’ve been there, remember? And if you don’t do this, Erika, you’re cheating yourself. And you’re cheating the world of something you were meant to do and meant to share.” She cupped Erika’s chin and tilted her face up until they were looking into each other’s eyes. “You were born to do this.”
The sting still present in her voice, Erika said, “Why were you so quick to help me if you were only going to let it all go?”
“Because,” Dess said. She could no longer delay explaining the shameful side of her motivation. “I needed to make amends, in part.”
“Make amends for what? To whom?”
“Make amends to myself, the universe. Years ago, when I was reaching the very peak of my career, I irreparably harmed a young singer’s career. Intentionally. And I’ve been ashamed about it ever since.”
“I can’t imagine you would ever—”
“I did.” She’d never admitted to anyone what she’d done, other than Dayna, who approved wholeheartedly, snake that she was. But Dayna hadn’t made her do it. There was no one else to blame but herself.
“What did you do?”
“There was a young woman, a singer, about a decade younger than me. Her voice was very much like mine, her style, her choice of music. She’d obviously been very influenced by me. She even looked a little bit like me. I was convinced she was better than me. A better singer, better looking, more talented. And even though it was during the most successful part of my career, there was never a moment when I wasn’t very afraid of it all collapsing. You see, that’s the irony about success. You want it so badly, and then once you get it, you can think of nothing else but losing it. You’ll do anything to keep it.” The public, the music company executives, concert promoters, even your own agent, Dess knew, only cared about what you could do next for them. Nobody cared about what you’d done a month ago, much less a year ago.
“I hadn’t thought of it like that before. It sounds…unpleasant.”
“If you’re not careful, you can become something—someone—you don’t even recognize,” Dess continued. “And this girl. Eva was her name. My record company wanted to sign her, wanted her to open my concert tour for me. But I vetoed it. And I did it in a way I’m not proud of. I made things up. Told them she was uncooperative, unprofessional, and that it was a mistake to sign someone who was a virtual, although younger, carbon copy of me. I was given a lot of latitude in those days, and she was cut loose.”
“That hardly qualifies as sabotaging her career, Dess.”
“No, but it gets worse. Dayna took it from there, spread the word, or I should I say lies, about her far and wide. Added a few more embellishments too, like how she was a coke head. Nobody would touch her after that, and she drifted into obscurity.”
“Okay, so you did a mean thing. But if she was talented enough, she would have made it anyway, with or without your interference.”
Another thing Erika was naïve about, and Dess’s heart began to pound in frustration. “No, Erika, you’re wrong about that. I know you don’t realize it yet, but talent does not equal success. Far from it. Without a lot of luck or the murky scruples of someone like Dayna or the timely kindness of influential people, you’re screwed in this business. And I screwed that girl when I could have helped her.”
“So that’s it then,” Erika said, her voice building to an angry crescendo. “You’ve made your penance now by helping me. You can feel good about yourself again. Well, good for you, Dess, glad I could be of help!”
“Erika, wait, it’s not like that and you know it. You asked me what made me want to help you. I was honest just now, that’s all. But I would never have helped you if I didn’t believe in you.”
They lay in silence together until the room’s shadows disappeared. Then Erika swung her legs over the bed and threw on her robe. Turning to Dess, her gaze fixed and uncompromising, she said in a steely voice, “We’re not done yet, Dess. This…between us…is a hell of a long way from being done.” She turned and over her shoulder added, “Just so you’re clear.”
Watching her depart, Dess sank back into her pillow and smiled faintly into it. Erika was one of the most determined, confident women she knew. There was comfort in the knowledge that she would not give up on them, and maybe, just maybe, she thought with the first strand of hope she’d felt in days, they’d find a way somehow. Someday.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The weeks following the Chicago Blues Festival were frenetic ones for Erika. The rumors were true—Dayna Williams was absolutely relentless in pushing both Erika and herself. At her behest, Erika accepted a growing number of performance offers, agreed to a string of newspaper, radio and magazine interviews, and even signed an endorsement with Taylor Guitars in California that required a racy photo shoot to capitalize, Dayna insisted, on a body that was made to instantly raise hard-ons everywhere. An exaggeration if there ever was one, Erika figured, but she understood the need for ramping up her exposure. She had come to accept that her musica
l talents alone weren’t enough to set herself apart from all the other amazingly talented artists plying their trade. But it was damned exhausting work. Work that she hoped paid off and soon, because she was all-in with everything she damned well had, including her shredded heart.
She was in the midst of a string of West Coast performances. Three days ago it was Portland, Oregon, for an evening featuring the country’s best young blues performers. Last night it was Seattle. Now it was Vancouver, British Columbia, where Erika would open in twenty-four hours for the popular Canadian rock group Nickelback. It would be her first stadium concert, with an expected audience of about thirty-five thousand people. If she thought too far ahead, her nerves would rattle her too much, so she kept her mind occupied with thoughts of anything and everything unrelated to music. She had even taken a long walk through the city’s beautiful Stanley Park to keep herself distracted and, hopefully, worn out enough to get a good night’s sleep tonight.
Back in her room at the posh Pan Pacific Hotel, Erika anxiously showered and changed into jeans and a lavender tuxedo blouse. She was meeting Sloane for dinner downstairs in the hotel dining room. She was thrilled to be seeing her friend again. She hadn’t seen her in over a month, although they’d traded a few texts. After the Chicago Blues Festival, Dayna had announced that as her new manager, she was pulling Erika out of the rest of the summer’s Midwest festival tour because it was “beneath” her. She’d said it in the most insulting way possible, of course, as if Erika might catch leprosy or something equally despicable if she continued with the circuit. Sloane was cut loose, which wasn’t exactly a tragedy for the drummer, since she couldn’t stand to be within a mile of Dayna Williams and anyway had no shortage of other offers. Their paths were serendipitously crossing in Vancouver because Sloane was filling in for Nickelback’s absent drummer.
The butterflies in Erika’s stomach were not because Sloane was downstairs, but because Sloane was her only remaining connection to Dess. She wanted so badly to hear about Dess—any detail, no matter how infinitesimal. She missed Dess terribly, as though a vital organ had been cleaved from her body. Most days it was like being underwater, seeing the world through a blurry film. She felt slightly disengaged from every emotion. Anything joyful was not truly uplifting, and that which was painful had lost its sharp edges.
Sloane hugged her hard beside the table for two with a view of the ocean. “God, it’s good to see you, woman.”
“It’s good to see you too, Sloane. I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too, kid. Let me look at you.” Sloane’s brown eyes flicked over her, clinical in nature, like a big sister appraising her. “You’ve lost weight,” she said. “Wicked Witch of the West not feeding you?”
They sat down, Erika chuckling at Sloane’s reference to Dayna. “I’m eating, don’t worry. Just crazy busy.”
“Well, don’t let her treat you badly, because she’ll treat you like a dog if you let her.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Erika tried to smile but couldn’t. Dayna Williams wasn’t even a blip on the radar of what was making her feel like shit.
A waiter, his dark hair slicked back like that of a television mafioso, stopped to take their drink order.
“A bottle of Dom,” Sloane said indulgently. “We should celebrate how well you’re doing.”
Erika began to protest, but Sloane wasn’t listening. She’d never tasted champagne that expensive before, though, so what the hell. Maybe getting a little drunk was exactly what she needed. Because as glad as she was for their little reunion, it was also a painful reminder of what she’d lost.
“How are you doing?” Sloane asked, her voice low. “I mean, really?”
“Really?” Erika took a deep, sharp breath that bit her insides like a cold gust of wind. “I miss her, Sloane. Without her, it feels like…like…”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m just going through the motions. Like I don’t even give a shit if—”
“Don’t say that.” Sloane’s voice was like a slap. “Don’t ever say that. This is a sacrifice for her too, you know. If you give up, Dess is going to kick your ass and so am I.”
Erika had a vision of Dess doing exactly that. “Did she say that?”
“Yes. A few days ago, matter of fact.”
Erika’s heart skipped a beat. “You saw her?”
“Sure. I had a few days off and caught a plane to the island to stay with her and her mom.”
“How is her arm healing?” It was only one of many questions Erika wanted to ask about Dess, and the least agonizing.
“Beautifully. She’s even back to some light guitar playing now.”
The waiter delivered their bottle, popping the cork with maximum drama and pouring with a flourish. Erika silently prayed for him to hurry up, but he took his time, asking them next if they were ready to order. Erika hadn’t even glanced at the menu yet. Food was well down her priority list these days.
“Just get us a couple of medium steaks, baked potato and something salad-y,” Sloane told him, glancing at Erika for approval.
“Make mine salmon instead of the steak,” Erika said to the waiter, then turned back to Sloane. There was no use delaying the inevitable any longer. “How is she, Sloane?”
Sloane raised her glass and clinked it against Erika’s, the tiny bubbles shooting rapidly to the foamy top. “To you, my friend, and your success. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you.” Erika raised her glass to her lips, her impatience matching the ascending bubbles. She forced herself to savor the crisp tingle in her mouth before swallowing. Damn, that stuff was good.
“Honestly?” Sloane said. “She’s dying inside. Like you.”
Erika’s gaze slid past Sloane and out to the ocean, layered in orange by the setting sun, darkened in spots by the low range mountains rising beyond. It was impossible to believe that Dess could be hurting as much as she was. She loved Dess. She ached for Dess. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with Dess. But Dess couldn’t say the same, and that hurt a hundred times worse than any absence or banishment or breakup.
“She doesn’t love me,” Erika said, her voice shaking. “Not the way I love her.”
“Oh, please.” Sloane rolled her eyes. “Of course she does. More than she’s loved anyone before. She’s in love with you.”
“Bullshit.” Anger exploded through Erika like a match igniting white gas. “She’s never said it, Sloane. Not once has she said those words to me. Do you have any idea how much that hurts? Do you have any idea how much that makes me question what the fuck we were doing together? Besides having a mind-blowing time in the sack?”
Sloane sipped her champagne and regarded Erika carefully. “I’ve known Dess for a long, long time. Since you were barely out of diapers. I know what’s going on in her head, and I know she’s questioning every day whether she did the right thing in letting you go, okay? Trust me, she loves you. But she’s been burned before. And she’s one of the most practical people I know. Dess likes to be cautious. She likes to take her time with things, make sure they’re right.”
“She’s a control freak, more like. Or maybe cautious is just another word for coward?”
Sloane’s expression darkened. “She’s doing what she thinks is best right now. For both of you. And I know that’s hard to accept.”
Bile crept up Erika’s throat, and her voice came out high and pitched. “Don’t you dare lecture me, Sloane. I am not some fucking kid, and I’m tired of you and Dess acting like my goddamned mothers, professing to know what’s best for me! She’s what’s best for me. Period.”
Throwing her napkin on the table like a gauntlet, Erika nearly toppled her chair in her haste to get to the washroom. Locked in a stall, she clawed at the toilet paper roll as tears poured from her eyes, sobs racking her, doubling her over. It wasn’t fair. Dess wasn’t giving her an equal say in anything. Wasn’t giving her—them—even the tiniest chance to try to make it work. Dess hadn’t put a dam
ned thing on the line for them. She held onto all the control, doled out her emotions as she saw fit, made all the decisions. Plain and simply, Dess didn’t trust her. And without trust, they had nothing.
Fine, Erika decided, as her emotions coalesced into a hard knot. If this was what Dess wanted, then to hell with it. No more crying over the past. No more agonizing over something that wasn’t going to change. As of right now, she vowed to herself, she was moving forward with her life—something with which she was well acquainted. She knew how to shed the past like a layer of unwanted skin. She could do this, she reassured herself, wiping away her last tear and flushing the toilet.
Sloane stood as she returned to the table.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” Erika said, clenching her jaw tightly. “I’m fine.”
“Look, about Dess. What I meant—”
“No.” Erika held up a hand for emphasis. “I don’t want to talk about Dess anymore tonight, okay? She wants me to move on, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” She replaced the napkin neatly in her lap, took another sip of her champagne. “Good, here comes our food.”
* * *
“She really rocked it last night, Dess. As in, she kicked major ass!”
Dess smiled into the phone. All morning she’d been dying to call Sloane for every last detail about Erika, but she’d chickened out. Sloane, bless her soul, must have read her mind.
“Even Chad Kroeger told me afterwards it might have been a mistake having her open for them. He said it was like when the Stones had to go onstage after James Brown opened for them back in the sixties. It was like she’d sucked all the air out of the room.”
That’s my girl, Dess thought, doing a fist pump in the porch’s shadows at her island home. She had to swallow back tears of pride. “That’s a huge step for her. Bet she didn’t show an ounce of nerves, either.”
“Nope, not one. She’s solid, Dess. A real pro. And I know your influence had a lot to do with that.”
The Song in My Heart Page 20