“All right man, I’m giving it to you straight. I get it. With all that free pussy, it’s hard to say no, but you have to sometimes. I like to get to know them a little before I sleep with them, almost like that stupid three-date rule. I’m not a fan of one-night stands either, but I don’t like relationships. I date them for a couple of weeks and move on. Usually it’s mutually agreed upon because they become needy and clingy and I can’t do that. I sleep late, stay up until the sun comes up and work in a bar. I’m not going to go for long walks on the beach or have a candlelit dinner waiting for them. I’m not open about my feelings either. I don’t want to discuss that shit, but I’m at least honest with them. I don’t give them false hope and I always wear a condom. No babies and no diseases.
“The more they see you, the sexier you become. You have to protect you and only you. Trust no one. Everyone here is out for themselves and will stab you in the back while you’re staring at them,” he pauses, allowing me to cut in.
“My gram says the same thing about trust.”
“She’s right, you know. I’ve known her since my mom started working for her casting agent and she’s been real good to me and my sister, but I’ve seen people burn her just because of who she is. You should listen to her.”
I nod and realize I have so much to learn not only about the industry but about people. In Beaumont, you can trust everyone.
“You’re on in five, better get tuned up. It will just be me on stage so tell me what you’re playing and I’ll have your back.” Harrison walks out of the room leaving me to contemplate everything he just said. I don’t know if I should talk to Layla or leave it be. Either way, nothing can happen with her again.
Trixie goes over the rules before slapping me on the ass and yelling “good luck” as she walks away from me. I’m not sure how to take her. She’s so different from everyone else I know yet, I find myself drawn to her. I don’t know if it’s because she holds my future in her hands or if it’s because she knows what the hell she’s doing. She can make or break me with the flick of her wrist if I’m not careful.
I step onto the stage and nod at Harrison. I hand him my two-song set list. That’s all I get to make an impression, two songs. It’s not much, but as I understand it, the time slots dictate how many songs I’ll get. As with any artist the late slot is what we all want. I’m going to earn that spot sooner rather than later and if it means I have to sit on the street corner and play to get an audience, so be it. Either way, it will be mine.
I thought about playing the song I wrote for my girl, but I’m not ready for the questions that will come as a result. My grandma is in the crowd and while she knows, pouring my heart out to everyone else isn’t something I’m comfortable with right now. Maybe next time I will be.
The wooden stool is hard, but familiar. The stiffness is a welcome feeling as I remember the many nights at the University that I sat and played. I rest my leg on the bottom peg and look out at the audience. I try not to let the size of the crowd deter me, but it does a little. There are maybe seven people out there and that’s counting Trixie, my grandma and the bartender. Four people are here to listen to me sing.
“I can do this,” I say as I strum the strings on my guitar. Harrison starts the beat for Never Say Goodbye by Bon Jovi. The lyrics come easy to me as I belt them out. My eyes close as the music takes over my body and my soul. I can see her standing on the dance floor waiting for me. She wants to dance, but Mason and Jerad are talking to me. I’m watching her sway her hips back and forth. Her finger beckons me and at this point who am I to deny her? I can’t that’s the problem. She couldn’t accept this part of me so I had to leave her because had I stayed, I would’ve done anything she asked me to do and that would’ve destroyed us in the end. I put a stop to the dream so we can have a chance at a future… someday.
I open my eyes as I hit the last note. The audience has doubled and they’re all clapping. I spot my grandma in the center. Her hands and covering her mouth, but I can see by her expression that she’s happy for me. I reach down and pick up the bottle of water that is sitting on the floor and take a quick drink before setting it back on the ground.
“Thank you,” I say as I adjust on the stool. “This is my first night at Metro and I’m very happy to be here. My name’s Liam Page and this next song, everyone knows so please feel free to sing along. You’ll make me sound better, I promise.”
I can’t contain the grin that spreads across my face. This has gone better than I thought. So what if I started with four people, they all clapped for me. I place my fingers on the proper strings and start the melody to Don’t Stop Believin’ and the few that are out there cheer loudly. Everyone can relate to this song and it’s going to be my motto from here on out. If I believe that this can happen, it will. I just have to have a little faith.
A bigger crowd wouldn’t be a bad thing either.
I leave the stage with a new surge of confidence. The size of the crowd doesn’t matter; it’s their reaction that solidifies that I’m on the right path. Harrison slaps me on the back and congratulates me before he returns to the stage for the next performance. My goal now is to sing three songs. I just have to figure out how to get Trixie to move me to the next slot. Baby steps, but I’ll get there.
I stumble as I walk back to the green room as I catch the flying redhead in my arms, thankful that my guitar is still slung over my shoulder. Layla buries her head in my neck with her legs wrapped around my waist. I set my hand on her waist and push a little to get her to let go. She slides down slowly causing me to close my eyes and wish this wasn’t happening right now.
“You were fantastic. I had no idea!”
I want to say of course you didn’t because we don’t know anything about each other except for what we learned in bed and that’s not much to go by since I only remember a small portion of it.
“Thank you,” I respond, hoping to end the conversation there. Layla has other ideas though and steps forward, placing her hand on my chest.
“Want to come over after my show?”
I look over the top of her head before looking back at her. “I can’t, Layla –”
“Why not?” she asks before I can finish.
I step back. “I’m not in a place right now where I can do this.” I motion between her and I. “I need friends right now. I need to focus on my music and not get wrapped up in something I can’t control.”
“I’m not looking for a boyfriend, Liam, just a good time.”
“I get that, but I’m not even looking for a good time. I just got here, Layla. I need to establish who I am and figure out if I can even hack it in this industry. Can we be friends?”
“With benefits?” she asks with too much hope showing on her face.
I shake my head and step back, putting some space between us. “I can’t do that, not now. All I can offer is a friendship and support.”
“I get it. It’s cool. We can hang and be friends.”
“Thank you, Layla.”
She steps closer and kisses me on the cheek. “Some girl is going to be lucky when they finally land you. I think I just went about it the wrong way.”
I’ve already let her go, I want to say, but don’t.
Los Angeles during the holiday season is drab. They try hard, but it’s almost impossible to get into the spirit without cold weather and even a hint of snow. It doesn’t snow much in Beaumont, but we’ll at least get a few flurries and maybe a slushy road or two. But the fact that it’s Christmas and I’m wearing shorts makes me feel more like a bah-humbug than a jolly ole Saint Nick.
My grandmother loves the holidays. I put major emphasis on love. It makes me wonder how much damage my father has done to my mother because she’s not like this. The house is tastefully decorated, bringing enough festive cheer to make you forget that its eighty degrees outside. I never had this in Beaumont and I have a feeling my gram knows it. I have a distinct feeling that when she looks at me, she sees everything that I’ve missed o
ut on and it must pain her to know that her daughter is not how she raised her. The most we’ve had is a tree, a fake one at that, which was large enough to take up the entire living room window.
Surprisingly, we never had a holiday party. You’d think with Sterling and his social agenda he’d be the first one to hold a gathering. Maybe he didn’t want the outside world to see just how dysfunctional his house really was. What strikes me the most is that my father isn’t riding my grandmother’s coattails. From the months that I’ve been here, she’s the epitome of social elegance and grace. I’ve escorted her to more high-priced dinners and red carpet events than I can count. I’m now the proud owner of an Armani tuxedo and a Rolex watch; all material items to me but important to her.
I help the staff hang the rest of the decorations. More are being added for tonight’s party. I have to dress up and usually it doesn’t bother me, but being home and dressed up seems like overkill. Grandma says that appearances matter and that I need to get used to that because when I’m signed, I’ll want to carry myself with an aura of refinement. At that, I rolled my eyes and told her politely that I’ve been playing for months now and am nowhere near the pot of gold I need to make an impression on any agents or talent scouts. I still play for the happy hour crew who isn’t really listening, but at least they’re clapping.
I could put my name in at other bars, but I’ve grown fond of Trixie and Harrison has become a good friend. At least in my eyes he is. He still doesn’t know how I ended up in L.A., he doesn’t ask and I’m not one to offer up the details about my life before I arrived here. I wouldn’t even know how to bring it up. It’s not like it’s an everyday topic and since I’ve changed my number, he doesn’t look at me oddly anymore. I think he was probably wondering why I was always silencing my phone.
Changing my number was hard, but I did it. I couldn’t take the crying anymore. She wasn’t even asking me to come back, just crying and telling me how much she hates me. I hate me, she doesn’t need to remind me of it, but damn if I don’t want her to ask me to come home or to call her. My heart breaks each and every time I re-listen to the message I saved. I know the damage I’ve done because I live with it every day. I wake up in a cold sweat wondering if I’ve made the right choice, but deep down I know that I have. I can’t be what she needs, not right now. My only hope is that when I go back home in a year she can forgive me. I’m not counting on it. Hell, I wouldn’t forgive me and I know I’ve got my work cut out to convince her to give me another chance. But on the off chance that she does, I know I’ll never fuck shit up with her again. That’s still my plan – to go back in a year – to fix things. I don’t know if it will work, but I’m going to try. I have to. I have to show her that what I did, I did for us. That if we had continued down the path, I would’ve self-destructed and I couldn’t take her with me.
I miss her. I miss her so much it hurts to breathe sometimes. I have a few pictures of us together that I keep in my bedside table, but I try not to look at them. I try not to put myself through the pain of seeing her smiling face stare back at me. I can hear her angry words, the sobs coming from her as she screamed into the phone. Each one twists like a knife in my heart making it shatter into a million pieces. Gram says I’ll heal and that it takes time. For me, this feels infinite.
“Are you going to change?” I look down at my shorts and flip-flops and look at my grandma who is dressed in a gold shimmery dress. How I know what the word “shimmery” even is, is beyond me. It’s amazing what you learn when you’re the bag boy for a Rodeo drive shopping trip. I don’t mind though.
“I do believe the clothes that are lying on my bed are for me to wear and not donate?” I ask, trying not to laugh. I finish hooking a string of lights around some garlands before giving her my full attention. “Yes, I’m going to change. I didn’t want to get my suit dirty.”
“Mhm,” she says, giving me the stink eye. She loves me, but loves to act like I’m pissing her off. “The guests will be here any moment and I’d much prefer my grandson looking dapper and not like a homeless bum hanging on the Boardwalk.”
“Hey now, I don’t look like a bum.”
She raises her eyebrow and I concede. I kiss her on the cheek and hustle off to my room. When you think about it, she’s not much different from Sterling. Both have social agendas and high standards. My grandma just goes about things differently. Her thoughts on who or what someone should be isn’t the “be all that ends all”, not like Sterling. He has to be the only master in the house and you have to live by his rules. There’s no live and learn where he’s concerned.
When I come out – dressed to impress per gram’s wishes – there are already enough party-goers lingering that I have to side step to get around them. A man sits at the baby grand piano and plays Christmas carols while people gather around. The terrace doors are open allowing the overflow to filter out back. Chinese lanterns are floating in the pool, each one carrying a tea-light candle. And while we may be missing snow, the ambiance screams winter and Christmas.
I look around for Harrison, finally spotting him at the table that we often sit at. It’s away from the crowd and noise and just about perfect for me. A few people stop me on my way to meet up with him and I have to make idle chitchat. Everyone here is an industry executive – that has been drilled into my head repeatedly – and while I haven’t asked my grandma to call anyone on my behalf, I know the importance of who these people are. At any given time one of them could make or break me. I’d rather it be the former. I know they’ll ask for a demo and I don’t have one yet. I’m also trying to do this on my own. All I need is a little faith.
“Hey man,” I greet him as I sit down. I pull out my pack of cigarettes and lay them on the table before taking one out and lighting it. I don’t even know how this became a habit for me, but it is. I used to live by the adage that my body is a temple and all that shit. Not anymore. Aside from a daily run and lifting some weights, I’m not watching what I’m eating or putting into my system, nothing illegal aside from beer and a few different kinds of liquor.
“How’s it going?” he nods his head.
I look around and laugh. “Another party,” I shake my head. “I used to look forward to a good party, but nothing like this.”
Harrison chuckles and kicks back in the chair. Once again he has a hat on and it makes me wonder how he gets away without dressing up for something like this. Everyone else is dressed to the nines and he’s sitting here in slacks and a dress shirt. Makes me a bit jealous, if I’m being honest. I pull at my tie, loosening it a bit. I should be out there mingling and making connections. Grandma has expressed the importance of networking, yet here I sit far away from the party, watching from the outside.
“You know she’s doing this for you, right?”
I look at Harrison questioningly.
“I’m just saying my mom is here maybe once or twice and then you show up and we’re here every month it seems like, and suddenly I’m invited over.”
“You hadn’t come over before until I got here?”
He shakes his head, taking a long drag off his cigarette. “My sister, yeah, but not me. I tend to keep to myself and am usually at Metro.”
“Why’s she doing this?” I ask, curious as to what he thinks is going on with my grandmother.
He shrugs. “The only thing I can think is she’s trying to get you noticed which is why she sent you with me that night. I know you don’t know anyone, but if you look to your right, the man wearing fedora is Anthony Moreno. He’s an entertainment guru, owns a few different companies. He’s talking to Ness Cacco…” he trails off. He doesn’t have to tell me who Ness Cacco is. Not only does he have mob ties, he’s one of the best directors in cinematography. The girls have gone stupid crazy over his movies and now he’s standing not twenty feet from me. The excited faces of the girls are flashing like a bright beacon in front of my eyes. They’d love this moment.
“Where’d ya go?”
I look down at the gr
ound and shake my head slightly. “If she’s doing this for me I should probably do something about it, right?”
“I would. I’ve been playing for various bands for a few months now and I think you have a lot of talent. Personally, I think Trixie is just messing with you. You’re drawing a sizable crowd during Happy Hour and I think she doesn’t want to lose it. If I were you, I’d be out there talking to these suits. Some might ask for a demo so make sure you have plenty on hand.”
I look at him sharply, amazed that he can read my mind. “I don’t have one.”
“What?” he scoffs. “I thought you were a musician?”
“I am.” I shrug. “I know I need one, I’m just not sure how to go about it.”
Harrison laughs. “You ask someone for help. I’ll help you make one. You’re too good to be playing at Metro.”
“So are you,” I add.
He rolls his eyes. “Everyone says that, but no one is doing anything about it when they sign their deals. Besides, I like it there. It’s stable and pays my bills.”
I nod, pretending to understand. He’s really good on the drums and better than some of the bands that come in. I’ve seen the way he looks at people when they’re celebrating that they’ve just signed. I sit there and think about how he helped them. How he was an essential part in getting them the attention, yet they’re not taking him with them. Maybe he’s content being behind the scenes. That can’t be me though. I came here to make it or at least try too lately I’ve been satisfied with sitting on the wooden stool with Harrison playing behind me while I entertain the working class. I see so many suits that I can easily say I have regulars. I don’t care how much Trixie likes me playing that time slot, I need to move on or I’m going to be stuck in a rut with nowhere to go. I need to make a change.
Liam's Journey Page 17