Bittersweet Chronicles: Pax

by Selena Laurence

  She sighs again in her sleep, and I see her eyes moving more under the lids.

  “Vaughn said something to me earlier—he said that you didn’t deserve any of this. And he’s right. You didn’t. You deserve only the best. You’re beautiful, and fun, and so brave. You make my heart race and you make me want to spend every minute with you. I don’t want to leave, but I have to. I’m making things harder for you, Vaughn’s right about all of it.

  “Your family’s going to take care of you now, and you’re going to get better, I promise. Maybe someday, when things are different for both of us I’ll get to see you again.”

  I lean over and softly kiss her forehead. As I pull away, her eyes drift open.

  “Pax?” she whispers.

  I swallow. “Yeah. I’m here,” I answer as I stroke her cheek again.

  She smiles and leans into my hand, sighing and drifting back to sleep almost immediately.

  I fight back the wave of emotion that washes over me, the pressure in my chest that says if I leave her now I’m going to drown in my desperation.

  If I thought leaving my family in Portland two years ago was hard, it was only because I hadn’t yet met Carly. Leaving her, alone in this bed, tubes and wires sticking out of her small body is by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I realize with a blinding clarity that my heart doesn’t live in Portland anymore, it lives with this girl, wherever she might go.

  “Take good care of it,” I say. “It’s the only one I have.”

  **

  I leave the hospital, my head and heart heavy, and I wonder what this means for me next. I’ve lost one of my closest friends, the woman I might be in love with, and my anonymity. I know I can’t just go back to living on the beach in some little Alabama town and playing local bars. My head aches, my heart aches, and pretty much everything seems hopeless.

  Then it comes to me—the producer in Birmingham who wanted to hear my stuff. Blake set it up for me and it’s not until next week, but I know my dad will have taken my ass home by then. There’s no way I’ll be allowed to stay in Alabama with Lagazo trying to kill me. Yeah, I could fight it, but I don’t have a death wish, and I couldn’t do that to my family. I check my watch and see that if I leave right away I can make it to Birmingham before five pm. My dad’s flight won’t be in until six or so. Maybe I can salvage something out of this after all.

  “Jason?” I ask my new bodyguard as he stalks along through the parking lot with me. “I need to stop by my place for a few minutes, then I want to go straight to Birmingham, there’s a stop I’d like to make before we pick my dad up at the airport.”

  “Okay,” he says as he unlocks the doors to a Lincoln Town car. I realize that in all the chaos I have no idea what happened to my truck.

  “Shit!” I yelp. “My truck! When we drove up we left it at the emergency entrance—“

  “Then it’ll be in the impound lot,” Jason answers. “Happens all the time at the ER. They won’t even charge you to get it out. It’s safe for now, we can deal with it later.”

  I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Okay, let’s get on the road.” As Jason gets settled in the front of the car, I stretch out in the back and pull out my phone, breathing in the familiar scent of a hired car. As much as my parents tried to give me a normal childhood, I spent my share of time in hired cars, being chauffeured from hotel to concert venue, vacation house to airport. Ten minutes later I’ve let Five Star records know that I’m coming, and the receptionist has said that the president, David Lake, might be there when I arrive.

  **

  And hour and a half later we pull up to the doors of Five Star Records, It’s a regional label with solid connections to one of the New York houses. Getting signed by Five Star would definitely be a great thing for my career and I can only hope that my very unorthodox approach right now won’t sink my chances permanently.

  “So, Jason,” I say, trying to sound as authoritarian as possible. “I need to go in and drop off this demo, but I think it would be better if you stayed here in the car.”

  “Sorry,” he says curtly, “I can’t do that.”

  “Look, I know you’re just trying to do your job and all, but I need to make a good impression on these guys and if I come waltzing in there with a bodyguard in tow, like I think I’m some sort of big shot, they’re going to decide I’m either crazy or a total douche.”

  “I’d like to help you out, Pax, but I’m being paid to keep you safe and alive, not to worry about whether you look like a douche,” he says the word with a little twist to his lips like it’s distasteful. “There’s no way I can let you go into an unsecured building without protection.”

  I look around the parking lot, which is fenced and has a guard at the gate, although they don’t seem too concerned about access.

  “What if you went in and scoped things out, while I stay here. If you’d seen where I’ll be would that be good enough for you?”

  He shakes his head. “Mm mm, I can’t leave you here by yourself, kid. That’s not the way this works.”

  “Come on, work with me here. Look, the parking lot is secured, I’m in a Town Car with tinted windows, and no one’s going to nab me in the next five minutes. Go inside, ask the receptionist some dumb question so it looks like you have a reason to be in there, and check it out. All I’m going to do is go in and give them this demo for Mr. Lake.” Really I’m hoping to talk to Mr. Lake, but I don’t mention this to Jason, because then I’d never get into that building without him shadowing me.

  “Look man, I don’t want to get killed anymore than you want me to get killed. I promise. I won’t do anything risky, but this is so important to me. It’s the last thing I need to do before I have to go home to Portland and give up my independence.” I mean every word of it, but I don’t mention that my definition of risky is probably different than his.

  He sighs, and I see him looking all around us at the parking lot. “Give me your phone,” he instructs. I hand it over and he programs in some numbers.

  “That first one is my number, the second is my backup at the office. I’m going inside for no more than three minutes. You are to stay in this car, no matter what. If anyone approaches the car you dial me immediately, you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” I give him a little mocking salute. I’m normally not sarcastic, but he’s so serious I can’t help it.

  “I mean it, Pax. This guy who’s after you—I know him. He’s not someone to screw with, and I know from Ethan that there are a lot of people who care about you. I’ve got a kid near your age. You think you’re an adult, and in most ways you are, but you guys don’t always understand the risks you’re facing in the real world. You promise me you’ll follow my instructions?”

  “Yes,” I answer seriously. “I hear you, and I’ll do exactly what you say.”

  He sighs again. I can tell he doesn’t want to do this. “Okay, I’ll be back in three minutes.”

  He exits the car, flips the locks with his remote and goes inside. I relax in my seat, close my eyes and think about Carly. The look on her face when I accused her of selling me out still pierces my heart. I hope with everything I’ve got that she’ll remember me being by her bedside at the hospital more than she’ll remember my vicious accusations.

  Before I know it, Jason is sliding back into the car. “Everything look okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah, nothing to set off warning bells. Pretty standard office setup. Here’s what I need from you though. There’s a hallway that leads back to the recording studios. I don’t want you going there.”

  “Okay,” I agree readily, even though I’m determined to go wherever they ask me to if it means they’ll listen to my demo.

  “Without me along, there’s no way to guarantee your safety once you go down that hall. The offices all open to the reception area, so those are pretty visible, and it’s really unlikely that anyone would try anything in that environment. But those recording studios are the perfect place to nab someone or hurt them. Soun
dproof, Pax, remember that. No one would be able to hear you, and all that equipment and soundproofing material might block the cell signals so you couldn’t even call me if there was trouble.”

  I nod. If he’s trying to scare me, it’s working. I can feel the unease creeping up my spine.

  “Okay, I got it,” I say, trying to sound more sure than I’m feeling.

  “I am going to walk you to the door though,” he tells me with a firm look.

  “Sure thing,” I answer.

  “And good luck,” he adds as we get out of the car and head toward the building.

  “Thanks. I’ll need it.”

  **

  “You’re in luck,” the receptionist tells me after I’ve given her my name and mentioned our earlier phone conversation. “Mr. Lake can see you right away. Just follow me.”

  She heads to one of the four doors that open off of the small lobby area. I remember Jason’s words—these offices are relatively safe—so I follow her, taking a deep breath and trying to focus on what I need to say to sell my music.

  I’m greeted by a hip looking forty-something guy--he shakes my hand vigorously. “Pax Reed, it’s nice to finally meet you, Blake’s been talking you up for weeks.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too,” I answer. “I really appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”

  “It’s no problem. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, Blake said you might be willing to listen to some tracks I’ve recorded. I wanted to deliver the demo in person, in case you had any questions.”

  He nods, his eyes darting to a phone on his desk with all sorts of lights flashing on it. “That sounds good. Normally I have my assistant listen to demos first. She knows what I’m going to like, so then she only passes the good things on to me. But, since Blake’s already vouched for you, I’d like to listen to it myself. Why don’t you come with me and that way if I have any questions you can answer them right on the spot.”

  I look around wondering where we might be going. He’s got a computer right on his desk and I’ve got my demo on a thumb drive.

  “My stuff’s on a drive here,” I hold it up and motion to his computer.

  “Great,” he answers standing from his chair and moving around the desk. “We’ll just head right down to one of the studios where we can play around with some of the sound. Gives me a better idea of what’s possible. He’s got his arm outstretched toward the door, and a big smile on his face. I have the odd feeling that I’m being hustled for some reason—rushed—but I can’t afford to piss this guy off. I walked in with virtually no prior notice and got an instant meeting with the president of the company, I can’t seem ungrateful.

  “Okay,” I answer as I follow his lead. “That sounds great.”

  While a lot of my goals for my life were learned watching my dad, my ideas about love all came from my mom. Tammy DiLorenzo Clark loves like no one else I’ve ever seen. She met my dad when they were fourteen-years-old, and she stuck with him through everything—being young, being poor, his alcoholism, the weeks apart while he was on the road, the constant stream of loud, dirty musicians through her house—drugs, groupies, all of it.

  And after she had my sister and me, my mom poured that same kind of love into us. She’s intense, but you never have to question whether she’s got your back, or how much she cares about you. She loves fierce and forever, and no one better ever get between her and her family.

  I remember when I had my first girlfriend in high school, I took her to Homecoming and right afterwards she dumped me. I was bummed, feeling used and worthless, when my mom came into my room one afternoon.

  “I’m sorry about Julie,” she said, as she sat on the edge of my bed where I was sprawled, guitar in my hands, playing pity me songs.

  “It’s fine,” I answered, my fourteen-year-old-boy scowl firmly in place.

  “It’s not fine if it upset you.”

  “Mom.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Pax.” She rolled her eyes back at me, eliciting a little smile.

  “Look,” she said, all seriousness then. “There are going to be quite a few girls who come and go over the next few years. I’m not dumb enough to think that you’ll end up with someone you meet at the age of fourteen like I did. But I want you to remember something. There’s a difference between being in love with someone and falling in love with them. You may find yourself falling in love with all sorts of girls. You might fall in love with a different one every week for the next few years.” She grimaced as if the mere thought were disturbing.

  “It’s easy to fall in and out of love with people, Pax. It’s hard to truly be in love with them. And it’s only when the falling turns into the being that you know you’ve found the person who can last you a lifetime.”

  I stopped strumming and glanced over at her. “I don’t get it, what’s the difference between falling in love and being in love?”

  She looked around my room like she was composing her thoughts. “When you fall in love it’s that really great feeling, the tingles and giddiness, the wanting to see them all the time, wondering if they feel the same way about you, all that stuff.”

  “Like a crush?”

  “That’s it. What is a crush but falling a little bit in love with someone?”

  “I guess,” I said, going back to my guitar playing.

  “But, at some point, whether it’s after a few dates or a few months, or a few years, it’s just as easy to fall out of love. It’s easy to get tired of that person’s bad habits, or get bored with their conversation, or find someone else who’s prettier or pays more attention to you. That’s where the real challenge comes in. That’s when you know whether you really love that person or you were just falling in love for a while.”

  “What’s the point of all this, Mom? I didn’t love Julie. It was just, you know, a thing.”

  She laughed. “Oh, yes, a thing. I’ve heard about those.”

  “God, Mom.”

  “The point of all this, Pax, is that you have to try to look past the falling in love part and think, ‘is this someone I could be in love with?’ If the answer is ‘no’ then don’t be sad when one or both of you fall out of love. It wasn’t the real thing anyway, so it’s no loss. Because the real thing—when you’re truly in love with someone? You’ll get the falling in love part and the best friend part. When you really love someone you’re better with them than you are alone. Someone who loves you has your back, fights in your corner, and always makes you feel better about yourself. If a girl doesn’t do all that, then you don’t love her and she doesn’t love you.”

  “Okay, Mom,” I told her, just hoping that the speech was over.

  It was, and she left, and over the next few years she didn’t say much as I had girlfriends who came and went. My dad gave me the “don’t get someone pregnant” speech at sixteen and that was about the extent of his involvement in my love life. But as the years have gone by, I’ve found myself wondering more and more often if I’ll ever actually love someone the way Mom described. The way I feel about Carly is different than anyone I’ve known before, but even with her I’m not sure. It’s hard to know it if you’ve never been there before.

  What I do know is that I want to be around her as much as possible. I want to do anything I can to make her happy. I want to hear her thoughts and know her dreams. I think about my mom’s test: they’ve got your back, they fight for you, they make you better. Carly’s shown she has my back more than once, and I know she makes me want to be a better guy. As much as I’d like to fight for her though, now isn’t the time. Now is the time for a thoughtful retreat, for getting as far away from her as I can so that she’ll be safe. It hurts my heart, but that better guy struggling to come out is telling me it’s what has to be.

  Knowing all of that makes this moment at Five Star records seem that much more important. I want to feel like losing Carly had some upside, because right now I can’t see any. Not for me anyway. If I can get a recording deal, finally estab
lish myself in my career, maybe it will have made all of this worth the sacrifice. Maybe not, but I’ve got to hope.

  While my thoughts have wandered, Mr. Lake has taken me through a maze of hallways—exactly where Jason didn’t want me to go. It’ll be fine, I tell myself as we make one last turn and head for the very last room in the whole place. The door to enter Studio 10 is right next to the back exit, and as we approach, a bad feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.

  “Come right on in here, Pax,” Mr. Lake says as he opens the studio door and insists I go ahead of him. The door shuts behind me too quickly for him to have followed. Before I can turn back to see where he went, a sound makes me pivot to my right and I find the barrel of the gun pointed at my face.

  “It’s good to see you, kid,” Nicky smirks as he grabs my arm and pulls me deeper into the room. It’s a standard recording studio setup, like the ones I grew up around—a small producer’s space that we’re in, and a recording space beyond a thick glass wall.

  “Have a seat,” Nicky instructs, shoving me into a rolling chair in front of the mixing panel.

  I decide silence is my best tactic right now, so I sit, folding my arms and looking at him with one eyebrow raised.

  He waves the gun around as he talks, but while it’s intimidating, I know he’s got too much experience to set the thing off unless he really means to.

  “Did you miss me?” he asks, grinning.

  I sigh and lean back a little more in the chair. “What do you want?”

  He ignores my question and gestures to the recording space. “You ever been in one of these places before?”

  “Maybe,” I answer.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you have. I’ll bet you’ve seen the inside of one of these places more times than you can count.”

  I shrug, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

  “And see, that’s what I want. I want the guy who knows the inside of one of these rooms like the back of his hand, because that guy? That guy’s daddy has a whole bunch of money, and I’m sure he’d pay lots to make sure you’re safe and sound.”