by Frankie Rose
“Jesus, Luke, anyone would think you didn’t want to—”
“Just back off, Cole. I’m not in the mood.”
“Fuck, man, don’t shoot. Paul’s not exactly doing anything. He can just write the sheets up again. No big deal.”
I feel like smashing something. Cole can give me shit for being late, for over-sleeping, but the truth of the matter is that I barely slept at all. After I woke from my nightmare, I stared at my phone for three hours, contemplating giving in and calling Avery. I miss her so goddamn much. She was the only thing I could think of that might have dispelled the ominous cloud hanging over my head. I was late because I had to battle with myself to even show up.
The door opens behind me and Cole disappears. Gratitude swamps me. I love the guy to death but right now I’m not in the best of moods and I’m liable to come to blows with the first person who pisses me off. My gratitude quickly evaporates, however, when I realize that Cole hasn’t left. Butler, our new band manager, has shown up and he looks like he’s on his way to a black tie event.
“Butler. Hey, man,” Cole says. “Glad you’re here. We’ve been working on a few songs this morning. Why don’t you grab a cup of coffee and we’ll all sit down and talk things through?”
“Sounds great.” Butler’s voice is high-pitched—not exactly the calming tone I could use right now. I shake hands with the guy, plastering on a smile so disingenuous that I feel like my face is going to crack, but Butler doesn’t comment.
“Morning, Butler,” I tell him.
“You look like shit, Reid. All night fuck-fest?”
I try not to flinch. “Something like that.”
Walking toward the living room, I catch Cole’s gaze, and once again he does not look happy. He’s turning red as he leans in and whispers to me. “Is this about Avery, man? ‘Cause if it is, I have zero sympathy for you. You did this to yourself.”
“I’m aware of your entire lack of sympathy.”
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Love is a cruel fucking joke. You get that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“It’s gonna be fine, man. I promise you.” He slaps my shoulder again, giving me a tight-lipped smile. He may be mad at me for not throwing myself into this one hundred percent like he and the other guys are, but he gets it. He does feel bad for me, even though he’s right and I have done this to myself.
I take a seat next to Paul and kick my feet up on the coffee table. Cole drops a large pad of paper in my lap and throws a pen at my chest as he passes. I grunt at the weight of the pad landing heavily onto my balls.
“Good job you’re not using those these days, right?” Paul laughs.
Cole thumps him on his arm. “He will soon enough. A lead singer can’t be fucking celibate. It clogs their chi. You hear that?” he hisses, pointing a finger at me. “You need to get laid. Pronto. Now, start working on something new. MVP wants to see where we’re going, not where we’ve been.” He stalks off back toward the kitchen, where Butler is hovering by the coffee pot. I never thought I’d see Cole kiss anyone’s ass, but I witness it with my own two eyes as he pours Butler a mug of coffee and hands it to him. He doesn’t even treat the women he fucks with the same consideration.
Beside me Paul rolls his eyes. Seems he’s thinking the same thing. “I swear the guy pouring that coffee looks like Cole and curses like him, but there’s no way he can be the same guy.”
“Right?”
“Should we kick his ass?”
“Definitely.”
Paul holds out his knuckles for me to bump.
I drink what remains of my coffee and place the cup at my feet. Paul sighs, and then heads off to do his duty in the kitchen, leaving me to get on with the business at hand. No one writes for the band except from me. It’s an unspoken rule. I haven’t written anything new for months, though. It’s logical that I need put something fucking amazing together in the next few weeks, or MVP are going to try and bring in their own writers. None of us want that—it’s not what we’re about. I scribble a few things down, but it’s all warm-up bullshit. It helps get my creativity flowing.
I write about two brothers who fight over a girl. One of them kills the other accidentally and heads out on the road in an attempt to avoid the cops. By the end of the third verse, the guy’s getting the shit kicked out of him in jail. I call the song, ‘Worth It.’
Cole won’t dig my jacked up humor, but I’ve stretched my muscles at least. I tear the sheet of paper out of the notebook and toss it, aiming for the overflowing trashcan. It never makes it there, though. Paul intercepts it, quickly flattening out the paper, his eyes scanning my illegible text. The problem is, my handwriting isn’t illegible to any of my band mates. They’ve had plenty of practice at deciphering my scrawl. Paul arches an eyebrow at me, shaking his head. “This is good, Luke. Maybe a little obvious, but still.”
“Hey, dude. When was the last time you wrote something new? Butler wants to know.” Cole walks into the living room with Butler quick on his heels; he has a half eaten donut in his right hand and powdered sugar on his nose. I didn’t even see the food when I walked in.
“Before we left New York, I guess. Some of the stuff we’ve been working on is new to the public, but it was all written over the last few years.”
Butler clears his throat. “Why nothing in the last four months?”
And so it begins. I shift to the edge of my seat, tilting my head to one side. “Sorry. I assumed MVP knew that both myself and my girlfriend were recently both shot and almost killed. I’ve been a little…distracted.”
Butler looks at Cole, like he’s waiting for the other guy to laugh. Like he’s waiting for confirmation that I’m fucking with him. Cole looks awkwardly at his feet. “Luke’s also going through a tough break-up,” he mumbles.
I could fucking kill him.
Butler puts down his half-eaten donut, dusting off his hands. “Ah. No, no one mentioned that you were shot. I’m sorry about your current situation, too. It all sounds very intense, and I can understand why the last little while has been a wash for you considering those circumstances. However…” He looks troubled. “The truth is the contract you guys signed with the label gives you until September first to lay down twelve tracks for an album. If you don’t give us twelve entirely new songs and have them recorded in time, the contract is nullified. A record label is a money-making machine. You guys weren’t brought out here on vacation. You were brought here to make music. There are plenty of women in the world, Luke. No pussy, no matter how sweet it might be, is worth fucking up this opportunity.”
He did not just refer to Avery as pussy.
I’m up and moving before Butler can register that he’s pissed me off. My first swing catches him in the jaw and the bastard goes down. I’m about to jump on the guy and lay into him, but hands are all over me, pulling me away.
“LUKE! What the fuck?” Cole shoves me back, his mouth hanging open. “What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing right now?”
My chest is heaving. I pace back and forth, holding my hand over my mouth. “What the fuck do we need a new manager for, anyway?” I pant. “We’ve never had one before.”
“Sure we did. You were the manager. And when you weren’t, I was. Right now, I need to be a guitarist and the glue that holds this fucking shit show together. You need to be the lead singer and the motherfucking songwriter, Luke. Start doing either one of those jobs and I’ll be happy.” Cole storms out of the front door, slamming it loudly behind him. Butler stares up at me from the floor like I’m out of my tiny mind. Pete helps him to his feet.
“Are you going to apologize?” Butler asks, rubbing his jaw.
“Nope. I’m gonna go write fucking songs apparently.” I snatch up the notepad that ended up on the floor in the scuffle. I head for the balcony, grinding my teeth together. “And when I’ve done that, I’ll jump up on stage and grab my dick a few times. Send the crowd wild. You can have that instead of your apology.”
“Good. That’s worth more to me, Luke,” Butler calls after me.
I flip him the bird.
On the balcony, my temperature cools a little, but not enough for me to relax. I slump down in a lounge chair and drop the pad of paper on the concrete at my feet, my blood charging through my veins. This is not who I am. This is not who I am. This is not who I am. The door opens behind me, and Butler steps out into the sunlight. Jesus, the guy just won’t fucking quit. “For pity’s sake, man, can you not just leave me be?” I sound like a pigheaded fourteen-year-old, but I don’t care. He shouldn’t talk shit about things that don’t concern him.
Butler looks away, surveying the view of the city. A muscle jumps in his jaw, which is already turning a fantastic shade of purple. “I’m a dick, Reid. In my line of work, from the ground up, we’re all dicks. It’s how we get to be good at our jobs. And I am good at my job. I make sure artists succeed. I don’t represent bands or musicians whom I suspect might not be capable of greatness. D.M.F. is capable of greatness. Problem is, Los Angeles is full of guys just like you and just like Cole, too. Guys who are amazing at what they do. I could walk out onto the fucking street right now, toss a rock and hit five guitarists in one throw, Luke. The thing that separates them from you is the fact that you have me on your side. I’m here to help you. I’m here to make sure you win at this, okay? I was insensitive just now, I know, but there are going to be times when I push your buttons and poke at you in order to get shit done.
“I won’t stop pushing you. I won’t ever stop. Because I’ve heard your music, and I’ve watched you guys play, and I believe it’s important for the world to get to experience that, too. And also, when you succeed, I succeed. So I’m going to ride you hard between now and the end of the year, okay? And you can give me as many black eyes as you like, so long as I have two brand new songs by the end of this week. Is that cool with you?”
I just glare at him. It’s hard to despise him when he’s being so reasonable. Especially after I just nailed him one to the face. Eventually, I say, “Fine.”
He holds out his hand and I shake it. “Good man. Good luck.” He leaves, and I feel like I can breathe properly again.
Fuck.
I close my eyes, and for a second it’s like I can feel Avery’s hands on my back, rubbing up and down, soothing me. I pull my phone from my pocket, unable to fight it any longer. I’m such a fucking coward. I’ve been blocking her messages, unable to even bear the knowledge that she’s even been reaching out to me. I need to know the truth right now, though. The second I hit the unblock button, Avery’s messages come rolling in. I read over them, my heart sinking further with each new chime of the phone. She’s not saying she’s hurt, but she is. She really is. I let out a shaky breath as I read the last one, which was over two weeks ago.
Avery: Fourteen days and no word from you. It would have been good to know that the last time I saw you was goodbye, Luke. I hope whatever reasoning you have for doing this is good, because you’ve broken my fucking heart.’
“Holy shit.”
“Blasphemy now too, huh? Things must be bad.”
I glance over my shoulder and Cole’s leaning against the back wall. I feel like swearing some more. I came out here to get some peace, to be alone, and yet it seems like this particular area of Cole’s warehouse would benefit from a revolving door.
“Talk,” he says. “Now.”
“I’m not really in the mood to—”
“I don’t care what you’re in the mood for, man. I care about what you need, and you need to talk to me. Right now.”
A part of me wants to tell him to go get fucked. It’s exhausting feeling like this, though. Constantly trying to keep my shit together, knowing that I’m about to fail. I let out the breath I’m holding—the breath it feels like I’ve been trapping in my chest for the past month. “I know. I keep thinking I’ll get over this. I keep hoping tomorrow will be easier than yesterday, but it’s getting worse. I’m can’t sleep. She’s like a fucking drug, Cole. I feel like my skin is crawling, like my fucking soul is shrinking away to nothing.”
“Only thing shrinking away to nothing are your balls, man. Like I said before, we need to get you drunk and laid.”
I shake my head. “I’m not ready for that shit. I can’t.” I lean against the balcony railing, resting my forehead against my folded arms. “I blocked her calls. I thought a clean break would be best for the both of us.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean you know?”
“She called me a while ago.”
“What? When?”
“After she went home. After you made the grand announcement that you guys had broken up and no, you didn’t want to talk about it, and no, we shouldn’t ask any fucking questions. She wanted to know if you were alive. I guess you probably should have let her know you were dumping her cold turkey, dude.”
“I didn’t dump her cold turkey.”
“Okay. Then explain yourself.”
“She’s…just better off without me.”
“You’re a fucking retard, man.” Cole laughs, but it lacks all humor. He’s frustrated. “You guys were like Bonny and Clyde, for fuck’s sake. You’re so dumb for dropping her.”
“I didn’t drop her.”
“The hell you didn’t. You fucked the girl for three days and then put her on a plane and didn’t look back. If that’s not dropping someone, I don’t know what is.”
“It’s not that simple. What did she say?”
Cole shrugs. “That she’s done with you. Told me to tell you to lose her number.”
I nod, biting my bottom lip, trying to push back the urge to throw up over the railing onto the sidewalk below. “Yeah. Well, I guess I should have expected that.”
“I love you, man, but you have a fucked up way of dealing with women, you hear?”
“Shit.” I laugh, drawing myself up straight, pushing back my shoulders. “Coming from you, that means I’ve really messed this up, huh?”
“I think I’m supposed to be offended right now.”
“Sorry, dude. It’s just you’re more, y’know…”
“Of a complete cunt when it comes to breaking women’s hearts?”
“Yeah. That.”
“Man, I just own it is all. Chicks know what they’re getting when they fall into bed with me. They’re getting at least four or five insane orgasms and a slap on the ass on their way out the front door. I get the feeling you promised this girl the earth.”
“Yeah. I kind of did.” I groan, rubbing my eyes with my fingertips. “I love her, dude. I love her so fucking much. I want to give her the world, but my head is just so fucked. I wanted to get better before we got in any deeper.”
“You’re so fucking ridiculous. You should just text her, man.”
“At this point, what would I even say? Fuck. It’s just…such a mess.”
Cole gives me a sad smile. He leans against the railings beside me and nudges me with his shoulder. “Yeah, it might be. But whatever it is, Luke, you gotta get yourself sorted out. And I know I’ve been a pushy prick since we got here, and I won’t shut up about the band, but I’m saying this to you now because this whole situation is making you crazy. I don’t want my friend to be sad.”
Cole’s never been this candid with me before. I feel like a complete asshole when I realize I have a lump in my throat. “I know. I will. I have to just figure it out.”
“Maybe…maybe you should just let her go,” Cole says quietly. “You clinging to her isn’t loving her. It’s you being a selfish prick. You’re no good to her or us like this. Get some proper fucking sleep. The world looks like a different place when you’re functioning on eight hours, man.”
I have no idea what Cole thinks he knows about a full eight hours sleep, but I nod anyway. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. Let’s go grab something to eat. We’ll work on the songs later.”
“Has that short squatty bastard go
ne?”
Cole laughs, offering me his hand. I take it and pull myself upright. “Yeah,” he says. “And I get it. I hate working with strangers too, but this is part of the deal, man. We just need to roll with the punches and take our aggression out on stage. And when we’re not on stage, we need to blow off steam in a seedy hotel with some hot bitch underneath us. Agreed?”
“I don’t do seedy hotels, dude. I’ve seen too many dead hookers sprawled out on semen stained mattresses to ever willingly check into one of those dives.”
Cole blows out his cheeks, shaking his head. “Whatever, man. Fuck a chick at the Hilton if it’s gonna make you feel better. I’ll even pay. But damn if your mind doesn’t go to some dark places.”
I follow him inside, keeping my mouth shut, knowing that what he’s said is the straight up truth. My mind does goes to very dark, sinister places.
And isn’t that just the problem?
EIGHT
AVERY
THREE WEEKS LATER
“I really don’t see why we need to do this.” Morgan grumbles in the seat next to me as I drive through the freak rainstorm we’ve just hit.
“You’re joking, right?”
“No. Do you see me laughing, you crazy witch?” She leans back in her chair, lifting her tennis shoes up to the dashboard. I swat at her leg before she can get them up there.
“No way. Your manners suck royally, by the way. Jeez.”
“You’re only just realizing this about me? Whatever. Look, I’ll buy you lunch and we can catch a movie instead. Just turn the car around.”
“No. You’re going to your meeting, and I am going with you. It’s settled. Period.”
“Narcotics Anonymous is not a tourist attraction, Avery Patterson.” She pouts in that way that only she can. “We’re not animals to be gawked at.”
“Don’t even bother trying to pull that shit with me, young lady.”
“You seriously do not need to come!” She’s growing more and more exasperated by the second, but I’m wise to her. I’m not backing down. “I don’t know why you think I need a chaperone,” she says, sulking.