“Oh, Hannah! That’s great!”
She smiled, still shyly and said, “Yeah, it is. He’s a good guy and he’s looking for another job, too. Once he found that out, he was really disillusioned.”
“I can see why. Even if I wasn’t…If I didn’t…well, you know, if I wasn’t involved with Tristan, I’d be upset to know that.”
“Is that all it is with you and Tristan?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you just ‘involved’?
I shrugged and said, “We haven’t really talked about anything more…”
“How do you feel, though, Elly?”
It sounded strange when I said it out loud, but if I trusted anyone here, it was Hannah… “I think I’m in love with him,” I told her.
Hannah reached over and squeezed my hand. “I can see that when I look at your face. You know what else? I can see it in his when he looks at you, too.”
“No, Tristan’s not the love type. He’s dependent on me.”
“Elly, stop it! You never give yourself enough credit. Tristan is gorgeous. He could get any woman. He could have a rich woman taking care of him and paying all of his bills if that’s what he wanted. He wants you…and you and I make the same thing, so I know it’s not for your money.”
I laughed and squeezed her hand back. “Thank you, Hannah.”
“Just remember, Elly, a temporary job does not even compare to a lifetime of love.”
I nodded. She was right about that; but did Tristan feel the same?
Hannah left me alone to think about it all while she went back to help break down the show. I had to decide what to do soon or Tristan would be gone and I’d be on this bus on my way to the next town. I knew one person that would always give it to me straight, so I called her.
“Hi, Mom. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, of course not, honey. I was reading and your father is watching his program. Are you okay? You sound upset.”
“Tristan quit the tour tonight.”
“Oh my goodness! Why?”
“I guess there’s a clause in the contract that he didn’t know about; it more or less gives the producers the right to go back on giving him his money and his record deal when this is all over.”
“Are you kidding? That can’t be legal, can it?”
“I don’t know. Someone who does know says they build it into part of the contract that the contestants don’t really read…or maybe just not understand. So I guess when they sign it, it becomes legal.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry for him. But he quit? What’s he going to do?”
“I was so mad at him, Mom. I didn’t really give him a chance to explain. I didn’t know all of this and he wasn’t the one who told me he quit. That made me really angry and hurt. We just argued.”
Mom sighed. “That’s understandable. I’m sure he’s really upset, and I can see where it would hurt you for him to not discuss it with you. When you both cool down, you need to sit back down and talk about it rationally.”
“I think he’s leaving for L.A. This tour is another six months long. By the time I get back, I’m afraid there won’t be anything left to talk about.”
“Then go find him now.”
I hesitated. “Should I, mom?”
“Elly, how do you feel in your heart? Are you in love with him?”
“I think so.”
“Does he love you too?”
“I’m not sure…”
“Go find him and tell him how you feel. If he feels the same, he’ll tell you. If he doesn’t, then what have you lost—a modicum of pride? Big deal. If he feels the same, do you want to risk a future with the man you love for another six months on tour with people who would swindle young artists and use them for their talent?”
“No…I don’t want to lose him, Mom.”
“Then go tell him so.”
“Thanks. I love you.”
“I love you to the moon!”
I hung up, grabbed my purse and my backpack, and hoped he hadn’t left yet. If he was gone, I’d find him. Mom was right, I had to tell him, whether he felt the same way or not.
Chapter Eight
Tristan
I went out towards the front lot, but before I got there, I saw the two security officers who traveled with us. They were the same ones who had dragged Brooke kicking and screaming out of my bus that night.
“Tristan! You don’t want to go out there, man.” The bigger guard looked at me with concern.
“Why? I’m trying to get a cab out of here.”
“You won’t get one out there. You’ll get mobbed, man. This is one pissed off audience and half of them are still milling around out front.” The big guy told me this while the smaller guy looked on.
When his partner finished talking, the little one said, “What the heck happened, Tristan? Are you really walking out?”
Shit! “Yeah, I am. But it’s not the way they make it sound. They didn’t really give me a choice.”
The big guy put his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I worked the last two tours. I’m assuming you found out that prize was not a done deal like you thought?”
“Exactly! How did you know that?”
“You’re not the first one they did it to. I heard they paid the last one about a quarter of a million dollars not to go to the press about it. The first guy, he just kind of faded into the sunset. It was sad.”
“Bastards!”
“Wow!” the little guy said. “I had no idea.”
“No one does. Everyone thinks this fucking show is changing lives. It’s just making people like Jake richer,” I said.
“That sucks, man,” the smaller guy said. He looked at his partner then and said, “I’m gonna take him around to the back street in the car.”
The big guy nodded at him and then turned to me and put out his meaty palm. I shook it and he said, “Good luck, Tristan. You’re a talented guy. You deserve good things.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” I told him. I followed the smaller guy to their security car and he drove me one street over. There was no crowd there and I was able to catch a cab right away. It was good to be reminded that there were still some people in the world who gave a shit.
On the way to the airport, I started thinking about Elly again. I finally had to shove those thoughts down and replace them with something else. I was trying to stay pissed at her because as soon as I stopped being pissed, it was going to feel like pain. I hated that shit. Instead, I thought about that other producer. I was glad I hadn’t given Jake any of my songs because now I could use them for this record deal.
Chapter Nine
Elly
I went to find Jake first. I found Tony packing up the office instead. “I need to find Jake,” I told him.
“He’s already on a plane, Elly. He had to go back to L.A. He’ll meet up with us again in Florida.”
“That won’t work for me. I guess I’ll have to let you know, Tony. I quit.”
“Excuse me? You can’t just walk out in the middle of the tour.”
“Yes, I can.”
Tony puffed out his flabby little chest and said, “You could be sued for breach of contract for that.”
I smiled. I was really sick of getting pushed around and Tony had just pushed my last button. “You tell your hero Jake that if it even crosses his mind to sue me or tries to be detrimental to my career in any way, I go to every major magazine and newspaper in L.A. and tell them about his practices with the young interns on the tour. I’m sure they’ll eat it up. I’m sure I can get a lot of the other girls to come forward…and I’m sure his wife will love to hear it.”
Tony looked like he couldn’t think of what to say to that. I was glad. He was a little prick and I didn’t care to hear what he had to say anyways. I walked out while he was still gaping. I headed for his bus and ran into one of the back lot security guys on my way.
“Hi, Elly! How are you this evening?”
I smiled at him. He was a nice guy. He�
�s the one that dragged Brooke out of Tristan’s bus and got the security tapes so he could prove to me what happened. I appreciated that a lot. “My night has kind of sucked a little, but it’s going to get better, I’m sure. I’m on my way to see Tristan.” I could tell by the way his expression changed that he wasn’t looking forward to being the one to tell me what came next.
“Elly, he’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“My partner just took him to catch a cab to the airport. Here he comes now.” I looked in the direction he was looking. The security car was approaching us. Tristan wasn’t inside.
“Damn! How far is the airport?”
“I think we’re about a half hour away.”
The smaller guy got out of the car and the big one said, “We have about an hour before we pull out of here. Do you want a ride?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’m a romantic believe it or not.”
I laughed and said, “I believe it. Yes, I’d love a ride, thanks.”
The two security officers talked for a few minutes and then the big one said, “Okay, Elly, let’s go catch a guy at the airport. This is just like a movie.” He made me laugh. To look at the guy you would never guess he had a romantic bone in his body.
“Let’s go,” I told him with a grin. On the way to the airport I thought about all that had happened that night. I couldn’t believe I quit my job like that. I wasn’t really worried about it. I was sure if I looked hard enough, I’d be able to find something else when we got back. I was also sure that I needed to do this. If I didn’t go after him and tell him how I felt, I was going to regret it.
We got to the George Bush Intercontinental Airport in about twenty minutes. The big guy was pushing the speed limit, but I was grateful. When we got there, I gave him a hug and thanked him. He wished me luck. The airport was not quite as big as LAX but there were still a lot of people there. I went from terminal to terminal looking for him. I was praying the whole time that he hadn’t gotten lucky and found a flight that was leaving right away. So far the only ones were to L.A. I’d seen were not leaving for hours, so he shouldn’t be through security already. My stomach was in knots and I was sweating. I told myself if I didn’t catch him there, I could find him when we got home. I mean, where was he going to go? I knew he didn’t have much money and he didn’t have his own place. As I was having that thought, I saw him. He had his back to me and he was walking up to the United Airlines ticket counter. I called out his name, but he didn’t turn around; it was loud in there and I doubted he heard me.
I hurried across the room, covering the ten or twelve feet between us in seconds. When I got close to him I touched him on the shoulder. I held my breath then, unsure how he was going to react and feeling like a weight was sitting on my chest. When he turned around and realized it was me, he grinned. The weight on my chest was lifted and I could finally breathe.
“Hi,” was all I could think of to say.
“Hi,” he said, still grinning. “You going my way?”
I shrugged, “I was thinking about it.”
“Don’t you have a job here?”
“I quit,” I told him.
“Funny, I quit my job today too.”
“I heard. I’m sorry that I didn’t hear you out. They’re bastards; I don’t want to work for people like that.”
He started to say something but I was overwhelmed with the need to kiss him suddenly. I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. He dropped his duffle bag and put his arm around me, pulling me in closer. We kissed, passionately, like no one was watching.
When we came up for air, I said, “We’ve been through a lot in the time we’ve known each other. I think we handle things better together than we do apart.” I was trying to tell him that I loved him, but it was stuck in my throat. I was so afraid that he wouldn’t want to hear it.
“Yeah, we are good together,” he said. He pulled me back into his chest and with his lips just inches from mine he said, “I love you, Elly.”
Everything inside of me melted. Before I could respond he crushed his lips back down on mine and kissed me again. That one took all the breath out of me and when he pulled back this time he said, “Should we head home?”
I nodded and he bent to pick up his duffel bag. He stood back up and reached for my hand and I said, “I love you, too, Tristan. I think I’ve loved you since I was twelve years old.”
He grinned again and in that arrogant, but sexy way he has about him he said, “I know.”
Chapter Ten
Tristan
Five Years Later
I was standing in the vocal room with my headphones on looking towards the cavernous studio across the microphone at my beautiful wife and thinking about the bumpy road we took to get to this point in our lives. I was there, along for the ride, but I knew that I had Elly to thank for it all. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have been living on the streets or worse—possibly dead by then. I was five years clean and sober and here in the studio recording my third album; I had a fucking amazing life.
I smiled at Elly and looked back through the glass at the big studio with the guitar cases and cymbal boxes and music sheets lying around. The bassist and drummer from my band were in there getting ready as were the back-up singers. Being there was amazing, although it was far removed from being on stage, which I preferred. I would always crave the bright lights and the stinky smoke that puffed out of the machines—and most of all, the screaming fans—but this was the route to staying there. Cranking out those new CD’s and reeling in the fans was all part of it, and by then I was grown up enough to realize I had to do the things I didn’t like as much as the ones I did. It was so easy when I was younger to just say fuck it and let someone else worry about it. But, that was what had gotten me broke and washed up before I was really even a man.
I was also finally listening to my agent, and my wife, and thinking about doing the talk show circuit. It was like another other type of artistry; marketing was more than half the battle. I’d learned that a little late in life, but I’d learned. I didn’t care for the idea, mostly because I knew they’d want to know about my fall from fame and what happened and why. I’d never really talked about that with anyone except Elly and my therapist. I just kept telling myself that I could do it. I’d come a long way and I had a lot to be proud of.
The music writing had come along great over the years, too. The happier my life was, the easier the words came…even when they were painful words from the past. That’s what got me through it, knowing it was in my past and not a part of my present or future. I actually hoped that singing about it would help someone else get through it. I hadn’t done much in my life to help other people so far, and I guess if that’s all I did, at least it was something. Love songs come a lot easier, too, since I met Elly. I used to think it was all bullshit and it made for a crappy song. Now, I knew it’s possible, so when I write about it, there’s a touch of realism to it. That’s what Elly and I were singing, one of the love songs I’d written.
While we waited for everyone else to get ready, I remembered back to the first time I walked into that place. I’d come back to L.A. with Elly by my side after we walked out on the Fresh Voices tour. The following week, we met with Manny Diaz in his office on the thirtieth floor of a glass building in Burbank. The recording studio is on the first floor, and after we signed the contracts, he walked us down to have a look around. I was mesmerized. I’d been in a recording studio before, of course, but I’d been a kid…and a punk…and usually stoned out of my mind. It was like seeing it all for the first time or with a new pair of eyes. That day, when Manny opened the door that led from the reception to the control room, I could almost smell the music. There were pictures hung all around the room of artists that had recorded here before. They were artists that I idolized; some that I modeled my music after. There was one there of me amongst them. It was one of my proudest moments.
Along the front part of the room that faced the glass, ther
e were boards and knobs and dials and a computer screen bigger than any television I’d ever seen. Through another door was the machine room where the big machines did their business. They made a lot of noise so they sat at the back in a sound proof room, and everything that happened between the control room and the vocal room happened through our headsets.
Through the expansive glass that surrounded the control room, I could see the recording room and the vocal room. It was the ultimate goal of a serious musician to make it there. I’d had that chance and blown it once, and at the moment Manny walked us in there, I promised myself it would never happen again. I was going to make the best of every chance I got. I had to, for my sake and the sake of the woman who had saved me.
Five years later Elly was my wife and we were recording a duet together for the album. She still didn’t get what an amazing voice she has. It was hard for me to fathom. I’ve always known that I could sing…always. When I was four years old, I knew I was going to be a star. Some people might call that arrogance, but I just call it being aware of your God-given talent and knowing how to use it to its fullest potential. As a kid, I had no idea how to do that, and I had no one with the patience and ability to teach me. Elly changed all that, and for that alone, I will be eternally grateful.
“You two ready?” Rick, the sound engineer asked us.
“Ready!” We said at once. The song was a love song, like I said. I’d written it about us and we’d only really sang it through together a few times, so I wasn’t sure how it was going to go. Elly was nervous, but she was less nervous than she was the night I convinced her to do the duet with me onstage in front of a live audience of millions of people. I smiled at her again as I thought about how she was willing to give up her job to do that for me. Sometimes I can’t believe I was selfish enough to ask her to. I guess I’m glad, I was because it all turned out so well…but however you look at it, I was a selfish ass.
I snapped out of my memories and into the mic I told the engineer to cue the band. A few seconds later the music started, and when it was time, Elly and I started singing. Every minor missed note either on our part or the part of the band or the back-up artists was caught and we’d have to start over. By the time it was perfect enough for the engineer—and Manny, who had shown up half way through—it was late afternoon and everyone was exhausted. Elly and I went out into the control room to say hello to Manny when we finished, and by that time my agent and self-proclaimed P.R. specialist, Jerry, had come in as well. He was incredible at what he did, but he was also an incredible pain in my ass.
Dirty Maverick (The Maxwell Family) Page 110