by Tabitha Bree
“Xavier?”
I turn to see a woman wearing dark gray pants and a white button-down shirt walking across the grass toward me. She’s smiling with confidence, in a way that suggests she’s very comfortable dealing with people, and I am no exception.
“I’m Janice. It’s nice to meet you, in person,” she continues, holding out her hand to shake mine.
“Likewise.” I rub my hand on my jeans before meeting hers.
She takes a seat next to me. “Well, this is one of the nicer locations I’ve met people in,” she says, looking around at the trees.
“I thought a park might be a good idea. Fresh air and all that.” I take a deep stabilizing breath and remind myself that this is the best way forward. The only way forward.
“So how are you feeling?” she asks, pulling out a notepad. “We were all very surprised to hear from you, and not your agent.”
“I’m not sure my agent would go for this.” I laugh. My agent would die if he knew what I was doing. “But it’s important to me to get everything out in the open.”
She nods. Janice Hall is one of the most well-known journalists in LA. She is hard hitting, and doesn’t shy away from hard questions. But she is known to be fair, and I could use some fair right now. The last thing I need is another soulless reporter putting a spin on my words and making me out to be worse than everyone already thinks I am.
“If you have something to get off your chest, I think that’s a great idea,” she says. “Even silence can say a thousand words.”
I smile tightly. “And my silence has obviously not helped my story.” I blow air out through my lips, looking at the leaves above us. “I don’t even know where to start.”
She clicks her pen, smiling warmly.
“Why don’t you try the very start?”
I stretch my legs out, pointing my toes toward the tree a few feet away. The sky is blue above me, shielded a little by huge sprawling branches filled with leaves. My back is comfortable against the grassy ground, which is where I stretched out after about thirty minutes of interview questions.
Though it doesn’t really feel like an interview. It feels more like a therapy session, finally getting to spill my guts to someone who will actually listen. Finally getting to tell my side of the story.
All of it.
So far, we’ve covered my idyllic childhood where I first learned to play a guitar, my mom leaving my dad and me out of the blue, my dad doing his best to raise me as a single parent, and we are just touching on the high school years.
“It’s safe to say you weren’t the popular kid at school, then?”
I laugh bitterly. “If you consider the kid who gets cafeteria milk poured into his backpack popular, then sure, I was the coolest kid in the room.”
She writes on her pad. “That sounds like it left a mark.”
“Not as much as the bruises I got behind the bleachers.” I pull at the grass under my hand. “I still remember the day I brought my guitar home with all the strings broken… some jock took to it with his pocket knife,” I explain. “I tried to hide it from my dad, because I knew it would upset him. He always worried about me, when the bullying started.”
“And this went on until graduation?”
“Sort of… but it got better. I met a girl, a girl who actually liked me and didn’t call me a freak. Who actually smiled when she listened to my music.” I smile, lost in the memory of how I felt. “I thought I was in love. I thought the bad stuff didn’t matter anymore, as long as I had her.”
“And what happened?”
I sit upright. “We went out for about a year. She was going to move to LA with me so I could pursue my music. We had it all planned; we were excited.”
“So what changed?”
“The cool kids decided she was good enough for them after all.” I sniff, grabbing a stick and pressing it into the earth. “She dumped me for a jock the night of graduation. The one who gave me the most shit.”
“That must have been confronting for you,” Janice says, taking more notes. “And how did that moment effect you?”
“Honestly?” I look up at her. “It affected everything. I’d spent an entire year being the best version of myself, doing exactly what my dad always told me to do—being a good man, and it wasn’t enough. The assholes still won out in the end. And something kind of flipped in me. I decided to beat them at their own game, become the kind of guy those dicks were jealous of, the kind of guy their girlfriends wanted to be with. I changed my clothes, I changed my whole appearance, and I changed my music. By the time I got to LA, I had a whole new identity and I found an agent within a week. I got a manager, got signed to one of the biggest labels in town, and I became Xavier Black, musical bad boy, rock star.”
It’s a weird feeling… combing through your life choices in incremental pieces. For a long time, I felt like Hollywood kind of happened to me. Like I got caught up in a snowball rolling down a hill, gaining speed and fucking up my life on its way down. But when I break up my experience into tiny pieces, I realize I consciously chose this for myself. I was the architect of my entire image, and it’s up to me to smash that image wide open.
“And how did that feel? When you made it, when you proved to everyone that you were successful?”
“I felt like a fraud,” I answer honestly. “I hadn’t pushed against adversity and stayed true to myself. I just stooped to their level. And then I attracted the exact kind of people who are interested in guys like that.”
“Guys like what?”
I shrug. “Asshole types, big shots. Guys with a carefully crafted image and followers and status. Like attracts like. So when I thought I’d found the real deal again, it turned out to be false. Just another poser, like me.”
“And you’re talking about Willow?”
“The one and only.”
She crosses her knee over her leg. “That’s quite a claim. Willow is America’s favorite folk artist, a supporter of animal rights, our very own girl next door.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I guess she chose a better image to gain the trust of the people than I did.”
“So you’re saying she isn’t genuine? That she isn’t as nice as she seems?”
“I’m saying that everyone in the public eye is playing a role. And some of them are damn convincing, myself included.”
Janice scribbles on her pad again, and I take another deep inhale of fresh park air. Every word I get out, every anecdote, it’s like the bricks that have been stacked over my chest are taken down, one by one. I know there will be backlash for spilling my guts to LA’s most popular magazine, but it’s time to tell my story. The true story.
I’ve spent so much time just accepting the grave I dug myself. Every tabloid headline, every article shared on social media, they were each nails in the coffin I had built myself the day I became this ‘bad ass’. I always thought it was too late to set the record straight, too late to come out and be like ‘oh hey, I’m actually a nice guy, I just act this way to maintain my image’.
I’ve spent so long wearing this mask that it felt too late to take it off. It didn’t feel like a mask anymore. It felt like an extra layer of skin, permanently attached to my face, fused forever to my scalp. And tearing it off would just cause a big fucking mess. But taking time off, I realized.
My life is already a mess.
So I’m embracing the mess; throwing the fucking chips in the air and hoping they don’t take an eye out when they land. Calling Janice was the best decision I ever made, because it was my first step toward living an honest life again. It was the first step to facing the bullies for real and saying, this is me, take it or leave it. But either way, I don’t give a single flying fuck.
It feels so good, I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner.
But better late than never.
“Let’s talk about the cheating scandal,” Janice says, leaning forward on her elbows.
I knew this was coming. Hell, it was the entire reason they were i
nterested in interviewing me.
“The stories have been emerging for months. You cheating on Willow on tour, you messing around in LA. Photos, comments from friends. But what I want to know is, what do you have to say about all that?”
I laugh out my nose and swivel around to face her, a smile on the side of my mouth. What did I have to say about the cheating scandal? A whole fucking lot.
I nod towards her lap.
“I just hope there’s enough ink in that pen.”
31
Dee
By my fourth unreturned call to Xavier, I gave up. He obviously doesn’t want to speak to me, so we will just have to face each other awkwardly on set when he returns in a couple of days.
Everyone felt uncomfortable about what happened at the bar, most of all me. But Jayden keeps asking if anyone has heard from Xavier, too. He feels bad for embarrassing him, even if he wasn’t the one who tore him down like a twisted Comedy Central Roast. Nope, that was me.
Whether or not Xavier accepts my apology, I know the outcome will be the same either way.
Nothing further is going to happen between us.
The last week has given me enough pause to take a hard look at everything, and there are many glaring things I can’t ignore. Like the fact his man-whoring has been splashed across every gossip rag over the last few months. I know myself well enough to know I could never take a chance on a man like that.
I have Michelle Obama on my wall, for Christ’s sake.
I reach my apartment building after another long day on set and buzz myself in, but before I go upstairs, I check my mailbox. When I open the flap, there’s a magazine folded inside, which is weird because I don’t buy magazines since you can find everything on the internet.
I turn it over and frown, realizing it’s a copy of LA Tribute. But the thing that sticks out most is the Post-It on the front, with something scribbled in messy handwriting.
Sorry for not telling you the truth earlier.
- X
I remove the note and that’s when I read the front headline.
Xavier Black Tell-All
And then underneath in smaller font:
Music bad boy breaks his silence on the cheating scandal, and you won’t believe what he has to say.
I open to the interview page as fast as my fingers will move, reading the opening paragraph while I climb the stairs.
If anyone can understand the rollercoaster of musical fame, it’s Xavier Black. LA’s resident bad boy is no stranger to life in the spotlight, and the intense scrutiny that comes with it. But sitting with me on a park bench under the sun-drenched sky, he’s finally ready to tell his side of the story. Usually the embodiment of a Rock God in all leather, quaffed hair and eyeliner, Black looks subdued in sweatpants and a gray t-shirt.
I burst into my apartment and slump down on my couch, the memory of Xavier in his Hawaiian ensemble flashing through my mind as I read the last line. I feel a twinge of longing, remembering him so relaxed on the beach… casually strumming his guitar…
Prior to the interview, he shakes my hand, a delicate tremble pulsing through his palm as he meets my eyes. His face tells a thousand stories, and I couldn’t have predicted the hell of a tale I was about to hear.
I can hear my heartbeat in my ears as I move on to the interview.
Tell me what it was like for you growing up. How was your childhood?
Have you seen Two and a Half Men? Well, it was kind of like that, only without Charlie Sheen.
That’s quite a robust picture.
Probably a bit unfair on my dad. He wasn’t as uptight as Alan. But the no mom part is pretty accurate. Not that my dad ever left me wanting. He is the best guy I know…
My eyes devour the first few paragraphs, absorbing every word, from the details of his childhood to the heartbreak of his first relationship. It’s exactly what he told me on the sun loungers in Hawaii, only in detail so vivid I can almost see him there; a floppy-haired teen with braces and acne, trying his best to be liked. I remember the song he was singing down on the beach… the one he said he wrote in high school… and I imagine what that soft, sweet boy would’ve been like before the world beat the purity out of him.
The piece goes on to describe the image he built himself, and the success that followed when he signed with a label in LA. I am hooked on every word.
And how did that feel? When you made it, when you proved to everyone that you were successful?
I felt like a fraud, to be honest. I hadn’t pushed against adversity and stayed true to myself. I just stooped to their level. And then I attracted the exact kind of people who are interested in guys like that.
Guys like what?
Asshole types, big shots. Guys with a carefully crafted image and followers and status. Like attracts like. So when I thought I’d found the real deal again, a relationship with potential, it turned out to be false. She was just another poser.
And you’re talking about Willow?
The one and only.
I can see more questions ahead about Willow, and I’m not sure I’m ready to hear the details of the way he treated her. It’s one thing reading about it in the tabloids, it’s another hearing it from Xavier’s mouth.
Let’s talk about the cheating scandal. The stories have been emerging for months. You cheating on Willow on tour; you messing around in LA. Photos, comments from friends. But what I want to know is, what do you have to say about all that?
I just hope there’s enough ink in that pen.
So you’re saying there’s more to the story than we already know?
I’m saying there’s the story you already know, and then there’s the truth.
And what is the truth?
My heart pounds as my eyes skirt across each line of the next paragraph.
The truth is, I loved Willow. At least, I thought I did. She was self-made, like me. She understood the pressure from the industry to pick your persona. Brand is everything in music, and once you establish one that works, you stick with it. I thought we understood we were both just playing a role for the world, but we could be real with each other. I thought we were going to take on life together, make our mark, and then retire out in the country with some land and a ton of dogs. I thought she was genuine… I thought she loved me too…
Now you think she didn’t love you?
I don’t know. Do you love someone if you’re capable of cheating on them?
I inhale sharply and my chest stays that way; inflated and strained. Willow cheated on Xavier?
Hold on. So what you’re telling me is that Willow cheated on you as well?
Not as well, instead of me. I was never unfaithful to Willow.
I’m sure you can understand that after months of articles and comments, many of which from Willow herself, it’s hard for anyone to believe you.
I know. Which is why it’s taken me so long to share my side of the story. Who would believe me? I’m the guy with the electric guitar, with hordes of groupies swarming the hotels I stay at on tour. I’m the guy who made a career out of being some kind of sex icon. But this isn’t really about people believing me. This is about being honest… honest about who I am and who I want to be.
And what is your side of the story? Tell us what happened between you and America’s favorite folk singer.
I think maybe after a while she saw through it, saw past the persona, knew the rock star wasn’t who I really was. I don’t know… maybe she got bored. Maybe I wasn’t edgy enough for her. She never gave me an explanation. I just came to her house one day to find her blowing someone else.
Yikes. Do you know who it was?
That’s the real kicker. It was my manager.
My whole body feels like it has gone numb. His manager? The one who famously quit and told the world what a diva Xavier was? Cheating with Xavier’s girlfriend? My mind is spinning.
As in Michael Mathers?
Yep.
Well, that explains the punch in the face.
Is that when you punched him in the face?
Most costly hit of my life. He started spreading shit about me—he’s very well connected, Mike. He told people I had a drug problem, a drinking problem, anger issues… of course, the punch in the face backed up his story. He didn’t tell everyone why I punched him, naturally. He told people he had to pull prostitutes off me when I should have been recording. He told every major label in town that I was an absolute asshole to work with, and that no one should touch me. He blacklisted me across all of Los Angeles. I got dropped, Willow and I were over, and she stole my dog.
Wow
I got him back in the end… with some help from a friend.