by L. V. Lewis
We share a blissful couple of weeks rediscovering one another again. Working well together as band mates, and making love most nights, unless we get caught up in writing a song together, and sleep or any other activity is preempted by our other passion. We’ve identified ten songs from what each of us have either written or collaborated on, and we’re working our way through our notebooks hoping to uncover more when the proverbial other shoe drops.
We are having the most productive day in studio bar none when the shit hits the fan. Dylan has been trying to get in to see a doctor since we got back to LA. I’ve heard him making calls and trying to get an appointment, but he hasn’t had any luck.
We all agree on three songs by that afternoon, and we’re running through the first one, listening to the raw recording so we can practice how we’re going to finally deliver it when Dylan’s phone rings.
He’s in the mixing booth with Finn, so I hold his phone up to let him know it’s ringing. He motions like he’s holding a phone to his ear, and I assume he wants me to answer it. So I do.
“May I speak to Mr. Dylan Castle please?” It’s a woman who sounds very official and shit, but I trust no other female besides Sky when it comes to my man.
“He’s indisposed right now, may I tell him who called?”
“I’m sorry, I must speak to Mr. Castle unless he’s given you medical power of attorney to speak on his behalf regarding his medical appointments.”
“I don’t have power of attorney, but I have the power of love. He just asked me to pick up the phone for him. I don’t need you to read me his medical chart, but surely I can give him a message.”
“Will you let him know that an appointment has opened up for him on Thursday with Dr. Naples.” I hear another voice in the background as she’s giving me the time say clearly, “Naples Oncology, PA, how may I help you?”
“If you will have Mr. Castle call me back today to confirm, I would greatly appreciate it.”
I’m still stuck on Oncology, but somehow I manage to grab a pen and write down the salient information. If Dylan has cancer, why the fuck hasn’t he shared that with me? Then I remember how he ghosted us all without a word. He comes back into our lives only when Brody asks him to be his best man. He said he’d been depressed over his great uncle’s death, but I think that was just a lie to hide the truth from me.
My emotions are suddenly so muddled I don’t know what to think, and perhaps it shows on my face, because Dylan comes tearing out of the mixing booth.
“Who was that on the phone?”
Without a word, I hand him the slip of paper.
He takes one look at it and begins to explain. “Alyssa, I was going to tell you after we finished the album. I swear.”
I grab my wristlet, my car keys and walk out of the studio door. Dylan is hot on my heels trying to explain, but I don’t hear anything he’s saying. My mind has gone to that night we first talked after he’d been missing in action for eight fucking months, when I implored him to tell me whether there was anything else going on with him that I should know, and he fed me a line of bullshit that I fell for hook, line and sinker. Now he’s wooed me back into his bed and he could be fucking dying for all I know.
Tears are streaming down my face when I make it to my car, and I hit the keyless entry, open the door and slide in. The top is down, so Dylan is still talking. I hold up my hand.
“I need some space, okay? We have an album to finish and from this moment on, that’s all I want to speak about with you.”
He looks crushed, but I start the car and pull away, my tires screeching just as dramatically as they did the day I came to confront Sky and Brody about the vacation they set up in the Maldives without my knowledge. Today, I’m wishing none of it had ever happened.
Twenty Seven
Hollywood, CA
ALYSSA
I get the call I’ve been expecting from Naveah three weeks after we’ve all returned to Los Angeles as The Savages. Work on the Revival Tour is still under way. The guys are working at Sky’s place, and Finn or George Skype me if I’m needed. Creativity is flowing like water and we’ve already locked down ten songs for the new album with three others in production. I only go out to Sky’s place when I need to practice and/or record. I’ve opted to work from my condo since learning of Dylan’s continued subterfuge about his medical condition.
I’m not gonna lie, I was angry when I first found out, but now I really don’t know how to feel about it anymore. Numb may be what I am most of the time. Daily I vacillate between sad that he wasn’t able to share it with me, even after the fact, and pissed off that he thought I could be the kind of person who would abandon him in his time of need.
When my phone chirps and practically shimmies off the music stand, I pick it up and answer without looking at the screen.
“Hello.”
“Hey, sweetie. Guess what?”
“What, Jacob?” I deadpan. Generally, when he plays the guessing game, it’s about some foolhardy scheme he’s come up with to make money—something he hasn’t really done significantly since I’ve been emancipated from him. Now I know he’s always been driven like that, even before my mother died.
“I’ve graduated the program and they say I can go home as long as I have a stable place to go and someone to support me in my sobriety.”
I try hard not to be disappointed, because Jacob is ecstatic. I know what he wants is for me to say he can come stay with me. We’ve been skirting around this subject since before I left for the Maldives, and now he has finished the program at Naveah and it is time to make a firm decision about it.
I must not have answered quickly enough because he says, “Another option would be for me to go to a sober house kind of close to you and we can take baby steps. If I’m still clean in a certain amount of time, maybe I can crash with you temporarily until I’ve saved up enough to afford my own place.”
“That…that sounds like a good plan,” I say. “You have my address, so maybe you can get the folks at Naveah to see what’s close to me, yeah? Then I can get my spare room ready for you after the band and I have finished the album.”
“I certainly don’t want to encroach on your creative time,” he says. “I’ll do that.”
“Jacob, can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure, sweetie, anything.”
“Did mom tell you right away when she got cancer?”
He chuckles. “Actually, she kept it a secret from me for a little while.”
“Why did she do that?”
“She said she wanted to pretend for a while that things were okay. Oh, she went to the doctor and even took her treatment, but I thought for damn near half a year she was just under the weather.”
“But weren’t you angry that she kept it from you.”
“I was at first, but then I figured she was the one who got the raw deal. There I was thinking I did.”
“How’s that?”
“Your mother was always the stronger one. You have her fortitude. I think she knew that news would change me forever, so she withheld it. She was right.”
Hearing Jacob speak these words make me realize that I’ve decided to forgive Dylan, and I’ve also made my decision without Sky’s help about whether or not I should stay with the band. Joining The Savages is the best career move I’ve made since I was a pre-teen, and I can see us taking the group even further than before. Look at Queen. They found Adam Lambert years after Freddy Mercury’s death and were as big as ever now. Brody isn’t dead, and he can make a guest appearance at the inaugural concert and give us his blessing or some shit. This could work. Even my dad coming back to live with me could work!
“Don’t bother asking Naveah to give you a referral. You can come here. You’re not a guest, so you can help me with the heavy lifting to get your room ready when you get here.”
“Thanks, Lyssa,” Jacob says. “I know I’ve disappointed you so many times and I can see you rolling your eyes right now with me saying this, but I mean it th
is time. You won’t have to deal with the old Jacob anymore. I can promise you that.”
Oddly enough, I do believe him this time. There is a different timbre to his voice, a confidence that makes me believe every word he just said is true. In fact, his phone call has helped me make the decision I’ve been waffling over for days now, and I am grateful for it, and tell him so.
“No. Thank you… Dad.” I hear his sharp intake of breath when I call him dad for the first time since I stopped when I was legally allowed to go it on my own. “For everything. I can’t wait for you to get home.”
Twenty-Eight
Hollywood, California
ALYSSA
When you’re forced to work with your sexy as fuck drummer ex-boyfriend on the daily with whom you’ve had an ambiguous second break-up, you need your best friend to commiserate with you and a generous amount of alcohol to numb your emotions until you get the courage to take him back.
Unfortunately, my best friend is honeymooning in Europe and will be gone another two weeks, and my condo is devoid of alcohol because Jacob is back and I’m doing my part to help him. We’re making it work. Once I saw him come out of the jet way at LAX looking clean, handsome, healthy and more like my father than he’d looked in years, that sealed my decision.
Sky and Brody are revisiting many of the cities we traveled to on our first tour together. I am very happy for Sky and Brody, and yet bummed as fuck for myself and the way things turned out upon my return from the Maldives.
In my anger after leaving my last physical practice with The Savages before Dylan’s and my most recent break-up, I’d texted the band and asked them to give me a few days. Ostensibly it was to decide whether I really wanted to join them now and be miserable seeing Dylan all the time were I to take the gig as their frontwoman, but my days have been filled with getting Jacob settled. Now that he is, I’m faced again with the choice of joining the Savages and going on tour with them, or remaining Sky’s opening act for the foreseeable future.
When I found out that Dylan hadn’t told me the truth about our original break-up, and I’d broken up with him again, it sent the band in a tailspin because Finn, George, and even Brody had been stoked that The Savages would be revived—now the “Revival Tour” is in limbo because of me.
Although I had not called Sky when everything went down, somehow Brody learned about the band’s fate hanging in the balance (most likely from Dylan, Finn or George), and Sky called me.
“I’m really sorry I can’t be there for you. If there was any way I could—”
“Don’t even think about it. I’m not going to have Brody pissed at me for shortening your honeymoon. I’ll still be here when you get back.” This was Sky’s once in a lifetime chance to begin life with her new husband after an idyllic honeymoon. That was way more important than my ongoing relationship drama.
“How’s Jacob?”
“He’s great. He has a job with Robert Half and he gets to help other graduates from the Naveah program find work. It keeps him busy and most evenings he comes home wiped, but happy. He figures in six months he’ll be ready to go it solo.”
“Oh, Alyssa, that’s fantastic. Please give him my love. I can’t wait to see him, and you, when I get back. And Brody misses the guys. He doesn’t admit it, but I can tell. How’re the sessions going?”
“We’ve got fifteen cuts complete, and we’re working on five more. This album is going to be fire, girlfriend.”
“I can’t wait to hear it. How’s it working with ‘he that shall not be named’ everyday?”
I tear up immediately, but I don’t let on to Sky. “Oh, it is what it is. I only speak to him about work, and he’s caught on and is giving me my space for the most part.”
“That’s good. Right?”
I finally lose the battle and begin to cry in earnest. “But who in their right mind would do what he did, Sky? Devise some elaborate scheme to keep the fact that he’s got cancer from his friends, his almost girlfriend, and then creates another elaborate scheme to get her back. Who does that?”
“Dylan Castle, apparently,” Sky says in much the same way I would were the situation reversed, and it strikes me so funny, I immediately revert from crying to laughing.
“See, even my emotions are so fucked up right now, I can’t make up my fucking mind if I want to laugh or cry about this shit.”
“You have my permission to do both,” Sky says.
I laugh again, then grow serious. “Really, Sky. Thank you for taking time from your honeymoon to call me. I don’t know if I’d return the favor,” I tease, knowing I would do the same for her in a heartbeat.
“We’re BFFs for eternity, bitch. And I’d crash your honeymoon if you didn’t return the favor.”
“If I’m ever lucky enough to have one. Are you sure Brody doesn’t have a long-lost half-brother in the Chicagoland area somewhere?”
“Nah, I’m sure they broke the mold when he was born.”
“Damn, and I was about to hire a PI and everything.” I sigh heavily. “Where’s Brody right now, anyway?”
“He’s in the shower. Uh oh, I just heard the water go off. Listen, I love you, girl. Hang in there until I get back, okay?”
“I love you, too. Now get your ass back to honeymooning!”
“Yes, ma’am,” she laughs. “I’ll call you next week, okay?”
“No you will not. I don’t need you babysitting me from overseas. Besides Jacob is here and he’s been offering his shoulder to cry on, but I just can’t let him see me break down. I’ve always been the strong one in our relationship dynamic.”
“Okay, then I won’t call you next week, but you’d better call me if you need me. The Savages don’t have any shame in their game. Why should you?”
“They’ve been calling Brody?”
“Daily. So you get with the program. You guys are our friends, besides this is the longest damn honeymoon known to man.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting bored of getting D anytime you want it?”
“No, I’m not bored of that part at all. It’s all the site-seeing and memory lane stuff that’s driving me bonkers. Brody is super sentimental.”
I laugh at the visual. “You two are so made for one another it’s not funny, but I get it. You want to be home with the familiar, and he’s enjoying reliving the moments you guys had on the European Tour. Word to the wise: suffer it gladly, my friend.”
“You know it,” she says to me, then coos, “Hey Baby,” then returns. “Well, I’ll talk to you later, Bye,” and promptly hangs up.
Bitch was probably getting ready to get some again. I can’t blame her though. If Dylan came out of the shower all clean-smelling and displaying his water-softened musculature to me, I’d get off the phone with my bestie, too. Gah! Why is it that every comparison I make has to have Dylan in it?
It’s been bitching hot in LA today, and a shower before Jacob gets home sounds good. In the shower, I mentally prep myself for dealing with my emotions now that I’ve decided I will definitely stay with the band. Even though I’ve decided being a part of The Savages was the right move for me career-wise, I still have to work out how to deal with Dylan’s and my emotional estrangement as bandmates and lovers. I’d been buoyed by my conversation with Jacob, but then got angry all over again about Dylan’s handling of his diagnoses, or lack thereof.
After a shitload of internal debating, I decide I will begin by talking to the band and assuring them, yet again, that I am all-in. George and Finn shouldn’t have to agonize over the plight of The Savages just because Dylan and I can’t get our shit together. They will be thrilled with the news since our studio sessions came to a screeching halt a week ago when Dylan and I argued over the key to a fucking song by Skype. Who does that when they’re not singing lead? Apparently, Dylan Castle does.
A long, refreshing shower makes me feel marginally better. Emerging from the shower to an empty apartment is nice, too, since Jacob won’t be home for another hour or so. I love my dad
, but his care and concern for me are beginning to feel cloying as if I were the one in a sober house who needs watching for signs of falling off the wagon. Which is completely unnecessary. I am down, but not that down, and certainly not out. It’s not Jacob’s job to cheer me up. Dylan and I will work our shit out. Or not. But what I know will definitely work out is the revival of The Savages.
Ever since Brody had been outted as Savage Saban during Sky’s and my tour, the fans of The Savages have been chomping at the bit for more of their rock icons. We are off to a good start with the first album and I’ll be damned if our relationship drama is going kill it right out the gate.
I carefully towel-dry my naturally curly hair and am infusing it with leave-in moisturizer when my doorbell rings. I figure Jacob has misplaced his key or something, because solicitation is forbidden on the property, so no salesmen or religious fanatics or uninvited guests are able to just show up at my door like this.
I wipe my hands on a nearby towel and head to the door, as the bell rings again, almost insistently if that were possible. Brow furrowed, I opened the door and begin talking before I can see who’s on the threshold.
“Jacob, did you leave your—” I halt momentarily when I see Dylan standing there in his hot and delicious splendor, but with a look of sheer agony on his face. “—key?” I finish unnecessarily.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I fleetingly wonder if I might choke on it and die immediately. That would have been preferable to answering the door. Still, I stand aside and gesture for him to enter.
It’s been a week, and it’s time for us to put our shit to rest one way or another. If The Savages are going to survive, we will have to call some sort of truce. I am so relieved that he’s made the first move, tears threaten to fall from my eyes, but I angle away so he can’t see them and dash them away with my hand.
I clear my throat. “Would you like to sit down?”
Dylan hasn’t stopped moving since he entered, and he is even now pacing behind the sofa. “No, I don’t want to sit down. I have some things to say. Then if you still can’t forgive me for my two epic fuckups, at least give the band a chance, and we’ll part company for good.”