by L A Tavares
“I don’t know what I can say or do to make you realize how sorry I am.” She thinks about each word as she speaks, their heaviness weighing on her tongue. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a good mother. I’m sorry you had to do so much growing up alone. I’m sorry we moved around so much. I’m sorry we never made it as a family, but I am not sorry you ended up with Debbie to raise you. Leaving you behind, under her care… It was the only right choice I ever made.”
“I don’t understand how it was so easy for you to just leave and never look back.” I don’t want to be vulnerable with her, but I can’t help it. Years of unanswered questions rush through me like water over a broken dam.
She’s quiet for a moment, taking deep breaths every few seconds like she’s going to talk but doesn’t know how to speak the words she wants to say.
“Blake, ninety percent of who you are as a person came from the life Debbie provided for you. The lessons you learned from her and the characteristics you developed were because of who she is as a person.” She folds her hands in her lap and looks away from me, the painful words she’s trying to say cutting her from the inside out on their way out of her mouth. “The other ten percent you got from me and look what it’s done to you. I stayed away for years and still managed to pass the worst parts of me on to you. Think of how you feel today, right now and imagine if I hadn’t left you behind. Think of how much worse off you’d be.”
Her words make sense but she’s a stranger to me now. I have no idea if she’s being sincere or manipulative, but either way, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. These aren’t parts of my past I want to relive, especially when my future is so uncertain—and I can only change one of them.
“So, you came here to tell me something. Let’s hear your big plan.”
She takes the last sip of her coffee, looking at me over the mug as she pulls it from her lips and places it on the counter.
“Do you have any plans tonight?” she asks, crossing one leg over the other.
“Yeah, actually—”
“Cancel them,” she says. “We’re going to the penthouse.”
My attempts at rejecting her offer failed. As much as I didn’t want to go anywhere with her, never mind the penthouse, I didn’t have much of a choice.
When we arrive, the penthouse is quiet and unoccupied apart from my mother, Victor and myself. No Isabella. No JX. No players or tables. I sit in a single armchair while my mother sits to my left in the matching seat to the set. Victor walks back and forth, sipping amber liquor from a crystal glass and looking out over the mile-long view from the penthouse window.
“That does sound like a problem,” Victor says at the conclusion of saga—losing the money, losing the girl, losing the dream…not necessarily in that order. “It just doesn’t sound like my problem.”
“Victor,” my mother says in a casual, friendly voice as if they’ve been friends for years. Perhaps they have been. “Be reasonable.”
“I am being reasonable, Sharon.” Victor speaks to his reflection in the window but directs the statement at my mother.
“Surely there has to be something you want more than the money. I think it is clear that finances aren’t something that burden you.” Mother taps her toe against the white tile as she speaks.
He turns and looks at her in this deep, hypnotic trance, right in her eyes in a way that makes it so I actually find myself worrying about her. She doesn’t need to get tangled up with someone like him just because I screwed up.
“I think there is something you can help me with, Blake. If you can do it, I’ll return the money I won. If you can’t, you get nothing.”
I nod, knowing full well that I’m digging this hole deeper than it already was but I’m curious to hear his ideas. “What did you have in mind?”
He paces back and forth, shrugging his shoulders as he decides on what instructions to provide.
“Your upcoming track release,” he says, rubbing at his jaw line, “It’s the one Stasia Marquette is on?”
“Yeah.” My stomach turns. I don’t like where this is going.
“When is the single set to release?”
“Not for more than a month. Why?” I sit at the edge of my seat.
“I want it.” His voice is matter of fact, unwavering. He knows what he wants.
“Why?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer right away.
“It doesn’t matter why. Get me a copy of the singles, Mathews. That’s your task. Get me the new material and I will direct your loss back to your bank account.”
My gaze finds my mother’s and she looks away. I stare at my shoes, knowing if I hand over those tracks, they will be released and leaked before Cooper ever gets to do his usual hype-up and sales will be a problem. I find myself wondering how much money he thinks he can make off the sale of the single. There is a lot of buzz in the music world about our new sound and everyone is eagerly awaiting the release. Ever since our show in Miami, we’ve topped the charts again. Our fans are on the edge of their seats for those tracks. I could do it. I could turn the music over to him and let him sell it to whomever he wanted. We’d only lose one song, but my debt would be cleared. The thought crosses my mind for one minute—and it’s sixty seconds too long.
“I can’t do that.” I slouch in the chair. “I won’t do that to Stasia or the guys. There has to be something else. Anything else.” My voice is pleading, setting what little pride I had left aside.
He paces again, then stops, walking toward me and sitting on the coffee table in front of me. “There is one other thing.”
“Anything,” I say. There’s almost nothing I wouldn’t do to fix this.
He takes the last sip of his drink and stares into my eyes until he speaks again.
“I want you to leave Consistently Inconsistent.”
* * * *
The cold air hurts my chest as I inhale it while walking the city streets from the penthouse to my own address. It’s not a walk I would usually make, but the miles might do me some good. He’s given me twenty-four hours to give him a final answer on his offer before any attempt at re-earning my losses expires. My thoughts clutter my head. I don’t necessarily understand what Victor would gain by my departure from Consistently Inconsistent, but he seems like a man who craves power more than anything. In the end, his win could be just knowing that he is the master and I am the puppet. He might feel all powerful by knowing that if he says quit, I do. Then I think, Is it the worst idea? I think back on Kelly’s words. “This was the dream, Blake.” Maybe only one of us was meant to have what we dreamed of. If giving up my dream means she can have hers, how do I walk away from that?
The thing is I could buy The Rock Room property, but at this point I’ve already set myself back so far it would be hard to recoup—and now is the time I start to think logically. Too little too late, I guess. What if it doesn’t do well? What if Ethan is selling it because it’s going downhill? Now I see the other side… Now I engage in smart thinking where I assess the drawbacks or potential losses of a deal of that magnitude. It’s true what they say… Hindsight is twenty-twenty.
Now, an investment like that is doable—but maybe not logical. That account didn’t get the way it was overnight, and putting a large dent in my main bank account at this stage would be an even worse gamble than I’ve already made. Music is an interesting thing. Current hits become throwbacks, hot tracks become oldies, newer bands come in and knock the popular musicians from number one to not making an appearance on the charts at all. There is no guarantee in this business. I have no idea what tomorrow would bring or where that next dollar is coming from. Pending an unforeseen miracle, I don’t see ever being able to save up that kind of money again in the time my career has left.
Small stones roll off my toe as I shuffle my feet across the sidewalk leading to my house, and when I look up, Kelly’s SUV is in the driveway. I sprint through the lawn, leap up the stairs and turn the knob, swinging the door open in a swift burst of excitement. The enthusiasm fades as
I step into the room, put two and two together and figure out why she’s here.
It’s not just her.
It’s all of them.
Kelly, Xander, Natalie, Dom, Theo, Cooper, Stasia…Debbie.
I let out an aggressive sigh and turn to the door, but Xander moves to block it.
“Sit down, Blake.” His voice takes a commanding tone I’ve never heard him use before.
“You need to get the hell out of my way.” I crack my knuckles more out of a nervous habit than intimidation—but hey, whatever works.
“No, I won’t do that. We all should’ve stepped in a long time ago and we didn’t. Pick a chair, sit down and stop talking.”
It’s not surprising that Xander has the tough love routine down, since as far back as I can remember, it’s always been him we had to use it on.
“Blake,” a soft voice says to me and there is a gentle touch at my upper arms. I turn into Debbie and she wraps her arms around me in an embrace that I didn’t even know I needed. “Please just come talk with us,” she whispers into my shoulder. It was a cruel tactic to bring her into this. I can’t say no to her.
I sit in a chair at the side of the room, surrounded by the most important people in my life, and instantly feel like I’m on trial, unprepared for whatever is going to be thrown my way.
“So, what? This is like my intervention or whatever?”
“Call it what you want, Mathews,” Cooper says. “We are—”
“Just here because you care about me?” I snap, leaning forward in my chair. “You just want what’s best for me? You can all save the clichés. I’ve seen the movies too.”
“Blake,” Kelly interjects, her face falling into an expression that’s filled with both worry and sadness, “don’t be like that. We do want to help. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t.”
I slouch back into the chair and push my hair off my forehead.
“I know it’s hard to hear, man, but your issues are real and they’re trickling down, affecting everyone else too,” Dom says, his voice calm and quiet.
I rock my head back and forth in a sharp no—partly disbelief, but also disagreement. Other than Kelly, this hasn’t impacted anyone else. Kelly reads me like an open book, realizing I don’t see how anyone else is affected by what I’m doing.
“Would anyone care to share an example of how Blake’s gambling problem—”
“It’s not a problem.” I interrupt her sentence.
“How Blake’s gambling problem,” she continues with more emphasis, “has affected them?”
I’m shocked—actual, genuine surprise—when it’s Stasia who talks first.
“You missed my video interview,” she says. “I tried to be a good friend and let it go, but it’s still bothering me. We have really clicked. You’ve quickly become one of my best friends, and I’ve tried to be there for you and support you. Then, when I could’ve used your support, you weren’t there for me.”
I nod but can’t speak. The walls seem to be closing in. The room gets smaller with each person who talks.
“That show in Vegas was a real problem,” Theo adds. “You’re tremendously lucky Cooper got people working on shutting your mic down and the stage crew found a way to manipulate the sound, because you were a wreck. If the media had gotten a hold of that, they would have torn you apart.”
But they didn’t, so who cares?
“Blake,” Kelly says, “I love you, but right now, you’re not the person I fell in love with. You’re distant—here, but not really. Your mind is always elsewhere, always thinking about where you will go next or what lie you will tell me, and I don’t like that version of you.”
This isn’t a new comment for Kelly. She has been telling me that for months. I barely hear the comments everyone else offers, shutting them out, mentally playing my favorite album in my head on full blast.
“You haven’t called.” Debbie’s voice brings me back to the room. “We had virtual Saturday morning coffee together on video call every Saturday morning at eight a.m. my time like clockwork for years. No matter what country the band was touring in, no matter how late you were out the night before, you never missed a call, and I looked forward to it.”
This catches my attention. When was the last time I’d called her?
“It’s been fifteen Saturdays, Blake. Fifteen Saturdays that have come and gone with no call, no attempt. Fifteen Saturdays after years and years of consistency.”
My focus shifts to the ceiling. I blink back the tears that press behind them. If they were trying to break me, that might do it. I look at Xander, waiting for him to speak. I might as well get the most painful parts over with at once.
“What do you have for me, Xander? Bad shows, missed band practices?” I ask, keeping my emotions as in-check as possible.
He shakes his head and shrugs. “I just want my brother back, Blake. We were a team. We went out for dinner together, met up for drinks or even just had a good conversation. We used to laugh and hang out. You say no every time I invite you somewhere. You have an excuse every time we have a chance to just spend time together outside of a tour or studio time. I just want my brother back.”
No one has pulled their punches. There wasn’t a gentle comment in the room. If they wanted me to see the error of my ways, they’d succeeded, but I come to the same conclusion I have always come to my entire life. I’m nothing more than a heavy burden.
“So, if the public berating portion of the party is over, what do we do next?” I ask, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “The consequences, right? This is the part where you say ‘Blake Mathews, if you don’t get your shit together, we will send you to a program for rehabilitation, blah, blah, blah…’ Am I right?”
Cooper narrows his eyes at the sound of my mocking tone and he finally speaks.
“Do you know how much money studio time actually costs, Mathews?” he says, and I think on it. I don’t. I’ve never really thought about it. “You’ve missed three recording sessions that we had blocked for laying the new music with Stasia. Three groups of prepaid hours in a studio in addition to the interview. This band has had their fair share of mess-ups but none of them have cost us as much money as you have.”
That can’t be true. There’s no way I’ve missed that much…have I?
“You’re right, though,” Cooper continues, scratching his chin. “There has to be consequences. We need you in the studio this week for every block we have, since we’re behind now. And I mean rested, ready to go, full commitment. No absences, no screw-ups.”
“And if I don’t?” I ask, genuinely curious what he thinks he can scare me with. I’m not saying I can’t do it, but what is he going to do about it if I don’t?
“You will be—” Xander interjects and Cooper holds up one hand toward him. Cooper’s expression is a marriage of angry and disappointed.
“Then you’re out,” he says—and he’s serious. “You won’t be a member of this band anymore.”
His words go right under my skin. He’s got to be freakin’ kidding me. The last person we did this with was Julian, and he was exponentially worse off than I am. And what about Xander? But of course the band can’t exist without Xander Varro. He’s the front man, he’s the voice. Cooper needs him more than he needs me, so when Xander screws up, we coddle and support him, because without him we all fail, but me? I get tossed. Anger churns in my stomach, and a livid heat rises to my chest.
“Then I’m out.” I clap my hands together and rise from my seat. “I quit.”
I don’t look back as I storm out of the apartment. The impact of my stomps against the floor shake the picture frames on the shelves and I slam the door behind me, unsure of where to go from here.
This is not the place I had envisioned ending up. I’m not even sure when I made the decision to come here, but eventually I took all the correct streets to end up in front of the olive green door at the top of the concrete stairs.
If I take the steps and knock on the door, it
’s all real. The things they said about me and the depth of this dilemma. Ascending this staircase corroborates their accusations and I know coming here can surely only make things worse. I leave the sidewalk and take the first step, figuratively and literally, because I know, standing in this spot, it’s verified now.
I have a problem.
I take the second step, then the third. Three steps that somehow feel like the direct stairway to hell and I’m knocking on its door.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kelly
Blake walked out more than an hour ago. No one chased after him. No one made him stay. It was like we were frozen in time while he kept moving, his unexpected words casting a spell on each of us that rendered us motionless.
“Threatening to kick him out was not part of the plan, Cooper.” I pace back and forth behind the couch. “Brilliant idea, really.” I clap my hands in applause while making it obvious the sentiment isn’t sincere.
“Kelly”—Xander takes my hands in his in an attempt to calm me down—“it wasn’t his idea.” I slowly look up at him and narrow my eyes as he speaks. “It was mine,” he adds.
I automatically look to Natalie, though I’m not sure why. She lets her eyes fall downcast, picking at a thread on the end of her sweater as she avoids my eye contact.
She knew.
I drop my hands so they hit my legs with a smack. I think of some choice words to say but I’m out-numbered on this one, so I retreat to my room…our room…Blake’s room, I suppose, since I’ve left. Natalie follows, closing the door behind her and sitting next to me at the edge of the bed.
“You know it had to be this way,” she signs, her eyes and lips set in a sympathetic expression.
“You should have told me,” I argue, signing and speaking at the same time.
“No, we couldn’t.” She continues, “You never would have let us do it. He needed to know there is something real on the line.”