Two Different Sides

by L A Tavares

  “Kelly,” my boss says to me, shoving a large box into my hands. “You saw the guy the band came in with earlier, yeah? He’s their manager. Get these to him, will ya?”

  That’s it. It’s the only instruction I get, which is typical. I’ve gotten fairly good at this though. The band managers, the booking agents, the publicists… I can usually spot them from a mile away.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” An older man in jeans and a button-down shirt knocks a chair over as he tears through the back-stage area. He screams the question, profanities and all, repeatedly, but nobody answers. Hypothetical, I guess. He’s clearly having a bad night and I’d bet anything that these berries won’t fix the problem, so I just set them down on a table near the dressing rooms.

  Another man in a suit flies through the backstage area. He’s The Rock Room booking manager. I know him, but he wouldn’t know me from any other bottom-of-the-totem-pole employee or intern in this place.

  “What seems to be the problem, Mr. Harrington?” he says, obviously mentally preparing to give the angry band manager whatever he needs as fast as he can.

  “We don’t have an opener. The band that was supposed to open for us was on a plane that had to make an emergency landing, and now we don’t have anyone opening,” Mr. Harrington snarls.

  “Let’s see what we can work out,” the owner adds in, but the sweat at his brow indicates he has no idea how to handle this particular situation.

  “Unless you have a band on standby, you’re going to have a crowd full of people with no entertainment, Steven. Help me out here. Figure something out.”

  Steven nods his empty head. He has no idea what he’s going to do. I pick up a nearby broom and sweep unnecessarily, just to give myself a reason to stay backstage and continue eavesdropping. Steven walks toward me—well, I assume he intends to walk past me, but I take a deep breath and decide if I’m ever going to take a wild chance in my lifetime that this was the moment to do it.

  “Steven… Uhh, I mean, Mr.—”

  “Steven is fine,” he says, turning toward me.

  “I know it’s not my place…and I’m sure you have things under control—”

  “Do you have something for me or not?” he snaps. I don’t blame him. I know he’s strapped for time.

  “I can have Consistently Inconsistent on stage in thirty minutes,” I offer, and he thinks about it for a minute.

  “Do you have something of theirs?” He rubs his jaw. “MP3, stream, video? Anything I can take Mr. Harrington?”

  “Yes, sir.” I pull my iPod from my pocket.

  “And…who are you?” he asks, though he starts walking and I follow.

  “Whoever you need me to be. I just go where everyone tells me to.”

  “Okay.” He picks up the pace as I trot to keep up. “Then right now you’re an intern with the Music Promotion team. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mr. Harrington swings at the pitch, and suddenly I’m dialing a number with a shaky hand and a hopeful heart that I wasn’t sure I’d ever dial again, because now I must follow through on a promise that I made I’m not sure I can keep.

  “Hello?” Blake says and there is laughter in the background.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Kelly?” There is surprise in his voice. “Nothing really. Playing video games with the guys.”

  “You can’t quit music, Blake. None of you can. You have too much going for you. It’s all going to fall into place, but you can’t give up on it. Not yet.”

  “Kelly, everything okay?” My heart beats so loud it almost drowns out his voice.

  “Blake.”

  “Yes?”

  “You guys have a slot on stage in thirty minutes at The Rock Room tonight, opening for Regrets Only in front of a sold-out crowd. All you have to do is say yes and get here.”

  * * * *

  Now

  We’re nearing the end of day four since our failed intervention. Everyone has found their way home.

  Except for Blake.

  Xander, Natalie and Debbie stayed overnight a few times before finally heading back to Xander and Natalie’s apartment, and everyone else comes and checks in every once in a while, but for the most part, I’m alone.

  Where the hell are you, Blake?

  My stomach turns every time I think about him. There have been no phone calls, no texts—no indication that he’s even okay. I don’t know what to think, so I sit here and imagine the worst.

  I’ve stopped responding to the sound of the door opening. For a while the door would click, I’d jump up, run across the room and it wouldn’t be him.

  It’s tiring and painful.

  “Come in,” I say without enthusiasm as the door opens. Stasia enters the kitchen with coffee from Chance’s.

  “Nothing yet?”

  I have to fight to contain my eyeroll. I’m so tired of people asking that damn question. Oh, actually, yeah! Forgot to tell you… He came home! Come on, people. Honestly. If I heard from him, everyone would know.

  “Nothing yet.” I force myself to keep my harsher thoughts to myself.

  “I tried to call him.” She shrugs. “I know everyone else did too, but I don’t know. It’s all I could think to do.”

  “I appreciate it, Stasia, but it’s useless.” Fatigue weighs down my words. “His phone is here. Xander called it the other day and I heard it ringing. It was arguably the most deflating part of all of this. I couldn’t call him, even if he would answer.”

  I keep my head in my hands, thinking about drinking the coffee in front of me but too tired to make myself reach for it.

  “His phone is here?” she asks, oddly excited about the fact. “Did you look through it?”

  “It’s mostly just text messages and missed calls from all of us looking for him.” I didn’t dive too deep into it, to be honest. I had so much on mind, and with all of us trying to call it and text him, the damn thing wouldn’t stop ringing. It taunted me, reminding me that it was here and he was not, so I shut it down.

  “Can I see it?” she asks and I can’t see how it would hurt. I walk to the hutch in the hallway and take the phone from the drawer. I hand it to her, and she powers it on. I watch her sort through the phone like one of those detectives on TV with her forehead furrowed and offering a hmmm or huh every once in a while, but not revealing any comments worth getting excited about.

  “Oh, Blake.” She covers her mouth and worry flows through the words. She runs her hand through her short hair, pushing it so it flops to the opposite side.

  “Do you know where he is?” I allow myself the smallest taste of the hope I’ve been avoiding for days.

  “No, no,” she says, “but, Kelly, he’s mixed up with the worst people.”

  “What do you mean?” My voice cracks as I speak.

  She hands me the phone, which is open to a screen with a text message from an Isabella.

  Victor would like to remind you that the clock is ticking.

  “I read that,” I admit. “I just didn’t know what it meant or who the hell Victor is.”

  “I don’t know what it means specifically but making any kind of deal with Victor is a really dangerous move.”

  “What?” The anxiety of where Blake is and what he’s up to falls heavy against my heart again. “How do you know this Victor guy?”

  “He’s my father.”

  I can tell by the way the conflicted words roll off her tongue that she’s not proud to admit it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  This penthouse is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Xander and Natalie have a gorgeous apartment in a desirable location with a picturesque view, and this place makes their home look like a neglected hovel.

  Goosebumps cover my skin as a shiver runs down the length of my back. It’s pristine and flawless, yet it gives off the same vibe as an abandoned warehouse or hospital would, screaming warnings about trespassing where we don’t belong.

  Stasia hasn’t offered
much information regarding her father, but I get the feeling that my uneasiness is warranted. He doesn’t sound like the nurturing type.

  “Stasia,” a tanned goddess of a woman says as she walks down the stairs in impossibly high heels. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Stasia ignores the woman’s greeting, pushing her wildly cut hair off her face and pursing her purple-painted lips. “Can I see my father, please?” she asks, as the woman takes the last step and waltzes toward us.

  “Hi there”—she holds her hand out toward me—“I’m Isabella.”

  Isabella, of course. The name in Blake’s phone. It didn’t bother me before. It does now. Damn, she’s lightyears beyond attractive.

  “My father, please.” Stasia snaps her fingers.

  “Yes, of course. This way then.”

  I still can’t keep my eyes off her heels. She walks the curving steps of the spiral staircase in those shoes more fluidly than I can do it barefoot, and I’m relatively good in heels.

  Isabella leads us into an office-type area with a fireplace burning under a gorgeous granite mantel. The hardwood under our feet is a deep red cherry color that runs across the room and halfway up the walls. It meets an electric white paint that flows into crown molding so intricately crafted that there’s no need to hang décor, as the walls themselves are art enough.

  “Stasia,” a man says as he joins us in the study, “my beautiful daughter. You’ve reconsidered my offer?”

  “No, I’m not here to talk about me.”

  “Then you have no reason to stay. Isabella can show you out.” He takes a seat in a chair behind the desk.

  “I want to know what it is you have on Blake Mathews.” Stasia’s voice is firm and demanding.

  Victor laughs. A genuine smile grows across his lips. Whatever it was he wanted from Blake, he has likely already won.

  “Mr. Mathews is none of your concern, Stasia.”

  “That may be,” I interject, trying to steady my nerves, “but it is mine.”

  Victor looks up, scratches at his chin then rises from his chair. I instinctively take a step back. He comes to the front of the desk then sits on its edge.

  “So, you’re Kelly then, I presume. Yes, Mr. Mathews has told me all about you.”

  I swallow hard. The way he looks at me is a tranced stare, the way a snake fixates on its prey before striking. He pushes off the desk and walks toward me, looking me over head to toe then leans in and whispers in my ear.

  “If you’d kept the boy on a shorter leash, you wouldn’t have to go around cleaning up his messes.”

  “Let’s go, Kelly.” Stasia wraps her hand around mine, pulling me away from her father and I follow willingly, relieved to be distanced from him.

  “Don’t be so hasty, ladies.” His footsteps echo as he returns to the desk. He turns around and sits on the edge of the desk once more, pulling a cigar from his suit pocket.

  “Blake got cocky—bold and over-confident. I’ll be honest. I liked that about him. He gets that from his mother. We’re old friends, you see, Sharon and me. We go way, way back.” Stasia and I find each other’s eyes at the same time, surprised at the mention of Blake’s mother. “Anyway, I digress. Blake made a bad call. He raised the stakes when he should have folded, so to speak.”

  Victor paces the area in front of the desk, only pausing his monologue to light his cigar.

  “This is my favorite part of the story,” Victor says, winking at me as he takes a puff of the cigar, smoke billowing around him. “He lost.”

  Now Victor is just wasting my time. His intimidation is wearing off, anger setting in where fear had once lived.

  “We—” I start to argue but he holds up one broad finger, cutting me off before I can argue.

  “He came to me a few days later. He told me all about your business venture. Or, well, what would have been your business venture had he not squandered that for you. But, I’m a sucker for a good love story. So, me being the generous person I am, I made him an offer.” Victor takes his eyes off me and returns his attention to Stasia. “Are you listening, sweetie? This is the part where you come in.”

  Stasia’s lip curls into a teeth-bearing snarl.

  “I told Blake he could have his losses back—every single cent.” Victor is silent for a moment then leans into Stasia, his face just inches from hers, whispering to her. “This is the part where you ask ‘what did he have to do in return?’

  Stasia’s eyes narrow, her shoulders tense. I feel sorry for her. She shouldn’t have to deal with a father like this. No one should. The devil himself possesses more paternal qualities than Victor.

  “Ask the question, Stasia.” Victor wraps his hand at her upper arm.

  She rips her arm from his grasp. “What did he have to do in return?” she snaps, her nostrils flaring as her chest rises and falls with heated breaths.

  “I asked him to hand over your new singles, dear. The tracks you’re recording with Consistently Inconsistent. I wanted them. I told him that was his mission to settle his debts.”

  “He would never do that,” I say too quickly, interjecting where I wasn’t invited to speak.

  “You’re right,” Victor says, returning to the desk and placing his cigar on a crystal ash tray. “He wouldn’t. So, I instructed him to leave Consistently Inconsistent instead.”

  Stasia’s and my expressions are mirror images of each other. He didn’t just leave on his own accord. He felt like he had to. When Cooper threatened to kick him out anyway, it was the perfect opportunity for him to walk with no questions asked.

  “What are you going to do, Dad? What’s your plan? Pull Blake from the band, sign him to the label? Blow him up with a solo act?” Stasia’s body shakes with rage.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Stasia,” Victor says, spitting as he speaks.

  “Oh…my…” Stasia’s words come slow and drawn out as she puts together pieces of a puzzle that only she can see. “You’re not doing anything for him at all. You’re not even signing him to MLA.”

  Victor chuckles again, letting out that full-bodied laugh that comes at the end of a joke only he understands.

  “If Mathews walks away from Consistently Inconsistent, they are done. Face it, Stasia. If one of them goes down, the rest will quickly follow and you will come crawling back to me, begging me to help you put out an album and get your career off the ground.”

  “You were never trying to ruin Blake’s career. You were trying to ruin mine.”

  “I am trying to save yours!” Victor bellows. He throws his hand aside, hitting the ash tray and causing it to fly to the floor in a crash of ash and sparks. “I made you. I trained you. I gave you every musical skill you have. I gave you everything you are, Stasia, and I can take it away. You will record with MLA or you won’t record at all.”

  Stasia swallows so hard that I can see the lump travel down her throat. She taps her foot with her arms crossed as she holds herself together. Whatever she’s about to say, it’s causing her pain as it works its way through her. Tears form on her lower lids. Maybe he’s a monster, but I can’t imagine the internal struggle that comes with finding the words to tell your own father off or to walk away and never look back at a person you share a bloodline with.

  “Okay.” She takes a deep breath and wipes her hands on her torn jeans. “You always said there is something everyone wants more than the money. If I’m what you want, if that’s what you want more than what you’ve gotten from Blake, I’ll do it. Let Blake out of this, let him go back to Consistently Inconsistent and return what he lost—and I’ll work for you. I’ll do whatever you want, just let Blake start over.”

  “No, Stasia!” I cry, my surprise causing my voice to come out in broken tones. That is not at all what I expected her next move to be. “Absolutely not. You can’t work for him.”

  If she stays, Victor wins. Again. In the end he ends up with exactly what he wanted.

  “This is the best way,” Stasia says, “the only way. Find Blake. And tell t
he band I’m sorry.”

  * * * *

  Xander is at Blake’s house when I arrive back. I tie my hair into a bun at the top of my head and collapse into the couch next to him. He moves closer to me, stretching one arm over my shoulder. I cover my face with both hands then run them under both eyes, surely smearing whatever makeup remains. I’m this tangled mess of confused, worried, stressed and other emotions I can’t define. My heart beats hard against my chest, surely my inner walls must be close to crumbling altogether. With a deep breath and heavy sigh I run through every detail with Xander, knowing full well this is a rehearsal for the many times I’m going to have to repeat the story.

  “I just want to know where he is. I need to know that he’s okay.” I wipe tears from my swollen lids.

  “I know, Kel. I do too.” He rubs his calloused palm at my shoulder.

  I turn to face him, preparing myself to ask a question that I’ve asked myself a million times but despise every answer I’ve arrived at. “You don’t think he’d… He wouldn’t… You don’t think he would have hurt himself…or worse? Right?” I’m mentally pleading that Xander says the words I want to hear and not the logical answer but unfortunately, Xander tends to be a logical guy these days.

  “I don’t know, Kelly.” His eyes pull away from mine and find the floor. “I want to say he’s not that guy, that he’s not the type but unfortunately, especially in this business, it’s usually the people who seem like they’re doing fine that are hurting in a way everyone else misses.”

  “I need him to be okay.” I sob in a way I can’t control.

  “We will find him.” His usual deep, gruff tone is replaced with a calm voice much like the one he sings with. “I promise…” he adds with the words trailing off in a whisper like he second guessed the sentence as he spoke it.