Slower Page 18

  Shane stared at me for a moment with his mouth tightly closed. “Fuck you,” he said and got up, pushing John out of his way as he stormed to the back of the bus. Good. Go fucking pout. Fucking baby.

  “Fuck all of you.” John sighed and went back to his bunk. Typical John. He was an equal opportunity hater.

  Shit. I would never get Shane’s phone now. Turning to Sam, I narrowed my eyes. “I need to talk to Gina.”

  I asked her, for the hundredth time, how she thought Louana had found out about the actress. She said, for the hundredth time, that she didn’t know.

  “Can’t you ask that Casey dude? He must know.”

  “Jake, I have asked. And he either won’t tell or doesn’t know.”

  “Send me his number.”

  I paced in the underground loading area outside the arena as the long beep of a calling signal played in my ear.

  “Casey Wolfe.”

  Next to a catering van, I froze at the sound of her friend’s voice and told myself to act casual. “Hey, Casey. It’s Jake Riley. Louana’s boyfriend.”

  “Excuse me?” Was he laughing at me? Surely it was just a weird form of sneezing.

  “It’s Jake. We met at one of my shows.”

  “Did you and Louana get back together?”

  “Not yet.” I grinned.

  “Oh, Christ.”

  A random crew worker passed by and quickened his step as he met my scolding eyes. “Listen, man—I need a favor.”

  Casey grumbled on the other end, but I knew I had to try.

  “I need to know how Louana found out about me and that actress.” Because I did. I really fucking did. My entire life depended on it.

  This time there was no mistaking the sound. It was not a sneeze, it was a full-on, over-the-top laugh. “Your favor is me betraying a friend. I don’t think so.”

  New tactic: Beg. “Please, I need her. You know how fucking amazing she is. I feel like I’m dying a slow, horrible death without her.”

  “God, she’s right. You are ridiculously charming.”

  A ray of hope.

  “But it won’t change the fact that you cheated.”

  A dark cloud.

  “So, you do know?” Come on, dude. Crack.

  “I didn’t say that,” he clipped.

  I pressed my forehead into the side of the van and closed my eyes. “You want her to be happy, right?”

  “She deserves that, yes.” His voice was calm but judgmental.

  “Have you ever seen her happier than when she was with me?”

  “No.”

  Winner, winner! Chicken dinner!

  “Then throw me a scrap. Who told her?”

  He let out a dramatic sigh. Fuck, this might just work.

  “That, I don’t know.”

  I tapped my head against the cold metal twice. “How the fuck did she find out?”

  Casey mumbled on the other end before saying, “I will tell you one thing. And you’d better start thinking of ways to repay me for this tidbit—and rest assured I will collect. She saw proof.”

  “What does that mean?” I searched the loading dock in front of me as if the answer would appear like a genie and solve my problems.

  “Jake, it’s been nice talking to you, but I’m knee deep in casting details and have already said too much. I’m hanging up now.”

  Instead of following my overwhelming desire to shatter my phone by stomping it into the concrete below my feet, I slid it back into my pocket.

  Proof. She’d seen proof. Someone had sent her a fucking picture of me in the act. I let out a guttural cry and stormed back into the venue. Jesus—with the fucking redhead, too. No wonder she hated me. As much as I knew I’d fucked everything up, I still had to believe there was some kind of chance that I could get her back.

  We had a rigid sound check schedule, and the emotional temperature backstage was just above freezing. Sam and I were fine, but John kept to himself and Shane shot me dirty looks and flipped me off in the middle of the show. But playing hard helped. I almost sympathized with my drum kit; it took a fucking beating.

  On the plane back to L.A., Shane slid into the seat next to me. He dug into his computer bag and pulled out a tabloid. “Bad news, dude.” He pointed to the lower corner. “Voodoo Fuck Face won.”

  A small picture of Louana and her ex with a caption I didn’t understand stared back at me. I swiped the magazine out of his hands and flipped through it. According to the pictures—because I didn’t understand a word of the article—they were back together. I was too late. God, she’d never come back to me now.

  “It says she’s his good luck charm. I translated it.”

  I slowly turned to Shane. “You sound happy about this. What the fuck kind of friend are you?”

  He worked his jaw. “I’m the kind of friend who wants you to move the fuck on. You’ve been obsessed about her too long, bro. She never deserved you anyway.” Shane crossed his arms. “You’re better than her.”

  I scoffed. “You and I both know that’s not true.” I was definitely not better than Louana Higgins. My behavior had proven that countless times over the course of our relationship. She might have caused problems by not talking to me, but I’d created them, too. Probably more than she had.

  “Fine. But how about you deserve someone who is willing to fight for you? Fucking support you on tour? Have your back?”

  I turned to look out the window. There was one thing Shane didn’t understand about Louana. She was basically selfless. She always thought of everyone else before herself. And she’d told me time and time again she didn’t want to get back with him. Maybe she’d just seen the ex while she was in town. After all, they were family friends. If I was grasping at straws, I didn’t care. Shane would never comprehend what that woman meant to me. And I would go to my grave fighting for her.

  “Thanks for the heads-up. But I don’t buy it.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Phil! Can you please come over here?” Shane stood up. “You have a serious fucking problem. And that’s coming from someone who has a lot of serious fucking problems.”

  Phil offered me a bottle of water and replaced Shane in the seat next to me. Great. A lecture from someone who had no idea what I was going through.

  I rubbed my brow. “Please don’t. Of all the people who need a talking-to on this plane, I’m the last one.”

  “I disagree. Your need to be in a relationship that doesn’t work—a relationship you ruined, Jake—it’s tearing your band apart. Every time you piss Shane off, you guys have a shitty show. And you only piss him off when you talk about your ex-girlfriend.”

  So, what? I had to kiss Shane Murphy’s ass to be a valuable member of this band? I had to do all the work?

  “This is ridiculous. Who I go home to at night has nothing to do with my performance onstage.”

  Phil tapped my knee. “I’m sorry to say that is simply and sadly not true. Get over this girl and go back to being who you were when you joined the band. Your success depends on it.”

  26

  LOUANA

  * * *

  The Basilique Notre-Dame de la Garde in Marseille sat on the top of a hill and overlooked—or, as its name translates, guarded the city. Relatively modern and built in the nineteenth century, its unique green-and-white exterior was topped only by its flashy interior. The gold domes, statues of various saints, and colorful murals made an impressive backdrop for nuptials. Stella and I sat in the last row and witnessed the wedding until it was time for her to sing.

  Dressed in a long, light blue gown and matching half coat, she gracefully stepped to center, and the string quartet played the introduction. The blood pounded with anticipation in my veins, my lips tightened, and the small hairs exposed on the back of my neck rose.

  Stella looked out over the crowd, and she hadn’t even sung the second word before a tear streamed down my cheek. She was stunning; her voice was impeccable, and the wedding guests were mesmerized. In the brief three minutes, I was
finally able to witness her in all her glory. I had been cocky enough to think I knew her. But as she laid out her soul with every note and nuance, the walls of the cathedral echoed her massive talent. When the strings finished the song, Stella closed her eyes, gave a slight nod, and walked back to her seat next to me. I grabbed her hand and held it tight. She gave me the same small nod she’d shared with the crowd, but with a bigger smile, and we turned to witness the rest of the marriage.

  The entire church stood and clapped as the beautiful young newlyweds strode hand in hand down the aisle. The string quartet played us all out, row by row. Stella’s old friend, the grandfather of the groom, stopped to thank her, as did many other guests before leaving. The man in front of me had filmed her with his phone, and while Stella was busy accepting compliments, I handed him my business card and asked him to email me the video. He did it right away as we waited for our turn to exit.

  At home, Stella poured us each a nightcap. I fan-girled my grandma a little longer and told her she should sing in public more often. This would be such a lovely memory for the couple. She pondered over the idea of becoming a wedding singer in her seventies. She kissed me goodnight and went upstairs. I poured myself another drink and reached for my phone. With the volume on low, I replayed the video of Stella’s performance and allowed its power to seep into my veins.

  I wanted to share my pride and awe with the person who would know best what witnessing her sing had meant to me. Jake and I had discussed how Stella taught me about music. Through cognac lenses, I started a message. I went through various drafts where I told him not to read anything into me sending him this message, or not to reply, but settled on simplicity.

  * * *

  Me: Stella.

  * * *

  And I attached the video.

  I sent another text to Gina checking in, and she wrote back that there was a bit of drama because Richie was moving out to live with his girlfriend in Echo Park and Fern said she didn’t have the energy to find another tenant. I wrote to Gina to tell Fern I would help her when I got back and to keep feeding her vegetables.

  When I checked my phone for the last time before bed, there was a new message.

  * * *

  Jake: She’s amazing. Why did you send it to me?

  * * *

  Me: Because you understand.

  * * *

  My fingers had typed it out and hit send before I lost the courage. I didn’t know if I could ever forgive Jake his transgressions, but there was definitely a part of me that both wanted and needed to reach out.

  * * *

  Jake: The tabloids say your back with your ex.

  * * *

  What? How the hell had he gotten a hold of a trashy French magazine. But it didn’t matter.

  * * *

  Me: They are mistaken.

  * * *

  The next day, after I kissed my grandmother goodbye, she took my hands and brought them to her heart. “You need to know, beautiful girl, I will never let any man come between us. I want you happy, period. Losing your mother for all those years was a very hard lesson. One I failed. I see that. I will never do it again. Whatever your dream is for your life, I am behind you. And this house is yours as much or as little as you want it.”

  On the long flight back to Los Angeles, I had a lot of time to think about what my dream might be. It included thriving in my career and becoming a woman in no one’s shadow.

  27

  JAKE

  * * *

  Uncomfortable in my lonely bed, but happy to be away from the band, I watched the video again. Stella was sensational. She had a silent but solid confidence and was the embodiment of grace. Louana’s mom came to mind, with her gentle ways and reflective intellect. My girlfriend was a perfect mix of those two women. That was right, I was going to think of her as my girlfriend again. She’d reached out. It was her this time, not me. Maybe everybody was wrong. Maybe I could get her back.

  My day was filled with mindless tasks. I still didn’t know if I would be on a plane to go back on tour at the end of the week; I hadn’t found anything substantial to implicate Shane, and I didn’t want to quit a band on speculation.

  Phil must have intuited my thoughts because before I called it a night, there was a message about an emergency and mandatory band meeting at the label the next morning.

  The record company was close to Louana’s office in Studio City, and I thought about stopping by even though I knew she wasn’t getting home until that night. That was how much I’d missed her.

  I rode the generic elevator up, and when I pushed through the logo-clad door of Edging, I found John sitting on their red leather couch in reception. An overly pierced and far-too-skinny bean pole walked us back to the huge, steel-framed conference room, and we each grabbed a bottle of water from the gothic wooden table.

  “You gonna tell me what’s really going on here?” John asked as he sat down and pushed back into his chair.

  I closed my eyes and rolled them. I didn’t want to fight. Not with him. Maybe filling him in wouldn’t be the worst decision in the world. After all, he knew more about Shane’s fucked-up ways than any of us.

  “I think Shane was the one who told Louana about the actress.”

  John’s mouth twitched, and he narrowed his dark brow. “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t fucking know.” I scrubbed my face and sat two chairs down from him.

  “Are you sure?” He held my gaze long enough for me to look away, then added, “And are you ready to break up a great fucking band for the oldest cliché in rock and roll?”

  “You guys can find another drummer.” I shrugged.

  “Sure.” He nodded in agreement and swiveled back and forth in his chair. “But who wrote our two biggest songs? You leave, and we’ll try to write like you, but we won’t.”

  Coming from John, saying I wrote the best songs was a huge admission. He had never shown any doubts about his own songwriting ability before. And now I felt even worse about leaving. Maybe leaving. Leaving when I knew for sure. Fuck, I’d better be sure.

  “Plus, you’d be breaking the hearts of thousands of fans. Are you ready for that?”

  Before I could answer, Sam and Phil walked in and sat next to John. Shane came in a couple minutes later, flanked by the heads of the label. They sat opposite us, and Phil opened with a dull and predictable speech about band tension and how important it was to stay focused now that we had experienced success. I stared at Shane the entire time and he did his very best to ignore me. But I knew my loathing had seeped through his jagged walls and he finally snapped.

  “What the fuck is your problem?”

  “You’re my fucking problem.” Put up your fucking dukes, Murphy. I came ready to brawl.

  He rolled the green eyes he was famous for and shook his head at the two label douches as if they were in on his joke. “You’re destroying this band with your drama, Riley. Get your shit together.”

  I didn’t look away. He could have all the money in my bank account, but I would not break eye contact. “What’s the matter? This isn’t how you thought I would react?”

  “No, it’s not,” he said so mildly it was almost haunting.

  But I was close. Give me your confession, you fucked-up piece of selfish shit.

  “You told her.”

  “So what?” His neck rolled and his head dropped back while the rest of the room sat in shocked silence, not knowing if they should look at Shane, me, or anywhere but. “Oh my God. Jesus. Let it fucking go, man.”

  “Not cool, Murphy.” John’s inability to let an opportunity pass without throwing shade had evidently overcome the desire to watch the shitshow.

  “Everybody out.” The tone of my voice surprised me. I’d thought for sure the minute I’d gotten confirmation, I would choke his ink-stained neck. But I needed to understand what this was truly about and didn’t want my business blared over the loudspeakers at the label.

  Phil came up to me with delicate han
ds and big eyes. “Listen, think about what’s best for the band. Don’t blow this now.”

  “I’m not gonna hit him.” But I fucking wanted to.

  “I told you, Phil.” Shane sighed.

  What.

  The.

  Fuck.

  Phil knew? And he’d let me go on and on? And he’d taken fucking Shane’s side? Motherfucker.

  Phil refused to meet my gaze. John and Sam, who had been headed for the door, screeched to a halt. Whatever Shane had done, Phil was in on it. Jesus. Betrayed by both.

  Shane sat in his chair, glaring at me. One of the guys from the label surveyed the scene before shutting the door behind him.

  “So, you admit it?” I asked.

  “Sure. I sent your girlfriend proof you are an asshole. Filled you full of drugs and booze, and you did the rest.”

  Sam said a quiet, “what the …”

  “What? Why?” Were there no depths to his debauchery?

  “You’re so fucking blind. You didn’t even see it,” Shane barked. “When those pictures of her with her ex showed up, I took the opportunity in front of me. Feeding your jealousy was easy, by the way. It almost made me not want you anymore.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I blinked and shook my head.

  “I’m talking about us. I needed to get her out of the way, so we could go back to being together.”

  “As a band?” Sam asked.

  My eyes bulged as I took a minute to digest what he was saying. Then my memory flashed an image of a particularly savage night: Shane and I sharing a girl, who eventually decided she couldn’t handle us anymore. She’d left, and we’d stood there, both still hard because of the drugs. My only goal had been to come, and when he’d offered his ass, I hadn’t said no. But it had been one time; I was sure it had meant nothing. He fucked different people all the time for Christ’s sake. “Oh, my God. You can’t actually believe…”