Always (29 page)

She was proud of this album. She’d been proud of her first one, too, her first solo effort, the first music she’d turned out that genuinely sounded like
her,
and not just a female voice standing in for David’s musical vision.

But this time, the songs she produced with Dillon, were so far beyond that fledgling effort. She knew in her gut he was the only one who could make it sound the way she wanted. He got her. He always had when they’d been listening to music together, seeing bands, but in the studio, it was a whole new thing. Dillon, for all his rock roots, wasn’t afraid to make a pop album. He wasn’t afraid of synthesizers or dance beats. Combined with his legit rock background and her vocals, the album they’d made together was brilliant. She was immensely proud of it, and it held a special place in her heart because they’d done it together. Going back on the road, plunging into the promotional circus, might not be her first choice now, but she’d suck it up and do it to get their songs out in front of the world. She wanted to wave it from rooftops.
Look at what we did! Didn’t I tell you we’d be brilliant together?
So it wasn’t the “together” she’d envisioned when she first met him. It still mattered, and it was more than just the music. This album was
them
, their connection, made visible for the world.

She caught sight of him, a still spot in the swaying crowd. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t dancing. But he
was
talking to Jon Verlaine. His face was intent and he gestured with his hands about something Jon said. Probably Jon was pointing him towards more producing work. He’d done really well with the new band Jon had signed and now word was spreading. The industry buzz was all about Dillon Pierce and what he’d done with Justine James’ new album. She hoped it meant good things for him. Dillon deserved a brilliant second act in his life. Sometimes she selfishly worried it meant she’d lose his constant presence in hers, but she did her best to push thoughts like that into the background. She just wanted him to be happy.

A record exec, a guy she’d met a few times in meetings, passed her and squeezed her shoulder, throwing her an encouraging smile. He took the mic from the stand and said a few words about how excited the label was about the new album, how much they were looking forward to Justine’s tour, and how proud they were of her. When he mentioned her name, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar. Justine was momentarily stunned, even after playing to so many crowds across the country. The energy in the room that night was like a physical thing. As she stepped out into the spotlight, the room exploded again, even louder than before. It was that wall of energy she had always loved. In an instant, she knew she’d be alright. It might be hard, sacrifices might have to be made, but being back on stage made her remember— this was where she belonged.

September, 2012

Grace patted her chubby little hands on Justine’s cheeks and broke out in a wide, gummy smile that melted her heart for the millionth time.

“You can give me that smile all you want, little miss, but it’s still naptime,” Justine murmured, rubbing Grace’s hand over her face, watching her tiny brows knit up as her fingers traced the different shapes. Grace made a little gurgle and squirmed in delight. Justine laughed and swung her up in the air, making the baby squeal.

“Do you want me to take her now?” Meggie asked as she poked her head into Justine’s room at the back of the tour bus. She sighed. It was Meggie’s gentle hint that it was definitely naptime and Justine needed to turn the baby over so she stayed on something like a normal sleep schedule. She pressed one more kiss to Grace’s cheek before handing her off to Meggie with a smile. Meggie immediately nestled Grace on her hip, smiling and murmuring nonsense words to her as she headed to the baby’s tiny room on the bus.

The custom tour bus was one of the perks of her new level of success. The moment Justine knew she’d have Grace with her for most of the tour, she had the bus she’d ordered renovated to accommodate the change. Her own suite, which used to take up the whole back half of the bus, had been chopped in half to make room for two additional small rooms, one for Grace and one for Meggie, the nanny who traveled with them. It worked out well, as it let Meggie keep Grace’s schedule fairly predictable, no matter how often the tour moved from city to city.

A lot had changed this time. The overwhelming success of her second album, which eclipsed everything the first one achieved, had catapulted her into a whole new level of performer. Now she could command custom tour buses, private jets, suites of rooms in every hotel. She tried not to go crazy with the luxury demands, but the money definitely made it easier to travel with Grace. She smiled to herself remembering her first tour with Outlaw Rovers, the tiny bunks like coffins, stacked one on top of the other, the shared, closet-like bathroom, the mini-fridge up front that couldn’t even fit a case of beer in it.

Justine closed the door to her little room, affording her a scant moment of privacy. It was no easier to come by than before. It was still afternoon in Arizona, where the bus was making its way to Phoenix, but it was dinner time in New York where Ian was, so she called, hoping to finally catch him. He’d picked up a major freelance assignment, one of a handful of writers putting together a multi-part profile of six influential new congressmen for a major magazine. He had temporarily re-located back to New York to work on it. Since she was on the road with Grace anyway, it hardly mattered which state he was in. Every visit required getting on a plane.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said with a sigh as he answered the phone.

“Hi. How’s it going?”

He groaned. “I’m sure it will be fine in the end, but we’ve reached the point when we’ve gathered a hell of a lot of information, but it’s not organized into anything like a narrative yet. It’s a bit of a mess right now.”

“You sound tired.”

“Exhausted. We’ve been putting in some late nights. How’s my girl?” His voice sounded lighter the moment he made reference to Grace.

“She’s fine. She’s rocking back and forth like she wants to crawl, but she hasn’t quite figured out how to get her legs to work with her arms.”

Ian laughed. “I miss her. Both of you. I miss you.”

“We miss you, too. When do you think you can come out again?”

“Not any time soon, I’m afraid. We’re in the thick of it now. I can’t get away.”

“Ian—”

“I know, Justine. Don’t you think I’d rather be with Grace? I hate that I’m missing a minute with her. I just can’t right now.”

She swallowed back a snippy retort, since it wouldn’t help anyone, and sighed. “I know you would.”

“How’s the tour?” he asked perfunctorily.

“Good. Great. So far every venue’s been sold out. Jon emailed me a proposal for some European dates. And then maybe Asia. The album is selling huge there.”

“Europe, huh?”

He was responding, but she could tell from the tone of his voice she’d already lost his attention. He was back to reading his notes, or searching for something online, anything but engaging with her. She didn’t know when this had happened to them. It crept up one moment at a time until she couldn’t pinpoint when it had started. They’d gotten lost for a few months in taking care of Grace and when they picked up their lives again, it felt like they’d done it separately instead of as a team. It didn’t help that his political reporting career seemed to ramp up at the same time. When they were first dating and he’d been covering music, he could tag along with her and still keep his career going. This new world had nothing to do with her and there seemed to be no place for her in it. Justine could sense the growing gulf, but she didn’t know what to do to bridge it.

“Yeah, Europe. But maybe not. So… the other writers you’re working with, are they working out?”

Instantly, Ian transformed. “Oh, yeah, they’re brilliant. Steve writes for
Mother Jones
, so the perspective he brings to it is unique, and Sarah used to write for the
Washington Post
. There’s pretty much nothing about the political journalism scene that she doesn’t know. She’s unbelievably hooked up. She even wrangled me an invite to the Peabody Awards banquet. Do you have any idea who I might meet there? It’s unreal. She’s amazing.”

“Wow, that’s great. When is it?”

“Next month. The 7th, I think.”

Justine glanced at the wall calendar which ruled her life. Sometimes looking at the calendar when she woke up was the only way she knew which state she was in and what day it was.

“Hey, we have a little layoff that week. Instead of heading back to LA, I could come to New York. Meggie can stay with Grace and we could go to the banquet. You know, like a date.”

“Oh… you wouldn’t really enjoy this, Justine. It’s only industry people.”

“If it’s important to you, I’ll enjoy it.”

“But they’re all reporters. You won’t have anyone to talk to.”

“I can talk to you.”

“Justine…” He paused. “They won’t have anything to talk about with
you
.”

She was silent as she let his words sink in. And keep sinking. He didn’t want her there. Her husband didn’t want her to come with him. When the realization finished washing over her, she was utterly empty.

“Do you not want me there, Ian?” she whispered.

“It’s not like that,” he sighed, even though she knew that was exactly it. “It’s just…. You’re this huge pop star.”

“I’m also your wife.”

“No one will see you as my wife. All they’ll see is the girl on TV. These are serious journalists, Justine. They don’t get what you do.”

Oh God… he was ashamed of her. She pressed a hand to her chest to push back the bubble of shock. It struck her as faintly ironic that she was largely considered one of the most desirable women in the world right now, and her own husband was embarrassed by her. As the shock wore off, the pain set in, and it
hurt
. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears.

“I didn’t realize my career had become such a problem for you, Ian.” Her bottom lip trembled, but her voice sounded strong and steady. Cold and removed. Hard as a rock. She was proud of herself that she could at least sound like she was in control.

“It’s not,” he said with an exasperated sigh.

“Then what is it? I’ve got people beating down doors to get to me and my own husband doesn’t want me around.”

“That’s just it, Justine!” he finally exploded. “Everybody wants you. When you’re in the room, you suck all the air away. Nobody can look at anyone else.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“No, but it’s still true. Why do you think I wanted to get away from writing about music?”

“You said you always wanted to write about politics!”

“I want to write. And not as Justine James’ husband. On my own terms.”

Her head snapped back in shock. There had been hints that her fame annoyed him. He hated the attention, and hated her schedule. But she had no idea he’d been harboring such resentment about his own career, that he felt the world saw him as nothing but an extension of her. “Well, it’s a pity you’re saddled with such a famous wife. It must make it incredibly difficult to be taken seriously.”

“Justine… don’t be this way.”

“Be what way? Insulted? Hurt? I’m sorry, but I am insulted and you hurt me. It’s the only way I know how to feel right now.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I suppose it’s good to know where you stand.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s… Look, I need to rest before the show tonight. And I really need to stop talking to you right now.”

“Justine, what are you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything, Ian. I’m saying I need to rest and I need to think. I’ll call you.”

“Jus—”

She ended the call before he could say anything else. Then she turned her phone off, because she wasn’t lying. She needed to think about everything he’d said. Hard. But first, she needed to fall apart for a few minutes. She pulled one of the pillows off the bed and pressed it to her face, letting out everything the conversation unleashed in her. She felt like she’d noticed a tiny crack in the ground under her feet and with no warning, it had erupted into a chasm.

When Dillon stepped out of the limo in front of the stadium in Phoenix, the first thing he saw was Justine, several stories high, on a banner above the entrance. Standing tall in hot pants, a bustier and high heels, her legs alone were nearly thirty feet long. They were very nice legs.

He leaned back against the side of the limo and smiled to himself. It was both disconcerting and exactly right. He’d talked to her on the phone this morning, and she was exactly the same girl she’d been since he first met her in the basement of the Sound Lounge years ago. Seeing her portrayed as some larger-than-life pop goddess was a little odd. On the other hand, there was no denying she was meant for this. With her long dark hair in a dramatic sweep and her huge gold-green eyes, she was the perfect pop vision to be bedazzled and blown up to cover a building.

“Mr. Pierce? If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you right in to the VIP section.” The assistant who’d come to meet the car was holding his carry-on, waiting patiently for Dillon to follow him. He’d told Justine he could manage the concert just fine down on the floor with everybody else, but she insisted on the label’s best first-class treatment. And since it was the same label that dumped his ass, he was okay with letting them show him a good time tonight.

The parking lot out front was full of people streaming inside for the show, but they bypassed the crowds. Instead, they were met by a security guard who handed him a VIP pass and walked them into a locked side entrance. A private elevator took them up to a hallway on an upper level, ringing the arena. The security guard swiped a card at a door and let him into what he supposed was one of several private VIP rooms.

“Ms. James has a buffet set up for her guests, but please let us know if there’s anything else you’d like,” his handler said, ushering him inside. Plush couches and chairs were scattered around the small room, all angled towards the wall of glass facing the arena below. Flat screens in the corners provided alternate views of the stage. A buffet table laden with food and manned by two chefs lined the back wall. Whatever they were serving smelled amazing.