Exile (23 page)

“Um, so, are you guys ready to go on?” Petunia appears at the edge of the stage light.

“It’s going to be a few minutes,” says Caleb slowly. “Sorry.”

“Okay,” says Petunia with a sigh, “well, but our sound curfew is at nine forty-five, so . . .” she heads back to the couches.

“Curfew,” mutters Jon, pointedly staring at the floor. “WOW.”

I feel Caleb’s eyes on me. I can’t believe I let it come to this, and I don’t want to look, but I force myself to. “True?” he asks.

I nod. “He treats bands like crap, guys. He put Postcards out on tour and they’re totally flailing now. We don’t want him involved in our business. I didn’t know this gig would—”

“What, completely suck?” says Val. “But you knew, you
had
to know it wouldn’t be as good as playing the Rickshaw.”

“I wasn’t sure,” I say, and it sounds oh-so lame.

“This is because of what happened to you with Postcards,” Jon adds. “That’s why I’m playing under a
curfew
.”

“You should have told us,” says Matt. “So at least we had a choice.” Even Matt . . .

In my mind, I’m thinking about how I know I have to take this. That I deserve this, for keeping the gig from them. But I also need them to know that it’s not that simple. “Caleb,” I say. He’s looking near me, but not at me. “Jason
wanted to advertise the gig using your connection to Eli. I knew you wouldn’t want that.”

“I’m not sure the rest of us wouldn’t want that,” says Jon. He looks at Caleb. “We wouldn’t be
here
if people knew who you were.”

Oh boy. I figure this will ignite Caleb, but Val jumps in before he can respond.

“That’s not the point,” she snaps. It’s hard to tell if she’s meaning to defend Caleb or not. “We could’ve still taken that gig under the condition that he not use Caleb’s background.”

“But if we
did
use his background, we’d probably get a huge crowd,” Jon says.

“You were fine with this before,” says Caleb quietly.

“That was before we ended up here, at a dumb gig, on a wild goose chase after songs that we’re not even going to play!”

“I was going to play them!” Caleb whisper shouts, glancing around. The sparse crowd is definitely noticing. We’re violating the dirty laundry rule so badly. “I decided you guys were right, but hell, maybe I was wrong.”

Jon holds up his hands. “Okay, cool, but still, the Rickshaw . . .”

“He probably wouldn’t have given it to us without using Eli’s name,” I say, but hearing the name makes me picture the five hundred people, the lovely staged framed by red curtains (I stalked it more than once online). Sure Jason
would have been there somewhere, but . . . I feel sick again.

Val pounces, like she’s been waiting for this. “Did you
ask
him?”

I bite my lip. “No.”

“I’m not saying I’d want to work with Jason,” Val continues, “but you just thought about yourself and not about us.”

“I did think about you guys,” I say weakly.

And then Val looks at Caleb and says, “I told you.”

Caleb doesn’t respond; he’s lost in the spiral of this mess. But I can’t help it, that comment sends me over the edge. “You
told
him?” My voice rises despite the crowd, who are definitely all curious onlookers to this car crash. “You know what I
haven’t
told him? Haven’t told anyone?”

Val looks like she’s about to respond, but her secrets make her hesitate.

And now it’s my turn to jump, even as a part of me feels like I shouldn’t. “I could have told Caleb about your mother, about how she was engaged to Kellen, to Candy Shell! You’ve been lying this whole time. And I think I know why.”

As the words are coming out, an equally loud voice is screaming inside me:
Wrong place! Wrong time! The most dangerous moment of the Red Zone is right before taking stage when nerves are at their highest!
But, no. I have to fight back. Val does not get to tear me down when she has secrets of her own, far bigger ones.

Her face is frozen in a lethal stare, but as if to prove my point, she has no response. Except then her eyes tremble, and a tear falls free.

Then another.

That’s not what I expected.

“You think you know what my life is like?” she says quietly, her voice shaking. “You think you know what it’s like to sleep in your car every night, trying to avoid police and freaks, to eat at kitchens and shoplift bags of chips? You think you know about . . .” Her voice thins to a sliver. “My mother? My mother who likes to use her fists when she’s drunk? Who likes to take her shit out on me? Over . . . and over?”

“Jesus, Summer,” Caleb says.

“No, I—I don’t know,” I say, backpedaling pathetically. The sight of Val’s crying face has ground my thoughts to a halt. What have I done? But is this even real? Or an act? Except, I can feel the sadness from her. It’s real. There’s no way she’s faking it. And her sadness opens floodgates of guilt inside me, no matter how she’s acted. “But how can I know anything about you when you won’t tell us?”

Val keeps staring at me through glistening eyes. “There’s a difference between my secrets and yours. Everything I’ve done has been in the best interest of this band.” She takes a step back, wiping her nose. To the floor between us all: “I’m out.” To Caleb: “Sorry.” To Matt and Jon: “Sorry, guys.” To me: not even a glare. Then she picks up her bass
and she and Weezil head for the door.

“Val,” says Caleb, “wait.” But he doesn’t follow her.

I call after her. “How is this best for the—”

“Summer, stop,” says Caleb.

I do. I’m glad he said it. Whatever pathetic thing I was going to say would’ve just made things worse.

Val slaps the back door open and she’s gone.

We all just stand there, a circle with a hole in it, gazing at the floor.

“Band member storming out . . .” Jon holds up an imaginary pen and paper. “Oh, we already checked that one off this list at our last gig. Guess we get bonus points!”

“Is every gig going to be this intense?” Matt wonders hopelessly.

“I don’t know,” Caleb says, and I find him looking at me. “Is it?”

“Um . . .” It’s Petunia again, her hands folded in front of her. “If you guys, could, um . . .”

“There’s no show,” says Caleb, pulling his guitar off his shoulder. “Our bassist had an emergency, and, we have to go. Sorry.”

“Oh my God, are you serious?” says Jon. “Really? We’re just leaving?”

Matt sighs. “We’re bailing on a set again?”

Caleb looks stuck. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Whatever, fine,” says Jon, “but no gig, no band.”

“Caleb,” I say, my voice wet with the tears I’m fighting
back. I meet his cold gaze and flash my eyes at Matt and Jon. “You should still play the set,” I say. “Make it short, and stripped down—”

“Why? What’s the point?” Caleb shouts, and it kills me to hear the same words he used last summer. “This is all destined to fail anyway! It’s obvious. I can’t—”

Randy appears; he’s been hanging back, listening, but staying outside the band circle. He puts a hand a Caleb’s shoulder. It’s fatherly, and Caleb pauses. Breathes.

“Hey, I can sit in,” says Randy.

“You know the songs?” Jon asks.

“Yeah. I’ve heard you guys a bunch. And it’s rock, not rocket science. I got it.”

Caleb doesn’t react for a second. He’s processing. Then he looks to Jon and Matt. “What do you think?”

Jon doesn’t need to answer. Matt looks around like he’d almost prefer to go home. “Well, I guess we’re here . . .”

“Okay,” says Caleb. “Thanks, Randy.” He calls to Petunia: “We’re going on.”

Everyone moves to their spots. I’m planning to just let Caleb go, and then to slink away to a safe corner until the set is over. But as he passes, I can’t resist touching his shoulder. He pauses . . . but it feels like most of him would rather keep moving.

I want to just say
have a great show
but then my stupid heart is throwing out words. “I’m sorry,” and, “Are you okay?”

Caleb’s eyes flash to me, then return to distance. “No . . . but, the show must go on, right?”

“Yeah. Good luck. Break a leg, except, don’t actually . . .” As the words are tripping out, I suddenly know that I need to kiss him. I need to stop failing with my voice and just kiss him so he knows, he has to know how much I love him and believe in him and hope for him—but I can’t quite move my body. Because would he even want a kiss from me now? After all that just happened?
Who cares? GO!

Yes—but I miss my chance. He’s turned around into the glare of the stage light, facing the crowd. The house music fades out. And so I slide off the stage, back into the shadow beyond the speaker stack. Caleb is alone in the naked spotlights. I am alone in the dark. But at least he has the guys, just out of sight around him. For me, there’s only empty floor and knowing that I have messed this whole thing up.

Caleb tunes, and then waits as Randy finishes negotiations with the New Erasers’ bassist to borrow his gear.

“Hey, we’re Dangerheart from Mount Hope,” says Caleb to scattered applause. “This is our first gig on tour, and some of you may have noticed, we just had a bit of drama.” This line gets a few knowing laughs, and only one snicker. “But, we came all the way up here, so . . . is it all right if we play for you anyway?” This line gets a sympathetic applause, a few shouts of approval. I’m proud of him, knowing he must be wound so tight.

“Thanks.” Caleb checks his guitar one more time,
turns and locks eyes with each band member. They share little nods, their game faces on, and then Matt counts off with his sticks.

They open with “Knew You Before” and Randy was right, he’s got it. Caleb, Jon, and Matt are all eyes down, but after a few bars, I can see the music freeing them from all the drama. They start to move, heads bobbing, coming alive.

The crowd stays. Applauds. It’s polite, but curious.

I check the set list. Second up is “The Spinelessness of Water,” one of Val’s. Third is “On My Sleeve.” But Caleb skips to “Chem Lab,” instead. Thing is, that’s the only other Caleb song on the list. It was supposed to be a thirtyminute set, with three Val songs and three Caleb. They sub in “Artificial Limb” after that.

The applause has gotten bigger with each song. They definitely need to do another. I see Caleb glancing at his set list. Randy appears at his shoulder and says something quietly. Caleb doesn’t react immediately, and Randy steps back. Then Caleb leans to the mic. For just a second, his eyes find me in the shadows.

“Okay, well, we only have one more song for you. It’s called ‘On My Sleeve.’”

He stares down at his fret board, his fingers settling into position. He’s nervous, but so brave, and right now I’m so proud of him. In spite of losing his bass player, being let down by his manager, and his own fears, he’s going to put
himself out there, tonight, to this skeptical crowd in a place so far from home, put his heart on display. I wish I was that brave. Wish I’d done the same thing weeks ago. I could have told them about that other show, and made my case for how I thought it was a bad idea. But if they wanted to do it anyway, I could have sucked it up and been brave and trusted that this time it would be different.

And maybe that’s the secret: Maybe we do go in circles, but they’re orbits, created by the gravity of our hearts and hopes, and so if we stay true to ourselves, we will face the same situations again, but each time we come around, we know more, we’ve grown, learned, and this time we can get it right, or at least a little better.

Caleb starts the slow jangling chords. A few people in the crowd start to chat quietly, as any ballad always causes them to do. I see Caleb noticing this, and I hope he doesn’t doubt himself. He puts his head down. Starts to sing. The words are raw as ever, even though he’s gotten better at performing them. I fall for him all over again, and around the room, I can see others doing the same, eyes widening, hearts breaking. It’s perfect: an honest response to an honest song. Just people, connecting.

Jon and Matt and Randy bring in the crescendo for the second half of the song, and it lifts off, starting to soar. If I’m honest with myself, I’d admit that while Randy is doing great, Val really had a certain presence, maybe just from playing the songs so many times, but also from being her
black hole swirl of intensity, gravity so absolute that no light escapes. In a few minutes, this set will be over and we’re going to have to reckon with that loss. Among other things.

But for this moment, in the spare stage light, beneath the zombie-like scraping of the dancers upstairs, Caleb is performing amazingly, beautifully. So is the whole band. And my heart nearly explodes for him, for them all, for being amazing in spite of everything, for making something beautiful in such a meaningless corner of a vast and dark universe. For a moment, I forget the silly politics, the cat-and-mouse emotions. Given everything, there is no reason for Dangerheart to be doing something this beautiful here, now. And yet, they are, and this moment
is
, for them and for all the people here. Right now, there is just music and I am happy to be in it, like that autumn sky ceiling at Canter’s, it just is and we are and that’s enough.

They finish, and the applause is full-on. “That’s all we’ve got,” says Caleb. “Thanks.”

I see them all allowing a moment to smile and soak it up. A gig completed, at long last, even if under ridiculous circumstances. I watch them pack up and as they move offstage, my stomach flips with anticipation about how our next interactions will go. Maybe having played a great set will make things easier. Or maybe, now that they know they can do it, they’ll feel like they’re better off without my drama.

“That was excellent,” I say to Caleb.

“Thanks,” is all I get, head down.

I let him put his guitar in its case, then try, “What did Randy say to you?”

Caleb stands. He glances at me for a moment, our eyes finally meeting, but he looks away. He does smile, but it’s into space, not at me. Still, it’s something. “He said, ‘There’s always another gig, and this is it.’”

“‘On My Sleeve’ was pretty amazing.”

More relief from Caleb. “Yeah. It felt good.”