Hard As Rock (36 page)

“I can’t figure out who you’re trying to be,” Ryan jeered, “an angsty Randy Newman or an emo Ross Bagdasarian.”

I had to ask Ryan later what that insult meant. Randy Newman is the guy who wrote ‘Short People’ in the ‘70’s, and does all the Pixar movie songs now. Ross Bagdasarian was the guy who came up with Alvin and the Chipmunks in the 1950’s.

Basically, both are kind of novelty lyricists, to put it nicely.

But Derek, even though he was a rock star, was still a music nerd – and he knew exactly what Ryan was saying.

“Fuck YOU. You make Ween sound like Jimmi Hendrix,” he roared.

If you don’t understand
that
insult, just Google the video for “Push Th’ Little Daisies.” Better yet, watch Beavis and Butthead’s takedown of it during MTV’s heyday.

Anyway, Derek and Ryan started not speaking to each other.

Then they started not being in the same room with each other at the same time.

Ryan would lay down his tracks. Derek would sing lyrics that totally trashed the intent of the song. Ryan would respond by out-badassing Derek, which would just make Derek step it up a notch when he re-recorded the lyrics.

It was like watching a tiny country go through a civil war with opposing one-man armies.

I asked Ryan at home what he hoped to accomplish with this.

“Derek’s right,” he said stubbornly. “I don’t fight. And now it’s time to fight.”

“Why don’t you fight for your original music? The stuff you actually created?”

“Because the only way to beat Derek is at his own game.”

He was doing a pretty good job of it, actually. The final products were like Bigger’s previous hits distilled into lines of cocaine with a 190-proof chaser.

But when you only get three songs done in the time you could have finished recording six or seven, it kind of eats into the budget.

A lot of bands might create their work in the recording studio from scratch, but Bigger was famous for going in with songs that were 80% finished and merely tweaking them before recording them. By comparison, their current output was glacial.

The normal process used to go something like this: Riley on drums, then Ryan on bass, then Killian on rhythm, Killian again on lead, then Derek. And then the producer would mix it with the engineer’s help.

Instead, the process turned into Riley on drums, Ryan on bass, Killian on rhythm and then lead, Derek fucking things up with inappropriate lyrics, Ryan topping him by rewriting the song, Killian doing a temp track with the changes, Riley having to redo the drums, Ryan re-recording the bass, Killian redoing all the guitar parts, Derek getting even angrier and making more changes – and then usually it all started over again in a vicious cycle.

It would have been a whole lot more efficient just to have them hammer things out in rehearsal – but Derek and Ryan refused to be in the same room together.

After two weeks of the runaround, Miles lost it. “You fuckin’ twits are burning money by the bushel, you know that?”

Derek pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket, unclipped it, and threw the money at Miles’s feet in a flurry of bills, like some villain in a bad western throwing coins at the feet of a prostitute. “If you need more, then ask for it instead of bitching. But otherwise, SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

“Make it another forty thousand dollars, you fuckin’ – ” and then Miles dropped the c-word as Derek flipped him off.

This went on for days.

It might have been bearable… except that Derek stepped up his advances towards me, too.

First it was little run-ins at the studio. Me getting a drink and him cornering me.

“You should be with me.”

“Stop.”

“You know he can’t make you feel the way I do.”

“What, cheated on and miserable?”

“Never again, Kaitlyn, I
swear
it.”

“You do a lot of swearing, I’ll give you that.”

“I know how to make
you
say things that’d make your little boy scout blush. Do you talk dirty to him in bed, like you used to do to me?”

“Get away from me,” I seethed, trying to push past him – because, unfortunately, it was turning me on to remember the things he used to say to me, the things he used to do to me.

“Kiss me,” he whispered in my ear. “You know you want to.”

I had to dump water, soda, even coffee on him to get him to leave me alone.

But he just came back for more.

His presence… his intensity… his sexual mojo, whatever you want to call it… his
smell,
the pheromones he was putting out, matched with a hint of his cologne –
unhh –

It was beginning to wear me down.

So I stopped going out of the control booth. Or I wouldn’t leave Ryan’s presence.

That’s when Derek started flirting with me shamelessly in front of whomever happened to be there. Avi, Miles, Riley, Killian. Derek even started breaking the ‘I won’t be in the same room with Ryan’ rule – but only to flirt with me.

I watched Ryan try to keep control, but eventually his fuse became shorter and shorter. Once he actually pushed Derek, ready for a fight. Miles and Avi jumped in to hold Ryan back.

Derek just laughed and laughed, like he’d won.

And Ryan got even angrier.

Ryan and I were having dinner at his house one night after a tough day at the studio when suddenly there was a noise outside.

Ryan was the first to notice. “What’s that?” he asked, frowning.

I stopped talking and listened.

It sounded like somebody singing.

A very
specific
somebody.

We walked from the kitchen to the front of the house and stopped in front of a window.

Derek was outside, standing on the three-foot-tall brick column that housed the mailbox by the driveway.

He was belting out “Take Me To Church” by Hozier.

Go listen to it. It’s an amazing song, dark and mesmerizing.

It’s also incredibly sexual.

Not something your boyfriend would want to hear your ex sing to you on your front lawn.

And, frankly, Derek was killing it. He didn’t have the backup choir or the sweeping orchestral sound, but his gravelly rumble was subbing in just fine. Every one of his little model / actress / wannabe fans would have given their left silicone implant just to hear him sing that to them.

“I’m going to kill him,” Ryan murmured, almost in shock that Derek would do something so audacious.

I thought it was kind of weird.

And… sweet. In a bizarre, slightly deranged way.

In other words,
exactly
the kind of thing Derek would do.

“Don’t go out there,” I pleaded, just imagining the two of them getting into it on the front lawn.

“Oh, I’m not, don’t worry,” Ryan snapped, and pulled out his cell. Within seconds he was on the line with neighborhood security. “Yeah, Ray? You let somebody in the neighborhood I pulled off the list. I need you to come get him. Yeah, he’s the one singing out on my front lawn.”

Two armed security guards showed up within two minutes. Derek held out his arm and waved them off until he hit the end, at which point we heard applause from several neighboring houses.

Derek took a little bow.

“Unbelievable,” Ryan muttered.

Before he stepped off the brick column, Derek shouted, “You sure do like getting people with guns to do your dirty work for you, Mr. Cowardly Bassist.”

Then he willingly let himself be ushered into the back of the black SUV and taken out of the neighborhood.

The next day at the studio, Ryan was angry, Miles was furious, and Derek just laughed it off like he always did.

I was a nervous wreck from all my conflicting feelings.

Killian dealt with the soap opera the same way he dealt with everything: by getting high.

The only person who surprised me was Riley.

I never heard a peep out of her anymore. She had long since stopped calling me Yoko; she even stopped talking to me. In fact, she stopped talking to
everyone.
She would show up to the studio and not say a word. She’d stay drunk in the corner, put every last ounce of energy she had into her drum parts… and then walk out without saying anything to anyone.

She was distant, placid, compliant.

In short, she wasn’t Riley.

Miles wasn’t complaining – he actually loved not having to do battle with her all the time – but the rest of us were concerned.

“Hey, mohawk – you still alive back there?” Derek said one day.

He got a drumstick thrown at him, but it was kind of halfhearted and easily dodged.

Ryan tried talking to her later. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Nothin’ to talk about.”

“You and Megan okay?”

“We’re great.”

“You haven’t been fighting?”

“No, she’s busy with classes, I’m recording… it’s fine.”

“Is it what’s going on with me and Derek?”

“Pfff, you assholes are just being assholes,” she said, which was the most Riley-like comment she’d made in days.

“You’d tell me if something’s wrong, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

She was about to turn away when he reached out and hugged her.

She didn’t have a reaction – she just let him hold her for a good five seconds – and then she shuffled off.

But I could have sworn that I heard crying later on from inside the locked women’s bathroom.

Another couple of days dragged by with almost nothing getting done in the studio. Miles was furious because the Austin City Limits concert was getting close, and it looked like the band wouldn’t exist that long at its current rate.

Under Miles’s constant berating, Derek toned down his act for awhile. He even left me alone.

Until he ambushed me outside the studio.

He was standing outside when I walked up. “Can we talk? As adults? Just for a minute?”

“You’re not acting like an adult at all,” I said as I reached for the door.

He put his hand on the door to keep it closed. “I know. And I’m being an asshole, I realize that. But I need to say something, and I need you to listen to me.”

“Let go of the door, Derek.”

“I won’t hit on you, I won’t touch you… but I need to talk to you. Please.”

Something in his tone touched a soft spot inside me, and I pulled my hand away from the door. But it didn’t inspire me to be all warm and fuzzy. “So talk.”

“Seriously, I need you to promise me that you’ll listen to me for two minutes and not interrupt. Can you do that?”

“I’m not promising anything.”

“You listen to what I have to say, and I’ll back off. I’ll leave Ryan alone, I’ll play nice.”

“For what, the rest of the day?”

“For the rest of the recording session. Until we finish the album.”

I didn’t really believe him, but on the off-chance he was sincere, it was too good of an offer to pass up.

“Fine.” I crossed my arms defensively and stood there.

“I’m sorry. I fucked up. I know that. And I know you don’t trust me… but Kaitlyn… please… you’ve done this before. You were with a nice guy – ”

“Kevin was an asshole,” I interrupted.

“You said you were going to listen to me.”

I gritted my teeth and listened.

“You were with somebody before who wasn’t right for you. I know Ryan’s a lot better than him. I know that. And you have every reason not to trust me. But, Kaitlyn… we had something special four years ago. We did. It was magical, it was… it was the best two weeks of my entire life. And you nearly killed me when you drove away that day. I know, I know – I’m not blaming you, okay? It was a long time ago. But I didn’t handle it well, and I let it poison when we finally
did
get together. And because of that, I threw away what we had.”

“You said that you would have eventually cheated on me anyway,” I fumed.

“The guy who said that was the one you walked out on four years ago, the guy who hadn’t dealt with it yet. I’m different now. I know you don’t believe that, but – ”

“Why would it be any different now? Why should I believe you wouldn’t cheat on me again?”

He stared into my eyes. “Because I realized I’m totally, completely in love with you, and you’re the only thing in my life besides music that matters. All the other shit – the alcohol, the women – they were just… drugs to numb me. Something to pass the time.”

“And how many ‘drugs’ have you had to pass the time since you got out of rehab?” I scoffed.

“None.”

“I was talking about how many
women
you’ve slept with,” I said sarcastically.

“So was I. And the answer’s still none.”

I stared into his eyes.

He was telling the truth.

And it threw me for a loop.

He continued talking. “I knew you couldn’t trust me until I showed you something first, and that’s what I’m trying to say: I’m not going anywhere. I’m not cheating on you. I know, deep in my soul, that we’re supposed to be together… and I love you. For me, that started the day after I walked out of rehab. Nobody else. You and me. That’s it.”

“Derek – ”

“I know you love him. But do you love him more than me?”

“Yes.”

“Not more than you love me
now
. Do you love him more than you loved me four years ago? More than you loved me when we spent our first night together?”

I turned away. I couldn’t handle looking into his eyes while I was feeling like this.

But I could feel his gaze boring into my skull.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

The utter surety in his voice irked me, made me blurt out, “Yes, I love him more than I ever loved you.”

I heard him chuckle. “You’re horrible at lying, you know that?”

I glared at him.

“Look, it won’t be easy, but it’s simple,” he said quietly. “Tell him you’re sorry, but you can’t be with him anymore.”

“He already offered to let me go.”

Derek stared at me. “What?”

“The day he caught you trying to kiss me in the alley – ”

“He
offered
to let you go?”