Higher Octave (Heavy Influence #2.5) (5 page)

We did our sound check, and
Bobby, Stoney and I discussed what would go down during the show. I
explained to them how Marty would be filming our performance. Gabe
stood off near the loading area door, waiting for his wife and a
friend. He’d asked if he could invite them to meet me –
“My wife loves your music…”

What could I say? I was humbled. Bobby asked
what the plans were for my music, and I explained to him and Stoney
that I didn’t have anything firm, that the show was just about
feeling it out, filming it, and releasing the footage – throwing
the cards up to see where they fell.

I’d removed myself from an intense political
conversation Bobby began to have with Stoney, whom you wouldn’t
think would know anything of politics by the way he looked, all
long-haired heroin chic – though he was sober. I was dead-set on
having only recovering and/or non-users or drinkers in my camp. As
soon as I’d heard Congressman blah blah blah, The White House,
this, that, and the other roll off Stoney’s tongue, I dashed to
grab something to drink.

Marty finally arrived, clumsily making his
way through the side door with his camera bags and tripods. A
camera dangled from his neck; he must have been outside snapping
shots. I watched with amusement as he began setting up his cameras
to record the new lease on my musical life. Everybody in attendance
had a chance to be captured on camera and to appear in the video.
The video would be used to announce my solo career to the masses
and the music industry. This was just between a handful of people.
Though the rumor mill was churning, I had everyone hanging with
anticipation.

As I stood at the bar, I watched Gabe usher
two dark-haired women out from the back of the stage area. I
wondered which one was his wife, when my eyes were drawn to the
taller one in particular. She was one of the most gorgeous women
I’d ever laid eyes on, a statuesque, raven-haired, fair-skinned
beauty. I could see her ocean-blue eyes from where I stood, and her
lips were full and pink, yet they didn’t look false at all. Her
eyes shimmered in the light as she looked around in a bit of
awe.

I stood taller and smoothed my shirt when I
saw Gabe point in my direction. The other fairy-featured woman with
short, shoulder-length brown hair, led the way. I assumed she was
Gabe’s wife. She beamed up at me when Gabe introduced her. She was
a whole head shorter than her friend.

“Jake, this is my wife Margo and her friend
Grace.”

Grace, indeed.

I smiled at the both of them and extended my
hand to Margo. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

Margo grasped my hand, shaking it
vigorously. “I love your music. I always have, since your early
days. I told Gabe here when we first saw you play, when you were
just a teen…watch out for that kid.” She wagged her finger at me.
“We saw you play at Gibson Theater, which is something else now…”
she looked up thoughtfully, trying to recall the new name. “Well
anyway, you know, at one of those awards shows. Gabe was driving
someone famous.”

Margo giggled and looked at her friend,
finally releasing my hand, and I extended it to Grace. She placed
her delicate hand in mine, and I felt as if it would snap if I
squeezed too hard. “Grace.” I bowed my head; I wasn’t sure why,
feeling compelled, like she was royalty. She smiled faintly at me.
“Thank you for coming,” I said. The urge coming out of nowhere, I
brought her hand to my mouth, kissing the top of it. She tilted her
head toward me, and I dropped her hand gently.

“You’re too kind, Jake.”
This time the smile reached her eyes, and she blushed. This warmed
me, and not in a sexual way. There was something about
Grace
. I glanced at Gabe
and Margo, and they both wore satisfied expressions.

Margo clapped her hands. “Let’s get a
drink.” Just as she spoke and moved to the bar, the venue opened
their doors and people began to fill the room and I excused
myself.

I lurked around the heavy red curtain,
side-stage, to watch Grace. She moved with finesse, and there was a
despairing allure about her. I wondered how old she was; she looked
quite a bit younger than Gabe and slightly younger than Margo.

I noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding
ring.

***

“Thank you all for coming,” I spoke into the
mic. Hoots, whistles and clapping filled the small room.

The venue was a sit down kind of joint,
where people sat at cocktail tables with candle centerpieces, to
watch performances. Tiny metal lanterns hung from the ceiling, with
cutout designs casting a dim light. Standing room was in the back
or off to the side. I heard someone shout out Bobby’s name, and
cheers from a small group off to the left got Bobby waving. More
clapping ensued.

I cleared my throat and looked at Bobby. “I
gotta thank this guy. The last time he played with me, I think I
may have mowed some of you people down in that audience, when I
jumped off the stage and ran out the door…and never came back.”
Laughs filled the room. “Nah, but on a serious note, thanks for
being here. Things are different, and I’m stoked to have you all
sharing this moment with me, and to have Bobby playing with me.” I
gestured to Bobby, on the verge of getting emotional; then my eyes
landed on the audience, specifically on Grace.

She was staring at me thoughtfully, with
such a reverence that it touched me to my core. I could barely take
my eyes off of hers. The silence stirred me. “That’s Stoney back
there. I’m sure some of you know who he is; he’s played with some
great bands.” He raised his sticks, and clapping and hollers
permeated all around. “Thanks, man, for being here for the
cause.”

I sucked in a breath and continued, “On a
business note, all of you that are here should have filled out a
Photo Release Form. If you haven’t, please raise your hand, and
Marty over there will bring you one.”

About twenty people raised their hands, and
Marty and a few venue staff quickly got the documents signed and
collected all of the forms from everyone in the room. “This is
going to be a very special evening. Thank you for wanting to be a
part of it…some of you will be getting your close-up.”

The Hotel Café erupted in applause.

I strummed my girl, and the vibration from
her caressed my arm and inched its way through my entire body. The
more intensely I stroked her strings, one by one, people began to
disappear from the room, until the only two people that were left
were Grace and I.

That moment made me fall in love with music
all over again; there was no separation from my heart and my hands.
The pure bliss of watching Grace enjoy my emotionally raw lyrics
from song to song, playing out my love and my pain for Alyssa and
Dump, for my mother and Notting, and my taboo time with Sienna. My
melodies cascaded over Grace, bringing her to tears.

When I was finished, the crowd’s intensity
brought me back to the ground. “There’s my soul. I just laid it out
for all of you.”

***

I slipped on a clean dry t-shirt, and all I
could think about was Grace and how emotional she’d gotten. I
needed to see her and thank her for making the night so special for
me. I couldn’t recall ever affecting a grown woman in such a way. I
didn’t get that chance to see Grace again. She and Margo left as
soon as my set was over.

“Gabe, what’s Grace’s story?” I inquired as
nonchalantly as I could as we drove home. “She got all emo, you
know.”

There was such a long silence that I thought
he didn’t hear me, but as soon as I opened my mouth to repeat
myself, he spoke. “Grace’s husband died almost two years ago.”

My stomach sank. “Damn.” I shook my head,
disturbed by this knowledge.

“This was the first time she’s been out of
the house.”

What?
“Gabe, she’s had to go out of the house.”

“Other than taking her kid to school.” He
glanced at me, gripping the steering wheel. “She has a young son,
about four years old now…” His voice trailed off.

“No wonder she lost it, hearing some of my
songs.” Love, loss and death filled them.

“Yeah,” he said somberly.

For the next week, I stood over Marty,
hovering like a drone, watching him edit the footage from the
performance. I was ecstatic. The sound and picture quality were
insanely good, and I’d become obsessed with watching Grace.

“Send me stills of her.” I pointed at the
massive Apple monitor we had set up in my mother’s spare bedroom.
I’d arranged for Marty to have whatever he needed, like he would
have had back in New York. I wanted the work done in front of me. I
was now a micro-manager.

He nodded. “She’s stunning. I don’t think
I’ve ever seen anyone so perfect. She’s perfect.”

“She’s pretty amazing.”

“How old is she?” he asked.

“Thirty-nine.”

“Geez.” Marty scratched his head. “She looks
younger than that. I would have guessed ten years younger.”

I nodded and wondered if I’d ever see her
again, seeing that she lived in my town, albeit as a recluse. I
pondered Grace’s existence and my own, and thought about Aly. Kyle
informed me that she was finally graduating from college in May. I
would be there to watch her walk, Nathan or not. I didn’t plan on
letting her go so easily. Not until she was married to him.

Maybe I would change her mind.

Feeling as if I’d conquered
climbing Mount Everest, I collapsed onto the sofa in my mother’s
house. I finally felt like I could go back to New York. It was now
mid-April and warming up in the city. The release of my
video,
I Am Here
,
exploded with more than a million views in a matter of hours.
Within two weeks, it had over a hundred million.

I was back.

5

The thick white creamer
splashed into my black coffee as I stirred it in slowly, swirling
it around like a pinwheel, finally turning it a caramel color. I
was at some obscure coffee house, filled with tired-looking
screenwriter types staring at their laptops, on Santa Monica
Boulevard in West Hollywood, California. Gabe, my driver, dropped
me off to meet Bobby, who was staying just up the street. Bobby was
my childhood friend, and a member of my band
Rita’s Revolt
...well, my former band.
Now, after nearly ten years, millions of records sold, my drummer
dying from cancer and my complete fall from grace (amongst other
fucked-up shit), I was now a solo musician and Bobby had begun
playing bass for me again. I’d hired a pretty cool dude, Stoney, as
my drummer (RIP Dump). Stoney was the type of seasoned hand that I
needed in my life – and he was sober. A recovering drug addict,
like me.

I dug my phone out of my pocket to check the
time. It was 4 PM on a warm spring day in April. I spun around to
catch a few people staring at me, smiling politely. I couldn’t get
away from the recognition, but at least most of the people in this
town left me alone, as the locals were used to seeing their fair
share of celebrity types – it was Hollywood, after all.

I found a wobbly two-top
table next to the wall of windows with a street view and planted my
ass in a wooden seat, checking out the scene a bit more. Every
other person in line had a dog, from a yellow lab to a tiny
toy-like Shih Tzu puppy. They were all well behaved, with wagging
tails and smiles on their snouts.
A dog
town
, I thought, just like my town,
Manhattan Beach. I dug when establishments didn’t get all freaked
out about dogs. I loved dogs, and wanted one some day, when I
settled down.

Settle down.

I looked out the window, searching for
Bobby, as I thought of Marty (my assistant, videographer,
journalist-turned-friend) back in New York, living in my apartment.
The apartment that I’d acquired to settle down with Alyssa…Aly…my
Alycat. My childhood friend and next-door neighbor, turned
obsession, turned love of my life. I owed all my success to her,
literally. Every song, every pang, every detail of my life was spun
around her. Our lives would forever be entwined because of
friendships. Her other best friend, Nadine, was still seeing Marty
– an incestuous petri dish of relationships.

I laid my phone on the table and pressed the
button to check the time again; it was 4:13 PM.

Where the fuck was he?

I sent a text to Bobby
–
??

He replied –
AROUND THE CORNER

I spotted Bobby walking
briskly toward the front door, smoking a cigarette. He looked a bit
more put together than he normally did, as in…not homeless, in torn
and fraying garments. I’d never seen him in sweatpants before,
these were the fashionable kind of peg-legged pants, black with a
white strip going down the side of each leg. He wore new black
Converse tennis shoes and a fitted white v-neck tee shirt. I
smiled, amused; Marshall finally got to him. He stopped short,
throwing down his cig, stomping it out. For a second, I thought he
was going to leave the butt there, but he picked it up and tossed
it in the city trashcan on the corner –
good boy.

When he arrived at the table, I couldn’t
help but give him a hard time. “Isn’t it against the law to smoke
on these streets?”

He looked around. “Fuck’em,” he murmured,
dipping his head and chuckling. “They can sue me.”

“You’re lookin’ snaz,” I smirked, crossing
my legs.

“You like?” He tugged at his v-neck. “I
thought I might as well wear the clothes Marshall keeps buying me.
He left me no choice when he packed my bags and didn’t put any of
my old shit in there.” He shrugged. “I actually don’t mind lookin’
good.”