Just a Girl (17 page)

From the
HallofFame
review of the Tricky Dix show in Cleveland:

“Opening the show were Muscova in their second U.S. appearance. Muscova’s rise on their native New Zealand’s charts is just a predictor of their success worldwide if the crowd’s reaction in Cleveland is any indication. Their infectious alt-rock had the crowd on their feet. The earlier opening act, nearly finished with their Midwestern invitation to the Dix tour, was Jukebox Bleu.”

Karl read the review aloud as we drove toward Columbus, Ohio, in our rented fifteen-passenger van. It was completely demoralizing. Columbus was the last stop for us, and thank God. It had been stupid of me to think Paul and I would be able to handle a breakup so close to the shows.

Not that it would have been any better to break up with him after the tour. I guess maybe there was no good time to do it.

We hadn’t talked at all about last night. Checkout time was eleven o’clock, so there wasn’t time to do anything but pack up the van and get on the road. The van smelled like fast food, and I’d gotten a seat that had seen better days. The springs were less springy than they should have been, which made for a rough ride.

It was, all in all, not the most fun I’ve ever had on a road trip.

It was going to be an ugly load-in. Tricky Dix had the luxury of roadies and a touring bus that let them sleep in transit. So they were already at the theater when we arrived. We had to unload and be ready for sound check in thirty minutes.

So we were all sweaty and tired when we took our places for the sound guys. The process was uneventful, but seemed to take longer than usual. I did my “Check check check” routine and belted out a few loud high notes to test the upper end of the system.

The guys from Tricky Dix were down on the theater floor during this, discussing with the manager some change they were going to make.

“You can do better than that!” their lead singer called up to me, laughing.

I thought for a second and modulated the opening line from “Mr. Moonlight” to a key higher than John Lennon had ever dreamed of.

Their singer put two fingers in his mouth and whistled for me. “Man, what I wouldn’t give for those pipes.”

I smiled at him.

“Don’t let her get away you from guys,” he said, pointing at a couple of Jukebox Bleu members.

“We won’t,” Spence said.

After we were set free from sound check, all we had to do was kill time until the show. We usually ate an early dinner and screwed around in the green room. And it was, of course, Paul’s opportunity to start building up a serious case of anxiety and smoking ever-increasing amounts of weed.

Tonight, however, Spence and Nick asked everybody to gather in the lobby of the theater; it was one of the few places we wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. When everyone was clustered on either a velvet-covered bench or on the stairs leading to the mezzanine, Spence stood up in front of us like a teacher.

“So, um, some of us have been talking.”

Fear splashed over me all at once, like a bucket of ice water.

“We, uh, we’re all aware that things aren’t going exactly…like we planned.”

Oh God. Oh God, no. I couldn’t do this again. Not before the show. Why was he doing this now?

“This tour is the biggest chance we’ve ever had. And if we want to get to the next level, we’re going to need to keep getting chances like this.”

I would not cry. I insisted to myself that I absolutely would not cry.

“I think we can all agree we wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for Presley.”

There were sounds of agreement from the rest of the band.

Spence cleared his throat and gave me a nervous smile. “Presley, you’ve already done so much for us in just the last month. I don’t want you to think we don’t appreciate it.”

I braced myself for the next part. Don’t cry, goddamn it.

“But you gotta admit, this drama with Paul isn’t working.”

“There’s no drama!” I said instantly. “That was the whole point. I am not drama.” I held up both hands.

“You guys are a fucking disaster,” Karl said. “You can’t even look at each other onstage. That’s drama.”

“We’ll get better.
I’ll
get better, I swear.”

“Yeah, until next time,” Nick said. “You guys were all over each other last night. We saw you.” He moved his thumb between himself and James.

“We were asleep,” Paul said.

“Yeah, this morning,” James said.

“Let me just stop you right there,” I said. “Nothing happened. We were both unconscious. Do you seriously think we’d, like, fuck each other with you guys two feet away?”

“Okay, fine,” James said. “But what happens down the road if you decide you want to get back together?”

“We won’t,” I said.

Paul flinched, looking down at the carpet between his feet.

Blood rushed into my cheeks. God, I hated to hurt him like this.

Paul lifted his head, focusing on James. “You guys can’t kick her out. She’s the reason we’re here.”

“We’re not kicking her out,” Spence said. “Paul, we think you should quit.”

I was on my feet in a heartbeat. “No! You guys can’t do that!”

“Me?” Paul’s face went white.

“You said it yourself, man,” James reasoned. “We need her.”

“You need a guitar player, too!” I said.

“He doesn’t even want to be here,” Spence said. “He hates it.”

“No he doesn’t!” I insisted. “He just…gets a little stage fright. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s more than a little,” Nick said.

“Do you have any idea how many drugs he takes to get on the stage?” Spence asked.

“You smoke pot, too, Spence. I’ve seen it. A lot of you do.”

“I’m not talking about the weed. He’s on way more than that.”

“So what?” I demanded. It was Xanax, for God’s sake. A prescription.

“He’s going to end up in rehab at this rate.”

“Don’t talk about me when I am right fucking here!” Paul shouted, jumping to his feet.

Spence turned his attention to him. “How many pills have you taken today?”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“We’re worried about you, man. Kenzie’s worried about you,” James said in a calmer tone. “Maybe it would be better if you just got away from this.”

Paul opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but instead he shook his head and took off up the stairs.

“Paul, wait!” I said. He didn’t even pause.

“You guys are assholes,” I snapped, and set off after him.

He wasn’t running, exactly, but he was definitely moving faster than I could at a walk. And he didn’t stop at the mezzanine. He strode down the hall to the balcony stairs and went up two at a time until there was nowhere else to go but onto the balcony itself.

I found him inside, sitting on the steps, away from the dizzying edge of the knee wall. This theater was old, with steep, slanted balconies that made you feel as though you could plummet to your death if you lost track of your footing for even a second.

I had a stitch in my side when I caught up with him. “Paul,” I panted. “Please. Talk to me.”

“What is there to say?” He was out of breath himself, I noticed.

“They can’t do this. I won’t let them do this.”

“Maybe they’re right. What am I even doing this for?”

“Because you love music. And you’re so good.”

“Yeah, great. I’m a regular Eddie Van Halen. Too bad I throw up before every show.”

“A lot of the greats do,” I said, leaning forward to prop my hands on my knees. Good Lord, that was a lot of steps.

He gave me a doubtful look.

“I mean, a lot of them are doing it because they’re drunk, but still…”

He shook his head. “Very funny.”

“I’m sorry.” I got a deep breath for the first time.

“Did you know about this? Is that why you were crying last night?”

I flinched at the memory of sobbing in his arms. “No,” I said. “I swear I didn’t know.”

“Maybe I should quit.”

“No. You shouldn’t.”

“You’ll be fine without me. Guitar players are a dime a dozen.”

“Not ones like you.” I took a seat on a stair two below his, hitched sideways so I could see him.

“You’re the one they want. And they should. You’re incredible, Pres.”

I shook my head. “If you go, I go. I’ll quit.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. I’m serious. I’ll quit if they fire you.”

“So, you wouldn’t be in the band if we were together, but now you won’t stay in the band if I don’t? Exactly what do you want, Presley?”

“I want—” God, what did I want? I wanted the band. I wanted the joy I’d felt the first time I’d performed with them. I wanted Paul to find it, too. I wanted him to realize how incredibly talented he was. I wanted to make music with him.

But I also wanted him. And I wanted to stop hurting him.

“Was Spence telling the truth?” I asked. “What are you taking?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I care about you. I want to know you’re all right.”

“I’m fine.”

“Is it more than Xanax?”

“Pres, let it go.”

“Just tell me.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Paul, please.”

“Let it go.”

“Were you lying about the Xanax before?”

Now his eyes met mine. “No. I had it under control before. It’s been a little harder for the past couple weeks is all.”

“Because of all of the shows?”

“That. And you.”

My heart sank. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “This is our last show. I’ll stop when it’s over.”

“Stop what?” I pulled at a short thread protruding from the stitching on his black sneaker.

“It’s just some Oxy. To take the edge off.” He raised a hand. “Please don’t start.”

“I’m not saying anything.” Though I wanted to. Wanted to say I’d known a lot of people who had just wanted “to take the edge off.” One of my godfathers had accidentally OD’d on painkillers.

“Maybe they’re right,” he sighed. “Maybe I should quit.”

“No. Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’re too good.”

He smiled, eyes far away. “I’m tired, Pres. Tired of feeling like this.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Maybe they’re right.”

I got to my knees and stared straight at him, then took his face in my hands as I’d done so many times before. “Please. You don’t have to quit. Don’t quit because of me. Don’t quit because of them.”

He looked at me, shaking his head slightly as if clearing cobwebs. “It’s not because of them. I just want to be done.”

“Paul, no.”

He brushed a strand of my hair away from my face, deliberately. “I’m done.”

July 26

Liv

Congrats! You’re almost done! How’s it going?

Me

Awful. The worst. Worse than that.

I fucked everything up.

FUUUUUCK.

Liv

You wanna talk about it?

Me

I can’t.

I just

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Liv

You’re scaring me. Do I need to hop on the next flight?

Me

No. I’m fine.

I’m not fine. But I’m fine.

Fuck. God, I hate myself right now.

Liv

Don’t talk about my friend that way.

Me

I’m sorry. I just need a minute.

Onstage that night, I felt like an open wound. The chilly sterility of the last five shows was gone. Instead, I could have cried with even the smallest provocation. Paul was more relaxed, though he still didn’t smile at me the way he had at Summerfest.

The crowd didn’t seem to care that I nearly choked on some of the lyrics. If anything, they were more enthused than any of the others had been. They needed emotion onstage as much as we did, I guess. And it didn’t matter to them if it was joy or heartbreak.

Backstage, the guys seemed to realize the magnitude of what they’d done at last, and I stood by while a few of them offered Paul a handshake that inevitably turned into a one-armed hug. James didn’t bother with the handshake, just giving his friend and roommate a hug.

I let the tears run down my cheeks unchecked. It didn’t matter what happened to my eye makeup now. We were done. It was all over.

Seven and a half hours. That’s how long it took to drive home from Columbus. The van was quiet. What was there to say? I kept earbuds in for most of the ride, listening to Nina Simone on repeat. That woman knew how to make even happiness sound like the worst day. It was just what I wanted.

Rather than go home to an empty house, I had Rob drop me off at the store. My mom’s car was in her spot, so I knew I could get a ride later.

As I squeezed past Paul’s seat on my way to the door, I pressed my hand on his knee.

“You’re going to stop, right?” I said softly.

“I’m fine,” he said.

I wanted to say so much more, but I knew they were all waiting for me to get out. And I didn’t get the feeling that Paul was particularly receptive at the moment.

“Okay.” I kissed him on the temple and hopped out before anyone could say another word to me.

Inside the store, I made my way to the back, finding my mom standing in the door of my dad’s office.

“Presley!” my mother declared, turning to wrap me in a tight mom embrace. “Welcome back, baby. How was it?”

Of course I started to cry. “Paul quit.”

She knew better than to ask me questions right at that moment, instead letting me collapse onto her rather impressive bosom and soak her blouse with tears. My dad came from behind his desk and put his arms around both of us, making me the filling in a Presley Sandwich like they’d done so many times when I was little.

After a while, when I seemed out of tears, my dad poured me a glass of whiskey—his solution for most things—and they sat me down to tell them the whole story. I sipped from the glass with shaky hands and told them everything. Or almost everything.

“So what do you want to do, baby?” my mom said, stroking my hair.

“I want to go back in time and undo this.”

“What part?”

“All of it.”

“Since you can’t do that, what do you want to do moving forward?”

I tipped the last of the drink into my mouth and shook my dad off when he offered a refill. “I want…I want to sing.”

“That’s a good start.”

“I don’t want to be treated like I’m only here because I’ve got blonde hair and boobs. I don’t want to be a pop princess. I want it to be about the music. I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I don’t want to get hurt again. I want to be treated like a professional.” I growled in frustration, slouching aggressively in my chair.

“Sweetie, you can’t keep your heart out of music,” my dad said. “If you do, you just make bad music. I think you know that.”

All too well after this disastrous mini-tour.

“But that doesn’t mean you should go around screwing all your bandmates,” my mom added with a warning tone.

I shot her a look. “Yeah, you did a great job with that, Mom.”

“You’re supposed to learn from my mistakes, baby. That’s the point.”

“Well, I’m not screwing them all, relax.”

“Just the one?”

I said “Mom” at the same time that my dad said “Dinah.”

“But baby, Daddy’s right. You can’t leave your heart out of the music. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Well, it sure as hell doesn’t work to have my heart
in
it,” I said. “Look what Brendan, Dixon, and Shawn did to me.”

“No, that’s what happens when you throw in with assholes,” my dad said, pouring himself a finger of whiskey. “I never liked that kid.”

“Who?”

“Brendan. Any of them.”

“No one did, Rick,” my mother said dismissively. “That’s not the point.”

This was news to me. “You didn’t? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have listened?”

Fair point. “You could have tried. Spared me a few years of suffering.”

“How else you gonna understand the blues?” my dad quipped.

I rolled my eyes.

“But baby, not everybody is an asshole,” my mom said. “And when you’re playing music with the right people, they’ll treat you right.”

I thought about the guys from Jukebox Bleu. They really had been good to me. I was the one who’d decided they wouldn’t respect me if I was with Paul. It was Shawn and Dixon who’d acted like they were stuck with me because Brendan liked to screw me now and again. James, Nick, Spence, Rob…all of them had been good to me from the moment we met. And now I’d gone and fucked up their lives. Well done, me.

“Now, what about that man of yours?” my mom asked. “What are you going to do about
him
moving forward?”

“Good question.”

“You want him back.” It wasn’t a question. It was fact as far as she was concerned.

“Pretty sure I blew that one.”

“Never say never,” my dad said. “Your mom and I took a few tries to get it right.”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate you guys trying to help me, but I’m not sure how much more dating advice I can take from my parents.”

“We’re going on forty years now. Maybe you should take our advice.”

“Forty consecutive years?” I clarified.

My mother shook her head. “You have no respect for your elders. Don’t you think we might know a thing or two about getting back the one you love?”

That gave me pause. “Love” was not a word I’d applied to Paul. Though I could have, and had applied a whole bunch of other words. And when I thought about how much I liked him, there were more and more “really”s stuck in before the “like” part. Even now, when I was pretty sure he had fewer and fewer good thoughts about me.

Still, he had said he’d missed me. Was that the same as love? It had been late, we’d both been exhausted, and he was running on a combination of drugs that had probably loosened his tongue. Not to mention he’d thought I was asleep. Fuck. I didn’t know what to think.

Later that night, I got a call from Kenzie. I hadn’t seen or spoken to her since I’d called things off with Paul. This didn’t seem like a good omen.

I answered the phone just before it went to voicemail.

“How could you let this happen?” she demanded as soon as I spoke.

“I didn’t! I had nothing to do with it. I want him to stay.”

“Then why didn’t you stop them?”

“I tried. He wanted to quit, Kenzie. What was I supposed to do?”

“Is this what you wanted?” she asked. “Were you planning to come in and take his place the whole time?”

“No! God, no! I would never—”

“That’s kind of what it looks like.”

“Fuck you! I didn’t want
any
of this to happen! I didn’t even know they were going to do this. Why don’t you yell at James?”

“Oh, believe me, James is on my shit list right now.”

“Is he okay?”

“James? Yes. He’s going to be groveling for a while, but he’s fine.”

“No, I mean your brother.”

“I don’t know. He seems kind of numb. Maybe he’s still in shock.”

My stomach ached with the knowledge I had. I wanted to trust him that he had his habits under control. I wanted to give him the chance to stop using OxyContin. He’d never given me the impression that he was looking for a high—more of a hope to feel normal. But the word “numb” scared me.

“He needs help,” I said, quietly. “He was really in bad shape during the shows.”

“Oh, and you’re some kind of expert now?”

“Kenzie, please. I’m worried about him. I know it’s not my place—”

“You’re damn right it’s not.”

“Just, please. Maybe he’ll listen to you. He needs help.”

“We’ve been dealing with this his whole life. I know how to handle him.”

“Black-market prescription drugs isn’t exactly ‘handling him.’ ”

“It’s the same stuff he was on when he was younger. We know the exact dosage. It’s cool.”

“Fine. But ask him about the OxyContin.” Damn it. I’d tried not to rat him out. But if she wasn’t going to listen, I had no choice. Keeping him safe was more important than protecting his opinion of me. Which had to be pretty shitty right now anyway, so what difference did it make?

Kenzie didn’t answer for a long time. Then all she said was, “I gotta go.”

The phone went silent. “Sorry, Paul,” I whispered to the empty room.