Superstar (9 page)

“So, what did you do?”

Bryan sighed. “What do you think I did? I
took her to her mama.”

“Oh, okay.”

“And for a man who’s not into a girl, you
sure as hell are interested in her sex life. You’ve got it bad man.
You’ve got it bad,” Bryan said, then he turned and walked back over
to where Callie and Sioux were still chatting. Thad stood watching
for a while, not really wanting to deal with the implications of
what his band mate had just said. And definitely not wanting to
have anything else to do with Sioux and a baby, he walked over to
pick up his guitar.

Chapter Five

“My boyfriend thinks this AA stuff is crap.
He doesn’t think I’m an alcoholic and I can start drinking
again.”

Sioux tried to recall the name of the woman
who was standing and speaking to the group. Annie? Emily? She was a
pixieish redhead who wore her hair in a gamine cut. She shifted
nervously from foot to foot as she faced the group of nine,
including Sioux. This was Sioux’s second meeting with this group in
Seattle. Thanks to Storm Crow’s adding shows in almost every city,
she had enjoyed the luxury of meeting with some groups twice and
the Chicago group three times. Last night had been particularly
tough. It always was when she was tired. Their flight out of
Chicago had been delayed twice. Finally Rocky had had to charter a
plane for them. Small engine planes were Sioux’s absolute least
favorite mode of travel. It had been nearly three in the morning
before they arrived and they had a ten o’clock sound check. She
tuned in as their leader Charlotte addressed the woman’s
declaration. Amanda. That was her name, Amanda.

“You told us what your boyfriend thinks.
What do you think?”

Amanda shoved her hands into the pockets of
her loose-fitting jeans. Worn with a pair of high top sneakers and
a tank top, her outfit accentuated her slim figure to the point of
making her look like a young boy. “I don’t know. I mean, I think I
should be able to have a glass of wine from time to time.”

Sioux sighed. She knew this story all too
well. Last night she would have killed for a glass of wine just to
take the edge off the incredible stress she was under. But that was
the scariest part of being an addict. Knowing she could never touch
drugs or alcohol again. Though she really didn’t want to, she spoke
up and said what she knew every other person in the room was
thinking.

“I don’t know about you, but I know for me
that I can’t do it. I’d have a glass of wine and before the night
was over I’d be looking for a connection.” Other heads around the
group nodded in agreement. Now the pixie turned vicious. Amanda,
who Sioux suspected was younger than herself, though she looked
considerably older, turned to face her.

“What do you know?” she sneered. “You’re a
rich celebrity. You don’t know shit about the life I’ve lived or
what I’ve been through. How dare you come here and try to tell me
anything? What are you doing here anyway? Did you finally toot all
your money up your nose? You go to rehab just for the publicity and
to cover your fuck-ups. I’ll bet your rehab center cost more than
my car…”

Charlotte raised a hand to cut Amanda off,
but Sioux shook her head.

“That’s a fair comment. You’re right, every
one of the six rehab centers I went to cost more than the mortgage
on most people’s houses, let alone their cars. Unfortunately I
couldn’t pay anybody to get clean for me. Believe me, if I could
have I would have. I would have given every dime I have or will
ever have not to go through that. Kicking is the same for everybody
no matter how much money or fame they have.

I woke up dope sick. I went to sleep dope
sick. I had fever. Chills. Convulsions. I threw up until I eroded
my esophagus and had to have veneers on my teeth. Then I threw up
some more. I hurt from head to toe for so long I prayed for death,
but I didn’t die. Being rich means I never had to suck anybody’s
dick to get my fix, but it’s damned hard to get clean when you can
buy every drug on the planet and pay somebody to bring it to you
and cover your ass.

Last night we got into town late. I was
exhausted and lonely. I miss my family and friends. I wanted a
glass of wine, but I don’t want to die and I know that glass of
wine will kill me because I can’t kick again. My spirit is worn
out. My soul is worn thin. I have to fight every day just like
every other addict.

The only thing that keeps me clean is fear
that one day I’ll lose the war and then I’ll die. So, Amanda that’s
my sobriety story; fear. Fear keeps me clean. As far as I’m
concerned, your boyfriend is a fucking idiot. And you’d be an idiot
to listen to him. You have to decide what your sobriety is worth to
you. Are you willing to risk it for the sake of a glass of wine?
And trust me, being famous and rich doesn’t help worth a damn. It
just means everybody on the planet knows when you fail. Every time
you fail.”

Amanda looked stunned, but said nothing more
and the meeting broke up soon after. Sioux slipped out the side
door of the old, rundown church where the meeting was being held.
The neighborhood was in transition; at least that's what her app
said. At one point it had gotten pretty bad, but now the urban
pioneers had discovered it and it was on its way to a gritty
renewal, but no one had told the old building. Which, while someone
kept up the yard and basic maintenance, it was obvious there was no
money for major repairs or renovations. She'd been in lots of
churches like this over the years. Odd how meetings always seemed
to always be in such places.

Out of habit she looked around for the
telltale glint of a camera or the obtrusiveness of a telephoto
lens. She hadn’t seen any paparazzi, but she could never be too
careful. Frankly, at this point she didn’t care if she was seen
leaving a meeting, but she did hold the anonymity of the other
participants sacred and didn’t want to betray their trust even
inadvertently. She was surprised to see Thad waiting for her on one
of the benches that flanked the front of the church. They were very
nice benches, carved from a stone that to her untutored eye looked
like marble. Clearly a holdover from more affluent days at the
church.

“Fancy seeing you here. Thought you’d be
back at the hotel resting,” she said as he rose to his feet to
greet her.

“Wanted to have lunch out. Want to share
with me?” He frowned as he took in her appearance. “You look like
hell.”

“Oh, you’re such a flatterer.”

“You know I’m brutally honest. There’s a
coffee shop not far from here.”

They walked to the coffee shop and after
placing their orders took their seats in a booth in the back of the
place. Seattle was, of course, covered with such places, but this
one was actually pretty austere by the city’s standards. It looked
more like an old fashioned diner than the hip shops the town was
known for. She really liked it.

She gave him an abbreviated version of what
had occurred at the meeting.

“Whoa, that’s harsh,” he said with a
frown.

“Oh please, I’ve had it much rougher.”

“Why do you put up with that crap?”

Sioux took a moment to think about his
question. “Honesty keeps me sober and there’s nothing more honest
than group. Lies and shame keep me addicted. And with some luck
maybe I’ll be able to help others. Nothing keeps you accountable
like another addict. They call you on your bullshit because they’ve
played the same games. Told the same lies. Trust me, I’ve said much
worse.” She shrugged and decided to change the subject. “Have you
guys worked out the playlist for tonight? I think I might
watch.”

“You watch every night,” Thad said, frowning
his confusion.

“Yeah, but tonight I’ll be in the
audience.”

Thad snorted his disbelief. “Yeah for about
five minutes before the mob scene starts. You’re the most
recognizable woman on earth.”

“Not even close, especially when I don’t
want to be. I can walk down any street in America unrecognized if I
put some effort into it.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Trust. I do it all the time. So what will
you guys be playing?”

Sioux sat in the back of the arena as the
lights went down. She had finished her set earlier and had decided
to watch Storm Crow perform. She’d watched a couple of shows from
the wings, but this was the first time she watched from the
audience. She had deliberately slipped in at the last moment in an
effort to be discreet. Despite all her best effort at disguise it
was getting harder to fly under the radar so to speak. Usually
putting on some ill-fitting jeans, and leaving off her makeup was
enough to let her go unnoticed. An old friend who happened to be a
Yale trained actress, had given her pointers on changing the way
she moved and taking on a character that could fade into the
background, but tonight she’d been forced to resort to a wig to
cover her trademark tresses. She didn’t like to wear a wig because
it could make her disguise more obvious. Tonight though, no one was
paying attention so the short bob was apparently passing
muster.

As the first notes of one of the band’s
biggest hits suddenly reverberated through the venue the stage
lights came on. Storm Crow wasn’t big on pyrotechnics, and to be
honest, they didn’t need them. The band held the audience in thrall
by pure musicianship and charisma. Sioux watched transfixed as only
a hard-core fan could be as they worked through song after song.
Bryan was, of course, the focus of the show, and he was an old pro.
His energy and aggressive playing style was amazing to watch.

But it was Thad who filled her gaze. His
quiet, low-key style was just as compelling as Bryan’s more
flamboyant look. No longer the shy teen who could not face the
audience, Thad stood out almost in spite of himself. His
conservative chinos, dress shirt and tie should have stood out
incongruously against the slacker attire of his band mates, making
him a point of scorn or a laughing stock. Instead, he made them
look underdressed and less sophisticated. He wore his clothes the
same way he played the guitar-- effortlessly, without flourish. And
because he didn’t seek to draw attention to himself it was
impossible to look away. She noticed every aspect of his
appearance. Having hung out with him a couple weeks now, she knew
he was overdue for a haircut, as he didn’t like for his hair to get
much longer than chin length. She wished he would grow it out, but
knew he never would. He played with his eyes slightly closed, so
inwardly focused that he barely noticed the presence of the
thousands of screaming fans.

Helplessly she followed the movement of his
hands as they tenderly caressed his guitar… smoothly… sensuously.
His fingers so nimble and tender as they pulled the beautiful
sounds from the instrument. Her skin grew sensitive as though it
could actually feel his fingers against her bare flesh. As though
it longed for the caress of the lover she’d never had, and right
now wanted more than she wanted her next breath. Her breasts
tautened beneath the oversized denim shirt she wore as her breath
began to come in soft pants. As she watched on the huge screen set
up above the stage, he raised his head, his eyes opening wide as
though he could see her. Of course, that was ridiculous, but it
really did feel as though they had made contact especially when he
slowly licked his lips. The heightened awareness burned with a
forceful presence that could not possibly be a figment of her
admittedly fertile imagination. It was all she could do not to gasp
out loud as her own tongue mimicked his gesture. Crazy as it
seemed, the connection was undeniable and didn’t abate for the rest
of the concert. By the time it was over, she was strung out with
longing, wanting him even more desperately than before. A feeling
that was not at all ameliorated by the suspicion that he felt
exactly as she did.

Sioux sat straight up in bed. Her movement
so abrupt she immediately awakened Thad from a sound slumber. For a
moment he thought she would go to the bathroom or get a drink of
water, but he quickly realized she was shivering. He watched as she
raised her hands to her face and saw that she was crying, her body
shaking with each sob.

He sat up and reached out to touch one of
her narrow shoulders. “What is it baby? Did you have a bad
dream?”

She turned to face him her lips twisted in a
wry attempt at a smile. “I guess you could call it that.”

He got out of bed to get her a bottle of
water from the refrigerator. When he handed it to her she rolled
the icy bottle across her forehead before opening it and taking a
long swallow.

He sat down beside her on the bed. “You want
to talk about it?”

She tilted her head back and stared at the
coffered ceiling for a long moment then lowered her head and gave
him another one of those painful smiles.

“Of course I don’t want to talk about it.
Unfortunately I have to.” Then she closed her eyes for so long he
thought she’d changed her mind. With another sigh she raised her
knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. “One of these days
I’m going to write a book about all the stuff they don’t tell you
about recovery.”

He raised a brow in inquiry at the apparent
non sequitur
.

“Dreams. Lucid dreams they call them. Lucid
dreams. Isn’t that a lovely name for some of the worst nightmares
you’ve ever had? Only they’re not nightmares. They’re so real I
still have a hard time believing they’re just dreams. Sometimes
it’s hands. Just hands all over my body. Touching. Feeling.
Clawing.”

He knew she must have read his horrified
expression because she gave a hollow laugh in response. “No. Not in
a sexual way. I think sometimes that would be better. I don’t know
what these hands want. They just keep trying to pull away parts of
me. At least if it was sexual I’d know they wanted sex. Not knowing
what it’s about is just horrible. Crazy as it sounds those aren’t
the worst ones.”