Текст книги "My Kind of Forever"
Автор книги: Heidi McLaughlin
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
A bell slams against the glass door; making known to anyone in the bar that someone is walking in. I don’t remember it being there before, but I really only used the front entrance a few times when I was playing here. Once I got my first gig, Trixie gave me the code for the backdoor.
“We’re closed.”
The voice is older, hoarser, but I’ll never mistake it for anyone other than Trixie. Harrison, JD and I linger in the bar while the stranger behind the counter finishes slamming bottles around. When a head of black and white hair pulled back in a high bun pops up, I know it can be none other than Trixie. None of us say anything as she mumbles to herself and it dawns on me that she was probably hoping that whoever was at the door left.
“I told you idiots that we’re closed,” she says with her back facing us. We give each other a look, all three of us with our brows furrowed.
Trixie slowly turns around and places her hand on her hip. A white towel is draped over her shoulder and she looks forty years older than when I last saw her. Time has not been good to Trixie. Gone are the flawless skin and ruby red lips that I remember from years ago.
“We’re closed, morons. Or are you those stupid types that don’t understand English. Did Sal send you down here to spy?”
I look at Harrison and JD who both shrug wondering who the hell Sal is.
“Don’t you remember me? Or us?” She should remember Harrison. Not only did he work here for years, but he was just here performing drums with a band.
“Oh I remember you; you’re Charlie Page’s grandson.”
Hearing the name of my grandfather, a man that I never knew, catches me off guard. I knew he played here – it’s where he met my grandmother – but of all the times I’ve been here, Trixie has never mentioned him. I don’t know anything about him other than he was a musician.
“My name’s Liam… I used –”
“Ack, I know who you are. Can’t you take a joke? Liam the Virgin. I’m getting older, but I’m not stupid. I remember.” She starts to laugh. I laugh too, but it’s forced. For a moment I thought she had forgotten about me. I hated the nickname she gave me. Not that I expect her to remember everyone that comes through here because, believe me, she’s seen a lot of musicians, but it’s not been that long since I used to frequent the stage.
“This one here –” she points to Harrison, “came in a few weeks back thinking he could just take over the drum set.”
“And I did,” Harrison says as he side steps in front of me to walk around the bar. He pulls Trixie into a hug, even though she resists and playfully tries to slap him away.
JD lines up behind him with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Remember me?”
“No, but you’re hot so you can give me a hug too.” JD doesn’t miss a beat when he pulls her into his arms.
“You just gonna stand over there or what?”
I shrug. “Aren’t you closed?”
Trixie takes the towel from her shoulder and throws it at me. I catch it mid-air with ease, thanks to the hours of catch I’ve been playing with Noah. We both take steps toward each other and when we do, I pick her up into a giant bear hug.
“You’ve been missed,” she mumbles into my shoulder.
“You too.” I put her down and am taken aback when she places her hands on my cheeks.
“He said he’d bring you back, but I didn’t believe him.”
I glance quickly at Harrison who is ignoring us. He’d do anything for Trixie, and I would too, but within reason. Coming here and performing is what I can do for her. Not only does it help out the bar, but I’m also hoping it will revive our status amongst our peers.
“We’re here to help,” I tell her. She steps back and looks at us with anxiety all over her face.
“I’m going to lose the club that my grandfather started. I didn’t evolve, and no one wants to play here. I’m lucky to get one or two agents through the door on a good night. It’s time to throw in the towel.”
Harrison and JD move back around the bar and motion for us to sit down. “If there isn’t enough money after the fundraiser, we’ll be here to help you close the place down,” Harrison says, as he holds her hand. “My mom will come up and help wait tables or wash dishes, whatever you need her to do. If that’s not enough, I’ll call my sister. She’s always looking for an excuse to take a vacation.”
“Coming to work at a rundown bar isn’t a vacation,” she reminds Harrison.
“It is if you’re family. Seriously, Trix, we got this. You’ll have so much music coming out of these windows that people are going to be lining up to get in.”
Trixie looks toward the door, likely remembering the days when she had to turn people away. I could’ve been one of them if it weren’t for Harrison and my grandmother. My grandma never actually told me that she was meddling in my career, but I sensed it. I never said anything because she had missed so much of my life and I wanted to give her a piece of something she could hang onto.
“Well, enough crap. Get to work. This place is filthy and I have some very important people coming.”
“What, are we not important?” I ask, placing my hand over my heart and batting my eyelashes at her.
She looks at me, her eyes traveling up and down my body. “You’re just a dime a dozen, Liam. I’ve seen hundreds of you coming in and out, most of them come crawling back when they fail or they run and hide. So no, you’re not important.”
Trixie stands up walks away, leaving me stunned. Gone is the firecracker that I met when I first came to California and in her place is a hardened, soulless woman who has been around the scene far too long. Maybe she’s the warning we need to bear in mind: If you stay too long, it’ll eat you alive.
“Mate, you need to check your phone. My wifey says your missus is losing her shit.” JD is staring at me when he starts rambling. I pull out my phone and tap the home button, bringing it to life. I have several missed texts from both Josie and Katelyn.
“Fuck, this can’t be good,” I say, as I swipe the lock screen.
The first message is happy, which causes the dread to set in. The second, not so much:
Jojo: Your mother just showed up at my shower!!!!! WTF??
I don’t even know what to think, or why Bianca would just show up at the baby shower. Hell, I didn’t even tell her we’re adopting a baby.
I don’t know what to say. I didn’t tell her about the baby or the shower.
As soon as I hit send, a conversation bubble pops up so I wait to see what Josie has to say. Whatever needs to be done around the club can wait a few more minutes. My wife – my family – comes first.
Jojo: MY MOTHER invited her. My own freaking mother!!!! Because why? Who knows??? It’s not like she doesn’t know how your mother has treated me all these years.
I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. If I had a relationship with my mother, I’d call her and ask her to leave, but I don’t. At best, we’re cordial if and when I bump into her at the bank or when she visits Noah. What baffles me is why my mother-in-law would invite Bianca to Josie’s shower knowing their history. I really don’t know what to say to my wife that can change the situation.
I’m sorry, babe. Talk to your mom calmly & find how why she invited Bianca. I love you. I’ll call you tonight.
I feel good telling her that I’ll call her tonight. The first time I was in this club I left with a chick who just musically rocked my world. Josie was the farthest thing from my mind, until later that night when she finally called and I listened to her tell me how much she hated me, how I ruined her life. If she had just said she was pregnant, my life would’ve been different. Her voicemail killed me, and if I kept hearing her voice I was going to cave and go back home. As much as I loved her, I needed to find myself. I needed to prove that I could be someone other than who my father groomed me to be.
I also remember my first night in Metro. The same night I earned the nickname Liam the Virgin. It has nothing to do with my sexuality, but the fact that I had never been in a green room before. I must’ve stared at the posters on the walls for hours, fanboying at all the acts that had come through these doors.
I used to stare at the door, opening and closing as the people came in in droves, racing to be at the front of the stage. I stood by, off to the side, watching in awe. That night I decided on a goal: One day, I would be up on this stage, with this crowd, singing to them. They would be chanting my name, singing my lyrics and begging me for more. That’s what they did with… Layla.
I turn and stare at the stage and picture Layla with her honey colored-eyes, red hair and infectious smile staring back at me. That girl knew what she wanted and how to get it. As much as Layla was a mistake, she changed the game for me. She gave me what I needed even if I didn’t know it at the time. She was my first after Josie and one I’ll never forget, but undoubtedly should.
Pressing my home button again, the screen lights up with a picture of my wife. The girl turned woman who I have loved since I was fifteen. I never stopped loving her, not once did I ever tell another woman that I loved them because they could never compare to Josie. I think about her being at home and dealing with my mother and wonder what the fuck it is that I’m doing here. JD and Harrison could’ve easily done all the extras that need to be done for the fundraiser and I could’ve flown in right before the gig.
But no, I had to be here and knew Josie would understand. This is the business side of our lives and it’s not something we can just fix in the studio. The band, as a whole, needs to pound the pavement, drum up some support and make sure that Metro is back on top – or that, at the very least, it goes out with a bang.
I love you
I send Josie those three words one more time before pocketing my phone. Taking a look around the club, I notice pictures need to be straightened, so that’s where I start. We’re not here to clean, but apparently that’s what Trixie needs from us right now. JD is sweeping and Harrison is stocking the bar. We’re all doing grunt work.
“Doesn’t she have staff?” I yell out to anyone who wants to answer.
“You dumbass,” Harrison says. “She’s closed! Don’t you remember she used to give her staff the day off and she’d come in and clean?”
I pause and look at Harrison, wondering why the hell he insisted on being here today.
“Did you tell her we’d clean the club?”
He smiles and continues to put away the clean glasses.
“Rat bastard,” I mumble to myself as I straighten picture after picture. I’m starting to doubt that her normal staff actually cleans, unless the crowd just got rowdy last night. I’m about to give up and call someone to come and do this for us – I love my maid, Linda, she never makes me clean – when someone knocks on the door.
“I’ll get it,” I say, already bored with working. I push the door open and before I can say anything I’m holding an armful of Layla who is squealing in delight.
“Holy shit, it’s you.”
As I look over her shoulder, I see a photographer. I don’t see a single one in LAX, but outside Metro with another woman in my arms, and sure as shit he’s taking pictures.
“It’s me all right,” I say as I set her down. I move quickly to pull her into the club, away from prying eyes and whatever else may be out there.
The nursery is a mess. Linda offered to unpack and wash everything, but I told her I would do it. Staying busy will keep my mind off the fact that Liam isn’t here to experience this with me. The only baby item that is somewhat ready to go is the crib. Liam and Noah stayed up and put it together before Liam left. I’m thankful that they did. I think every dad should put together his child’s crib. It’s a rite of passage or whatever you want to call it.
Leaning against the doorjamb, I eye the packages and baskets that are piled high. The amount of clothes, toys and necessities is overwhelming. I had a baby shower with Noah, but all my friends were college students and their money was better spent on laundry and pizza, not baby gifts. This time it’s different, and I’m thankful even if the task before me is daunting.
I thought I’d be eager to come home and look at everything again, but I still can’t shake the fact that Bianca showed up. Her gift should’ve been given to Noah and as much as I want to return Liam’s baby blanket to her, I can’t. My children should have a piece of their father – right now my son only knows of his father’s younger years through home-made DVD’s and photos from high school. We have no baby pictures whatsoever. Other than that, there is the random chance Noah flicks on MTV and catches one of his dad’s music videos.
The blanket is draped over the crib now. For some reason I unpacked it the moment we came home, rushing upstairs to do so while Noah and Quinn took over the “man-of-the-house duties” and unloaded the all the gifts from our cars. If Katelyn saw it, she didn’t say anything. And as I stand here and stare at it, it makes me long to have a mother-in-law who cares, one that would sit around a warm winter’s fire and tell stories from when Liam was younger. I know he didn’t have the same type of childhood I did. His was structured and focused. Anyone who knows Liam would never guess that his mother is withdrawn and emotionally unavailable. He’s caring, nurturing and attentive. He’s everything his mother – and his father, for that matter – isn’t.
The reds and blues of the quilt seem lonely as if it needs someone to hold it. I remember holding Noah in his from the first day until it was nothing but a shell of its original self. I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing his blanket every day so when it was worn and torn, I took what was left of it, along with some of the t-shirts he had outgrown, and made a new baby blanket. It’s tucked away in my closet for when he has a child of his own.
As I stare at the quilt, I know I have to make a decision on whether this child will use it. Bianca should’ve stepped up long before now to make amends. She’s been working on establishing a relationship with Noah and maybe this is where the relationship building with us needs to start.
I pull the door shut, knowing that if I stand there any longer I’m going to drive myself to drink an entire bottle of wine. The outcome of doing so would not be good for me, or for Liam. The last thing he needs to hear about is my pity party for one when he’s trying to work. Even if I call him, he’ll reassure me that everything is going to be fine, that he loves me and he’ll be home soon. I can’t bear to unload all my insecurities on him. He needs to believe that I’m strong enough to handle him being away on business because if he does what he wants to do with the band, a few weeks away can turn into months and months. Unfortunately, that’s something I’m not quite ready to accept yet... but he doesn’t need to know that right now.
What I don’t understand is why this child is more important in her eyes than Noah. Even after he was born, and she’d pause in the grocery store and look at him, she knew… she knew the baby in the seat was her blood and did nothing. There was so much she could’ve done for Noah, not for me. Noah deserved more.
I sit on a step, half way between the first and second floor and hold my face in my hands. I’m letting years of pent up anger get the best of me. I need to let it go, find the inner strength to raise above the level that Bianca keeps me at and show her that her son didn’t make a mistake. Even if she thinks he did, Liam doesn’t feel that way. My name is tattooed across his chest for Pete’s sake. I’m not going anywhere.
I want to call Bianca and ask her what type of game she’s playing except I have a feeling Sterling doesn’t know she came to the shower today. As much as I loathe the woman, I’m not going to make waves for her. As evil as she is, I firmly believe she’s a product of her husband’s brainwashing, because no decent mother would willingly treat her child the way she’s treated Liam.
As angry as I am at Bianca, I’m equally pissed at my mother. I didn’t even know they knew each other. The Prestons are from the wrong side of the tracks according to the Westburys. So why Bianca is even giving my mother the time of day is beyond me, but definitely something I need to look into.
The doorbell rings, causing me to sigh. I don’t want to move from my pity step. It could be Nick coming to pick Noah up for practice and while I’d be okay with him walking in, Liam would not.
“Noah’s…” I pull the door open and start speaking before I realize that I don’t know the person standing there. “Can I help you?”
“I have a delivery for Josephine Preston.”
My insides turn at the sound of not only my maiden name, but also my full name. I hate to be called Josephine and when I am, it’s usually because something bad is about to happen. The man standing at my door is dressed in green. Not brown for UPS, dark purple for FedEX or blue for the postal service, but gross puke green. He hands me a clipboard to sign, except I don’t reach for it.
“Who is the package from?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am. Please sign here.” He points to the X before handing me the pen. Everything in me is telling me to refuse the delivery and shut the door in his face, but there’s a better part of me that’s curious. I know I shouldn’t be and I may regret this by the time my day is over. I hesitantly sign ‘Josie Westbury’ and press down as hard as I can so there’s no mistaking my name. In one fell swoop the board is under his arm and he hands me a medium sized cardboard box with no return name or address. Before I can ask him again who it’s from, he’s gone, passing through the gate and out into the street.
“What’s that?”
I startle at the sound of Nick’s voice and look up quickly to find him standing in front of me. My heart is pounding out of my chest right now.
“Shit, you scared me.”
“Sorry, I called your name but you look pretty focused on that box. Something for the baby?”
I shake my head and look at it one more time before tucking it under my arm. “No, I’m not sure what it is.”
Before I can invite him in, Noah is barreling down the steps and toward the door dressed in his baseball gear. “Bye, Mom,” he says, running past me to Nick’s car.
“I think that’s my cue.” Nick smiles as he looks at Noah over his shoulder.
I nod, unable to find the words. I want to get inside and open this box, but I don’t want to be rude to Nick.
“Hey, you sure you’re okay? I can call Aubrey and have her come over.”
Shaking my head, I cover my face with my hand to hide my embarrassment. “I’m fine, just spacey.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow before I bring him home, unless you want him back tonight?”
“No, you guys need some time together.” Nick smiles and turns toward his car. “Hey, Nick, good luck tonight,” I tell him as he throws his hand up in a wave. He knows Noah well enough to know that breaking the news that Aubrey is pregnant won’t go over very well.
Once they’re out of the driveway, I go inside and press the buttons on the keypad that turns my house into a fortress. Surprisingly, hearing the windows lock, the deadbolts slide into place and the gate moving into position is calming. The security system is designed to keep people out, although even the most desperate person could find a way into the house if they wanted to. With Linda already off for the day, I’m all by myself.
Setting the box down onto the counter, I pull out the scissors and cut the tape on the box. It’s filled with those annoying Styrofoam peanuts that stick to everything. The eagerness inside of me tells me to just dig in and search for the hidden treasure, but the way my name was written on the package tells me to proceed with caution. I scoop out a few handfuls and soon enough, I uncover a book. As I pull it out, I wish I hadn’t. My stomach drops when I read the title. It’s the book he said was coming, but knew nothing about. It boggles my mind that people can pry into your life and write whatever they want as long as they include the word “source”.
Liam Page: The Untold Story
An Unofficial Account by Calista Jones
The book in my hand feels like it weighs a hundred pounds or more. I flip it over and read the back matter.
Stories told by his closest friends, lovers and allies, journey through the life of Liam Page, as we follow his ascension from high school football star to main stream rock star.
Exclusive diary excerpts from his long-time companion, Samantha Moreno, share tales of their intimate relationship and take us through the darkest times in his life, her untimely death
I cover my mouth and rush to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet as the contents of my lunch are forced out of my body. I choke and gag until nothing is left in my stomach and the only thing coming out of me is tears. Hot, wet and pouring down my face like a faucet.
Leaning back against the wall, I hold my head in my hands and sob. I don’t even need to read it to know what it’s about. This book is going to tell me everything I want to know, but have been afraid to ask. He’s warned me time and time again that I wouldn’t like Liam Page and I’ve disagreed. At times, I see hints of him. A glimmer every now and again, especially in bed, but he hides that persona from me.
Somehow the book is now in my bathroom, sitting on the floor, mocking me. Daring me to pick it up and turn the pages. Taunting me to find out that the man I love is nothing like I’ve known him to be. I can’t do it. I can’t put myself through the misery of hearing what his life was like without me, especially since he’s in Los Angeles now.
I kick the book out of my way and move to the sink. Turning the cold water on, I rinse out my mouth and splash my face. The act is not refreshing, but needed. Two words are on repeat in my brain: Los Angeles. I should ignore them and this book. It should become bonfire material.
Resting against the sink, I stare at the book. As if there is an imaginary force pulling me toward it, I can’t stop myself from bending forward to pick it up. The cover is black and red, the same as the 4225 West logo. I inspect it before I crack the binding. There are pictures – pictures that I’m sure I don’t want to see and will need to skip through when I get there.
I open the book and find that it’s been personalized to me.
Dear Josephine,
To all the ones before, during and after.
Calista Jones
Who the hell is Calista Jones? Is she trying to tell me in not so many words that my husband is cheating on me? That thought alone sends me back to praying to the porcelain gods, but nothing is coming out except sobs. I cry out from the pain destroying my stomach and the sharp knife being jabbed into my heart. Everything in me is yelling that Sam did this, but she’s gone. The only way she could’ve done this is if she wrote it before she died. Unless the crazy bitch isn’t dead and everyone has been lying.
I sit back on my legs, realizing I never let go of the book when I was trying to throw up. As much as I don’t want to read it, I have to. I have lingering questions and this may provide me with the answers.
It may also destroy my marriage, my life and everything that I hold close to my heart. He didn’t tell me not to read it.
My brain is saying burn it but my heart is telling me to turn the page...
So I do.
