A Lush Betrayal (30 page)

“I didn’t fix this. Joss did,” I remind her.

“Joss was the weapon you used to fix it, Mel. If you hadn’t told him, hadn’t had him wrapped around your little finger, hadn’t already been in there fighting that dick professor, Joss couldn’t have helped. Don’t ever doubt yourself, Mel. You’re so much more amazing and resourceful than I ever gave you credit for.”

I look at her for a moment and realize she’s got a point. I’m not the little sister anymore. I’ve taken care of her. I’ve survived losing Joss, I’ve held it together, and now I can finish my degree and move on to the life I had planned. I don’t think I’ll be eligible for the Eddie Adams, but really, who cares? I don’t think I need approbation from anyone else anymore. The only person I care about impressing is me.

“Thanks,” I tell Tammy. She starts to walk out of the room. “Tammy?”

“Yeah,” she answers, turning to look at me, her long hair shiny again, her eyes sparkling.

“I’ve been in touch with Joss. We email. For the last couple of months.”

She looks thoughtful for a moment. “Good,” she says concisely. “That’s really good. Tell him I said hi.”

“Okay.”

She smiles and leaves the room. I sit and watch some pigeons out the window eating the breadcrumbs I left for them this morning. Sometimes your world can change on a dime, and sometimes it takes lifetimes, but no matter what, you can bet that it will change.

Joss

I’
VE STARTED
feeling restless, and I know that my days of hiding out at my dad’s are numbered. As much as I love writing songs, the urge to perform some is rearing its tenacious head. The question is, what the hell am I going to do about it?

My work with the energy woman is helping me define what I want for the future, and one thing is becoming clear. I don’t think I’m cut out for the life of a rock star. Not the way I was headed with Lush, anyway. I enjoy performing. I like to be able to share the songs in a live venue with the fans, but the big auditorium shows with the constant media and promotions really screw with my psyche.

I want to be able to go to the grocery store without being mobbed. I like to see my audiences’ faces when I sing to them. I like driving the car myself, and I don’t want to worry that I’ll wake up with a naked seventeen-year-old in my bed if I don’t have security outside my door 24/7.

As frightening as it is to think about, when I consider my future, what I see is me and Mel, a nice brownstone somewhere near my dad, my own sound studio in the basement, and some summer concert tours to outdoor venues and old theatres. Mel doing her photojournalism, me traveling with her as much as possible, maybe a baby eventually. A little girl that looks just like her gorgeous mom.

Yeah, that’s the kind of life I think I’d like to have. But I know I don’t deserve it, and it would be too much to hope that Mel would ever agree to live it with me. I think though, that if she isn’t in it with me, no one will be. I’ve felt it now, what Tammy and Walsh had. There’s no way to go back to something less once you’ve had that.

One of the few people I can talk to about my ideas is Dave. I give him a call on a Wednesday afternoon as I sit on my dad’s old plaid sofa watching the snowdrifts outside and the kids marching home from school in their fleece and down snow clothes.

“Hey, man, you got a few minutes?” I ask as I pop open an O’Dell 90 Shilling and take a long, cold swig.

“Sure, Joss. What’s up?”

“I’m thinking maybe I want to perform. You know, some of these songs I’ve been writing. Just me. What do you think?”

“I think I need to know more about what you’re wanting. A tour? A single concert? With backup? As the lead-in to a new album? Does this mean you want to start a solo career?”

“Whoa, whoa, Dave. Shit. I don’t have answers to all that. I just want to sing to some people, you know? Be able to see their faces while I perform. Share the experience with them. That’s all. Maybe once, maybe more if it goes well.”

Dave is quiet for so long that I wonder if he’s gotten pissed and hung up on me. Finally he says, “Okay. We’ll start you someplace local here in Portland, friendly, and supportive. I’ve got just the right spot. My secretary’s pulling up the manager’s number right now. If that goes well, we’ll move up and try some more challenging locales, but we’ll keep it quiet. No real promo so we don’t cause a stampede. You just let me know how it’s going as we go along, and keep writing. If at some point you decide you’ve got enough for an album or you want to do an actual planned tour, you tell me.”

“Really? That’s it?”

“Yeah. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Expectations? Pressure?”

“Joss,” he says as I hear him thank his secretary for the phone number to the club, “you create your expectations. You make the pressure. I’m here to help you get paid for making music. However you want to do that is fine with me.”

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem. I’ll be in touch as soon I’ve got it set up. In the meantime, get together a set list and practice up. You’ve got a debut to perform.”

We hang up and my heart is racing like a freight train. This is real. I’m about to step into the void that will become my new life.

I
T’S A
few days later when I get an email from Mel. It’s the first time she’s initiated the contact.

To: RockStar1

From: picsbymel

When I woke up this morning, Tammy was gone. She left me a note. She managed to get Dave to give up the address he had for Walsh, and she’s been planning on going after him for weeks now. At first I was really worried. I’ve told you some of what she’s been through, but not all of it. When we first brought her home from the hospital, she was like a dead shell, Joss. So depressed she could barely speak. I had to bathe her and dress her and cajole her into eating every day.

She’s been in therapy two times a week for over six months now. She’s on antidepressants and all kinds of special supplements, a strict diet. If Walsh rejects her, I’m not sure she can take it.

But the fact is, she’s been healthy for weeks now, able to handle her own finances, making good choices, taking care of herself. She left me a note telling me exactly where she’s going, and we’ve already texted twice today. She’s sworn she’ll check in with me at least once a day. So, I have to let her go, and now I’m left all alone, faced with everything I’ve been ignoring for six months.

Hope things are well with your dad.

--Mel.

I hit “reply” immediately.

To: picsbymel

From: RockStar1

Mel. Your sister is one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. She’s also loyal, loving, and fierce. I trusted much of my life and my career to her for many years. I trusted my best friend to her, and I still do. I want nothing more than for Tammy and Walsh to find each other again, to be where they belong, with each other. If her going to him will accomplish that then I think she’s made the right choice. I’m sorry for what you and she have both been through, and for my part in all of it. There aren’t words I can say to fix what happened, but you are not alone. As long as I have breath in my body, you will never be alone.

I hit “send,” then close the email and lie down on the small bed in “my” room at my dad’s place, looking up at that dirty ceiling he won’t let me paint. I think about that vision I have for my future. I think about Mel and her big blue eyes, soft auburn hair, and creamy skin. I think about how smart she is and how perfectly she fits in my arms and in my world. I’d give anything if she’d let me try to fit in hers. Maybe we can build a new world together. Maybe it’s not too late.

Mel

T
AMMY’S BEEN
gone for two weeks. She texts or calls every day. She’s seen Walsh, but that’s all she’s saying. She sounds solid though, so I guess I won’t be flying down to clean up a mess anytime soon.

I’ve stayed in her house. One of these days soon, I’ll have to see about finding a place to rent in Seattle for the summer so I can finish my class. I just can’t seem to get motivated to take care of it though. I still want the degree, and I’m grateful for the chance to get it, but I know it won’t fix the one thing in my life that means the most. So, instead of apartment hunting in Seattle, I spend my days outside on Tammy’s huge property, shooting pictures, walking, watching Mesopotamia try to catch the koi in the pond.

And thinking about Joss.

I’ve only heard from him once since I emailed about Tammy, and I’m starting to think maybe he’s met someone, gotten over everything that happened and moved on. It slices my heart into pieces just thinking about it, and makes me realize how many fantasies I’ve been harboring all these months we’ve been writing to one another. Fantasies about me and him and some sort of a future.

I know a lot of people would wonder how I could still love a guy who slept with my sister and then hid it. But I know, after watching and listening to Tammy all these months, it was so much more complicated than it sounds. Joss and Tammy never pined for each other. There wasn’t some unrequited love there. They were two lonely people grieving over a common loss. Walsh really was a brother to Joss, and seeing him nearly die was something Joss and Tammy experienced and suffered through together. As much as the thought of them with each other that way makes me ill, I think I understand what happened. And I guess I feel like everyone’s suffered enough for it. It’s time to put it to rest.

I miss him so very deeply that some days I wonder how I lived twenty-four long years without him. It’s as if he’s a part of the fabric of me. Woven into my soul, knit into my heart. To tear him out I’d have to completely unravel who I am, and I’m not sure I’d be able to reconstruct something worthwhile afterwards.

So I walk around Tammy’s exurban estate, I talk to my cat, I take pictures of nature, and I wait, wait for some sign that will tell me if the future I’ve been fantasizing is possible, or if I’m torn in a way that can’t be repaired.

It’s a Friday afternoon when I finally get a new email from RockStar1. The message is short, cryptic, and thrilling.

To: picsbymel

From: RockStar1

Tomorrow night, 8 p.m., Lonny’s Tap Room across the street from Studio B.

I read that one sentence over and over again. Is Joss here in Portland? The mere idea sets my heart to pounding. I Google Lonny’s Tap Room. The website doesn’t tell me anything. No mention of famous rock stars stopping in to perform or party. Maybe he’s working at Studio B and plans to grab a drink at Lonny’s Tap Room afterwards? Maybe he won’t even be there and he’s just telling me about some show he thinks I’d like. Maybe this email was meant for someone else and he accidently sent it to me. What if it was meant for another woman? If I go there and he’s with someone else, I will die.

I curl up on my bed and start to count the hours until I can get in the car and drive to Lonny’s Tap Room.

I
T’S A
few minutes past eight when I walk into the darkened bar. It’s a simple place, but not grungy, and the clientele is more
Portlandia
than working class. There are booths all around the perimeter of the main room and tables in the center. Off to one side is a small annex room with the bar, and the twin wing on the other side has a series of very private niches with curtains that pull across the entries. Opposite the front door is a stage raised about two feet off the main floor. And sitting in the center of that stage, guitar in hand, singing into a microphone, is Joss.

A single spotlight shines on him, and he’s singing a song I’ve never heard. It’s soulful and bluesy, and his voice vibrates through me, reminding me of how it felt to have him whisper in my ear at night as we lay together in bed. I stand, caught between the desire to run onstage and throw my arms around him and the need to flee, leaving the possibility of rejection forever a mystery.

As the song ends and the audience claps enthusiastically, I force myself to move forward, looking around for a seat that isn’t too conspicuous. As if I’m wearing a homing device of some sort, Joss’s head whips up and he looks straight at me. The smile that floods his face is so blindingly brilliant, so full of undisguised joy that for a moment I’m unable to catch my breath. I see him motion to someone on the edge of the room, and a moment later, a tall, dark-complexioned man approaches me.