Dear Rockstar (20 page)

“No,” Dale said in a low voice. I looked at him sharply. He repeated it loudly. “No, it’s not.”

“I can make up my own mind, thank you very much,” I snapped.

“Go ahead. Make up your own mind. Fuck up your life. Why should I care?”

Dale stood and John and I stared at him, both of our jaws dropping.

I’d seen Dale angry before, but not like this. He was like a hot, simmering volcano ready to blow, just barely contained, trembling with fury, shaking with it.

“You want to throw your talent away on a bunch of little kids?”

I closed my mouth, glaring at him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he cried, throwing up his hands. “You think I haven’t lived with the knowledge that your one goal in life is to leave me? I live it every single day, every single minute! And you know what? I love you anyway.”

I tried to speak, but no words would come. Besides, Dale wasn’t done.

“I know you’re scared. I know you’re hiding and you’re running and you don’t want to look around and see what’s right in front of you because it hurts too much. No one in your life really exists because you’re living in some fantasy where you’ll meet Tyler Vincent and he’s going to be your knight in shining armor come to rescue you from your miserable life. He’s going to have some magical cure for all your problems. He’ll say a few words and ‘presto!’ You’ll be happy!”

“Dale, no…” I whispered, but my words were drowned out by his.

“I know how much you hurt. I know how afraid and lost and alone you feel, even when you’re in my arms. Sara, I know.”

I blinked back tears, trying to hold them in, shaking my head to deny it, but it was true. It was all true. He did know, had always known, had been able to see through me and into me from the moment he walked into Mr. Woodall’s class and sat down beside me. I didn’t know how he could see so much, but he did.

I’d always been naked in front of him.

John opened his mouth once or twice, but obviously changed his mind. All the life and meaning and emotion had been sucked up into Dale’s eyes—they were blazing.

“You’re so selfish,” he whispered, chin trembling, lip quivering. I felt tears running down my cheeks. I couldn’t hold them back anymore. “Why are you like that? The world doesn’t revolve around you, Sara. I’ve been here for you. I’ve listened to you. I’ve tried to help you. And you just throw it back in my face. Girl… he doesn’t even know you’re alive.
I’m
the one who’s here for you.
Me!”

His eyes were bright, too bright—with tears—but they didn’t fall.

The world doesn’t revolve around you.

That’s what I’d said to the stepbeast before I walked out.

I’m not like him. I’m not.

“What about me?” Dale took a deep breath. “What about
me,
Sara?”

“Don’t…” I swallowed, wiping the tears from my face. “Dale, please. I came here first thing to tell you, to share it with you. Can’t you be happy for me?”

“I am.” He shook his head, lowering it, so I couldn’t see his eyes. “But you didn’t come here for me. That was for
you,
Sara, not
me.
You wanted someone to cheer with you.
And I did.”

He was right. In spite of his fear of losing me, in spite of his jealousy and possessiveness and desire to hold and keep me, he had loved me enough to congratulate me, to even tell me he was proud of me.

“Did you forget you have a prior commitment on April twenty-second?”

I stared at him, shaking my head, confused.

And then I understood.

The Battle of the Bands. The finals. That was April twenty-second.

“You wouldn’t stay for me, would you?”

“Dale…” My throat hurt from trying to hold back my tears, but they were falling anyway, all over my soggy catfish. John handed me a napkin and I took it. I’d forgotten he was even there. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

It was all I could think of to say.

“That’s what I thought.” Dale leaned on the table, meeting my eyes, locking my gaze, not letting me look away. “You think he’s perfect and he’s safe and, in your head, he can do anything.”

My whole body was trembling, aching. I wanted him so much. I just wanted to run to him and put my arms around him and tell him I was sorry, that I wouldn’t go, I would stay with him. That I loved him. I knew I loved him and only him.

But I didn’t know what kept me glued to my chair, shaking and mute and miserable.

“But he can’t save you, Sara.” Dale choked. “And I can’t save you either.”

I can only save myself.

That voice in my head was firm and it steeled my spine. I wiped my tears with the napkin John had given me, my gaze never leaving Dale’s face.

His eyes were full of so much pain, it was hard to not look away, but I didn’t. I told myself I had to do this. It was my one, my only chance.

Dale cocked his head, his voice soft but clear. “He’s safe and perfect and a million miles away. I’m here… and I’m broken. But I’m real and I love you.”

It wasn’t until he turned away that I stood, reaching for him across the table, sobs wracking my body. I couldn’t hold them in anymore.

“Dale, wait! Don’t! I luh—”

“Don’t you dare.” He turned back, glaring at me, jaw set. “Don’t you dare say that to me now. It’s too late for that.”

Dale strode down the hall to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

     
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN     

It was so quiet, it was deafening. I looked over at John, feeling self-conscious and uneasy about what he’d heard.

“I’m sorry.” I looked down at the now cold catfish on my plate, the yellow placemat beneath, anything but his face.

“I know.” His voice was full of sympathy. “But I don’t think it’s me who needs to hear it.”

I looked at him then, into the familiar dark eyes under bushy gray eyebrows. His kindness radiated in waves. My throat felt choked, thinking of Dale’s accusations. Everything seemed to be melding together, everything I’d kept inside. All of my emotions burst and I sobbed. I covered my face with my hands, ashamed, but unable to stop the flow of tears. It felt as if someone was wringing my heart out.

“It’s okay to hurt.” He’d come to stand beside me, touching my hair, and his voice, so acutely perceptive and compassionate, made my heart ache. Just like Dale. So much like Dale. I looked up at him.

“It’s
okay
…” he said again, his palm gently cupping my chin. “Everybody hurts. You don’t need to hide it.”

He held his arms out and I went to him, really sobbing now. His arms were strong and reassuring. He smelled faintly of Old Spice. It was a comforting scent. He supported me, easily. I had never let anyone but Dale this close to seeing what was inside. He held me tightly.

“I didn’t mean it,” I managed to say into his shirt. It was white cotton, button-down, soft against my cheek. “I didn’t.”

“Most hurting is unintentional, hon.” He stroked my hair. “That’s just life.”

From Dale’s room I heard the beginning chords of Ozzy’s
Crazy Train
on his guitar. It helped slip the real world back into focus, tapering my tears.

“Here.” John offered me another napkin from the holder on the table. “Sorry I don’t have any Kleenex handy.”

I took it from him, wiping my eyes, black streaking across the napkin. Mascara.

“I must look awful.” I sniffed, stepping out of the circle of his arms.

John smiled. “You feel like talking about it?”

“I...” I hesitated.

I wanted to go to Dale. Everything in me ached for him, but something wouldn’t let me.

He was right, had been right about everything.

I was so ashamed, so horribly ashamed.

But still, I couldn’t swallow my pride and walk down the hall and apologize. I knew it wouldn’t mean anything, not now. I’d already made my choice—and I’d chosen Tyler Vincent.

“Sorry about dinner,” I apologized. “I guess I kind of ruined it.”

“Come on, come sit.” John went to the living room and I followed. He sat in a chair, and I sat on the edge of the loveseat. “We won’t talk about what Dale said if you don’t want to.”

“You think he’s right, don’t you?” I asked, not looking up.

“Well what I think isn’t very important. The question is, what do you think?”

“He...” I shrugged, looking down at the balled-up napkin in my hand. “He’s right. I’m wrong. And I’m sorry… but that doesn’t change how I feel.”

“How do you feel?”

I lowered my head. “I don’t know. Confused, I guess.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

The silence stretched and I heard Dale playing louder, the amp turned all the way up. It shook the floor and I’m sure the downstairs neighbors didn’t appreciate it.

“I’ve been planning this for so long.” I swallowed, unballing the napkin and spreading it out on my leg, not wanting to look at him. “I was supposed to enter last year, but then… stuff happened, and I didn’t graduate.”

“What happened?”

I shook my head, not wanting to think about it or remember. “I can’t go back and change anything. I can only go forward. Maine… and Tyler… has always been my way forward.”

“What are you running from?” John asked.

“Nothing. Everything.” I sniffed. “I guess it’s more about what I’m running to.”

“Tyler Vincent?” John shook his salt-and-peppered head, a bemused smile on his face. “What do you think is going to happen? Are you planning to follow his tour bus? Be a groupie?”

“No.” I scoffed at the idea. “Of course not. If I wanted to be a groupie, I could have done that already.”

“So what then?”

“Living in Maine… I’ll be close to him. It’s still his home town. I’m sure, if he met me… we could… I don’t know… be friends.”

Even I knew how ridiculous it sounded. I rolled the edge of napkin, a nervous habit like chewing my nails or licking my lower lip.

“You know, when he was teaching music at the University of Maine back in, oh, I think it was in 1967—”

“It was 1966,” I corrected.

John looked at me, startled.

“I read a lot about him,” I replied sheepishly.

John went on. “I think you’re right, because Dale was born in 1967. He started teaching the year after I did. We were some of the youngest folks on staff, so it was just natural we became fast friends. Back then, if he’d met someone like you, he probably would have been thrilled. Now though? Tyler Vincent isn’t a person anymore. It’s a brand. A household word. Even if you’ve never picked up one of his CDs or seen a movie. Everyone knows who he is. And people change. Fame changes almost everybody. He’s not the same person he was back in ’66... but I suppose none of us are.”

I had forgotten how to breathe, my mouth dry, so dry it felt filled with cotton.

“You know him.” At first it wasn’t audible, just a quiet hiss, like a leaking balloon.

“You
know
him,” I repeated, just a bare whisper.
“You know him.”

“
Of course.” He frowned, cocking his head at me, the same thing I’d seen Dale do a hundred times. “I thought you knew?”

“No…” I put my head in my heads, closing my eyes. It wasn’t real. I was dreaming. This couldn’t be real.

“How else do you think Dale could get you front row tickets?”

“I thought he knew someone…” I looked up at him, shaking my head in disbelief. “At Ticketmaster… or…”

You must know someone.

That’s what I’d said.

Yeah, I know someone.

He had known someone all right. Only Tyler Vincent himself!

“Well…” John sat back, tenting his fingers. “The plot thickens…”

“Tell me.” My voice was hoarse. “How did you meet?”

“Teaching, of course. We got along well, and his wife and mine became fast friends.” John had a faraway, nostalgic look in his eyes. “But Tyler—his name isn’t really Tyler, you know. It’s Dennis. Dennis something… I can’t remember anymore. Tyler Vincent is a stage name. But he always wanted to be famous, even then.”

“How long did you know him?”

“As long as I lived in Maine.” John’s expression changed, his brow knitted. “We moved to Seattle—I got another teaching position—about four years ago I guess.”

“So you kept in touch?”

“Still do. When my wife and I were still married, he’d invite the four of us out to his summer home for a week or two.”

“Four of you?” I asked, puzzled.

“Myself, my wife, Dale and Chrissy,” he explained. It still didn’t clear things up and it must have been apparent by my expression. “Chrissy is my daughter. She’s living with her mother back in Maine.”

“Oh.” Now I felt really stupid.
Dale had a sister?

How much had he kept from me? How much had I not listened to? Or even asked?

I felt something heavy churning in my stomach.

“Once Stacy and I split... well, it got a little messy. Tyler and I would just talk over a few beers on his front porch or mine,” John went on. I smiled. His words conjured up sweet images. “I don’t think Karen approved of the divorce—Karen is Tyler’s wife—especially the way the kids were split up. I also think I reminded her that her own marriage might not be infallible, and that reminder was a little too close to home.”

“I can’t believe you know him,” I said incredulously. It amused me John had told me Karen was Tyler’s wife, as if I needed telling. I read everything about him.

“Best friends,” John replied. “Over twenty years now.”

Suddenly something clicked in my head, and as much as I wanted to deny it, I knew it was the absolute truth. Tyler Vincent had been “the best friend” Dale had told me about—the one his mother was having an affair with for years. There was just too much evidence pointing in that direction—it had to be true. And the man in front of me still didn’t have any idea.

“Do you still keep in touch, now that you’re teaching at Rutgers?”

“We exchanged addresses, but he’s not much of a letter writer. Too busy, I suppose. Me, I’m not busy. I have Dale, and teaching, and you, and that’s about the extent of it. He’s written once or twice, plus a Christmas card. We talk occasionally. I asked him to get you those tickets you wanted, and he was happy to oblige.”

I stared at him, incredulous. Dale had asked his father, and of course, John had just called up his old friend, Tyler Vincent, and asked him for front row seats to their home town show.

And Dale had never said a word to me.

Why?

Of course, I knew. Even if I didn’t have Tyler Vincent plastered all over my walls, he might not have told me. Because Tyler Vincent was the man who had torn apart Dale’s family. Tyler Vincent was responsible for his parents’ divorce—even the separation from a sister I never even knew existed until today.

It can’t be true.

I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to think for a minute that Tyler Vincent would ever do anything to hurt this sweet, kind man sitting in front of me. He would never hurt anyone. I couldn’t believe it, even if, in my heart, I knew it was the truth.

“I guess you and Dale have a lot to talk about.”

“If he’ll talk to me at all.” I glanced toward his bedroom. I wouldn’t know how to even begin, knowing now what I did. “When was the last time you talked to him?”

“Tyler?” John got up, going over and taking an envelope from the letter box in the kitchen. “This is the last letter I got from him. But if I let you read it, you have to promise to keep it a secret. Okay?”

I nodded, eager. I would have promised my firstborn child to Rumpelstiltskin for a chance to read that letter!

My hands trembled as I opened it. It was hard to believe it was happening. Someone close to me was close to Tyler Vincent. It made me shiver. I didn’t believe in fate, but this was the closest coincidence had ever come, as far as I could tell.

Aimee would say it was fate. Maybe it was after all.

I read:

John,

Hey there! Is it as cold there as it is here? The big ten degrees. How are you and Dale getting on? Karen said she saw Stacy in the supermarket in Brewer last week. Have you heard from her at all? I guess Chrissy asked about you. Well, enough gossip. All the kids say hi, and they miss you. Chloe told me to tell you to come visit soon. It’s not the same here without you, John-O.

I’m busy writing, working on my next project. This one’s different. An entirely new direction for me. But shhh. If I tell them I’m done with the pop stuff and moving on to really playing the blues? Can you imagine the fans reaction? The label knows, of course. (It was their idea about the hush-hush business. I humor them.) I’m telling you, John, I worry about it sometimes. One of these days the creative juices will just dry up. I’m going to burn out and fade away. Won’t my fans have a cow, (as Ian says) I think my agent will probably, as my daughter is so fond of saying, “throw a spaz.” His ten percent just keeps on growing.