More Than Anything (18 page)

I stand and let go of her hand. “I love you, Mom,” I say, brushing tears away with the back of my arm. “I love you, and I’ll try to forgive you for…this.”

My dad looks at me like I’m from another planet, but I don’t care. I push past him to the bathroom and slam the door behind me, and sit sobbing, my stomach cramping. The feeling like my guts are being pulled through my throat is so overwhelming I have to fight for breath.

Eventually I get myself under control, and I wonder how anything can hurt this bad. The irony is that there’s no way she ever felt broken up about losing me, that’s obvious. So why am I reverting to the three-year-old girl who just wants Mommy to be there to hold her hand for one more day?

When I come out of the bathroom, I feel nothing but cold. I’m not going to collapse. I’ll be fine. I’ve taken the worst the world has thrown at me and laughed in its face. This is just another rite of passage – for my mom, the final one; for me, an important reminder of how precious and fleeting life is.

My dad’s sitting, holding her hand, as life drips from a bag into her veins in a futile prolonging of her self-induced misery. He’s whispering to her, and I can see he’s crying too, and I wonder if he can still love her after everything she put him through.

And I realize in a flash that I want that, too. That’s the only real thing. The rest of this – the money, the scrambling for success, even for survival – is meaningless without that.

Without love there can’t be hope. Maybe that’s why my mom turned to the bottle. The oblivion of drunkenness is better than the understanding that love has left, never to return.

Or in my father’s case, returned too late to do any good.

Five hours later, as the night shift is coming on the floor, the heart monitor flatlines and the alarms go off. The staff goes through the motions, the crash cart rolls in, the empty room’s suddenly filled with people doing their level best to bring the dead back to life. We’re escorted from the room by a different nurse, this one a petite redhead with the hard look of someone who sees this daily, and I wonder at how she can keep coming back, day after day. I couldn’t. It would get to me, and I see a flicker in her eyes that tells me that every time it happens, it gets to her, too.

The doctor calls it, and the room clears out. Suddenly there are forms to sign and someone’s telling us they’re sorry. I want to spit at them, scream that they’re not sorry at all, how could they be, they don’t even know me, or her, or anything, but instead I nod mutely, in shock, as my dad says adult things that have to be said.

Ralph appears in the corridor, and his face clouds when he sees me. A brief flicker of light flares in my mind as I realize that I’ll never have to see the miserable shitbag ever again, and I grimace. He thinks I’m smiling and goes off on me.

“You little bitch. She’s dead, and you think it’s funny? I should have kicked your ass–”

My dad steps between us as I’m sizing up how hard I can kick Ralph in the jewels. When he speaks, it’s a hiss that sounds as dangerous as a snake’s rattle.

“Ralph, any reason I had not to beat you to a pulp just died in that room. You say one more word to my daughter, or to me, and so help me God there aren’t enough cops in the county to save you, do you understand?”

Ralph’s eyes narrow dangerously. For an instant the air’s thick with tension, and then he nods once. My father steps back, giving him room, and Ralph spins on his heel and storms off.

“You’re lucky I don’t kill you, you convict prick,” he snarls over his shoulder as he nears the door, and my dad tenses. I lean into him and say, as clearly as I can, knowing Ralph can hear, “No, Dad. He’s not worth it.”

For a second, it can go either way, and then I sense my father relax.

The moment passes, I take my father’s hand, and I feel him shaking, whether from rage or from adrenaline, I can’t tell.

But it doesn’t matter.

This town can’t hurt us anymore.

It just lost its leverage. And with that, its power over us.

Ralph will return to being a miserable fecal speck nobody cares about, a petty bully with a clock ticking off his remaining hours, stewing in his own bile of hate. He’ll punish himself far worse than my father ever could, and do it every day by the sheer act of breathing.

I pull my father’s hand.

“Come on, Dad. There’s nothing here for us.”

The drive back to the Bay Area is somber. We discuss a memorial service for my mom, but I tell him I can’t make it – I have to be back at work, no excuses. What I don’t say is that I never want to see Clear Lake or Ralph again. I don’t have to. He can tell.

We get to the city, and I have him drop me off at Melody’s. I texted her the news, and she insisted I stop by. Having nothing else to do, I agreed.

Melody buzzes me in and greets me at her apartment door with a silent hug. She steps away and studies me before saying anything.

“How are you holding up?”

“I’ve had better days.”

“Come in. The Reese’s are on the table. I tried one to ensure they were fresh. Okay, I tried two – the first one could have been a fluke.”

I set my backpack down, and we sit on the sofa.

“Where’s your mom?”

“She went to the wharf with a friend. She’ll be back by dinnertime. You spending the night?”

I unwrap a peanut butter cup and take a bite. “Probably not. I don’t really feel sociable right now.”

She doesn’t say the obvious: that I’m never all that sociable.

“Can I get you anything else? Milk? Beer? Valium?”

I give a dry laugh. “Milk would be good. We can keep the heavy artillery for later.”

“Always a wise choice.”

Melody gets me a glass and sets it on the table. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not really. It was beyond terrible, and she did it to herself. Oh, and Ralph’s a complete A-hole.”

I tell her about him going off on me, and she shakes her head. “Wow. Sounds like an assault charge waiting to happen.”

“Yeah, but I’ll never have to deal with him again. So aside from hoping he chokes to death on his own tongue, my plan is to never think about him again.”

“Good plan. Bummer about the Derek trip.”

I’m not sure if I feel comfortable with Melody being thoughtful and caring. I think I prefer her shameless slut act.

“True dat. I even had my bottle of oil packed.”

“You did not.”

“Okay, I didn’t. But I thought about it.”

“Baby steps in the right direction. At this point that’s all I can ask for.”

“Jeremy says hi, by the way.”

“He’s mega fun.”

“That he is. He got along great with Sebastian’s sister.”

“Have you told Sebastian that the love of his life is planning a trip?”

“I figured I’d let you surprise him.”

“Is he as awesome in person as he looks in the photos?”

“Better. He’s really cool. But intense.”

Melody looks off and then makes a grab for another Reese’s. “Intense can be good.” She smiles. “I appreciate your keeping your hands off my man.”

“All joking aside, I think he’s been trying to hit on me.”

“Think? Trying?”

I describe the interactions. She chews appreciatively and shakes her head. “Here I am, a blossoming example of womanhood, and you’ve got not one but two of the hottest guys around begging to get with you. And you’re not interested. Life’s not fair.”

“I’m pretty interested in one of them.”

“Right, but you weren’t when he was available. Sounds like I better accelerate my plan to come to L.A. and put Sebastian out of his misery.”

“Very kind of you. Sort of like charity.”

“I’m not even expecting any thanks.”

I frown. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you may not be his type.”

She laughs. “I’m everybody’s type. Everyone male, that is.” She looks at me. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s really quiet. I mean, totally charming, but really into his music.”

“He can listen to it while I’m rocking his world.”

“When you get lemons…”

“Exactly! Sounds like he just needs some persuasion. I’ll go online and see what flights cost.”

“Melody, you’re younger than I am, and he’s ten years older.”

“Like fine wine, age makes them better.”

“That’s optimistic. But he may want someone closer to his own age. Someone in the same business.”

“Haven’t you ever heard that song, opposites attract? What matters is these” – she grabs her boobs and makes a face – “and this.” She slaps her bottom. “Proh-
dooce
me, baby! I need me some proh-
duck
-shun!”

We burst into a laughing fit, and it feels good after the last twenty-four hours. I know she’s kidding, although only half kidding, about Sebastian. And who knows? Maybe he’d like to buy what she’s selling. Stranger things have happened. It’s none of my business. I’ve got Derek.

Melody looks online for me and finds a flight in three hours that I can make. She calls me a taxi, and we hug when the car’s downstairs.

“Do something fun with the rest of your weekend, girl. You’ve been working really hard. Go to the beach,” Melody advises, and I promise I will, even as I know I won’t.

The flight’s bumpy, and my stomach’s in knots by the time we drop toward the airport, beyond which the lights of Los Angeles are spread out like a neon carpet. In spite of my best intentions, all I can think about is my mom’s final hours: her wizened face old beyond its years, the steady drip of the blood into her IV, the hissing and beeping of the machines monitoring her decline. I’ve told myself I don’t care, but like so much in my chaotic life right now, my mind doesn’t want to obey my best intentions, and seems hell-bent on making me miserable.

When I get back to the apartment, it seems even emptier than usual. I try Derek’s number even though there’s a three-hour time difference and he’s probably asleep by now. Not unsurprisingly, there’s no answer, and I hang up before the voice mail prompt beeps.

It seems impossible that I can feel so completely alone and lost in the middle of a city with millions and millions of people, where anything I can imagine is available only footsteps away, but I’ve never felt emptier in my life. One of my two links with the past, the woman who brought me into the world, is gone forever. Regardless of what she did or how she chose to live her life, I can never eliminate that connection, and her passing has left a hole inside me I wonder if anything will ever fill.

I’m too tired to do anything but brush my teeth and crawl into bed. The words from the Janis song burn my skin like a brand while a vision of my mother leaving the ravaged shell of her body behind for others to mourn, her time in this world over, plays over and over in my imagination.

My sobs echo off the marble floors, and it takes forever for morning’s light to finally arrive.

I spend all day Sunday holed up in the apartment, only venturing out to get food. When Monday morning arrives, I’m almost relieved to get back to work – at least there’s no thinking when I’m singing, only me and the song. And Sebastian’s eyes watching me through the control room glass.

As the week blurs by, I’m growing increasingly restless. My nightly time with Derek on the phone feels inadequate, and come Saturday I pull Sebastian aside on one of our breaks after a particularly unproductive morning and float the idea of me taking another few days off so I can go to New York. I think I know him well by now, but the hard stare he fixes me with sends a chill down my spine, and I realize, too late, I’ve been so wrapped up in my own internal drama I’ve badly miscalculated.

“Sage, I don’t know how to say this politely, so I’m not going to try. I get that you have other things you’d rather be doing, but right now you have a whole lot of people relying on your ability to perform. We’re at a critical point in tracking, and I need you here, focused a hundred and ten percent. So while I can appreciate that you’d like to be in New York, you’ve got me, my engineer, the session players, and everyone at the record company depending on you. People who have way better things they could be doing if you’re not serious about this.”

“Sebastian, I realize that, but–”

He shakes his head. “What do you think this is? A game? I’m booked out for the next two years. I moved the earth to do this project with you and had to shift a lot of stuff around to do it. I’ve gone to bat for you with Saul, I’ve got a strong underground buzz started from playing a few rough mixes for the right people, and I’ve got my reputation on the line to make this a blockbuster. And you want to bail so you can play house with your boyfriend? Am I reading this right?”

“It’s more than that,” I say, my words sounding totally inadequate, I realize as I hear them.

“No, it isn’t. This is about you wanting to do whatever you feel like whenever you like. But that’s not how winners in this business work. There are a thousand other singers who would kill to be in your position. Singers who would appreciate how lucky this break is. Yet you’re a thousand miles away.” His tone hardens, and he shakes his head. “You need to get your head straightened out, or you’re going to blow this. Stay focused or go home, because I can’t work with someone who’s not delivering her all. I’m clocking eighteen-hour days to make your record a hit, Sage. I’m forgoing sleep, a social life, other opportunities, and you seem to have no appreciation for it. The record company’s putting everything they have on the line to break this big, yet you want to go to New York. Let me tell you something. If you go to Saul with this bullshit, he’ll shitcan you so fast it’ll make your head spin, do you understand? So straighten out and get with the program, or you’re going nowhere. And that would be sad, because you’re one of the most talented singers I’ve seen. But it takes more than talent to go the distance.”