Taking the Lead(41)

He stopped abruptly as if he'd choked up a little. I lifted my head to look at his face. He was looking upward, that way you do when you're trying to stop tears from forming. My own angst seemed suddenly smaller in comparison, as I tried to imagine being a teenager in that position. "But you knew it wasn't your fault."

"My heart didn't." He lowered his eyes to look at me, the green seeming darker and deeper now than before. I felt my own eyes sting a little as he described his old pain. "How could I dare to feel the slightest bit happy he was gone? I punished myself, beat myself up over that little bit of feeling, like the only feelings I should've been allowed were sadness and rage. It was so stupid."

"You were young," I said, as if I could help by giving him an excuse.

He gave me a wry smile. "I know. And I know better now. I tied myself in a knot over it, thinking both feelings couldn't be 'true.' But they were. Learning that didn't solve all my problems but that was a really big lesson to learn."

I lay back down in the crook of his arm. "I feel  …  sadness and rage. But I think right now I'm angrier about the reporter and my father blabbing on than I am about what actually might have happened back then." As I said it a little chill of fear made me shiver, though. The thought of suicide was terrifying, a whole unknown angle on the story that I wasn't sure I could stand. "The thing is, I don't know the truth and people are going to ask me about it and I don't know what to say."

"Hm. How about, 'You guys want to know about my parents' private life? Well, I don't. What kid does?'"

That made me smile. I could imagine Axel sparring verbally with reporters. "I can't say that."

"Why not? Wouldn't it be true?"

"Well, yes, but  … "

"But what?"

"But you can't just shut them down like that."

"Or what? They'll bite you like they're actually rabid dogs?"

"Or they'll keep digging."

"I'd say they've dug to the bottom of this one."

I sighed. "And what if they haven't? We still don't know what really happened."

"Okay, I guess the question is  …  do you actually want to know?"

I turned the ideas around and around in my mind like abstract sculptures, like they might mean something different if seen from another angle. "I guess I do. But I might have to live with the fact I may not ever get the truth out of my father. Even if he tells me, can I believe him? Does he even remember? He's got all kinds of memory loss from pickling his brain."

"Harsh."

"But true. I guess the biggest thing is  … " I took a deep breath, asking myself if I was ready to say this out loud. Somehow feeling like Axel would listen, really listen, made me brave. "I have to figure out if I'm ready to forgive my father if it turns out it wasn't his fault."

"Or if he claims it wasn't?"

"Yeah. I've been clinging to the idea that her death was his fault for so long  … "

"And if you've shaped your heart around that idea, what happens if that idea's gone?" He tensed suddenly.

"What?"

"Nothing. That's just a good idea for a song."



       
         
       
        

"It is?"

He sang softly to me then, just improvising the lines and a melody. "I clung to the idea for so long / what happens when it's gone / my heart's the shape of something wrong / if it goes away I'll fall apart."

I patted lightly on his chest as he sang, keeping time, until he wound down.

"If you want to get up and write it down you can," I said.

"Nah. I'll remember it. Or if I don't, it wasn't that good an idea. So. You're angry. Confused."

"And clinging to my anger at my dad. But there's a kind of security in familiar feelings, you know? Being angry at him and tamping it down all the time to hide it sucks. But what if feeling some other way is even worse? Fear of the unknown is always worse than whatever you're suffering at the moment."

"That's why you like surrendering," he said. "Because it means you've gone to the point of giving up what you know and letting go."

"Yeah, well, letting go with you is one thing. The media, on the other hand, won't recognize my safeword."

"Unfortunately." He stretched against me. "I think we should probably move from the couch to somewhere wider if we're going to keep cuddling like this."

"There you go, messing with your image and being sensible. I have to use the facilities anyway."

As I climbed carefully off him he chided me. "You don't have to talk like that with me, Ricki. 'Use the facilities'? Just say you have to pee. Come on."

I stuck my tongue out, turning back as I reached the door to the hall. "And if I don't have to just pee? What then?"

He laughed and I pranced out in triumph. Turns out I was right in more ways than one, though. I got to the bathroom and discovered my monthly visitor had, in fact, arrived.

One thing at a time.





CHAPTER TWELVE


ROCK THE WORLD


AXEL

When I got back to Mal's that night he was pacing back and forth in his living room like an angry panther in a cage.

"You doing all right, big guy?" I asked as I went to the fridge to get a beer. Beer would usually improve his mood.

"Call Christina and tell her I'm not going," he said.

I stuck my head into the living room from the kitchen. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not going where?"

"Back to England." He ground his teeth and looked straight up at the ceiling.

"Are you being deported or something  … ?"

"Call Christina," he repeated, and then disappeared into his bedroom and slammed the door.

I opened a beer for myself and sat on the couch to dial Christina's number. Her chirpy voice mail answered. "You have reached Pempengco Productions! Beep!" Yes, she actually said beep. 

I hung up and dialed again. This time she picked up. "Axel, thank goodness. Sorry to make you wait but I'm in New York and the best thing just happened. Pack a bag. You're going on an overnight trip to London."

"Is this what Mal's knickers are in a twist over? Why are we going to London?"

"You remember that movie?"

I took a swig of beer and leaned back, trying to think of what she meant. "You've got to be more specific, Chris."

"Remember when you were recording in New York and that producer was hanging around, and us talking about putting a song on a movie soundtrack?"

"Oh, that movie. I thought the song they took was just filler music, though, not like a huge deal?"

"Well, that's true, not like you did the theme song, but that's beside the point. The point is that we have a last-minute chance for you to be at the premiere in London. Big red carpet thing, huge glitz, giant after-party, and the absolute perfect chance for me to grab Rothschild by the balls."

"Talk dirty to me, baby," I joked. Actually, I loved Christina's tough mouth and her bulldog personality: that was why she was such a good manager. But I could see why Mal was in a bit of a tizzy. He'd sworn he was never going home again. "You said pack a bag. You mean right now, this second?"

"The shuttle is coming to get you in a little while, so yeah, you better get moving."

I sat up and rested my elbows on my knees, the phone in one hand, the beer in the other. "When you said 'last-minute' you weren't kidding. Are we going to perform?"

"Only in the sense of you need to make an impression. It's only you and Mal going."

"Why not all five of us?"

"Because I couldn't get all five of you on the guest list."

"And you're sure it's worth flying halfway around the world to shake Errold Rothschild's hand?"

She made a noise that was half-laugh, half-pig snort. "The point isn't for you to shake his hand. It's to have your photo on his desk, on his phone, everywhere the next morning."

"And we'll be there how long?"

"By the time you land you'll have to go right to the premiere pretty much. You fly back Saturday night."

I groaned. Not only would the jet lag be brutal, but it would mean canceling my tea date with Ricki. "Mal doesn't want to go," I mentioned.

"Mal will do it," Christina said. "When you tell him this could be the thing that puts another half million into the band kitty."

"You really think this deal will be worth that much?"

"Net," she emphasized. "He has to go because he's the British one and they'll love that. And you have to go because you're the face of the band, Ax."

I sighed. "I know."

"You don't want to go, either?" Her voice scaled up in pitch. "You know how hard this was to pull off!"

"No, no, don't be like that, Chris. I'm psyched to go. I'm just not psyched for such a long flight for such a short trip."

"If you want I could try to book us a couple more days there-"

"No, no, we really need to keep up momentum working on the new material," I said, cringing a little as I said it. I was only half-lying: we did need to keep up momentum. But in truth what I was thinking about was how this was a terrible time to be away from Ricki. She was vulnerable right now and I hated, absolutely hated, having to cancel on her. Something told me that was not going to work out well.