All Strung Out (7 page)

With Jen's image in my mind, I finish, coming violently but neatly into the condom. As I clean up, I think about all the times I could have had sex in the past five or six years but didn't. I have a lot of wasted time to make up for.

The problem is I don't know if Jen wants to help me catch up.

Scene 19 ~ Sophie

Lisa lives in a modern loft apartment in Deep Ellum. She has a catalog shoot on Monday, so the whole empty day stretches out in front of me. I have no commitments. I can do anything. But I also have no money, so I can't really do
anything
. I grab my laptop and start researching the best way to sell my piano and keyboards. I also look up auction houses for Lang's guitar collection.

An hour later, the walls of the apartment creep closer and closer toward me. I guess that's a side-effect of living in a huge house my whole life. My sense of scale is majorly skewed. I know it's just a mental thing, but I can't shake the feeling of claustrophobia. My brain is telling me I have to get out—NOW—before I am crushed.

I close the lid on my laptop and put it on the couch. A walk should make me feel better. I spend the next fifteen minutes searching for a pair of walking shoes in my car. I finally spot them shoved under the passenger seat. I sit on the curb to change my shoes before taking off down the sidewalk, my sunglasses-and-hat disguise in place.

This place is a huge part of my history with Lang. When he wasn't touring, he played clubs down here. Some of the places have closed down or changed names, but I recognize others that have been open since I was a kid: Flow, The Blind Lime, Echo Echo Bar. When I was young (and no one recognized me), I couldn't go inside the clubs, so I would sit on the curb out front, listening to the music pour out the open front door and watching people walk by. It wasn't the same as the music scene in Austin, but I always liked the feeling of home down here. The history of the blues still hangs in the air, Lang liked to say.

The weather is perfect today. To stretch out my walk, I go into shops along the way. One is a vintage dress shop called Twice as Nice. I bought a lot of clothes here when I was in high school.

When I walk in, someone yells, "Sophie!" A second later, she tackles me and squeezes me into a full-body hug. "I missed you!"

It's Ariana, the owner of the shop. She's a few years older than me, and we used to buy stuff here together. When she was old enough, the original owner sold her the place. Since I last saw her, she's added quite a few tattoos to her arms, giving her an almost-sleeve on each side. Her hair is super long, like mine, but it's dyed dark blue. I try to count her facial piercings, feeling utterly plain next to her. I've grown up trying to deflect attention from myself.

"I'm so, so sorry about your dad," Ariana says as we walk to the back of the store.

"Thanks," I say, hoping that's all she'll say on the subject.

"How's your music? I haven't seen any new songs from you in forever."

Ariana picks up a dress that slid off its hanger and puts it back in place on the rack. It's made of light cream-colored lace layered over a silk bodice. It looks like it could have been a wedding dress or a dress for a dance fifty years ago. It's my size. I turn over the tag: $125. Too bad. The dress seems to echo the last year of my life. I was down, getting stepped on by people who didn't care if they damaged me. Now, I'm trying to straighten myself out. It means more people will see me, though, which terrifies me. It was easier to hide in my huge house.

"Will you hold this one in the back for me?" I ask Ariana.

"Sure thing. That will look stunning with your hair. I don't know why I didn't think of you when we got it."

I know exactly why she didn't think of me. As desperate as I was for privacy, I ignored so many of my real friends while opening my house and liquor cabinet to anyone who wandered in. Who knows how much time I spent drinking with virtual strangers, like my house was a club. Out of that crowd, only Hondo, Lisa, and Clara really knew me. It made no sense at all.

Until I realized I was carrying on my father's screwed-up legacy.

Scene 20 ~ Mark

I was not made to be in a hospital. The clanging and beeping, that's fine. I can handle noise. The IVs and monitors are what drive me mad. I can't even get up to take a piss without disconnecting wires and dragging a damned IV pole with me.

"Is all this really necessary?" I ask Shirlene on her next shift. I hold up my left hand with all the IV shit attached. "The doc said I'm good."

Shirlene chuckles. "I've seen my share of guys like you here, baby. There ain't nothin' good about you. You're naughty to the core."

I'm a little stunned when she says it, and I start to feel seriously offended. Then, she smiles and laughs, and I realize she's giving me a hard time.

"I'll remember you," I say. "And my first solo recording will be named after you."

Damn, it feels good to laugh with someone. Since going to rehab, I've been cut off from most of the people I know. Moving to Dallas without telling anyone isolated me even more. I haven't spoken to my parents in months.

I think about what Sophie said to me about accepting that I'm alone. I wish I knew what really happened before I was taken to the hospital. I've tried hard to remember, but only snapshots from the scene come to me. I was furious about something, but I can't remember what. At some point, I pounded on the door and screamed for Sophie. And then, Hondo was above me, apparently saving my sorry ass.

"OK, troublemaker," Shirlene says. "Time to get your butt out of that bed again."

It's humiliating when she helps me get out of bed and then fastens a strap around my chest. It's a handle she can grab if I start to go down. It makes me feel like a three-year-old on a toddler leash.

We circle the cardiac ward one step at a time. I can't walk at a normal pace without losing my breath, so we move in half-time, trudging along at a pace that makes me desperate to run. Frustration builds in my chest with every step. Maybe Dr. Taylor was right. Maybe I'm much weaker than I think.

This thought settles in my brain, waiting for me to accept it, too. But dammit, this had to be a fluke. I could do coke every day for the rest of my life and never have a problem. It was pure bad luck that my body reacted the way it did that one time.

For the last ten steps, I pick up the pace. I refuse to succumb to fragility. Fuck that.

Scene 21 ~ Hondo

On Monday, Jen and I are heads-down, all business. We're a little behind on our next milestone, and it's way too easy to start blowing through deadlines. But after sitting for hours, the stiffness forces me get up to stretch and walk around. I walk by the windows, looking down on the street below. To me, this is the most beautiful view on earth. I feel free; not even the brick and glass can hold me in.

One person catches my attention on the sidewalk. She has super long, curly hair and is wearing a racing cap and oversized sunglasses. Sophie. What the hell is she doing down here on a weekday? I want to tell her that her hair gives her away every time, but the truth is, the longer Lang is gone, the more Sophie's star fades. She is finally getting what she's always wanted: a private life.

If she spends much more time with Mark Dillon, though, she will lose it again.

The thought of Mark spikes my temper. The son of a bitch should be grateful I bothered to give him CPR. Would he have done the same for me? For anyone? I've never met a more selfish person.

Out of habit, I head out the door to go downstairs to see Sophie. I stop before I reach ground level on the stairs, though. My life has changed, and I can't live halfway in Sophie's world and halfway in mine. If I don't focus on this company, Jen and I will lose everything have been working for. I can't give that up, no matter how sentimental I feel about Sophie.

I turn, climb the stairs again, and walk back to my desk, firmly shoving Sophie out of my mind.

Jen glances up at me and smiles. She has dark circles under her eyes, and if I didn't know better, I would say she's lost weight in the last week. With her appetite, though, it shouldn't be possible.

"That was a quick breath of fresh air," she says. "I was hoping you would come back with your arms full of Greek food. And water. I've gone through everything we had."

I raise my eyebrows. "Really? Are you sure? That was a ton of water. I thought it would last a month."

She picks up her water cup. "The last of it is right here, and it's making me thirsty just thinking about it."

"OK. I'll order lunch, and I'll double our next water order."

"Thank you, Ho."

Hearing that nickname makes me jump a little, thinking Sophie has somehow appeared. I wonder if Jen can see that I'm being haunted by a girl who's still very much alive.

Scene 22 ~ Sophie

When I get back to Lisa's apartment, she's already home, sitting on the couch. And she doesn't look like she just came back from a joyful shoot where she made lots of money.

"What happened?" I say. I sit next to her and put my arm around her shoulder. She's trembling, which means the waterworks are imminent. She doesn't cry often, but when she does, she makes it memorable. It's those superhuman lungs of hers.

"Tell me what happened, Lisa."

She covers her face with her hands and lets loose a low-key wail. I wait. If I push her, she'll cry that much harder. She surprises me, though, by standing up and pacing in front of the couch instead. Her face is one shade lighter than a ripe tomato, but she's in control of the tears.

"That sleazy asshat!" she blurts out. "How could I be so stupid!" She flings her long arms out for emphasis.

"Uh, oh," I say. "I thought you went on a catalog shoot."

Lisa stops pacing and looks at me. "I lied." She makes a frustrated sound in her throat and goes back to pacing. "I knew better. I fucking knew better."

"Oh, Lisa, did you—"

"Yes, OK? Yes. I answered an ad from the back of the Spectator. When I got to the place, it looked like a filthy garage. I should have turned around right then. So fucking stupid."

"What happened?" I say.

"The guy was so slimy, it turned my stomach. I kept reminding myself that this was a five-thousand-dollar shoot. For that money, I could do anything for a few hours."

I want to laugh, but I know she'll kill me if I do. I work hard to keep a straight face.

"The first thing he said to me was, 'Take your clothes off. All of it. I gotta see what we're working with here.' There was no screen or dressing area. He wanted me to strip right there as he and his so-called crew watched."

"What did you do?"

"I kicked him in the crotch and told him I didn't see much to work with there."

Now, I can laugh. We crack up for the next ten minutes as Lisa acts out the scene. She then goes to the kitchen and pulls a bottle of wine from the fridge.

"I know it's kind of early, but I'm ready for a drink. You in?" Without waiting for my response, she uncorks the bottle and pours two glasses.

I want to be in, but I shouldn't. It's just wine, though. One glass can't ruin my life. I had three shots of tequila without anything bad happening. It's just wine, and it's only Lisa here.

I can't be scared of everything.

I watch Lisa drink half her glass in one gulp, and then I stand up and claim my glass, too.

Scene 23 ~ Mark

I tell Shirlene that I have no one to pick me up from the hospital. She doesn't believe me at first, but when the big day comes, I ask her to call a taxi.

"You're serious you don't have anyone? Cute guy like you?" Shirlene says.

I hold my hands up. "That's what I've been saying."

I don't know what's going to happen when I get home. No matter how much I try to ignore it, I know that I'm weak. It pisses me off to admit I'm a little scared of being in the house by myself. I guess it will just be Nicole, sitting at the kitchen island with her laptop.

Nicole. I forgot about Nicole. I give Shirlene her number. She comes back a few minutes later and says, "See, I told you someone would come for you."

My actual discharge takes hours. Notes, prescriptions, rehab schedule, a referral to a cardiologist—I'm not going to keep up with half of this shit. No one seems to remember that I'm in my twenties. They want to treat me like a frail, old man. Yeah, I went a little nuts with the coke. Yeah, it gave me a fucking heart attack. It was a cross between a mistake and bad luck. I won't even remember this horrid week six months from now. I'll be back on stage. That's all that matters.

Finally, Shirlene wheels me down to the patient pick-up area. Nicole is leaning against her car, waiting for me. Mild shock crosses her face when she sees me. I don't think she expected the wheelchair. I get up to show her that I'm fine, but moving that quickly makes me dizzy, and I have to sit back down for a moment.

Please, please, just kill me now.

Nicole and Shirlene help me up again, one on either side of me.

"I'm good. I've got it," I say, pulling my arms from their grip. Nicole opens the passenger door for me. I slide into the seat without any more humiliating snafus. I wave to Shirlene. "Look for my album. Six months."

Nicole gets in the car and pops the emergency brake before putting the car in gear. "I was wondering what happened to you. I could get in the gate, but the front door was locked, and you didn't answer your phone."

"Well, now you know."

For the rest of the short drive home, I watch the city go by and wonder where Sophie went. She never told me where she's going, only that she was running away from me.

At the house, Nicole parks in the circular driveway in front of the door. When I see the eight steps up to the door, I get a sinking feeling in my gut. I completely forgot about these stairs.

"Is something wrong?" Nicole says.

"No," I say. "I'm fine. Let's go in."

She comes around to the passenger side of the car to help me out. I wave her off. She steps back, but she watches every movement like she expects me to go down at any second. This is one of those times I would give anything to be alone. I can't stand the thought of her seeing me this weak. I'm way too fucking young for this shit.