Playing for Julia (18 page)

We hear the band announced. 
When they come on stage the roar is deafening.

After a
quick sound check, they open with “Night Ride”, their most recent hit. Then Tommy talks to the crowd, introducing each member of the band by name, and I can see the faces of the girls in the front of the audience light up.  His fans are here by the thousands—arms outstretched, screaming for him. I wonder how many are actually screaming for Austen.  On stage Austen looks more alive than ever.  He loves performing—it is so obvious.  Nothing about him now is ‘invisible’. He looks gorgeous.

The next two songs are expanded versions of the ones they all think will be the big hits from the new album.
  People start dancing. Neither one of the songs is the “Lady in the Mist”.  They close with two other hits from a previous album. The audience roars again as they leave the stage.

Austen hands hi
s guitar to one of the roadies as he comes down from the stage.  He grabs me around the shoulder and pulls me close to him as we walk back toward the bus.

“Austen
, you were fabulous!”

“Yeah.  That was a great set.”  He is
flying on an emotional high.  “No sound screw-ups and the crowd liked the new songs.  It was great.  Really great.”

“They loved you.  They loved the music.
  You were amazing.”

“There’s nothing like having
tens of thousands of fans screaming for you.  Nothing, babe, nothing.  It’s like getting high, like flying on speed.”

He leans his head down to my ear and whispers:  “If I didn’t have that interview with that reporter from your paper now, I’d take you over to
the car and screw the hell out of you, babygirl.  Sex and rock ‘n’ roll—they go together.  Maybe after the interview…”

“
I’d like that, but I think you’d better talk to Mark now.  He’s seen the crowd reaction to you so that should make the profile even better.”

“We’ll see.”

Mark is waiting outside the bus.  He and Austen shake hands. 

“
I’ll wait out here,” I tell them and they go inside.  The bus door closes behind them.

Emma and John have wandered off somewhere.
Tommy and Peter are standing beside the stage talking to a man wearing a t-shirt with ‘Staff’ printed on the back. I stand near the front of the bus where I can see the next band on stage.  They are okay.  The crowd does not scream anywhere near as loud for them.  Two of the groupies sidle back toward the bus, but Mirabelle is not with them.  I wonder if she has gone off to another bus, another band, to try her luck.  Maybe she has finally given up on Austen.

From behind me I hear a fist pounding on the outside of the bus door.  I turn around to see a woman in a
red Western style shirt that looks a little worn and wrinkled.  She has frizzy blonde hair, wears jeans tucked into brown cowboy boots.

“Let me in.”

From inside someone calls out.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.  Charlene.  Austen’s wife.”

I
t’s as if a bolt of lightning has struck me.  I feel paralyzed.  Austen’s wife?  His wife?  He’s married?  He’s married to this woman?

The bus door swings open and she steps up into the bus.

“Hey, Charlene.  What are you doing here?”  It’s Austen’s voice and he sounds friendly.

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘His wife’?  I turn and walk away.  Nothing registers around me except ‘Austen’s wife’.  I walk a few more steps, stop walking and stand perfectly still. His wife?  He’s married?  I need to get out of here.  I need to go home. I don’t know how to get home. I feel panicky.  Austen’s wife?  His wife?

I don’t know how long I
stand there with the words “his wife” racing around and around in my brain, but suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder and hear Mark’s voice.

“Julia, are you okay?”

“No.  I don’t feel well. I think I’m sick.  Something I ate, I think.  Are you going back up to the city now?”

“In about fifteen minutes or so.  I want to
hear that band onstage and then get out of here before everyone heads for the exit.”

“Could I get a ride with you?”

“Sure, honey.”

“Where is your car?  I’ll go there and wait for you.”

“Oh hell, I’ve got enough material already and I’ve heard that band before.  Let’s go now.”  Mark takes my arm and guides me through the parking area to his car.  It’s blue and looks like it is about three years old.

He drives out via the
two lane access road then onto the freeway heading north. That woman’s voice saying ‘Austen’s wife’ repeats in my head. And repeats.  And repeats. I have to stop this.  I have to act normal.

“I’ve never been to a music festival before,” I
ask.  “Are they all like this one?”

“The big ones are. I heard that Woodstock was absolute chaos
. That promoter didn’t anticipate how many people would show up. I’ve seen estimates that there were a half a million people there. It was three days of music and mud with a lot of peace and love, or so I’ve been told.  Good vibe and good music. They had an interesting lineup.  Some of the bands from here in the Bay area were there.  Sly and the Family Stone.  The Grateful Dead.”

“Which of the bands did you like best today?”

“Austen’s group was the crowd favorite—that was very clear.  It’s better now that they’ve added Tommy.  That band was missing something before,” Mark replies.  “Austen used to be the lead singer most of the time. Actually, most of the time they were sort of a folk-rock style band. They’ve evolved and are a lot more of a pure rock band now.  Tommy’s voice is better for the songs on their new album.”

I am silent
, distracted.  His wife.  Austen’s wife.  It is all I can think of.  He has been so loving, so fun—and he’s married to some other woman.  She has him.  I never will.

“Austen’
s an interesting guy for a musician,” Mark says finally, breaking the silence.  “It’ll be a good profile for
Voices
.  It’s just the kind of thing that Steve likes: the little-known man behind the art—or the lyrics in this case.”

I say nothing.  Oh, why is he talking about
Austen?  I don’t want to talk about him, don’t want to think about him.  ‘Austen’s wife’ reverberates in my mind.  It’s the worst betrayal I’ve ever felt.

“Most of the guys in
rock bands fell out of a garage somewhere and are as green as they come.  They don’t know much about anything except playing a guitar and rock ’n’ roll.  Did you know that Austen served in the army in Germany?”

“Yes.”

“He knows about literature, too.  Likes John Donne’s poetry and Camus’
The Stranger
.  That was a surprise.”

Lost in my thoughts
I don’t reply.  Again we travel along in silence. Traffic on the freeway is light.

“That w
oman was a surprise, too.  I didn’t know he was married.”

I don’t say a word for a
while.  I know Mark is expecting a reaction from me, instead I change the subject.

“Mark,
what do you think about Steve?”

The rest of the way back to San Francisco we talk about Steve and
Voices
and that new weekly in the East Bay.  He tells me he has seen Cathy and she likes working there, but hates the long commute from San Francisco.

“Maybe I can find her a new job
back in the city somewhere,” Mark says.

“You like finding jobs for people, don’t you?”

“Hey, I work freelance.  I want to have friends and contacts in every publication in California—the whole country, in fact. And once I get an assignment I try to meet everyone on staff.  It makes working freelance a lot easier.”

Mark
stops his car in front of the cottage and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Are you alright now, Julia?  I could come in.  I’ve got the time.”

“I’m
better.  I think I’ll just go to bed and then I’ll be okay. It must be something I ate. Thanks for the ride.”  I smile weakly at him and get out of the car.

Ali is home
and I am so happy to see her.  I need a girlfriend to talk to right now.

“
That blue-eyed devil is married?”  She screeches. “That asshole has a wife?  And he never let on and none of the rest of them told you about her? Even what’s-her-name—Emma—didn’t say anything to you? What a bunch of disgusting idiots.  Every last one of them. What did they think—that you didn’t care whether or not he was married? ”

“I feel like the fool of the world.
An absolute fool.” I slump back on the dingy blue sofa, shaking my head.  “I was a total idiot. No wonder he never talked about the future.  He already has one with that blonde. She’s the one he wants.  I was just some fun for him for a few months. It is so horrible, Ali.  Everything—it was all lies.  I can’t believe I was such a fool.  So stupid.”

“No, you’re not stupid.  He’s
the one who is a lying asshole.  A dishonest slimy lying asshole.”  She scowls. “What did she look like?”

I take a deep breath.  The image of his wife is engraved forever in my mind.

“She had short frizzy blonde hair.  Obviously bleached.  Bright red lipstick.  She looked like those cowgirl types you see at rodeos only nowhere near as nice.  She was wearing a cowgirl shirt that was faded and cowboy boots. Not beautiful ones like Austen’s boots, but worn out ones with run down heels.”

“She doesn’t sound very attractive.  No wonder he chased after you so hard
, if that’s what is waiting for him back home.”  She shakes her head. “Well, at least Mark was there to bring you home.”

“
I don’t know what I would have done...how I would have got home without him. I would have had to thumb a ride or something. I couldn’t stay there.  I couldn’t.  Oh god, this is so horrible.”  For a second I think about Mark and how negative I’ve felt about what he’s done in the past.  Now he’s turned out to be the one who saved me.

“
On the way up here Mark said he didn’t know that Austen was married, that he was surprised when that woman walked in on the interview.  He didn’t ask me directly, but I think Mark might have been trying to find out if I knew about her.”

“
Oh, Julia.  It doesn’t make any difference who knows and who doesn’t know. It is over and done with now. Everyone makes mistakes, especially when they are lied to.  Here.  Have some more wine.  Get drunk.  It’ll make you feel better.”  She fills my glass right to the brim.

She raises her glass of wine and smiles:  “To a better future
and a better boyfriend.”

“To a much better future.
”  A little wine splashes out of the glass onto the sofa, but I don’t care.

Getting drunk doesn’t help much.  I still feel betrayed
and emotionally exhausted as I collapse into sleep on my mattress upstairs a couple of hours later.

The phone rings
downstairs.  We both sit up.

“Don’t answer it.  I don’t want to talk to him
,” I say.

“But what if the call is from
one of our families and it’s an emergency.”

“Don’t answer it.  If it is a family emergency we can’t do anything about it until tomorrow.  If it’s him, I don’t want to talk to him.
  Ever again.”

Eventually the phone stops ringing.
  I toss and turn for what seems like hours and eventually fall asleep again.

The
loud knock on the front door downstairs wakes us up.  I look at my clock: 7 a.m.

“It’s him,” Ali says,
sitting up, still groggy.  We both drank way too much wine last night.  I don’t feel very well this morning.  She looks like she doesn’t feel any better than I do.

“I don’t want to talk to him
, Ali.  Don’t answer the door.  He’ll go away.”

Another
loud knock on the door.

“Julia, he will just come back again
or, worse yet, show up at your office.  You know as well as I do that Austen is not going to give up.  Just talk to him now and get it over with.”

“No.”

“You have to talk to him, Julia.  What can he say?  Nothing.  He’s married and you’ve found out the truth.  That’s all there is to it.  As far as you’re concerned he is ancient history.  It’s over.  Just tell him that.  Tell him to go away.  Tell him you never want to see him again.”

I shake my head.
  I want him to vanish, disappear, leave my life forever, but I don’t want to face him.  It would be too painful.

Ali
ignores my objections, gets up and goes downstairs, still in her blue pajamas.  I hear her pull back the deadbolt and open the door, then I hear Austen ask: “Where’s Julia?  I want to see her.”

“She’s not here.
”

“The hell she’s not.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“What in the hell is going on, Ali?”

“I told you she does not want to talk to you, Austen,” I hear her say. “No, you can’t come in.”  Then she calls out: “Julia, he’s coming upstairs.”

I he
ar him on the stairs; in four bounding steps he’s at the top.  He steps through the door to our bedroom and looks at me, then looks around the room.  I’m still sitting on the mattress-bed in my pink nightgown.  The pale yellow and green quilt my grandmother made is wrapped around me.

“So this is what it looks like.
”  Then he sinks down onto my mattress and smiles that honey smile at me.  “Baby, what’s going on?” he asks in a soft honey voice. “Why did you leave and not tell anyone?  We looked all over the place for you.  One of the girls finally told us she saw you leave with some guy.  From her description it sounded like that reporter.”

I can’t bear to look at him. I still want him
. I long for him to touch me, but “no”—I can’t.  He’s married. He lied to me.  He belongs to that other woman. I was just a toy for him, a girl to play with. I look away. He reaches out toward my face.  I shrink away.

“No.  Don’t touch me.”
  I wrap the quilt tighter around me.

“Julia, please tell me what’s wrong
.”

I don’t say anything for a moment, then I whisper:
“Charlene is what’s wrong.” My voice begins to grow stronger.  I’m angry. “You’re married, Austen.  How could you ever think I would get involved with a married man?  Go away.  Just go away and never call me again.  I don’t—“

“Charlene?  My ex-wife?  What does she have to do with us?”

“Your ex-wife?  That’s not what she said and you certainly sounded happy to see her.  I was outside the bus and heard her.”

“Oh s
hit.  Of course I sounded happy to see her—that damned reporter was sitting right there.  I wasn’t about to have an argument with my ex in front of him.  I even introduced her to him—as my ex-wife.  As far as that reporter knows, Charlene and I are still friends despite the divorce.  I was as surprised as hell to see her.  I hadn’t seen her in years.”

In
stantly I remember Mark’s comment on the way back to San Francisco: ‘That woman was a surprise to me.  I didn’t know he was married’.  That’s what he said.  Nothing about an ‘ex-wife’.  He was deliberately misleading me.  Or Austen is now. No, not Austen.  Mark is the one I can’t trust.  Or maybe both of them.  I don’t know.

“Julia, are you okay?”  Ali asks from downstairs.

“Yes,” I answer.

He reaches out toward me again.
“No.” I shrink away.  “Mark said she was your wife.  He didn’t say anything about her being your ex.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“He drove me back to the city.”

“
Aaah, that shit.  He lied to you, Julia.  I told you before: he wants you.  He’d say anything.  Babygirl, I am not married to Charlene.  I don’t give a damn about her.  We’ve been divorced for five or six years now.  She is nothing to me.”

Who do I believe
?

“Why didn’t you tell me
about her?”

“It didn’t seem important
, Julia.  She is someone from another life.  We were only married for a few months.  It was a stupid mistake from the beginning. I never even think about her.”