Tracks (Rock Bottom) (26 page)

The stewardess must have already seen where this was going, so she put the bottle in an ice bucket on t
op of a serving cart. She places two glasses on the cart and rolls it in front of us. Jeremy thanks her as she goes to sit and begins to pour himself another glass. “You can put some stronger drinks on the cart as well,” he says to the exasperated stewardess.

I look again
appreciatively towards the bedroom, hoping that on the way home he would take me in there, but at this point I’m praying he’d be conscious.

When the plane
lands, Jeremy has had a bottle of champagne and two glasses of whiskey, but doesn’t seem inebriated in the least bit. He puts his hands gently on my back as I walk down the stairway and towards another black limousine. The driver opens the door, and we again slide into the back with grace. I’m getting the hang of getting into and out of a limousine in a dress. It’s not as easy as anyone would think.

A short drive later, we pull up to the magnificent building. It’s huge and lit up so that it can be seen from even far away with a beige exterior. The roof of the building wasn’t flat, rather it spiked up haphazardly. I had never been to an opera house, but it looks very differ
ent from what I would imagine.

The driver doesn’t pull up to the main entrance, but goes around to the back of the building where there is a green steel door. To my surprise, Jeremy doesn’t wait for the driver to get out and open his door, but opens the door himself and jumps out of the car almost before it has come to a stop. He runs around the back of the car and opens my door, offer
ing me a hand to help me out.

I smile bashfully and grab his hand,
rising out of the car. He leads me towards the green door after shutting the car door behind me, the limo speeding off.

“Wh
at is this?” I ask, curiously.

“I arranged to have us dropped at the stage door. I was hoping we didn’t get bothered. So far, so good,” Jeremy said, flashing me a sparkling smile. He looks so devastating handsome in his tux, I try not to look at him t
oo often for fear my heart will explode.

Reaching the green door, Jeremy knocks hard on it and steps back to wait. The door opens and an older man peaks his head out from behind the door. He nods his grey head when he recognizes Jeremy and opens the
door wider to allow us inside.

It’s a short walk down a dark hallway and some stairs until we’re out into the main hall. When I step through the door, I gasp at the lavish auditorium. The hall is full of rows of seats, which appear golden in the brilliant lights that hang above them. The stage has a unique circular chandelier
that hangs above it, and there are square balconies surrounding the hall.

“Do you like it?” Jeremy asks, still
walking and squeezing my hand.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, maneuvering past people walking down the aisle. Most of the couples are older and obviously from money, dressed much like we were tonight- the men in expensive tuxes of all styles and the women dripping in expensive jewels.
Jeremy and I finally come to a doorway with carpeted stairs leading up to the upper floors. “We have a balcony?” I ask, excitedly.

“Indeed,” he sa
ys, smiling. “A private one.”

Maybe I should eat my earlier words about his fame not doing anything for me. Every experience with him is more amazing
and fantastic then the next.

Pushing by a golden curtain, we take our seats at the front of the little rectangular balcony. I look towards the other side of the hall, seeing the couples in their fabulous attire also taking their seats. Jeremy has not let go of my hand, and the warm
th of his skin feels so nice against mine.

We sit in silence as we both take in all of the commotion around us. The hall begins to fill more, and the seats are becoming limited. I look towards the balcony to the right of us and see more couples sitting down. As the lights finally begin to dim and the overture plays, I notice there is no one to the left of us. I smirk, wondering if Jeremy has rented that one out,
too, to give us more privacy.

I see a woman appear on stage, wearing a black Spanish-inspired long gown and red flowers in her hair. She’s not fat like I imagined- or wearing a Viking hat. When I ment
ioned my amazement at this fact to Jeremy, he laughed silently but uncontrollably. “Not very cultured on the arts, are we?” he teased in a whisper. I smacked his chest playfully.

Her voice is
beautiful, singing in Italian. I don’t understand the words, but her emotions are clear. I look over at Jeremy who has his eyes closed. He almost looks as if he could be sleeping, but his face gives away that he is overwhelmed with the emotions of the song. Obviously, he can understand the words.

I’m surprised to see him this way, looking so emotional and tender. It’s nothing like the bad-boy rock persona he tries so desperately to uphold. Every day that I’m with him, another one of his walls seems to be coming down, and I’m seeing more of the real him
little by little.

Looking at him, seeing this different side of him, made me swell with my own feelings.
This is the man I’m falling in love with; the sensitive, genius man that has these amazing passions. I see in this moment a future with Jeremy. I see us traveling the world together, marrying on a private beach, and making love in different hotels every night. I see the face of our beautiful baby boy, with the same bright blue eyes as my brilliant and loving husband. I see us in a house in Boston, with ivy and brick and a big yard. We hold hands just as we’re doing now, and his face is overwhelmed with emotion just as it is now, as we watch our children play in the back yard.

He opens his eyes slowly and looks at me, smiling when he sees me staring so intently at him. He smiles at me as if he knows what I’m thinking, and I return an amazed smiled back. From the corner of my eye, I see three people enter
into the balcony to our left.

I instinctively looked towards them, noting with shock that even in the dim lights, I could tell they were younge
r. The two men were dressed in more modern tuxedos, one with bushy hair and the other with spiky hair. It was obvious the girl was very attractive, wearing a long purple gown and short blue hair.

Immediately, my blood runs cold. I look over at Jeremy, noticing he once
again has his eyes closed and is moving his lips quietly to the music. I turn back towards the people on the balcony and squint my eyes. My heart stops when I confirm my suspicion. One of the men is the weasel boy and the girl is the blue haired hooker that has been touring with Jeremy.

I couldn’t hold in my anger. I turned towards Jeremy and, in an angry voice I don’t bother to lower, I ask him loudl
y, “What are they doing here?”

Jeremy’s eyes shoot open as the couples on the balcony to the right of us look towards the noise. Jeremy looks over at the balcony to the left,
instantly knowing what I’m talking about, and looks back towards me. His eyes turn cold, but his voice is lower than mine. “I thought we had agreed to drop it.”

“No,” I said, not backing down even though the look in his eyes scared me. “YOU agreed to drop it. I don’t like them and you know it and yet you keep them around.
Even on a date with me!”

“Because I’m not doing anything with them that affects you.
Or us. So it’s therefore none of your business,” he snaps.

“When you’re in an actual
relationship
Jeremy, everything you do affects the other person,” I say smugly.

“And you have so much experience with that.” His eyes are still cold. Is
he trying to hurt my feelings?

I hear a few shushes directed at our dialogue, and when Jeremy sees the hurt in my eyes at his last comment, he sighs and grabs my hand, pulling us out of the balcony through the curtain and into the hallway. 

He spins around to me as soon as we’re in the hallway. “Why do you make me hurt you?”

I stare at him, aghast. “I
make
you hurt me?”

He doesn’t look angry any
more; instead he looks desperate and afraid. He puts his hands out open palmed towards me. “Why can’t you just drop it? Why?”

I am lost for words. What about these people would make him so desperate that he would fight toot
h and nail like this to keep them around? Why wouldn’t he have introduced us, if they were truly his friends or employees and he had nothing to hide?

Jeremy stands frozen, his eyes still wild with desperation, palms still towards me. He looks so vulnerable, and it
’s so distractingly beautiful.

I try to stay calm when asking him, “
Are you sleeping with her? Is she, like, your mistress?”

Jeremy makes a disgusted sound
and turns away from me, grasping his hair with both hands. “What do you take me for, Dylan? You’re so naïve sometimes it’s unbelievable.”

The fiery anger
rapidly bubbles over, through my stomach and into my mouth. “You’re God damned lucky I am naïve, Mr. Mason. If I had known what a fall down drunk you are when I first met you, I wouldn’t have come near you with a 10 foot pole!”

His back instantly straightens and the room fa
lls silent. I clasp my hand over my mouth. I can’t believe what I just said, and I know I took it too far.

He slowly turns towards me and looks into my eyes. His eyes are
flat, the color of rain puddles on asphalt. It surprises me to see them glisten with tears. It shocks the anger right out of me.

“I didn’t mean that,” I said, although I’m not sure it wasn’t true. I shouldn’t have said it, rega
rdless. The growing guilt begins to build an increasing pressure on my chest.

“Yes, you did,” he whispers. His eyes never leave mine. “Dylan, I know I have problems. I have so much more than you know. I know I’m hiding things from you. But I do it to protect you. Protect you from my problems; protect you from me. I’m being selfish keeping
you with me, and I know that.”

I open my mouth to refute that, but he holds up his hand. “Let me finish. I am being selfish because you deserve better than me.
Someone who can give you a normal life. Someone you could be proud to bring home. Give you children. Make you a better person. Someone…someone like Scott.”

With that comment, this conversation took a dramatic turn. I wonder if he’s breaking up with me.
The pressure from the guilt has turned unbearable on my chest, making it difficult to speak. “Jeremy,” I whisper.

“No,” he interjects. “It’s true. But God damn it Dylan, I love you. I’ve never loved anything before in my whole life, except my brother, and that was different. No one makes me feel the way you do. I need you. I need you like the alcohol. I need you like the music. Do you blame me for being selfish? Because if I tell you all of the things you want to know, Dylan, yo
u’ll leave. And that’s a fact.”

I find the air in my lungs again. “I will never leave you.” I feel l
ike I really mean that statement. Seeing him declaring himself- I know in this moment that he truly loves me. And that doesn’t come around often, a love like this.

“No ma
tter what?” he challenges.

I’m nervous but my voice is clear, “No matter what.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you ready to marry me, then? Would you walk down the aisle with me, an hour from now?” He stares intently into my eyes, searching me for my immediate response to his surprising questions.

I hear myself exhale as his words punch me full force in the chest. He smirks, thinking he’s won his little challenge. He’s about to say something else when I cut him o
ff before he can begin. “Yes.”

He looks confused. “Yes?”

I stand straighter now, more confident. “Yes, I would marry you tonight. Right now.”

            
 
“Dylan,” Jeremy starts, looking horror-struck. “Are you nuts? You don’t even know what I’m hiding from you.”

I realize this, and yes, I feel that I am a little
nuts. But I love him, and I want to know all of him. If marriage is the way for him to let me in, to prove to him I won’t leave, then I’d do it. “I don’t care what it is you’re hiding. It won’t change my feelings for you.”

He suddenly appears very intense, almost as if he’s angry again. He walks closer to me, his eyes flaming with rage. He points his finger in my face, as if I’m a child. “You obviously have a lot of growing up to do if you would marry someone based solely on the unpredictable feeling of love. You’d do well to remember that in the future. This isn’t a fairy tale, Ms. Ackhart, and I’m no prince.”

He moves quickly past me before I can respond, fading into the distance down the hallway before I can even process what I’d want to say.

I stand like an idiot in the hallway, still staring in the direction he had gone for a number of minutes after he l
eft. I am completely heartbroken and confused, but unable to cry. Well, unwilling to cry in such a public place. And here I thought for a minute he was actually asking me to marry him. I don’t understand. He wanted me to say no? Or was it a question that didn’t have a good answer, no matter which one I picked?