Zenith Fulfilled (3 page)

“What story? There’s nothing to say about it. And no reason or purpose to tell it.”

“I think you’re wrong. I think it’s an inspirational story of hope, of moving from darkness to light. Of…”

“God, sweetheart, what in the world do you think I did? Slayed a dragon and rescued a damsel in distress? No! I abused my wife, and shoved her into your brother’s arms, before destroying my health, my best friend’s life, and my band. That’s the story you see.”

Her curls bounced up and down again. “No, I see a story of a talented man, who spiraled out of control, and temporarily lost sight of his dreams, but instead of descending further, you chose to get help. You chose to stop and get sober. And that is a feat, which I believe is well worth writing about.”

Rob laughed and stood up, moving closer to her, and blowing smoke over her face.  His voice was low and cold as he said, “I don’t know you, and I don’t want to know you. So before I say something very rude and nasty, which Joelle can readily confirm that I’m perfectly capable of doing, get the fuck out of here.”

Her jaw dropped open as her eyes rounded in shock. “But!”

He nearly growled at her as he stepped closer, invading her personal space and said, “Leave me alone, Nick’s sister.”

She nodded as she scrambled backwards. Without another word, she dug into the large, black bag she carried over her shoulder and pulled out a sheaf of papers.

“Please. This is the first book I ever wrote. Just take it, and read it. And just see what I have in mind. It’s not as terrible, or gossipy or nasty as you’re describing. Please, just read it. Consider allowing me to chronicle your success.”

She handed the sheaf of papers to him, but he refused to accept it. She finally set it beside him on the picnic table. Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she glanced up at him and said softly, “You once had dreams of being a singer. I have dreams of being a writer. Please don’t say no without giving me a chance. Someone has to take a chance on us before we can get what we want. Maybe we could help each other find a chance towards something better.” Then she turned on her heel and nearly ran away from him, and back to the light gaiety of the wedding reception.

Rob didn’t watch Rebecca leave. He was already staring hard into the night sky, while only a few streaks of light still shone on the water. Porch lights now replaced the daylight, sparkling like yellow and white jewels on the waterfront. He reminded himself to relax his jaw when it started to ache. Who did Rebecca Randall think she was? To suggest she could write about him? His personal history? What possible reason could she have to even ask him to open up his life to her like that? Nick Lassiter’s sister? He shook his head in shocked bewilderment. He despised Nick Lassiter more than just about anybody else he ever met. How could his enemy’s sister even approach him about such an endeavor?

Still
, Rebecca’s words lingered in his mind. But when, and in what world, did it become his job to make sure Rebecca Randall got a chance to be a published writer? She knew almost nothing about him. How could she even suggest that he be the factor for whether or not she got published? Coming from a woman he’d never even met or seen until tonight! How dare she attach her success or failure onto him? What the hell? There were thousands of recovering addicts in the Seattle area alone that Rebecca could write about. Why did she even risk confronting him with such a project? Rob was her brother’s nemesis, and not usually described as being particularly nice. Most people would have agreed that Joelle traded up about a thousand percent when she married Nick.

Rob finished his cigarette, threw it on the ground,
and stomped it under his heel. He paused, glancing at the pile of papers beside him and looked around, thinking that she’d taken quite a chance by leaving it there. Why couldn’t he just drop it into the garbage? Or let the next shower of rain ruin it? Or let someone else find it and do God knows what with it?

He knew what it felt like to dream of
success. And crave legitimacy. He also understood how hard it would have been for him to leave a song he’d written with a complete stranger who didn’t ask for or appreciate his efforts. So why would Rebecca leave her manuscript like that? He picked it up, perhaps from guilt, or respect for another person’s creativity. Or maybe it was pity? He wasn’t sure, but thought it a bit sad that she seemed so positive she needed
his
help.

Then, with a sneer, he dropped the stack of papers back onto the picnic table.
He couldn’t help anyone during the last decade of his life, and he wasn’t interested in doing it now.

****

Rob clapped Spencer on his back when he approached him. They stood together, watching the wedding reception happening around them while Erica danced with Nick. Despite Rob’s incessant frustration and denial, Spencer genuinely liked Nick and wasn’t the slightest bit jealous that Nick once dated his wife.

“So how does it feel, man? To be
Mr. Dr. Erica Heathersby?
”

Spencer scowled
, then turned and punched Rob in the stomach. Rob let out a grunt, but grinned up at Spencer as Spencer smiled back at him. “You’re a real dickhead, you know that, Rob? It’s
Mr. Dr. Erica Mattox
. And good. That’s how it feels… really good.”

Rob
let out a laugh at seeing Spencer so mushy, and open, and full of joyous feelings that he was sharing them, for once. “You know, don’t you? That I’m really happy for you?”

Spencer glanced down at him,
his expression sobering. “I know, man.”

Rob nodded at him before
they both looked away.
They knew.
They’d been through hell and back together. It began when Spencer first came to Rob at the age of thirteen and asked Rob to run away with him. Spencer was fleeing his abusive stepbrother. Rob, then seventeen, was still living with his alcoholic parents, and his father beat him often enough that he thought running away sounded like a fantastic idea. Rob and Spencer hightailed it out of their small, suburban neighborhood in Edmonds and relocated only twenty miles away in Seattle. They had to live on the streets for awhile; as well as in shelters, halfway houses, and other unseemly places. There were a few compassionate adults who tried to help them. But they never stayed too long in any one place. They only stuck by each other. It became Rob and Spencer versus the world.

The
only thing they both could do, and which meant the most to them, was make music. It was their only asset, something they both thought mattered. So they did that. They spent their shared years making music together; on street corners, at Pike Place Market, or the Seattle Center.  They became street musicians, and soon earned enough to keep from starving. It was their favorite way to survive, and finally allowed them the means to afford their first apartment together.

Eventually, they created
Zenith
: the band they believed would take them to stardom. They wanted to be the next
Rolling Stones
, or
Beatles
, or even the next
Bon Jovi.
They dreamt of becoming the next big whatever, and that’s all that mattered.

Rob met Joelle, who fell for Rob and dropped out of college
. They brought her along for the ride. She got to experience firsthand the parties, the music, the gigs, the groupies, the alcohol, and all the street drugs. But now, instead of seeking fame and fortune with his wife and best friend at his side, Rob found himself all alone and broke,
but sober
.

And now
, here, together they stood, watching Spencer’s doctor bride dancing. His pretty, normal, beautiful, kind bride who offered Spencer a home, support, love, and normalcy. Erica virtually gave Spencer back his very soul. She saw in Spencer what no one else but Rob knew. Rob managed to learn everything about Spencer after living half his life alongside him.

So
letting Spencer go was the right thing to do, and Rob realized that. But it turned out to be one of the hardest things he ever did. Harder, even, than letting Joelle go.

Spencer, however, didn’t need to know that. He deserved to move on and quit worrying about Rob. He needed to pursue his new life, and not
cling to the low-class drudgery they became accustomed to before Erica showed up. Spencer’s good fortune was welcomed and applauded by Rob, even though it took everything in him to do it. He had to be selfless, and intended to do that one thing right: letting his best friend go without any feelings of guilt or obligation to Rob.

“So Hawaii
, huh? Two weeks with that blond goddess. I think you’re the luckiest man alive,” Rob said, finally laughing and trying to pretend that was all he had on his mind.

Spencer looked down at him
, since he was six-foot-four, and Rob was only five-foot-seven. “Who would have guessed that I’d ever find any luck in life?”

“Me. I thought you’d get lucky
, Spencer. Because it’s not all luck, you know. You earned this and you deserve your wife.”

Spencer glanced at Erica. “My wife. Two words I thought I’d never say.”

“They feel good though, don’t they?”

Spencer picked up on
his tone and cringed. Of course, Rob was thinking of Joelle, his own ex-wife, and his failed marriage. It was something he grieved over as if a personal friend had died.

“Yeah,” Spencer said, glancing at Joelle who was now
walking up to Nick. “You don’t still want her, do you?”

“Joelle? I don’t know. Can you look at Erica and ever picture not wanting her? Do I wish I could undo the last five years of my life, or wish I stopped mysel
f from drinking and my corresponding downward spiral? Yeah, I wish I could do just that. I wish Nick had never even been an option in Joelle’s life; and that I never gave her any reason to leave me. So, do I want her now? Yes. No. I don’t really know. I know she’s happy with Nick, her daughter, and her life now. That’s really something.”

“And you
, Rob? You going to be okay?”

Spencer worried about him. Ever since moving in with Erica a year before, he still stopped by Rob’s house frequently.
Rob suspected it was mostly to make sure he wasn’t drinking again. And to this date, he wasn’t. It was why he spent most of his spare time attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.

“It’s not new
, Spence. None of this. My alcoholism.
Zenith
. Nick and Joelle. You and Erica. None of this is new. It’s called reality.”

“Rob, you told me when I first met Erica to do something, go after what and who I wanted. You told me to find a life. You were still learning to cope with being sober at the time. But you know what, man? You need to take your own advice. Fucking do something! Find the life you want. Quit living at the survival level. Quit regretting your past with Joelle, and me, drinking too much, and
Zenith. Zenith
and all you associated with it is dead and gone. Let it go! Start over. Start now.”

Rob smiled. It was funny almost, hearing Spencer lecturing him. Spencer Mattox had finally become positive
and encouraging. This from the man who once was as moody and dark as Rob was drunk and stupid only a few years ago.

Rob didn’t want Spencer worrying about him anymore. Not tonight. Not tomorrow, not for the rest of his life.
He forced a smile. “Yeah. I think you might be right, man.”

Spencer stared again. “You know, I’m aware that you just blew smoke up my ass
, didn’t you? I’ve known you too long to believe that. Consider what I said, Rob, seriously.”

Rob nodded and
slapped him on the back. “I’ll think about considering it.” Then he spotted Rebecca over in the crowd, talking to Nick, and pointed at her. “You know her?”

“Who? Rebecca? Yeah
, she’s one of Erica’s patients, and the one who introduced Erica to Nick many years before. She’s also one of Nick’s sisters. Why?”

“I ran into her outside.
I just wondered who she was. What else do you know about her?”

“
Not much. She’s married and got three kids. She doesn’t work, at least, not that I know of. She’s really close to Nick. She seems like an all-around nice woman.”

Rob smirked
as he shook his head. The
married, three kids, all around nice woman
pretty much put her out of his league. Not that she was on his mind. Rob wasn’t into nice, wholesome girls like her. Not anymore. Not after what happened with Joelle. Before he married her, she was also a nice, wholesome girl. Besides,
three kids?
Jesus, they had about as much in common as a rabid pit bull does with a newborn kitten.

But why did that girl approach him?
Did she really think he’d happily agree to let her delve into his life and then publish it? In his mind, he banished her by demanding that she go home to her pretty, little life and stay there. Just as he planned to return to his dark, lonely life and stay there.

****

Rebecca watched Rob hugging the bride and groom while smiling and talking; and noticed the three of them looked very close and tightly connected. Rob eventually sauntered away towards another group and Rebecca cursed herself. She messed it up. And not just kind of, but messed it completely up. It was her one chance to make a solid, reasonable argument for why Rob should let her write about him, but she couldn’t even get him to consider it for a brief second. He began laughing almost before she finished speaking. She knew he was a long shot… but she thought that maybe, if she paid him enough, he’d consent to do the project with her. But he refused to consider that angle too, and was more than crystal clear that she was no more than a bad joke to him.

She sighed,
looking back towards the wedding reception. The guests were all milling about as the room was now imbued by the gentle glow of the chandelier lights. It looked as elegant and classy as Rebecca knew the bride to be. Erica had been Rebecca’s doctor since her first pregnancy. She and Erica quickly struck up a friendship, and it didn’t take long before Rebecca decided Erica might be the perfect woman for her brother, Nick.  But then Nick ended up with Joelle, who was tattooed, pierced, shy, almost anti-social, not to mention, married at the time, while Erica married the dark, often scary, intense Spencer. Both came as an utter shock to Rebecca. It showed her how little she knew of human nature. So how, then, did she think she could write about it?

But that was just it:
writing was the one thing she thought she could do well. And whenever she did write, it felt almost perfect. It lifted her from the ordinariness of her life, and her routine, and day-to-day mundaneness. Since she was raising three small kids, it was fine, even perfect. Her days should have been routine, stable, and ordinary. She reveled in the time and care she spent with her children. But the small amount of time, barely a few hours a day, she reserved for writing was her only outlet. It elevated her attitude, allowing her to be more positive in other aspects of her daily life, and toward her family. It gave her something she felt confident doing, and provided a venue to chronicle her dreams without becoming resentful of the time and work her kids demanded from her. It made her glad, in fact, for each moment she devoted to them. She had her faults, of course, but a dedicated, involved, loving mother wasn’t one of them.