Zenith Fulfilled (8 page)

He had no reason to leave. No one to go home to. Nothing to do. He looked around. Thought. Walked.
What might his life have been? What could it have been if he never allowed alcohol to touch his lips? Why did he become an alcoholic? How could Spencer drink and party right alongside him, but stop the moment he wanted to without craving it? Rob couldn’t. He could never stop himself. Nor could he stop destroying himself, Spencer, Joelle, and his entire life.

Why? Because he was an alcoholic.

Rob kicked a loose pebble on the sidewalk in frustration. He blamed Rebecca Randall for his current bout of self-hatred. Like he didn’t experience it often enough already. Or think about it enough. And now Rebecca managed to put it all sharply back into focus, begging him to confront his past, and encounter, once again, Nick and Joelle Lassiter.

This had become h
is life now. Post-
Zenith
.

Zenith
was Rob’s dream. His creation. After Spencer and he found a following right on these very streets, and the wharf filled with tourists, they realized they were really good. Together. And once they could afford a place to live, it was as natural as breathing for them to start a band
. Zenith
. The highest point in the sky, as high as their dreams. Why not?

They were twenty and sixteen. Why not? Why couldn’t they reach for the sky? They started practicing seriously.
They met Mitch and Kenny, a guitarist and drummer respectively. They were a band. And a good one too, which was mostly because of Rob’s incredible voice.

His voice was the only valuable thing he ever had. He failed in every way as a human being, both as a child, and an adult, but he could sing like nobody else. He was always the soloist in the school choir.
It was the only class he attended regularly, despite the ribbing he got from the rebellious friends he always attracted. Friends who were like him: lacking in parental supervision, as well as parental love. That, of course, gave them all a good reason to pretend they didn’t give a shit about anything. They prowled around their Edmonds neighborhoods, looking for trouble, spraying graffiti, trespassing, vandalizing, smashing mailboxes, and racing too fast on the back roads. It was just a big show, devised to make them appear like they didn’t give a damn, when actually, the pain of caring too much and being hurt too often was the real reason for acting out.

As a teen, there was no one that Rob especially cared about, and no one he felt loyal to. But one day, he came across Spencer Mattox in the woods. Spencer had just been raped by his older, much bigger stepbrother. Rob pulled a knife on
Barry, the attacker, just to protect Spencer, who was then thirteen years old. From that day on, Spencer shadowed him like a lost puppy. Everywhere Rob went, Spencer followed. They were an odd team, but became inseparable ever since. When Spencer asked Rob to run away with him to escape Barry’s incessant assaults, there were no adults who cared for or offered to help them, so they disappeared together.

On the streets, they fully expected a life
much worse than their own homes. Statistics claimed they would end up as drug dealers, junkies, or wind up in jail. But instead, life for them actually improved. It was never easy, but it got much better.

After running away, t
here was no drunken father to beat Rob. And the pain he regularly endured by watching his mother getting beaten also vanished. There was no one to disappoint or be disappointed in. There was just Spencer. And Spencer and he remained loyal to each other. It was that simple, easy, and guileless; and managed to last for all those years.

However, Spencer finally found someone else.
That’s where all this was coming from. All of his pointless self-doubt, increased loneliness, and virtual unhappiness with living. He and Spencer were together almost fifteen years. And now he was alone again. It was time, of course. And as it should be. But he still missed Spencer.

And now someone wanted to write a book about all that? What point could there possibly be? It could only
magnify the volume of his mistakes, screw-ups, and history of doing everything possible to prove his father was right: he would never amount to anything. He might have been able to sing, but as his father often said, so what? What could it ever do for him? Nothing. Because you had to first be something in order to do something.

“You didn’t think it sucked?”

Rob paused before opening his front door. The voice struck him, without even glancing outside to see who stood there. Rebecca, of course. He jerked the door open the rest of the way and stared with visible irritation at the red-headed, persistent woman who obviously didn’t understand the meaning of the word no. Rebecca was dressed similar to the other day, except with a different top. Her hair was swept back and stray curls were bouncing around her forehead.

“Don’t you have a passel of kids to tend to?”

“They’re with my mother.”

“So you thought you’d come here and bug me?”

“You told me you didn’t read it.”

“I didn’t want to tell you that it sucked.”

“That’s not what you told Nick. You did read it. You liked it.”

Rob sighed and r
an a hand through his hair. “Nick talked to you? So you should listen to what he tells you.”

“I did listen. I listened that you read it and thought it was well written. You liked it.”

“So I like lots of things; it doesn’t mean I want them singing, writing or even mentioning me.”

“Don’t you owe Spencer some money for when he helped you with rehab? You know, I could pay you enough to get you out of debt.”

Rob’s eyes widened as his hand tightened on the door. “How the hell do you know that? You have balls, sweetheart, I’ll give you that. Bringing that up!”

Rebecca flushed,
but retained his gaze. “I heard Joelle talking to Nick a few months ago. That’s when I first thought of you as my subject. I was brainstorming for my second book. And after I heard that, I thought, I could pay you, even make you come out ahead, and get a great story for my project.”

“The debt I owed Spencer for rehab is already paid,” Rob said
while glaring at her. “But I still owe Spencer money for helping me pay off the local drug dealer for me. Did you know that too, Mrs. Know-It-All?”

Rebecca looked away. “No.”

He gripped the door tightly with his fingers. “Did you also know that it was the same drug dealer, who broke into my house and found Joelle and beat her up? Did you know that part? Or that I came home, high as a kite that night, and do you know what I did to my injured wife, do you, little mommy? I pinned my wounded wife to the wall and demanded to know why she gave our money to him. After that, she ran away from this house, all beaten up, straight to your brother. And do you know the saddest part of this story, Nick’s-sister? I was too wasted to even notice she left! I passed out. Until, low and behold, your brother showed up here the next day, and pinned me against this very same wall, and almost choked
me
to death. So you see, sweetheart, you really don’t have a fucking clue about anything. About me. Or about what I’ve done or who I used to be. You don’t even really know why your brother hates me so much. And you know what, little sis? Nick is justified in hating me as much as he does. Did you ever wonder why he nearly has convulsions whenever I’m near his wife? It’s because I hurt her. Bad. For a number of years. Do you think I want you to write about that? And make me sound… what? Noble? For sobering up? You’re years too late to do anyone any good, especially me. So get off my porch, get out of my face, and stay out of my life, and please do it now.”

Rob slammed the door in Rebecca’s face.
He was breathing hard and couldn’t stop clenching and unclenching his fists. His stomach roiled with acid when he thought about his own life. With disgust. He hadn’t thought about his spiraling failures for years. Not to the full extent. Not so honestly. And now he felt shaken. For admitting the truth of who and what he was.

He shut his eyes and slumped against the door.
His hands shook involuntarily. A drink would have been perfect right now. It would soothe his guilt, calm his nerves, and change his life. He wouldn’t have to think about or feel his pain. It would all simply go away. His mouth watered at the thought of it. It would calm the churning in his guts, the edginess in his nerves, and let him temporarily forget the self hatred. It would—

Someone knocked. Rob stood up straight.
Unfucking believable! She was knocking again! She was what? Still going to bother him? Even after that? Seriously, what the hell was wrong with her?

He jerked open the door. “What will it take for you to leave me alone?”

“I knew about all that, Mr. Williams. Joelle already told me.”

He laughed bitterly. “Oh, well, if Joelle told you, then you came prepared, your homework’s done. Good, little girl that you are.”

“You’re missing my point.”

“Which is… what? Really? What is your point?”

“Joelle forgives all of that. She described it. All the drinking, and the drugs, and even the night she got beaten up. She also told me how much you’ve changed, and you’re not the same man you were then. If she forgives you, and Spencer does, why can’t you forgive yourself? Maybe reading your story as an objective observer would help you see that. Maybe it won’t. Whatever. I’ll give you enough money to pay off any outstanding debts leftover from the mistakes in your past. It will give you a chance to start free and clear.”

Rob clenched his teeth. “A chance to start free and clear? God you really are just a pretty, little, country girl, aren’t you? Nick’s good, little sister, huh? What exactly do you know about mistakes? About actions and words that can’t be taken back, or undone? Jesus
, you couldn’t begin to understand my life.”

“But I can! That’s what you’re
missing. I think I can understand it better than you can, and what happened to you under the influence of the alcohol.”

“Did you go to college?”

Startled, she shook her head no to his question.

“Then what makes you the expert? You ever work in a rehab facility? Or with addicts? What do you know beyond a meaningless, little book you wrote? An unpublished, unknown, often rejected book?  That means you’re not an expert. You don’t know anything. Anything at all.”

“I know I can write your story. And I know it will help you.”

“Really?” he asked, leaning into his door jam. “And where will you get the kind of money it would take to buy my participation? Not like you’re getting an advance from a publisher or anything, now is it? And after learning your plans and aspirations, Big Brother must have, no doubt, dropped out of the picture.”

“Actually, no. Nick didn’t. He promised me his help, and didn’t stipulate what or how to do things. And even now that he knows, he’ll stick by his word and his belief in me and that I know what I’m doing.”

Rob
whistled. “So you’ll pay me with Nick’s money?”

“Yes. And no. As soon as I can, I’ll pay Nick back. And then it will have indirectly been my money.”

Money. Money was a definite motivator. One Rob hated himself for needing it. For being tempted by it. He could demand too much! An outrageous amount. Surely, Rebecca would see the nonsense of her choice in him. She’d move on and find someone who would jump at the chance to make a little cash for his or her story.

“What if I say yes just to take Nick’s money? Just to get back at my ex-wife? My ex-wife’s husband?”

“If you say yes, I don’t care what your reasons are. But I do hope you’ll accept that this has nothing to do with Nick or Joelle. It has to do with only you.”

“I can’t figure out why you’re so insistent it has to be me?”

“Honestly? It’s because I think you’ll get famous someday. And then my book, which should already be written about you, will sell.”

Rob’s jaw dropped. She never ceased to amaze him; he’d give her that. He laughed outright. “Where did that fantasy come from? You have delusions, honey, serious, disturbing delusions.”

“No. I do not. I’ve heard you sing.”

Rob lowered his head and shut his eyes, sighing. God
, she was really becoming too much. “I don’t even sing anymore. I work construction and I live here. I don’t even know any musicians anymore except Spencer. There’s nothing there. Nothing to feed your fantasy.”

“Not yet, but I think there will be.”

“And you’re pinning some yet-to-be-written book, on my not-going-to-happen singing career? This is why you’re willing to pay me?”

“Yes.”

“God, you’re nuts! Like I don’t even believe you’re for real nuts. But hell, if you want to pay me for a book that goes nowhere, and no one will end up reading, betting on a pie-in-the-sky career that ain’t gonna happen, well I guess that’s on you, isn’t it?”

She nodded vigorously, her curls bobbing.
“Yes. It really is on me. Will you do it?

He clenched his jaw.
“I read it as you write it. I veto anything and everything I don’t like.”

“Fair enough.”

“You’ll agree to that? What if I tell you lies and insist that you not write a word of truth?”

“I’ll write it so well, you won’t be able to say no to it.”

Rob arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re cocky as hell about this, you know that?”

Rebecca stood up straighter. “Someone has to be. No one else can believe in my writing. Or in me. I have to. So yes, I am sure about this one thing, and I can make this work.”

Rob crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine; pay me ten grand, and I’ll do it.”

Rebecca nodded. “Half now, and the other half when it’s done.”

Rob’s jaw dropped. She didn’t even blink at the outrageous price. “Fine.”

“When do you want to start?”

“Sooner we get this done, the happier I’ll be,” he muttered.

“I can’t come by until… well, maybe next weekend.”

“Why?”

“Kids.”

“Right, kids. Soccer mom with three kids. Christ, what could you and I have to say to each other? Let’s just get it over with. What’s your address? I’ll come to you. Friday night. After work. Clear it with your husband first. He’s going to shit bricks when he sees who you brought home to write about.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I’ll be home,” she handed him a slip of paper, her address already on it. “Are you sure it’s not too far for you to come?”

“For ten grand? Oh, I’ll be there.”

“Good. Thank you, Mr. Williams.”

“Don’t thank me yet, sweetheart; you haven’t had the pleasure of my company.” He slammed the door in her face for a second time.

****

Rebecca collapsed in her front seat. She did it! She won. She convinced Rob Williams to let her write his story in her next book. She was shaking. Her hands were trembling with nerves at her own audacity. She couldn’t believe how hard she pushed Rob, and kept persisting. She went so far beyond what was smart. Doing something she usually wasn’t so good at: pushing, convincing, persuading and following through on what she thought was right or wrong.

She lied to Rob. She had no idea
that Joelle got beaten up. She also had no clue that her brother endured all of it with Joelle. Nor could she ever picture her brother choking Rob Williams. The thought sent chills down her spine. What else did she miss about her brother? About Joelle? About her brother and Joelle? She never understood how much Nick loved Joelle, or that he heroically helped her out of a very bad, very dark situation.

And here she was now, trying to draw out the very thing that made Joelle’s life so dark and scary. Oh God! What possible perils was she flirting with here? What was she doing?

And more importantly, could Rob’s actions be forgiven? How could she expect that of Nick and Joelle? How could she demand it, when she knew so little of what they went through? She tilted her head against the steering wheel. Four years ago, when Nick first suddenly started acting differently, Rebecca was pregnant, with two older kids to care for. She’d been very busy with her own life, a life far removed from what Nick lived. Of course, she knew he had a condo downtown, ran a powerful company, and had a beautiful, successful girlfriend. He also owned buildings and happily worked too much and made far too much money. Meanwhile, she was at home, an hour north of downtown, focusing on her little life. Her “soccer mom” life, as Rob so nicely put it. She gave little thought to her brother then, or to the sudden mention of Joelle in his telephone conversations.

Then, her little sister, Trina, began her verbal assault on Joelle. Trina could be vicious and mean, which she demonstrated toward Joelle. Joelle and Trina were twelve years younger than Nick.
In high school, they were best friends. That was all they knew about Joelle. Then suddenly, there was Joelle at a family dinner as Nick’s date. Rebecca remembered how flabbergasted she was. First, that Joelle was dating her older brother; and second, but more importantly, Joelle, at the time, was still married to Rob Williams.

Trina was hostile and tried to corner Joelle. Rebecca and her sisters were right there with Trina. They, too, were never even remotely nice to her since that day. Even after Joelle married Nick and had a daughter with him, they still talked about Joelle derisively amongst themselves. How did Nick wind up with the complete opposite of the kind of wom
an they pictured for him?

Because Nick fell in love with Joelle, and that’s why he chose her. Rebecca wanted to smack her head now against the car window. How smug and petty she was, wrapped up in her own life, and how careless she’d been. How unforgiving. And when she asked for those things: care, support, love, thoughtfulness, comfort, who was first and foremost there for her? Her brother, of course. As always.