Chapter 15
November 24, 2006
Kevin woke with a splitting headache. He rolled over to bury his head under
the pillow and was confronted with last night’s entertainment. He groaned
inwardly and slid quietly out of bed. He didn’t want her waking up right
now.
‘Why the hell did I ask her to spend the night?’ he wondered as he
started the shower. Had he asked her? Yes, he must have. Yesterday was
Thanksgiving, and after he had taken her to dinner at the Beverly Wiltshire,
he decided he didn’t want to be alone in the house on the holiday. He let
the hot water rain down on him as he tried to piece together the rest of the
evening. They had gone out
clubbing, and then he must have brought her back here. He wasn’t really
clear on that part of the evening. And the worst of it was that he didn’t
really remember if he had promised her something if she
did stay the night. But he probably had. A demo with the record label?
They’d been talking about it at dinner. He just didn’t know.
As he started to come back to life, he realized that he’d made a huge
mistake. Not just last night’s adventure, but that he was in LA at all right
now. He should have gone home. Which home, he wondered? Orlando? But he knew
the answer. The hardest answer and the easiest one.
The house in Lexington was home. More so than the house in Orlando. And so
much more than this house in LA. He stayed in LA because it was closer to
the studios and because he liked the Pacific beaches. But the house itself
was a nightmare. He and Kristin had spent most of their married life there,
and she was lurking around every door, hiding in every fold of the
draperies, reaching out to him from every book and memento they had
purchased together. Usually, when he spent any length of time in LA, he only
came home late enough to fall into bed and sleep, or else he brought
someone-anyone-home with him.
He didn’t like who he had become when he was in LA. The partying, the casual
sexual encounters, the promises of influence for those encounters. The one
thing he could look to with some satisfaction was
that he wasn’t doing drugs like a lot of the people he hung out with. Yes,
he’d tried a few things, but there wasn’t anything that he was comfortable
enough with to want to use regularly. And besides, he
thought, why risk getting busted for drugs when he could get just as high,
legally, on alcohol? He never ran the risk of getting pulled over for drunk
driving. There was always a limo to be had. And a few
times he had managed to combine getting home, drinking and an interesting
sexual entertainment all in one limo ride from a party. But when everything
was added into the balance, he really didn’t like
himself very much when he was here.
He finished showering and made up his mind to send her home as soon as
possible. Hopefully she was one of those girls who didn’t eat breakfast
because she was watching every calorie. He didn’t think he
could bear to sit through another meal with her.
* * *
In the end, it hadn’t been that difficult to get rid of her. She was so much
in awe of Kevin Backstreet and his record label that she’d have agreed to
walk back to the Beverly Wiltshire if he had told her to.
So he had bundled her into a taxi with cab fare and a generous tip for the
driver and instructions to contact the record label office for an
appointment. And she was gone. He was alone-finally. Except
that he didn’t want to be alone. Not today. Not here.
Pouring the drink was an unconscious act. He was well into the second one
before he realized what he was doing. And by that time the edge was gone and
he didn’t care. He sat down at the piano to play.
He was a little buzzed and mellow, and he hadn’t played just for the hell of
it in days. He closed his eyes and began with the tribute song to his
father. Usually that was his favorite, but today for some
reason it sounded hollow. It really needs the saxophone, he thought. Obie
could really put the heart into it when he played it. He stopped. Obie was
gone too. Dead last year from a drug overdose. Damn. He shuffled through the
music sitting on the piano, looking for something else to play. As he moved
the pieces around, a partially finished score floated to the top of the
pile. He looked at it and the notes on the page began to shift as tears
gathered in his eyes. He’d been working on this when Kristin was pregnant
with Aaron. Why was it still here?
He got up and went to the bar. The liquor he poured into the glass was twice
the amount of the last two drinks. He looked at the glass. No room for ice
in there, he thought. Oh, what the hell-who needs ice? He took a long pull
on it and went back to the piano. As he sat down, his gaze fell on the
unfinished song again. He hesitantly played the first eight bars. It was a
good song. I should finish this, he thought. And then he looked up. And
Kristy was standing there-smiling at him. He brushed his hands across his
eyes and looked again. Nothing. He swallowed hard and took another drink. He
pushed the sheet music away and picked up the nearest score. Play something
else! His hands were
on autopilot now. He wasn’t even listening to what he was doing. He couldn’t
listen because her voice was in his ears-in his head. ‘Everything will be
fine, Kev. The doctor says there shouldn’t be
anything to worry about. I’ll be fine. You’ll see.’
"SHUT UP, KRISTY!!!" His hands swept all the music from the top of the piano
and he banged the lid down on the keys. He began to panic. He hadn’t drunk
enough to drown the anger and it was rolling up from inside him like a steam
engine. He laughed hysterically. "That’s why they called me Train!", he
gasped.
He stumbled back to the bar and sloshed the remainder of the bottle into his
glass. He looked down at the spilled liquor on the surface of the bar and
watched as his hands trembled on the glass. Have to
stop that-they’ll think I’ve lost it. He picked up the glass and brought it
to his lips. Just a couple more and I’ll be able to deal with this. He
poured the drink down like it was water. But his hands
wouldn’t stop shaking. And the anger was building again.
His gaze fell on a small figurine on the bar. At the moment he couldn’t
remember where it had come from-Carmel? Their first anniversary?-but he knew
that he’d bought it for Kristy. He picked it up and watched his hands again
as they continued to shake. And suddenly he wanted to crush it. His hand
tightened around it, but it wouldn’t give. Before he realized what he was
doing, the figurine was sailing through the room. There was a delicate
tinkle as it shattered against the stone wall over the fireplace. It was
like a spring had snapped in his head. He heard someone or something howling
in agony. He picked up the empty liquor bottle and it followed the figurine.
The crash was explosive. And then
everything went black.
* * * *
The phone rang just as Rachel and Tracy were finishing the dinner dishes.
Rachel wiped her hands and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" There was
silence, but the line was open. "Hello? Who’s there?"
"Is that you, Rachel?" The voice sounded far away and exhausted.
"This is Rachel. Who’s calling?"
"Rachel? Need help-need to go to Mom’s room. Can’t find it."
Rachel’s eyes widened and the color drained from her face and Tracy, who was
watching hercuriously, jumped to steady her. "Who is it?" Tracy asked
softly.
Rachel shook her head and cleared her throat. "Kevin? Is that you?"
"Rachel-I can’t find Mom’s room. Help me get there?" He was crying.
"Okay, Kevin. Okay. We’ll get there. Where are you right now?" Silence. "Are
you in LA, Kevin?" Still silence. "Get Tim, please!", she whispered to
Tracy.
Tracy ran and was back with Tim in seconds. Rachel punched the button to put
the call on speakerphone. "Kevin? Answer me. Where are you now?"
Tim, Tracy and Rachel listened, tears gathering in their eyes, as Kevin
sobbed. Tim turned to Rachel. "Ask him if it’s still light out", he
whispered.
"Kevin-honey-can you tell me if it’s still light outside?" Rachel said
gently. "Look outside and tell me if the sun is still up."
They could hear him moving. "Yeah. It’s still there." A pause. "Rachel? I
have to find Mom’s room. Will you help me?" he whispered.
"Yes, Kevin. I’ll help you", Rachel answered softly, picking up the
receiver. "Just keep talking to me, okay?"
"If it’s still light, he’s got to be in LA", Tim whispered. "Let me see if I
can reach Nick. I think he’s out there for the holiday." He ran for the cell
phone.
Chapter 16
Coming Home
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