Page 111 of One Last Verse

“Yes, he erased it in front of me.”

“Trust me, people say a lot of shit and then two years later, your homemade porno movie is all over the internet.”

“Honestly, I don’t have it in me to deal with a legal hurdle right now. We need to lock down the venue for the screening, and it’s been a stressful week.”

“You still haven’t found anything? How hard can it be if Frank’s name is attached to the project?”

“We’re not publicizing that he’s financing the album production. The documentary is nonprofit. His contributions are registered as donations. Besides, his stunt at your party was a big turnoff for people. We lost several sponsors because their reps felt very strongly about the footage of Frank circulating online. A lot of Isabella’s fans are teenagers who are still in high school. We can’t have a drunk lunatic as the face of the campaign.”

“Drunk lunatic, huh? So you’re not going to give him another chance.”

“I’m not a genie bottle full of chances. He had plenty.”

“I really did root for you two.”

“You were also the one who accused me of stealing demos and then came on to me.”

“Oh, darlin’, I did a lot of bad shit. I do apologize for accidentally coming on to you. I was probably high. Doesn’t mean I don’t want other people to be happy.”

“I’m not sure you have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t give me enough credit.”

“I haven’t seen you doing anything to deserve my credit. Music doesn’t count.”

I heard a groan of frustration. “You’re a very difficult woman, Cassy.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Now I see why no one wants to work with you.” He laughed.

“People do want to work with us, but it’s not that easy. If you haven’t noticed, Isabella isn’t your typical nineteen-year old. We need to make sure the facility meets ADA requirements. Not all do. Many places that were willing to donate their premises are located inside older buildings. Some are simply too small. I’m trying to find something similar to Melrose Cinema in size and layout, but most theaters aren’t willing to shut down for a nonprofit event on a Saturday night during the new James Bond movie release week.”

“What can I do to help?”

His question was unexpected, an eerie whisper inside my head. “I’m not asking you for help, Dante.”

“I’m not implying you are, but if there’s anything I can do, you can tell me.”

“I think maybe you should concentrate on getting better instead of making promises you might not be able to keep.”

He was quiet. The stillness that stretched between us on the line was like rubber. The words that followed next almost hurt.

“Listen to me, Cassy,” Dante spoke, tone soft and serious. “I know you’re mad at him for all the shit he did, but you should call him. I’m not saying forgive him…just call him.”

“Why?”

“Because life is fucking short, Cassy. Because you’re here one minute and gone the next.”

He ended the call before I had a chance to respond. There was one part of me that wanted to dial his number and demand an explanation. But instead, I dialed Frank’s. My heart palpitated inside my chest. My ears rang. Anxiety swirled through my stomach. The room suddenly felt like a box. A trap. A prison. And the only way out was the voice on the other side. The voice that never answered.

And then, three days later, I received an email from an anonymous sender with photos of Frank and another woman. Grainy, zoomed-in, cell phone quality images that didn’t tell me where and how he was, that didn’t tell me anything except the obvious. He had someone to console him. He didn’t need me.

Fine. I didn’t need him either.

There were other hot, willing, and less complicated men.

Like Jax.

---