Page 63 of Falling for Them
“I’m good.You?”
“I’mgreat.Just saw the write-up of the gala in the San Esteban Herald.”
I wait.I can picture her sitting outside her favorite cafe in Los Angeles, her signature plum lipstick staining the straw of whatever cleansing juice she happens to be drinking these days.
“Oh, fine,” she says with a laugh.“You always were a tough nut to crack.I’m calling because you look absolutely amazing in the photos.You need to make a comeback, Bastian.It’s time.They’re remixing the shit out of your tracks.Sexy and kinky lyrics are in.”
“Trina,” I say slowly.“I’ve been thinking.”
“Yeah?”Her voice sounds so eager, I almost feel like an asshole for what I’m about to say.
“I’ve been thinking of quitting for good.”
She gasps.“Don’t do that to me, Bastian.It was fine to lie low for a few years, but you’re ready for a return.”
“If I decide to come back,” I say, “you’ll be the first to know.Bye, Trina.”
Before she can try to stop me, I end the call and toss my phone to the rumpled bedsheets.I sink down to the edge of the bed, holding my head in my hands.
She makes it sound so easy.Make a comeback.Right.She’s one of the very,veryfew people who know how bad it got.The drinking was out of control.Thankfully, drugs were never a part of it for me.But the booze…it was everywhere, always flowing.Beer, wine, champagne, liquor.Ever-present.
The funny thing was, I never realized I had a problem.I didn’t even like drinking all that much, and I thought I just did it to be social with others who were drinking.
It wasn’t until my last show that I realized not only did I have a problem, but I was even more of an asshole than I’d ever thought possible.
I don’t remember the night in question, which is even more of a sign that I have a problem.
So no, there won’t be a comeback.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve turned my back on music.That would be fucking impossible.
Still in my boxers, I walk over to my guitar’s stand and pick up the instrument.Some adjustments of the pegs, and then everything’s in tune.I strum a few chords and look absently out my penthouse window.
Sweet as strawberries
Love’s instant kiss
Daddy will buy you a collar
Daddy will buy you a ring
I promise, little songbird
Daddy will make you sing
Trina calls again, interrupting my melody, this song I’ve never sung before, never thought before.I haven’t allowed myself to compose anything since I stopped performing.
I should answer, especially after everything I put Trina through six years ago.Nearly seven years, now.Trina was my rock.And yeah, of course she was monetarily motivated.As her most popular client, not only did I bring in the cash, but I brought in other profitable clients in need of a good agent.
It’s been a symbiotic, professional relationship, and it’s shitty of me to ignore her now.
But every time I talk to her, I remember what I did, and I feel shame.
What if Ella feels as if King and I forced her?The thought makes me physically ill.
After setting down the guitar, I get my phone again, swipe past my missed call notification from Trina, and open up the site for Sexual Abuse Prevention of San Esteban.With a few taps on the phone screen, I’ve made a decent donation to the organization.It doesn’t exactly curb my guilty feelings, but at least once I do this, I feel there’s some sort of productive outlet, rather than just me stewing in regret and guilt.
I’ve heard people say that brooding musicians are sexy.
