Page 33 of Poetry By Dead Men
He starts his first song, and his energy is unmatched. It’s as if he’s feeding off the audience’s cheers, and as his voice rings out confident and clear, I know without a doubt that he's getting this spot on tour, as well as the record deal that likely comes with it.
As he sings the last note of “Roots,” he meets my eyes, tapping his pocket where my song sits in his wallet. Any hint of nerves or doubt is gone as he beams at me, turning back at the audience to introduce “The Application.”
Even with a slower song, the vibe doesn’t shift. It’s electrifying, each minute more thrilling than the last, and when Bobby finishes his set and walks off the stage, he's practically vibrating.
"You were incredible!" I shout, throwing my arms around his neck.
"It felt incredible!" he says, lifting me and swinging me in a circle. He's sweaty from his performance, and I shiver as he presses his warm face against my neck. "Thank you for being here," he says into my skin.
"Robert!" Marissa, Bobby's manager, calls to him, waving him over. She's small with dark hair and is all New York. Somehow, Marissa looks like she can simultaneously kick your ass and be your best friend, and without a doubt, she would have the perfect playlist for bothoccasions. Her girlfriend, Kate, stands next to her—a petite redhead with an infectious smile and kind eyes.
There's a third woman I don’t know with them. She's a bit older and is wearing jeans that look like they cost more than Bobby's guitar, paired with a fitted white shirt and leather jacket. She has an aura of importance about her, and I'm confident this is the representative from Columbia Records.
"I have to—"
"Go!" I urge, pushing him forward. "I want to watch No Rest’s set, anyway. Good luck," I say with a smile so big my cheeks hurt as he gives me one last look and strides over to where his future awaits.
Bobby, Marissa, and the woman holding Bobby's music career in her hands disappear into his dressing room, and I resume standing side-stage as they set up for the headliner.
After opening with their current single and singing a couple more songs I know, No Rest starts to get into material from their upcoming album. Songs I don’t know and can’t sing along to, and suddenly, I feel strange standing here by myself. I look around for Bobby, but he must still be in his dressing room.
I hope it’s a good sign. That they’re signing contracts and planning what Bobby will need to get ready to join Denver Varnes on tour.
Except,there’sMarissa and Kate watching No Rest from the other side of the stage. My stomach drops. Surely if Bobby was making arrangements for a tour, his manager would be with him, making sure everyone was acting in his best interest.
I walk back to Bobby’s dressing room and put my ear to the door, not wanting to interrupt if he's still meeting with the record executive, but something feels off. Voices vibrate through the wood—Bobby’s deep tenor and then a high-pitched giggle. I can’t imagine that noise coming from the serious, businesslike woman I saw.
So who's in there with him?
The door handle turns, and I jump backward, ducking around the corner and out of sight. Bobby walks through the door, his arm around Kelly. He says something I can't hear, and she giggles again, puttingher hand on his arm and looking up at him with adoring eyes. They slip out the back door, and I feel like I’ve been punched repeatedly in the stomach.
My feet follow, even though I’m not sure my eyes want to see what’s happening. As soon as the door opens, that giggle hits my ears again, and I think I’m going to throw up. Bobby and Kelly stand on the street, his hand outstretched as he hails a cab. It doesn’t take long before one pulls over, and he opens the door for her.
Kelly slides in, scooting to the side before reaching forward, grabbing Bobby’s hand. He leans down and ducks his head inside, and I’ve seen enough. I let the door close quietly as I turn my back on them and sneak around to the front of the building, where I hail a cab for myself.
I don’t particularly want to be playing second fiddle tonight, either.
Tears prick my eyes, and I squeeze my hands into fists, the bite of my fingernails digging into my skin keeping me from falling apart completely.
Bobby’s voice echoes in my mind.What do you want, Beth?
You.
I wantyou.
I can’t hold back the tears any longer. They spill over my lashes, my throat closing around the sob trying to work its way out.
I have wanted Bobby from the moment I saw him, when the earth stopped spinning and my perfectly curated life cracked into two identities. Elizabeth, the senator's daughter, and Beth, the poet with a wild heart and a hunger for exploring the beauty of the world.
Bobby helped me find my bravery when he convinced me to send in my application to NYU, but I’d faltered.
It wasn’t the only risk I should have taken. And now it might be too late.
THEN
February 2017
Then I heard her, then I felt her
