Page 8 of Phantom
“I don’t know.” I chuckle, a little uncomfortable with all the praise. “Just all the practicing paid off, apparently.”
If he knew the truth he’d totally freak out. It was just me and my dad my whole life, so Jaime is the brother I’ve always wanted. He hasn’t just protected me from the world’s dangers, he’s protected me from myself, too. Ever since I had my first full-blown manic episode last year, he’s made sure I’m taking care of myself. If he found out that I was practicing with a voice and musicinsidemy head, he’d lock me right back up in the loony bin. And that can’t freaking happen.
“Well, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it,cher.” His unique mix of Latino and Louisiana accents is always strong when he’s excited or has been drinking. Honestly, right now, it could be both, since he likes to take a shot or two of tequila before a show.
As excited as I am about my debut at the New French Opera House, I still can’t shake my nerves so I go to my makeup desk and begin to search through my drawers.
“Shit, are you feeling up?”
Jaime knows me so well, it’s scary. I shake my head slightly at his question of whether I’m feeling like I could be on my way “up” to a manic episode.
“No… I think? I slept fine last night but these nerves are going to keep me up. It might be the start of something if I don’t get them under control. Nothing to worry about yet, though.”
I place my plastic pill organizer on the counter before popping one of the as-needed anxiety meds I’m prescribed to slow down my racing heart at times like this. I take a long swig from my water bottle on my desk to wash it down.
“Proud of you, Scarlo.”
My eyebrow rises. “For what?”
“Taking care of yourself. Rocking the stage tonight. Take your pick, babe. You’re gonna be better than your dad ever could’ve dreamed.”
Jaime didn’t know my father. We only met after my dad died and I was deep in a depressive stage. He bulldozed his way right past my defenses and now that my dad is gone, Jaime has been my personal motivational coach and my voice of reason.
But now there’s one other voice I desperately wish I could hear from. It never appears when others are around, so I’ll have to be patient. And I’lldefinitelyhave to make sure no one finds out I’m hearing shit again. It’s been months of hearing the voice and music and I’ve had no other trouble. Maybe auditory hallucinations aren’t so bad so long as everything else is under control?
A throat clears from the open doorway and I shift to find a man I haven’t seen inyears.
“Oh my god,Rand? I thought that was you up there!”
“Scarlett, it’s so good to see you.”
My friend from childhood throws his arms around me. I fight the urge to stiffen at the all-but-forgotten touch and force myself to hug him back, water bottle and all. He squeezes me close and the scent of gardenias itches my nose, reminding me of the pungent gardens where he grew up. I pull away to evade the smell but grin at him.
“What are you doing here? It’s been, what? Ten years?”
“Yup…” He chuckles warmly. “Ten whole years. It’s been way too long.”
“Yeah, jeez. That’s forever.” I step back and take a moment to drink him in while he seems to do the same.
His thick blond hair is gelled back and as tidy as ever, going well with his perfectly tailored suit. Those handsome boyish looks I had a crush on when I was twelve have aged well into preppy male model features. He’s freaking gorgeous. When his hand rests on my lower back, my nerves skyrocket.
“I saw your performance and wanted to come tell you how stunning you were out there. But I didn’t realize you’d be…” His clear-blue eyes flick to Jaime before resting back on me. “Preoccupied.”
“Jaime? Oh, god no. He’d be more interested in you than me.” I laugh and turn to Jaime for confirmation, but my friend has a frown on his face and his arms crossed.
“Who are you, again?” Jaime asks abruptly, making my eyes widen.
“Sorry, I got caught up in the moment.” I point my water bottle between my past best friend and my current one.
“Jaime, this is my friend, Rand. Rand, meet Jaime.”
Jaime bows with a flourish that stretches the long white sleeve of his ruffled poet shirt, revealing his leather skull bracelet he stubbornly refuses to take off, even during a performance.
“Jaime Dominguez, a.k.a. her best friend. And from the way you’re looking at me, I guess I should clarify that I’m hergaybest friend. No need to go pissing on her.”
“Rand Chatelain,” he replies and winks at me. “And there’s no need to mark my territory. Scarlett knows where we stand. She and I go way back. My family helped support her father’s music career down here.” He tugs me in for another hug and I sink into it this time, much more prepared than the last. “And, oh, Little Lettie, how I’ve missed you.”
My dad’s endearment rolls into me like a freight train. This whole night has been a cluster of emotions and a damn tear wells in my eye. Ugh, what an emotional mess. So embarrassing.
