Page 33 of Concerted Chaos

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When singer-songwriter Jace Monroe passed away in a tragic accident, he left behind an unexpected gift: two unrecorded albums. Even more unexpected was the message that accompanied them: they were written to honor his one true love. Despite earning accolades as the World’s Sexiest Man, Jace was always discreet, or as some would say, standoffish regarding his romantic relationships. In interviews he insisted on privacy and never mentioned his love connections. That’s why it was such a shock to learn that there had been a woman who stole his heart: Cassidy Blaine-Corbitt, the younger stepsister of his former bandmate.

Powelllooksupfrom the magazine. “This article is tripe, but the photos are exceptional.”

“I know, right?” I’m not thrilled with how I’m portrayed, though it’s far more flattering than things I’ve found online. Some members of Jace’s fan club are vicious. I’m going to chalk up their reactions to jealousy, but the vileness of their comments still hurts.

“I’m glad you wore the blue dress. It photographs well.”

“Tanner suggested it, actually.”

“Yeah? What’s going on between the two of you?” Powell asks. He’s shifted positions, one ankle resting on the other knee, magazine clasped loosely in his hands. This is his casual pose, one he uses in television interviews. It’s too practiced to be natural, so I’m suspicious as to why he’s using it.

“Nothing. He’s the photographer they hired, and I thought he’d have some insight on what would work.”

“Hmmmmm.” Powell studies me intently. “I didn’t know he contracted with them.”

“I guess he does.”

“Hmmmmm.” Powell’s getting annoying with the way he’s staring at me and pretending he isn’t performing an inquisition. A subtle inquisition, but I know him well. I wait him out, and he breaks first. “How exactly did Tanner suggest it?”

“The usual way?” I don’t understand my brother’s reaction. “He looked at a few and picked this one.”

“You let him into your closet?”

Ah, now I see. “Yes. I don’t have a sliding rack.”

“How come he’s allowed in your closet and I’m not?”

“Because you once knocked over an entire shoe rack trying to demonstrate a dance move, and you didn’t help me clean it up.” Against my better judgment, I did grant Tanner temporary access to my closet. I had to endure a couple of comments about how it was larger than his van, and some snide remark about how the closet reflected my personality better than my bedroom did. This is who you are. Perfect outer shell, chaotic interior. Zen-like room, messy closet. It was almost enough to make me cancel the entire shoot.

I’m glad I didn’t cancel though since the whole thing turned out to be kind of fun. Not fun enough for me to invite him to stay for dinner afterwards, but enough to break down some of the mild animosity between us. That’s all on his end, not mine, of course.

“I would’ve picked up your shoes if you weren’t yelling at me,” Powell mutters sullenly, apparently still miffed that part of the house is off-limits to him. He studies the magazine again. “What’s this crap?” He starts reading out loud:

“It was just never the right time for us,” Cassidy admits, tears sparkling in her sapphire eyes. She runs a hand through her thick brown hair, a self-soothing gesture she exhibits almost every time Jace’s name is mentioned. “I did love him very much though.” That may not be enough assurance for Jace’s fans, some of whom blame Cassidy for his lonely life. ‘Jace deserved happiness’ is a common refrain on websites devoted to the superstar’s memory.

“When did you develop self-soothing gestures? What are you, a toddler?”

“Right? I kept touching my hair because it felt weird. Their stylist put in too many products.” I reflexively pat the strands again because I’m thinking about it, and Powell smirks.

“And Jace deserved happiness,” Powell repeats the line so often found on the Jacedom, a website dedicated exclusively to loving and honoring Jace. “Obviously he did. But he was happy. He was the happiest guy I knew. Sometimes I hate that he’s gone and I’m still here.” Pain flashes across his face.

I hate that Powell feels that way.

“You’ve got survivor’s guilt. Neither of you should have died,” I remind my brother. He’s right though, it hurts to read these kinds of things. I’m still struggling with my own guilt from making the call condemning Jace to death. I’m glad my role has not been publicized. This article would have denounced me, and I would be getting more hate mail than I already do. Fortunately, over the years I’ve developed a thick skin.

Cassidy invites me out into her backyard. It is evening, and as the sun sets, the lights of the Phoenix valley twinkle like stars. She sits in an Adirondack chair, legs curled under her, looking very much like the vulnerable young girl she was when she first met Jace.

“Jace didn’t remember that meeting, of course. I was just another kid, brought backstage to meet the band. They had dozens of fans like me coming through every night. He had no way of knowing that he’d ever see me again, or that we would develop such a deep friendship.” Back then, she was an awkward pre-teen, and Jace was shooting to fame as one of the most popular heartthrobs from the Last Barons of Sound, still on their first major tour. As fate would have it, Cassidy’s widowed mother began dating Hank Corbitt, whose son Powell was also a Last Baron.

At age fifteen, Cassidy embarked on tour as well, joining the Last Barons as they went back on the road. Her mother was employed as a nurse, her new stepfather acted as Powell’s manager, and she sold merchandise at the nightly shows.

The labor was backbreaking, carting around boxes of T-shirts and interacting with screaming fans desperate for souvenirs. Still, despite the hard work, Cassidy loved traveling with the band, especially hanging out backstage with her stepbrother and his friends.

“Jace and I had our first kiss on that tour,” she reminisces, her fingers gently tracing her lips in memory of Jace’s touch. “He was too old for me, so it never went beyond that. But that kiss did change our relationship.”

However, circumstances conspired against her. Four years later, the band broke up. Jace went on to found JaDed with his fellow Last Baron, Devon Malloy. Cassidy was hired on as Powell’s assistant and followed him to Arizona where he based his solo career. Now they were separated not just by age, but by distance.

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