Cake: A Love Story (8 page)

Kyle glared at me. I glared back. Finally he sat back up, ignoring our sister.

Emma glanced over at me then looked away. I saw the slightest smile on her face. That was Emma…always subtle.

I smiled as I breathed in, feeling relaxed despite the turmoil in the car. My life on the road was filled up with constant schedules and lots of pressure. I rarely, if ever, took the time to relax and goof off and feel like a kid again. Sometimes, on the road, I felt so old…and isolated; especially now that Kyle was gone. And really, I shouldn’t feel that way because I travelled with a 60-plus crew. We spent a lot of time together…too much time. Everyday was a new city or new country or new audience. I mean, we all worked great as a team and we were friendly with each other but, on a personal level, I held them at arm’s length, never letting them get too close. When they had parking lot parties at the venues after shows, they invited me but I rarely went. And if I did go, Kyle was always with me. It just felt weird hanging out with them during off hours. They always seemed a little nervous when I came around, like they had to be on good behavior. It was clear that they viewed me more as their boss than their friend and I was okay with that.

It wasn’t that I was trying to be a guarded asshole but I was not good at opening up to people. Only those I genuinely loved and trusted ever really got to know me. Everyone else in my world was approached with caution. Just like Kyle said, a lot of people had ulterior motives when it came to me. There was a big payday to be had for information about my life, especially if that information included something about the kidnapping. Crewmembers, a manager, even random hookups had sold me out in the past, although they really had nothing but lies to sell. Even the most honest person could be swayed if the money was right. Case in point…my grandmother’s former best friend who sold a story about my mental state when I was fourteen-years-old. It made it hard to know whom to trust, so as a general rule, I trusted no one…especially not the goddamn media. When I was a kid, those assholes made my life a living hell. Now that I was an adult and could speak for myself, I decided that I didn’t owe them a fucking thing. I refused all interviews. The media didn’t take kindly to my insolence and, as punishment; they destroyed my character on a daily basis.

It was no wonder that, outside of my family, I only considered one person to be an actual friend…and he was a fifty-something-year old man! All my childhood buddies disappeared after the kidnapping, although I had to take the blame for that. I couldn’t stand the way they stared at me with a weird combination of both pity and embarrassment. And I hated the way they tried to pretend nothing had changed even though my whole world had been turned upside down and then crushed. Being around them reminded me of who I once was and who I would never be again. I shut them out of my life completely and never looked back.

Several lonely years followed. Really I only had my miserable self to keep me company, as I’d pushed my family away as well. Back then I saw no future for myself. Living seemed pointless. It was rare for me to go more than a month or two without attempting suicide. After one such attempt, my frustrated mother steered me into the living room, where we kept all our musical instruments, and forced me to sit at the piano. I hadn’t touched it since the kidnapping. Music was just another reminder of all I’d lost. Before the kidnapping, music was my life. I could play just about any instrument I touched. I started writing songs when I was eight or nine. I joined a band at eleven. I loved being on stage performing and I truly believed that one day I would be a rockstar. But that was when I was still young and carefree…and still brave and fun and adventurous. That was when I still had tons of friends and went through life with a perpetual smile on my face. That was before Ray…before I lost my faith in humanity…before I lost my innocence.

In the blink of an eye, it was all gone…my whole life…just completely destroyed. My childhood hopes and dreams seemed so foolish and far away. Life had stopped being worth living. But there was one person who refused to allow me to give up…and refused to give up on me. And that day when she sat me down at the piano, placing her fingers over mine and pressing down on the keys for the both of us because I didn’t have the strength or desire to do it on my own…she brought me back into the land of the living. I played the piano for hours that day letting the music flow through me and lift up my tattered soul. I could almost feel the open wounds start sealing themselves shut. Music became my savior…my only friend. I poured all my sadness and fear and anger into it. Hours, upon hours, upon hours. It’s all I did all day, every day. All the terrible thoughts in my head eventually made their way out onto paper and then into songs. My voice returned. Somehow singing the words that had been trapped inside my head for so long, gave me hope for my future. Maybe I would be all right. Maybe living wouldn’t be so pointless.

And then, unexpectedly, everything I’d ever wanted as a young, innocent kid dreaming of rock stardom, came true. In the beginning, stepping out onto the stage was a terrifying experience. After hiding myself away for so long, just the thought of opening myself back up to a cruel, unforgiving world was incredibly daunting. But if I wanted to be a musician, I knew I needed to get comfortable on stage…and fast. Touring cured me of those fears. I spent so much time on stage that it became like second nature for me. Soon there were no more jitters and I found performing to be uplifting. There was something truly amazing about connecting with an audience who hadn’t come to my concert to gawk or pity me. They had come for the music…because a song I created made them feel something. It was a powerful connection. Standing up on the stage in front of thousands of strangers and feeling the roar of the crowd beneath my feet made me feel alive again. I became stronger and more confident. The unwavering support of my fans gave my self-esteem the boost it so desperately needed. Without their support, I would still be a scared, lost kid making music inside my head for my own sanity.

And really, my fans were the perfect, superficial friends. They were always there if I needed a quick pick-me-up and always there to make me feel like I was a pretty goddamn cool guy. And, for the most part, they weren’t invasive. Mostly they just wanted a small piece of me…a picture or an autograph. The interactions were always surface level…a smile, a few pleasantries, and then we went our separate ways. I was never expected to dig deeper, like I would have to do if I had real friends.

I approached women with the same wary caution that I approached everyone else who tried to get close to me. I liked women. I liked flirting. I liked sex. I didn’t like talking. I didn’t like commitment. I didn’t like messy emotions. For that reason, casual, one-night stands worked best for me. In and out…so to speak. And before you feel sorry for the duped women…don’t. Their interest in me was just as superficial as my interest in them. Maybe I only wanted sex but they only wanted the bragging rights of bagging a rockstar.

Getting women into bed was not hard. Usually it was just a matter of picking the one that looked like she’d be the least amount of work. For example, women who wanted to get to know me…out! Women who wanted a second ‘date’…out! Women who wanted to heal me…oh God…get in line! For some reason, the fact that I was viewed as damaged goods was a huge selling point for women. The need to fix me was strong. I imagine that’s the same irrational need that pushes some women into marrying death-row inmates. Not that I considered myself on the same level as a death-row killer…but still, I was sufficiently fucked up…so all the more reason to stay the hell away from me.

Then I met Casey and all my flawed reasoning about women went out the door. For the life of me, I couldn’t get a read on her. She didn’t fit into any of the little stereotypical boxes I’d created. She wasn’t a friend or a foe or a fan. She wasn’t trying to fix me, or fuck me, or bask in my fame. From what I could tell, Casey seemed totally genuine. She really did appear to be just a cool girl, with no ulterior motives, having a friendly conversation with a guy. Why was that weird to me? Was I that screwed up that ‘normal’ in everyone else’s world was not ‘normal’ in mine?

Later that night, my brothers and I found a little table tucked out of the way in the interior atrium area of the hotel. It was a cool little spot with a fishpond and waterfalls and trees. All the rooms of the hotel opened up into a view of the inside tropical paradise. Keith smuggled a bottle of Jack Daniels in his backpack and we took turns taking swigs. We allowed Quinn, who was only sixteen, one swig but only after we threatened him with death if he told our parents. Mitch had two mouthfuls and quit. He alluded to the fact that Kate would kill him if he were hung over for the wedding, then went on to tell us we shouldn’t be hung over in the morning either.

The bottle kept going around and after four passes I started feeling the effects. I was a bit of a lightweight with alcohol. I didn’t like the feeling of being out of control so getting drunk was way too stressful for me. I didn’t even know why I drank the whiskey in the first place; it was probably peer pressure from my idiot brothers. The next time the bottle went around I abstained.

Since the mood was light and fun, I decided to ruin it. “So what was that all about earlier Mitch? Why wouldn’t you ask me for concert tickets for your little sister?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, but it was obvious by the look on his face that he knew exactly what I meant.

I stared at him until he was forced to elaborate.

“I don’t want to get into it with you…not today.”

“What do you mean ‘get into it with me’? I’m just asking a question.”

“Jake, drop it,” Keith tried.

“No. Obviously he has a problem with me. I just want to know what it is,” I pressed.

Mitch sighed. “It goes both ways, Jake.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You really want to know?” Mitch challenged.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” I responded, defiantly.

“Okay. You know I live in Phoenix, right?”

I nodded.

“A few months ago your tour rolled through Phoenix…where I live. You’d had the tour stop on your calendar since…well since the tour was announced. Did you ever call or text? No.”

“Did you ever call or text me? I don’t think so.”

“You never contacted me once, Jake. You knew I lived there and you didn’t even bother.”

“Sorry if I’m a little fucking busy when I’m on tour.”

“Yeah, cuz a text takes so much time,” Mitch shot back. “Anyway, I just assumed you didn’t want my company or that of my mom and sister.”

“Jesus Christ. Your feelings were hurt?” I replied, antagonistically. Another reason why I shouldn’t drink!

Mitch laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “You’ve made it pretty clear that I don’t factor in your life Jake. I’m not going to beg for your friendship.”

“What the hell?” I protested. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Jake, stop,” Kyle gave me a warning glare.

“I just flew for 22 fucking hours! Don’t tell me to stop!” I raised my voice at Kyle then turned my attention back on Mitch. “Why’d you invite me then? So I could bring the wow factor to your wedding or so I could sing at it?”

“Don’t accuse me of trying to use you or your fame, Jake. That’s the furthest thing from the truth…and insulting too. And you were the one who offered to sing at the wedding so don’t dump that on me now.”

Mitch glared at me. I glared back. He was right. I did offer. If I was going to be a belligerent asshole I needed to get my facts straight.

Mitch’s shoulders drooped and he said, “I don’t want to fight with you. I invited you because you’re my brother and I love you and I want you to be here.”

His admission stopped me in my tracks. Okay now I felt like a fucking dick.

“I’m sorry, Jake. I shouldn’t have said that about not factoring in your life,” Mitch ran his hand through his hair nervously. “Look, it’s no secret…you and I have never been close. I wanted nothing to do with you when I was a teenager. You wanted nothing to do with me when you were a teenager. But now that we are both adults I want to change all that…but I don’t want you to think that I want to change all that because you’re famous. It’s like…if we haven’t talked in two years and then I call you for concert tickets, I’m just using you and that’s not the relationship I want to have with you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I didn’t say anything for a second then I nodded.

“It’s just…God, you’re so intimidating sometimes,” Mitch said, shaking his head. “You have this huge life. I don’t have a whole hell of a lot to offer. I guess I’ve always felt like you were the one in control of our relationship and I kept waiting for you to reach out to me. I was putting it all on you and that was unfair. I just…can we…is there a way for us to just start over?”

Kyle kicked me under the table and then gave me a serious ‘stop this shit now’ look.

I didn’t need his kick in the shin. I already realized that I was in the wrong and that I was being a jerk on the eve of Mitch’s wedding. I blamed Jack Daniels.

I sighed, gave Mitch a serious look then said, “I’ll start over with you on one condition.”

“Okay?” Mitch hesitated. “What?”

“You stop talking like such a fucking woman!” I smirked.

Mitch looked surprised by my comment then burst out laughing. The tension in the air dissipated.

“I’ve never heard so much talk about feelings come out of one guy’s mouth in all my life. Goddamn Mitch, grow a pair.”