Wicked White
Page 35
“I am?” she asks timidly.
I nod. “No one has ever inspired me to say them . . . that is, not until you. You, I could write songs about all day.”
She bites her bottom lip, and I love the look of adoration on her face as she stares at me. “I love that I inspire you. I hope I continue to do that.”
I reach over and cup her cheek in the palm of my hand. “Just by being, you’ll do that.”
After we finish our breakfast of leftovers, I reluctantly kiss her good-bye so I can go back to my own trailer to shower and change my clothes. While eating our pizza, we made plans to drive to Columbus to Mom’s house in order for me to retrieve my contract. Iris convinced me that Mr. Stern is a trustworthy man—one who is perfectly capable of letting me know what my options are.
I told Iris what it was like at Mom’s funeral and how reporters seemed to be everywhere I turned, cornering me and not allowing me to grieve the loss of the only mother I’d ever really known. Instead, the reporting leeches were interested only in getting the scoop on why I had walked off stage and if I had any plans to return to fulfill the rest of my tour.
I don’t understand why they even care. Honestly, I never got this much press before. Paparazzi were never an issue. I guess the world is just that intrigued by what would motivate a guy like me to walk away from everything he’d worked hard to get. Someone walking away from money and fame rarely ever happens.
When I make it back to Iris’s place, she opens the door and wraps me immediately in a warm embrace. “I missed you.”
I nuzzle into her neck and inhale the sweet floral scent of her body wash and perfume. “I’ve been gone less than an hour.”
She sighs against me. “I know. I can’t help it, though, I find you kind of addicting.”
My heart beats faster, loving that my crazy obsession with her is, well, a mutual thing.
I pull back and ask, “You ready to head out?”
She nods. “Let me grab the keys to the car first. I figure it might hide you better than that bike.”
My girl’s so smart. “Good thinking.”
She tosses me the keys and I catch them with ease. “You can drive. You know where we’re going.”
The drive to Columbus goes by rather quickly with Iris along for the ride. She brought along a few of her favorite CDs of musical soundtracks but can’t manage to get them to play, so we opt to sing together. I surprise her by actually knowing a few of the lyrics to the songs she sings.
“Did you study theater too?” She laughs, still amazed by my knowledge of the subject.
I shake my head. “No, but I did join the choir in high school. I took any opportunity I could to sing. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it had soul behind the words, I loved it.”
Her green eyes widen and she stares at me from the passenger seat of the car with her mouth agape.
After a moment of her just looking at me like I’ve grown another head, I can’t help myself from asking, “What?”
She shakes her head like she’s waking herself from a daze. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said the very same thing. I actually drive Birdie nuts with my opinions of today’s music. It lacks soul.”
I smile, loving that we’ve found another thing we connect on. “That’s exactly what my problem is with all the shit music I’ve been turning out to the world as Wicked White. The lyrics don’t mean anything substantial. I hate that I don’t get to lend more than just my voice to a song. They tell me how to sing—even what kind of emotion I need to feel when I sing it. The songs—they’re just not me.”
Iris furrows her brow, her green eyes fixed on me. “Can’t you just demand to have input? I mean, it is your career.”
I sigh as I adjust my hands on the wheel. “Believe me, I’ve tried. Jane Ann, my manager, is intractable when it comes to making changes that can affect her bottom line. Fans are eating the crap up that the band has been putting out, so she has denied me at every turn when I suggest any kind of change.”
“I’m sorry, Ace. I can only imagine how tough that must’ve been for you.”
I reach over and take her hand in mine and bring her knuckles up to my lips. “Thank you. But it doesn’t matter anymore, seeing as how I never want to go back. Not to the way things were, anyhow.”
When we pull into my old neighborhood on the east side of Columbus, I keep my eyes peeled for any cameras, but to my surprise when Sarah’s old, white two-story comes into view, there’s not a single soul on the street.
Hopefully I’m no longer the hot story and they’ve moved on.
I park out by the curb and cut the engine. There’s a mountain of emotions building inside me as I sit here. On one hand I can’t wait to show Iris where I grew up, but on the other hand I know I’ll be gutted the moment I step through that door. When I buried Sarah, I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. I stayed in the hotel and came by only to make sure the place was locked tight before I took off. I knew right after she died the wound to my heart was too fresh to handle coming into a house that reminds me so much of her, but I think with Iris by my side that I can handle it.
This isn’t exactly the best neighborhood, but shockingly, the house appears to be untouched.
“Hey,” Iris whispers softly and gives my hand a little squeeze. “You okay?”
It’s then I realize I haven’t said a word since I shut off the car, but simply sat here gazing at the house, building the courage to go inside.
I nod. “No one has ever inspired me to say them . . . that is, not until you. You, I could write songs about all day.”
She bites her bottom lip, and I love the look of adoration on her face as she stares at me. “I love that I inspire you. I hope I continue to do that.”
I reach over and cup her cheek in the palm of my hand. “Just by being, you’ll do that.”
After we finish our breakfast of leftovers, I reluctantly kiss her good-bye so I can go back to my own trailer to shower and change my clothes. While eating our pizza, we made plans to drive to Columbus to Mom’s house in order for me to retrieve my contract. Iris convinced me that Mr. Stern is a trustworthy man—one who is perfectly capable of letting me know what my options are.
I told Iris what it was like at Mom’s funeral and how reporters seemed to be everywhere I turned, cornering me and not allowing me to grieve the loss of the only mother I’d ever really known. Instead, the reporting leeches were interested only in getting the scoop on why I had walked off stage and if I had any plans to return to fulfill the rest of my tour.
I don’t understand why they even care. Honestly, I never got this much press before. Paparazzi were never an issue. I guess the world is just that intrigued by what would motivate a guy like me to walk away from everything he’d worked hard to get. Someone walking away from money and fame rarely ever happens.
When I make it back to Iris’s place, she opens the door and wraps me immediately in a warm embrace. “I missed you.”
I nuzzle into her neck and inhale the sweet floral scent of her body wash and perfume. “I’ve been gone less than an hour.”
She sighs against me. “I know. I can’t help it, though, I find you kind of addicting.”
My heart beats faster, loving that my crazy obsession with her is, well, a mutual thing.
I pull back and ask, “You ready to head out?”
She nods. “Let me grab the keys to the car first. I figure it might hide you better than that bike.”
My girl’s so smart. “Good thinking.”
She tosses me the keys and I catch them with ease. “You can drive. You know where we’re going.”
The drive to Columbus goes by rather quickly with Iris along for the ride. She brought along a few of her favorite CDs of musical soundtracks but can’t manage to get them to play, so we opt to sing together. I surprise her by actually knowing a few of the lyrics to the songs she sings.
“Did you study theater too?” She laughs, still amazed by my knowledge of the subject.
I shake my head. “No, but I did join the choir in high school. I took any opportunity I could to sing. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it had soul behind the words, I loved it.”
Her green eyes widen and she stares at me from the passenger seat of the car with her mouth agape.
After a moment of her just looking at me like I’ve grown another head, I can’t help myself from asking, “What?”
She shakes her head like she’s waking herself from a daze. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said the very same thing. I actually drive Birdie nuts with my opinions of today’s music. It lacks soul.”
I smile, loving that we’ve found another thing we connect on. “That’s exactly what my problem is with all the shit music I’ve been turning out to the world as Wicked White. The lyrics don’t mean anything substantial. I hate that I don’t get to lend more than just my voice to a song. They tell me how to sing—even what kind of emotion I need to feel when I sing it. The songs—they’re just not me.”
Iris furrows her brow, her green eyes fixed on me. “Can’t you just demand to have input? I mean, it is your career.”
I sigh as I adjust my hands on the wheel. “Believe me, I’ve tried. Jane Ann, my manager, is intractable when it comes to making changes that can affect her bottom line. Fans are eating the crap up that the band has been putting out, so she has denied me at every turn when I suggest any kind of change.”
“I’m sorry, Ace. I can only imagine how tough that must’ve been for you.”
I reach over and take her hand in mine and bring her knuckles up to my lips. “Thank you. But it doesn’t matter anymore, seeing as how I never want to go back. Not to the way things were, anyhow.”
When we pull into my old neighborhood on the east side of Columbus, I keep my eyes peeled for any cameras, but to my surprise when Sarah’s old, white two-story comes into view, there’s not a single soul on the street.
Hopefully I’m no longer the hot story and they’ve moved on.
I park out by the curb and cut the engine. There’s a mountain of emotions building inside me as I sit here. On one hand I can’t wait to show Iris where I grew up, but on the other hand I know I’ll be gutted the moment I step through that door. When I buried Sarah, I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. I stayed in the hotel and came by only to make sure the place was locked tight before I took off. I knew right after she died the wound to my heart was too fresh to handle coming into a house that reminds me so much of her, but I think with Iris by my side that I can handle it.
This isn’t exactly the best neighborhood, but shockingly, the house appears to be untouched.
“Hey,” Iris whispers softly and gives my hand a little squeeze. “You okay?”
It’s then I realize I haven’t said a word since I shut off the car, but simply sat here gazing at the house, building the courage to go inside.
