Chapter 35
When they said we’d be filming in the desert, my mind didn’t automatically connect to a casino in a weather-beaten town. Sure, its setting is great as it’s nestled amidst rolling hills of reddish-brown sand, and the area is like some resilient mirage, with its scattering of timeworn buildings from a bygone era.
I stare out the window of the only diner in this town. Its faded sign swings gently in the desert breeze, creaking with the echoes of this silent town. The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, and I’m grateful that tonight’s my last evening here.
We’ve filmed here for the past three days, and it’s been hell being confined in such close proximity to Eden. We might live in the same house in LA, but at least I have the freedom to disappear when I want without having to give anyone any reason. Here I’m stuck with this diner as the only escape I have.
Considering the next motel isn’t for miles, the label arranged trailers for us to stay in directly on the lot next to the casino we’re filming. That way we can spend more time filming and less time traveling to and from the set. I’m sharing a large trailer with the fellas while Eden has her own with Rick in a trailer next to hers.
Little did the label realize that she’s in a relationship with three-quarters of the band, and there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d be left alone in her trailer. For the last two nights, while all three men have piled into her much smaller mobile home, it left me to spend my nights with a bottle of jack and watching the stars emerge like diamonds scattered across a night sky, reminding me of the isolated life I chose when I decided to not join in my fellow bandmates in their poly relationship.
At least I can be thankful for the liquor store next door to the diner and remind myself to pick up a bottle on my way back to the trailer to get ready for the evening shooting the director wants us for.
And yet, tonight won’t even be the last of this video we’re making. Tomorrow, we’re heading back to LA and driving to Malibu, where we’ll be on some super yacht to film the remainder of the video. After that, they’ll piece all the bits and bobs together and create one clip in which our single Phoenix Rising will be premiered online.
So if I thought these three days were hell, I have no fucking clue what I’m going to do for forty-eight fucking hours on a yacht in the Pacific Ocean with a – probably- scantily clad Eden in my face throughout the filming.
I’m so fucked.
“Refill?”
I look up at the blue-uniformed waitress. Why the fuck do they have this poor woman in a uniform in a diner that rarely generates any traffic other than travelers passing through. There are two places to eat, here and at the casino where the rest of the crew are tonight.
“Refill, honey?” she repeats again, holding up the glass coffee carafe, her eyes traveling down the ink on my arm, stopping at the Big Ben design I have on my hand. Probably one of the most meaningful pieces of ink on my body.
It stands on my skin tall, a guardian of time, each detail etched with precision while the shadows dance along the edges, adding depth to the mesmerizing pattern behind it. The intricate clock face looms large, its hands frozen in time, a permanent reminder of a moment that changed the course of my sobriety. Behind Big Ben, a delicate web of lines weaves a mesmerizing pattern, replicating the inner workings of the clock. Inscribed on my fingers and along the edges of the design, a series of numbers commemorate a significant date – the day I took a decisive step toward a better future. These numbers, marking the moment of my abstinence from everything addictive in my life, serve as both a timestamp and a talisman against the shadows of my past.
I gaze up at the woman, her question echoing in my mind.
What is it with Americans and their free refills?
“No, thank you,” I say politely to the woman and her offer of watered-down brown muck.
A cuppa is more my thing, but I’m not going to find tea here. And I wouldn’t trust some desert town diner in the middle of nowhere America to make me a decent cup either.
I’d rather have a pint, but that won’t happen here either.
Fuck. I miss England.
The further away I am from the desert siren, the better I can deal with the addiction I am currently consumed with that transcends in the realm of my unattainable desires. While my fixation may not be with substance, this woman is worse. She’s an enigma, her presence a captivating mirage that draws me into a labyrinth of desire with every fleeting glance and whispered word. Like a moth to a flame, I am drawn to her, captivated by the allure of what I can’t possess.
Because a taste of the siren is like a toxic elixir that simultaneously feeds my starved soul. Her image is constantly etched into the recess of my mind like an indelible tattoo. The mere thought of her becomes a drug, a potent cocktail of longing and frustration that courses through my veins, leaving an indelible mark on my psyche.
Eden is fickle.
She’s on the edge of another nervous breakdown, and I know that when she does a runner again, this time it’ll be for good, and we’ll be left once again trapped, like sailors lost at sea, riding tumultuous waves of hope and despair. My demons will resurface, becoming a haunting melody, echoing their voices through the corridors of my soul, and the only way out will be death this time.
That’s why Eden is the most dangerous creature around me and why I loathe being anywhere near her and despise watching my brother and two best friends love her as I can only dream of allowing my emotions to be freed from the prison I’ve trapped myself in.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asks, clearing my table.
“The bill, please,” I mutter, taking out my phone and seeing several missed calls and unanswered text messages.
“Who?” she asks, holding my empty plate and mug.
“The check,” I say, silently laughing.
It’s all one fucking language, yet we still can’t bloody understand each other. Thankfully, Eden shed her pronounced Brooklyn accent during her teenage years, thanks to Oliver Jones, who insisted she undergo speech classes. It was hard to understand everything she said when we first met. Then again, as a twelve-year-old discovering a liking for the opposite sex, it wasn’t what she said that I was interested in but her beautiful face that kept me mesmerized every time she was around me.
Even now, I can occasionally detect remnants of her previous accent when she forgets to pronounce the ”r” at the end of certain words. This occasional slip adds a charming touch rather than being bothersome. Oliver, in his characteristic way, scolded her for it, deeming it as low-class and ignorant, not the kind of accent fit for America’s pop princess.
The woman leaves the handwritten bill on the table and I shove my phone back in my pocket without any interest in returning anyone’s call. Sliding out of the booth, I get up, grabbing the paper, and take out my wallet to leave a couple of bills tip for the waitress.
Making my way towards the cashier, my gaze shifts towards the liquor store next door. Lights are still on and I know a bottle of Jack sits on a shelf waiting for me. The course of my evening is already scripted in familiarity – mirroring the past two nights. Sitting on the steps of my empty trailer, staring at the stars. My faithful Tennesse friend, cradling in my hand. When the bottle’s empty, I’ll crawl back into the oversized trailer and pass out like the pisshead I’ve become until the first light of dawn pierces through the forgotten unshaded windows.
No idea what I’ll do with myself on that blasted yacht in two days. Perhaps, a plunge into the unforgiving sea, drown and be eaten by shrimps – a fitting end to the wasted 27 years of my existence.
Cash or Cheuqe. No cards.
The sign behind the cashier of the shop rings loud in red and white. I fork out the forty dollars and grab a paper bag from the counter, shaking my head at how slow some places are to reverting to the digital age. My bloody phone doesn’t even have full bars here. Changing the entire world into a fully functioning digital era is impossible.
Removing the bottle from the brown bag, I toss the bag into the rubbish bin beside the entrance, filled with empty bottles of beer cans and whatnot. They don’t recycle here, either. Settling Jack on a wooden bench, I take out my old metal box and roll a fag, and then proceed to put the rest away, lighting it up and taking a deep inhale. Exactly what I need as I slowly exhale, pick up my bottle and trudge back to the trailer park that’ll be my home until tomorrow.
Every step I make is accompanied by the soft crunch of gravel beneath my worn boots as I stroll through the darkness of this deserted town in the desert. With every drag I take from my fag, the dim red glow flickers against the black night.
This melancholic stillness could cause a man to go crazy here, yet somehow, I find a comforting solace here. Away from civilization, the only audible sounds are the distant whispers of wind through the skeletal frames of abandoned buildings and the occasional creaking protest of a weather-beaten sign.
The trailer park, a cluster of dimly lit rectangles, comes into view.
“Where the fuck were you?” I hear a voice approach me. I turn to find Eden with Storm and Rick trailing them at a short distance. Locked within my thoughts, I must have not heard them draw near.
I stand staring at her, barely visible in her all black ensemble and long dark hair. Her skin is dark and tanned, while the only thing that stands out like sparkled jewels are her bright emerald eyes that now possess so much energy.
“The guys are back at your trailer. We all planned to sit down and hear the new track we recorded back at the studio in LA. You forgot?” her eyes travel down to my hand holding the unopened bottle, realizing I have no plans to join them this evening.
I watch her entire face frown in disagreement, even though I haven’t yet uttered a word to her.
Instead, I take a final drag from my fag, casting its remains into the dark void. The glowing ember arcs through the air, momentarily painting an ephemeral streak before extinguishing on the dusty ground.
I bend down and beckon Storm over, he looks up at her and then wanders over, pulling her holding his leash. I brush my hand through his coat and patt his neck, standing up only to find her face to face with me.
“You shouldn’t be wandering this town alone,” I say, knowing she’s protected by Rick. He stands there silent and alert as always.
“I have Rick. And why do you even care? It’s not like you bother to be around anymore. Using every excuse to slip away like I’m some bad smell.”
I chuckle silently at her words.
If she only knew the truth.
“Don’t concern yourself with my welfare, siren. Carry on your way, luv.”
“Why are you such an asshole?”
My brow rises in surprise.
“Are we going to do this now?” I say, sounding bored, but I really just want to annoy her so she can fuck off back to her boyfriends and leave me wallow in my self-appointed misery.
She takes a step back and addresses Rick, handing him Storm’s leash.
“Can you take him back to the trailer with the guys? I’m fine with Callum.”
“Mam, I’m to accompany you everywhere,” he replies, remaining solid as a rock.
“That’s right,” I smirk, “now carry on walking Storm and keep moving until you both reach the trailer.”
“I thought we were friends?” I can’t help but notice the pain etched on her face, and she makes no sign of hiding it. “I understand you don’t see me like the others do. But I miss us. Just having a laugh. I miss your company, but all you want to do is disappear each night to god knows where. To someone”s bed? Is that it?”
Is she jealous?
“Why the fuck do you care, Eden? Innit enough that you’re fucking three bandmates? You want us all?”
A storm of emotions flashes across her face — a mixture of hurt, anger, and a relentless refusal to be diminished.
Smack.
It wasn’t as if I didn’t deserve it.
The sting burns on my face, and it isn’t because of Eden”s strong hand but because it came directly from her.
The flush of anger is evident on her face, her brows furrow into a sharp V of indignation. The lines around her eyes deepen, and her nostrils flare, releasing rapid breaths as if trying to harness the surging fury within.
“Leave us,” I order Rick even though he signed an NDA. I sure as shite don’t need him listening to what I have to say right now.
“That’s not possible, Sir,” he replies, and Eden shoves Storm”s leash into his chest.
“It’s an order from me. Shits about to go down, and I don’t need witnesses,” she scowls. Her eyes ablaze with a fiery intensity, and her lips curl with disdain.
Rick reluctantly takes the leash, and his eyes lock on her.
“Are you carrying the panic device?”
She pulls a keychain from her denim jacket and dangles it at him.
Taking one last look at her and a dismissive one at me, he turns to leave with the dog.