Chapter 21 Alexander Tuesday
Tuesday
My usual mix of caffeine and Adderall has done nothing to lock down my attention today.
I’m barely able to focus on Lee’s questions in our therapy session, not because of the squawking birds flying overhead, but because I’m still waiting for Christopher to message me back and confirm our plans for tonight.
My heart leaps into my throat every time I get a notification, only for it to fall into the pit of my chest when it’s not his name that is displayed.
“Do you think I should message him again?” The laptop bounces up and down on my outstretched legs.
“What do you think you should do?” Lee counters.
“I don’t know.” My shoulders slump deeper into the white cushions.
Despite having the urge, I’d managed to resist messaging him all day yesterday. I distracted myself by hitting up Zuma Beach with my buddy Darren to go surfing all morning, and then went over to Temescal Canyon for a hike in the afternoon.
But it’s been four hours now since I messaged him, and he still hasn’t responded.
I can’t always trust my mind on whether or not to follow up, especially when it runs away with itself.
It starts suggesting crazy ideas that I later find out are the complete opposite of the truth.
But my usual forty-eight-hour rule doesn’t apply here when we’re due to meet in six hours.
“Honor the compulsion. Invite it in. What is it trying to communicate to you?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The late-morning sun warms the left side of my face as I try to focus on what’s going on.
“I feel punished,” I answer. “Abandoned.”
“Good. Where is that coming from?” Her voice sounds tinny through the laptop speakers.
“It’s from when he never messaged back over the summer. When he didn’t acknowledge my voicemail, my apology.”
I suck in a breath and breathe out. My eyes remain closed.
“Keep going.” Lee’s voice is soft but firm.
“It’s from my dad not returning my messages after my live stream. From all the times I’d reach out to classmates as a kid to go skateboarding, and they ignored me. Like I’m invisible. Like I’m worthless.”
My eyes mist over as they open, and I struggle to focus on Lee’s image on the screen. A wave of sadness settles within me as my chest tightens and my breath becomes shallower.
Will I always feel this way when someone doesn’t message me back?
I readjust myself on the couch, taking my feet out of my black Nike sliders and resting them on the wooden decking to let the warmth radiate through me.
“Let’s take a moment to regulate your breathing, so you don’t become too overwhelmed.”
Lee guides me through a short breathwork exercise, matching my breathing rhythm as I focus on the neutral palate of browns, creams, and whites of the outdoor furniture, and then expand my awareness to the swimming pool and out over Beverley Hills below.
“That’s it. What is your heart telling you now?”
I lift my hands to my chest, the coldness of them through my white-and-navy striped T-shirt connecting with my heart rate, which slows with each subsequent breath. My rational and logical mind slowly reappears.
“He’s probably working, caught up in meetings. I’m sure he’ll message back shortly,” I say, attempting to reassure myself more than Lee.
“Okay, and what can you do in the interim, while you wait?”
“I’m meeting my lawyer at eleven here at my house.” I glance at my watch and notice it’s already ten fifty-five. “Then one of my producers is coming over to my home studio at twelve to work on some music, so my mind will stay occupied.”
“Right.”
Lee makes a note, which always makes me feel suspicious, like I’ve given the wrong answer to a test that I wasn’t aware I was taking.
“Let’s pick this up again next week.”
“Actually, do you think you’ll be around for a session on Friday?”
My whole body shudders at the thought of hosting Thanksgiving this year.
It really should be renamed Yelling Day, or Fat Thursday.
“I’m sure we can work something out.” She picks up her phone and scrolls through it. “How about the same time Friday?”
I nod and put it in my phone. “Can we make it a double session?”
I’m no doubt going to need it.
The doorbell echoes in the house and out through the open glass doors, prompting me to stand. Valentina waves to me from inside as she heads to answer.
“Yes,” Lee says in answer to my question. “I’ll see you then.”
I thank her, say goodbye, and close the laptop, making my way into the house and greeting John as Valentina offers to make me an iced coffee and a smoothie bowl for lunch and offers John a cappuccino.
“These candles smell great.”
John leans over to sniff as he takes a seat at the dining table. The two white assam and cedarwood candles are still burning from when Valentina lit them this morning.
“I can get Valentina to give you one when you leave?” I offer, though John politely declines, shaking his head, as he pulls the zipper down on his grey sweater and unbuttons the top button of the white shirt underneath.
I’d gotten Valentina to stockpile the candles from my favorite brand Fired Earth, ordering more in batches of twenty anytime we started to run low.
My urge to hoard them probably comes from my mom’s obsession with coupon cutting when I was a kid and we barely had enough money to scrape by. I still gag anytime I see a hot dog.
“Have you given any more thought to what I proposed?” John asks as Valentina brings over our coffees. The coasters she pulls out to put underneath them each display a different album of mine.
I take a sip of my coffee to buy a second before responding.
“I have, and I think you’re right. Waiting a little while longer to fire him seems like the sensible thing to do.”
Originally, I’d wanted to push back on John’s suggestion that I not fire Paul immediately and wait until Christmas.
Thinking he was in cahoots with Paul, I almost decided that I couldn’t trust him either.
But then my mom reminded me that John had helped me negotiate better terms for my management deal, and had reduced Paul’s commission from a flat rate of twenty percent across the board to a sliding scale, decreasing his commission when my earnings went over certain thresholds.
But there’s also the guilt I’ve been grappling with since I called John last Thursday.
I’ve been with Paul my whole career and feel a sense of loyalty to him.
He’s been there through all of my highs and protected me through the lowest of my lows.
However, when I’d spoken to my parents last night, they’d both seemed to be in favor of ending the relationship.
If there are issues you can’t seem to get past, Alex, then it’s not doing either of you any good to stay in the relationship.
My mother’s advice has always been reassuring in times of doubt.
And she’s right. There have been one too many issues: The way Paul handled the whole video scandal.
How he rushed me into doing the movie despite my need for a break.
The lack of any apology for his part in my relapse.
And the straw that broke the camel’s back—greenlighting Brewed to announce what I’d done for that poor woman in Oklahoma, despite my insistence that I didn’t want anyone to know.
In many ways, it feels like he’s no longer working in my best interests these days. Rather, he’s focused on what will make him the most commission. And he treats me more like a product than a person.
“Have you given any thought to who you’d like to take over managing you?”
John bats away a fly as he takes a sip of his cappuccino. It lands on the bonsai tree sitting next to the candles, almost as if Paul has sent it to listen in on our conversation.
I shoo it away, reach for my phone, and bring up the list of four managers I’ve narrowed my choice down to.
I’d crossed out the idea of managing myself like Beyoncé when I realized it was more stress than I needed.
And I’d ruled out having a family member manage me, having already learned from other artists that putting your family on the payroll, in whatever capacity, will at some point cause issues.
“I’ve got a shortlist,” I say and hand him my phone. “Do you think we could set up a meeting with each of them discretely? Without word getting back to Paul?” My voice lowers as the fly returns to buzz around our heads.
John studies the list and my ass cheeks clench in anticipation of his response. I’m not sure how he’ll respond to the last name.
“This shouldn’t be a problem. I can get each of them to sign an NDA before agreeing to meet with you, though this one’s a curveball.” His grey eyebrows arch as the corners of his mouth rise.
“I know,” I say, smiling. I take the phone from him. “Sometimes it’s good to think a little outside the box.”
The sound of my phone startles me four hours later as I strum out a melody idea for I’m A Broken Man on my guitar.
I lean over to get it from where it’s sitting on the table, catching my arm on the incense sticks sitting next to it.
A sharp shooting pain fires down my left forearm as I pick up the phone.
My jaw tightens in agony as I unlock my phone and see Christopher’s message.
Betty
Sorry I haven’t got back to you. I’ve been at hospital since Sunday night and barely slept. I’m not sure I’ll be much company tonight. X
Pushing through the pain in my arm, I slide the acoustic guitar off my lap, and get up off the couch, motioning to Freddy that I need to head out.
I rush to the door, calling Christopher as I make my way through the house and pull my car keys off the rack.
My heart rate gets faster and harder with each of the four rings it takes for him to pick up.
“Are you okay?” I ask, not giving him a chance to say hello.
I switch my phone from one ear to the other as I grab my jacket and put it on.
“Yes, I’m okay. It’s my housemate, Andrew. I found him unconscious at home just after I left you on Sunday.”