Chapter Ten
landon
Harlem
March 11
The SUV pulled up before my renovated brownstone in an affluent neighborhood in Harlem near Columbia University. I jumped out and grabbed my guitar case, backpack, and my rolling bag. I was grateful for the solitude of my home after a week of partying and performing with the guys. My social battery had needed charging after the second day in Houston, and we’d been there for five.
Tours and shows out of the New York area were a necessary evil that we only did occasionally for my benefit. I was a creature of habit. The fast-paced and ever-changing environments, venues, and cities unhinged me. I needed my bubble of comfort everywhere I went. When I performed, I had my hat and guitar and stood on the right of the stage, out of the main spotlight. That was my bubble on stage. My guitar pick was a constant in my pocket. On the road, I had to sleep in rooms with bland colors like white or beige. Too much color overstimulated my mind. We usually leased a home instead of a hotel to meet my need for space so I could unpack mentally and we could play our instruments.
I walked into my multimillion-dollar brownstone. I’d paid handsomely for an interior designer to choose furniture and to decorate my four-story home entirely in white and black. Gray was the pop of color or accent. My house was sparsely furnished. Three bedrooms, including the primary bedroom, contained one king-size bed. The fourth bedroom was my office. It was rarely used and included a desk, two bookshelves, and two chairs. I’d soundproofed the whole house so I could play in any room that inspired me. Sometimes, I’d wake up in my bed, playing my guitar. Or, while cooking dinner, a thought would strike, and I’d have to play. My living area only held a couple of folding chairs, though I’d been there for two years. I didn’t need a sofa when I didn’t plan to have company.
My only TV was in one of the guest rooms, and I’d bought it to keep abreast of the news and the stock market. Numbers and investments fascinated me. Not even Cedrick knew that I’d made my first million three years ago and had earned another couple this year from studying numbers since I was a boy. I didn’t care about the money and figured that the more I earned, the easier it would be to help out family and friends when they were in need. So far, no one I knew needed money.
My thoughts drifted to Janae and how I suspected she would need cash sooner or later if her comeback run didn’t work, or worsened her financial situation.
I pulled off my hat and stretched out on the carpet instead of resting in my crisply made bed. I didn’t want to shower yet, and I didn’t want to contaminate my bed with germs from the flight from Houston. I propped my head on my hands and stared at the glass-paneled ceiling, admiring the reddish gold of a setting sun with thoughts of Janae.
Yesterday, she had waltzed backstage while we were preparing to go on and running through last minute changes with our road crew. She was dressed in a dark suit and wore a cowboy hat, followed by the two cameramen who documented her every step. She greeted The Hollow Bones like we were old friends. She looked good, and though she seemed fully alert, her eyes didn’t have their usual light when she tapped my fist instead of offering me the hug she’d given everyone else, including Cedrick, who’d returned her hug and chatted it up with her.
Del and Janae took some pics commemorating our past and future work together. She smiled politely, and anyone who asked for a selfie and an autograph had their request graciously granted. Del had grabbed two chairs for them to sit on while we did our show. I felt her stare while we performed, but she didn’t appear to look at me when my gaze searched for her.
When we were done, she congratulated us on a good show and told us she would see us in New Orleans. And as she left, her energy whisked away along with her. I was so deflated that she’d ignored me, and I couldn’t express my feelings to anyone. I’d made it clear to the guys and her that she didn’t mean anything when I turned my back on her and focused on the band. Janae had honored that. I should’ve been relieved and not sad that she’d been friendly, polite, and not flirty.
Except I felt horrible. I hadn’t meant to treat her like that. Whenever my emotions overwhelmed me, I’d shut down or ignore them.
Maybe I needed a woman’s attention to make it easier being around Janae. It’d been at least four months since I’d spent time with any. I had the numbers of a few women who were at my beck and call because they liked being with a musician. A musician who had money. They weren’t necessarily groupies, because these women were intelligent, had good jobs, and weren’t hanging on, hoping to become a girlfriend or wifey. These women wanted a good time and were content with the status quo.
I continued to gain peace and clarity as I stared up at the ceiling, watching the day slowly turn to night.
My cell rang, and I reluctantly answered my mother’s call.
“Hello.”
“Hello, son. How long have you been home?” Her perfect diction indicated that she hadn’t called to chitchat.
“Maybe an hour.” The night wasn’t as clear as it had been in Houston, when Janae joined me in the backyard. I couldn’t spot any stars or planets.
“I need you to stop over this evening.”
The gnawing began as I closed my eyes. “I just got home after two shows and traveling. I’m exhausted.”
“It’s just for a little while. We’re having a dinner party to celebrate a colleague’s promotion, and everyone wants to meet the Grammy-winning guitarist of The Hollow Bones,” she said proudly.
“The same people you worried wouldn’t accept my music because it wasn’t good enough? Those people?” I asked.
“Landon, forget about the past. These people can get you in the right rooms. One wants to ask you to be a guest lecturer or maybe invite you to the faculty at Juilliard.”
“I didn’t go to college. When did I ever want to speak in front of people? I thought teaching required public speaking.” I sighed deeply. My mother still refused to see her son for who he was.
“Yes, it does. You can focus on playing more than talking. How you teach is at your discretion.” Her tone suggested she was smiling. “Just imagine the prestige of teaching young, gifted people everything we taught you.”
“Then why don’t you try to secure a job at Juilliard? I’m sure they’re dying to work with you, an alumnus. Or Dad, from Oberlin. It’s not Juilliard, but hey. Or maybe you can teach together. It would be a kickass class,” I retorted sarcastically.
“They don’t want us. They want you.”
“It’s a Monday night. Who gives dinner parties on a Monday night? What if I wasn’t home? Then what?” I shook my head. “I’m not in the mood to deal with strangers, Ma.”
“Son, I’ll give you until nine to make an appearance, and you can leave by ten.” My father’s stern voice startled me. “We’re not taking no for an answer. You wouldn’t even be in a band to travel if I hadn’t taught you how to play.”
“Yes, sir,” the eight-year-old child in me replied meekly.
They hung up the phone, and I curled into a ball, wishing the gnawing would stop.
An hour later, I stood before my family brownstone in Brooklyn Heights, the home and neighborhood I’d grown up in. I’d worn dark cargo pants and a long-sleeved white polo, hoping people wouldn’t touch me. At these kinds of intimate, pretentious parties, people liked to grip your hand, forearm, or shoulder as if their touch made sure you listened to whatever self-aggrandizing statement they wanted you to hear. I’d been seven before I allowed anyone but my mother to touch me. My parents knew of my debilitating discomfort around people but didn’t seem to care when it involved their image. I was expected to push through and smile.
I opened the heavy door and was assailed with polite chatter, soft laughter, and music… jazz, probably Coltrane or someone new who imitated him. I couldn’t quite discern yet. I jammed my right hand in my pocket to rub my pick and walked past the hallway that led to the stairs and into the large living area where the intimate party was held. I barely glanced at the three large portraits of us as a family over the years. One of me at five, then at ten, and lastly at fifteen that lined the hallway. In each one, my parents smiled while I looked straight ahead, hating that this was my family.
The gnawing in my stomach increased the closer I came to my parents’ elite friends and musical scholars. My parents were virtuosos of their respective instruments and tenured NYU professors. My mother cherished the violin. My father could rival the greats with his horns. I completed the trio with my mastery of the guitar. We were considered special and blessed as a family.
If they only knew.
My mother’s beautiful, serene hazel eyes watched me as I entered the party of ten or twelve guests. I was sure she’d trained her gaze on the door to spot me before I attempted to duck upstairs to my old bedroom. Her perpetually red lips curved into a smile meant to engender warmth from her only child, but all I could feel were unattainable expectations in her welcoming embrace.
“Here’s the prodigal son, fresh off a performance down south at the rodeo, of all places.” She chuckled as she hugged me. I held on to her soft body to prolong the time before I had to greet the guests waiting to pounce. I tucked my head into her neck and inhaled the familiar Chanel No. 22 perfume she’d always worn because my father loved the scent. “Aww… he must have missed his mother.”
The small crowd oohed and aahed, and she pulled back. “I keep hoping I’ll see your beautiful hair again.”
I pulled down the brim. “My hat is my superpower.”
Her forehead wrinkled prettily, and she turned me around to greet the guests. “My handsome son… One day he’ll bring home a gifted woman like himself so he can give me some beautiful grandchildren to spoil like we did him.”
After I nodded and made the tiniest of responses to three of the guests, my mother curved her arm to my waist and pushed me toward an older woman standing separately from the party, who I could only assume was from Juilliard. The woman with the cloying floral scent that made breathing challenging gripped my forearm, and I clenched my jaw as my mother excused herself. The woman smiled wide, and I focused on the gap in her front teeth.
“Dr. Sarah Howard, faculty at Juilliard. We’ve been following your career for some time. My area is the piano.”
I replied, “I play the guitar.”
Her smile faltered a bit. “Yes, but you’re also a classically trained pianist.”
I repeated, “I play the guitar.”
She waved her manicured hand. “We love that you can play more than one instrument, and we think you would be an asset to our program. We can sit and discuss it more if you like.”
I looked slightly over her shoulder at a painting of a violin on the wall behind her. “I’m about to tour and finish my second album. I don’t see how I would have time to teach.”
“We are willing to work around your schedule to have someone of your caliber.” She smiled, and I refocused on the slight gap in her teeth. Or was it something else?
I scoffed. “My caliber? I’ve been a musician all my life, and no one has ever been interested in me until I won a Grammy. My ability to compose for any genre of music you place before me didn’t just happen this year. Suddenly, I’m validated and worthy of attention from your so-called prestigious school?”
“So-called?” She reached for her pearls, or at least where I imagined they would be if she’d remembered to wear them. “We have worked with the best in the world, and our students are extremely successful.”
“I know. Look around. My mother is a graduate.” I gestured around the expensively decorated living room full of rich hues of red and brown. The paintings on the wall were worth at least ten grand apiece.
A strong hand squeezed my shoulder, and my gregarious father, holding a glass of his favorite bourbon, joined in the conversation. He chuckled as he warned me with his tight smile. “My son is bitter that he wasn’t accepted when he applied to your program at sixteen. He ran away from home after he received the rejection letter to chart his own path… a very successful path, and I couldn’t be prouder of the life he has now.”
Dr. Howard’s eyes widened. “Oh, I see. Then, Landon, you must look at this invite as a full-circle moment to show our school’s grand mistake in not choosing you. Maybe you can join our selection committee and choose applicants like the young man you were.”
“That’s an excellent point to consider.” I tightened my jaw, wanting to yell at the lie that my father had contrived to explain my rude behavior. They’d wanted me to attend Juilliard, and I’d purposely messed up the audition. I hated my parents’ refusal to love, respect, and treat me like their son and not a prize to tout or shun, depending on my accomplishments.
I longed for the parents that Cedrick had, who only wanted to spend time with him, without ulterior motives. Mine always had an agenda whenever they summoned me here. I couldn’t relax with them while grabbing home-cooked food and talking about my music or friends. They always wanted to convince me to perform somewhere alone or with them, chastise me about choosing music that wouldn’t take me far in the classical and jazz world I’d never wanted to be a part of, and whether I’d met someone special because they wanted to continue their lineage. I couldn’t even recall my parents telling me that they loved me.
The gnawing traveled through my body at my father’s grip on my shoulder.
“My son would be a wonderful addition to your program. He’s skilled on several instruments and can learn more,” he boasted as if I were the last car on the lot, and he was worried it wouldn’t sell.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I shrugged away from him.
She pushed her card in my hand. “Please reconsider working with us. You can operate your class and teach your students in the best way you see fit. Or join us as a guest lecturer to get a feel of the students and program.”
I stuffed the card in my pocket. “By the way, you have spinach in your front teeth.”
She gasped and covered her mouth. I headed to the kitchen to soothe the gnawing away from everyone else.
“Fuck.” I gripped the sink and stared blindly out the window facing the street. I hadn’t meant to embarrass Dr. Howard that way. When I was uncomfortable, sometimes I lashed out and then regretted it. She seemed decent enough, and if she’d discussed Juilliard anywhere but here at my family home, I might have considered it, especially if I could teach a small class of two or three.
“Why do you insist on being rude?” my father demanded once he entered the empty kitchen. “Those people in there can take you far.”
I whirled around. “Farther than an award-winning band? I’m living my dream at this very minute. Where can those people take me when I’m already where I want to be?”
My father’s nostrils flared as he replied, “No one will remember your band in five years. Get a damn clue.”
“That might be true, but I’ll never be a bitter drunk like you, wishing for a better life than the one I have. Trust me, none of those people can do anything for me.” I winced from the pain in my gut.
“You’ll see what I say is true. Your career isn’t going to last forever. Go back out there and talk to those people,” he ordered me.
I shook my head slowly as the ache in my stomach worsened. “I didn’t want to be here. I just flew in from Houston, and I’m exhausted. You told me to be here, and I’m here. I already talked to the Juilliard person like Mom wanted, and I’m done.”
My father stepped close to me, blocking my path. His light skin reddened from anger or the flush of intoxication. Old, painful memories emerged from his menacing nearness and the smell of the alcohol on his breath.
“Move,” I said.
“Or what?” he sneered.
The gnawing hurt so much. I winced and clutched my stomach, holding my other hand up protectively as my mother rushed into the kitchen with worried eyes.
“Get away from him,” she demanded. She looked over her shoulder at the closed door before she pulled my dad’s arm. “Leave him alone.”
“I’m not doing anything to him.” He roughly jerked his arm away from her, causing her to fall against the counter. “You wanted him here, and now he’s embarrassing us like he always does. Told you he needed to see a shrink when he was a kid. He wouldn’t be messed up now.”
I shoved his broad chest, and in his slightly inebriated state, he lost his balance, hit the table, and tumbled to the floor. My mother’s hand flew to her mouth, and she kneeled to aid him.
Imaginary hands suddenly squeezed my lungs, and black spots appeared in my vision. I clasped my hands together as I backed away. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I have to go before I really embarrass you.”
I hurried through the back door only to collapse against the side of the house, praying for the hands to stop pressing against my chest and lungs so I could breathe. I reached for my cell in my pocket, needing to call Cedrick, who knew how to reset my brain when the emotions became too much.
The text from Janae startled me.
I’m drowning . I need my life jacket.
My relieved laugh sounded more like a hiccup in the quiet of the night. The pressure on my body lessened with each ring as I waited for her to pick up.
“I’m drowning, too,” I softly admitted when she answered the phone.
“Really?” She sniffed.
“I’m sitting on the ground against the back of my parents’ home in the dark because I got into it with my father. I don’t think it can get worse than that.”
“Try sitting in the LAX bathroom stall, scared to walk back out because suddenly people remember me.”
“That’s pretty bad.” I chuckled before I gripped my cell tighter. “I’m glad you called.”
“Glad you answered. I didn’t know if you would.”
“Yeah, sorry about how I acted at the house yesterday. I’m not the best with my emotions.”
“I didn’t think you apologized.”
“I don’t unless I mean it.”
“Is that a jab?” she asked.
I grinned. “Not at all.” I checked my pulse on my neck, and it had slowed down.
“I really do need to leave the bathroom. My film crew are outside wondering what’s happening.”
“Then stay on the phone with me, pretend it’s the most important call of your life, and wave at anyone trying to approach you.”
She giggled. “That sounds like it might work.”
“I do it all the time.” Finally able to breathe normally, I pushed up against the wall and walked toward the front of the house.
Dr. Howard exited the brownstone as I headed to my car. She noticed me and quickly refocused on her blue sedan parked on the street. My heart softened at how she quickened her pace to avoid me. I’d hurt a woman because I was mad at my parents, and if it were not for the woman on the other line, who’d made me her moral compass, I might have pretended I didn’t see Dr. Howard.
“Give me a sec,” I told Janae.
I held the phone against my chest and walked to meet Dr. Howard on the street. “Doctor, I’m sorry for my behavior. I’m not the best around people. What happened in there had nothing to do with you.”
She smiled. “I hate these parties too. Everyone is so self-important and phony. People probably had been staring at the food in my teeth the whole time. You actually had the sense to tell me.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t know not to tell you until you were embarrassed that I did.”
“I see.” Her expression sobered. “I only came tonight to meet you. Your parents always brag about you, and I wanted to see the talented young man you’ve grown up to be. I’ve watched your performances over the years.” She pointed at me. “You’re every bit of the puzzle people think you are. That makes you rare and unique. Don’t ever change. Use my card if you ever consider teaching at Juilliard.”
I opened her car door, and she gave me a motherly pat on my chest. This time, her touch didn’t bother me. “You be safe, doctor.”
“You too, Landon.”
I closed her door and then strode to my gray electric ride. “I’m back. Are you still in the restroom?”
“Dude, did you just get asked to teach at Juilliard? I heard some of the conversation,” Janae exclaimed.
“Something like that,” I grumbled as I dropped down into my car.
“Wow, and wow. And yes, I’m strolling through the airport and waving as I talk to a future Juilliard professor.” I could hear the pride in her voice. “That’s a serious honor, Landon. My friend is so freaking talented that Juilliard comes looking for him. We need to celebrate or something in New Orleans.”
“It wasn’t an official offer, nor do I have time to teach if it was.”
Janae replied, “It is still an honor even if it’s not yet your road to travel.”
“Yet?”
“You never know what the future holds. It’s good to have options, especially ones like that.”
I stared at my family home, hating that I couldn’t see the good in the opportunities my parents and my name afforded me. I relented. “It really is an honor.”
I started my car and began the forty-minute drive back to my sanctuary.