December 16th, 1996 #3
Zane’s stomach churned. “That’s true. I’m not saying you don’t have talent, because you do.
That’s an indisputable fact, and I made sure that Larry knows it too.
But things have changed for me. As an artist. I’m not sure why, but it’s gotten a lot harder for me to get to that place I need to go to when I’m performing.
And if I can’t do that, we’re all screwed. ”
Rusty blew out a puff of smoke in Zane’s direction. “If you’re the problem, fix yourself. Don’t handcuff the rest of us.”
An indignant frustration came over Zane, and he bit back words about them just sucking it up because he was the star.
Instead, he would give them an ultimatum.
He was already an irredeemable prick in their eyes, but he was also the face and voice of the band, so he knew they’d have no choice but to go along.
“I’m sorry if it hurts you, but if I’m going to sing something, it needs to come from me.
If you can’t live with that, you’re free to leave. ”
Mike scoffed, set his can down carefully on the counter, then gave his best friend a long, hard stare. “Freedom’s sounding pretty good right about now. Fuck you.”
With that, he walked out, leaving the door open behind him. The men stayed where they were, stunned into silence as the cold air flowed into the loft.
Finally, Dean followed him, and for a second, Zane thought he would chase Mike down and drag him back inside so they could sort this out. But he didn’t. He closed the door and turned back to the guys, looking defeated.
Rusty shook his head at Zane. “What happened to you, man?”
“I grew up.”
Dean gestured for everyone to calm down. “Let’s give Mike some time. He’ll come back.”
Steven narrowed his eyes at Dean. “And what if he doesn’t?”
MALIBU, CALIFORNIA
MIKE KURILLA
Mike sat on the beach in front of his home, sipping a cold beer, while the rest of the six-pack waited in a small cooler beside him.
It had been a warm March day, but he had a small fire going in the sand to take the chill off the early evening air.
The waves rolling in and the crackling of the fire did little to soothe his mood.
He was restless and frustrated and generally pissed off at the world.
But soon, the sun would sink into the Pacific, and the night sky would calm him down.
Venus would show herself first, then Jupiter, and as the stars followed suit, they’d be exactly where they were the night before, all lined up in the same scattered order as they had been for billions of years.
His future used to feel like that—certain and perfect.
Nothing but more songs and crowds, more flights and autographs.
Nothing but more days and nights with the family pulled together through a shared purpose, instead of a shared bloodline.
It had been over a month since he stormed out of the meeting at Dean’s, and in that time, he and Zane had yet to talk. First, Rusty had come by to try to urge him to come back. Then Dean, followed by Steven, but Mike’s answer remained the same. No.
And the longer he went without Zane trying to make amends, the angrier he became. They were locked in a game of chicken, and he wouldn’t flinch first. He couldn’t think of anyone who had hurt him the way Zane had, which was saying something.
A light cough from behind him interrupted him mid-sip. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
Zane plunked himself down on the sand next to Mike. “Got a beer in there for me?”
Mike gave him a sideways glance. “That all depends on why you’re here.”
The wind whipped Zane’s hair across his face, and he tucked it behind his ear. “If I said it was to apologize and get you to come back, would that get me a drink?”
“Only if you meant it.”
“I mean it. It was a shitty thing for me to do,” Zane said. “And I’m sorry.”
Mike took off the lid and handed him a Molson. “Why’d you do it? Why’d you pin the blame on me and Russ like that?”
Zane cracked it. “I didn’t pin the blame on you guys. I stood up for you. I told him you’re both extremely talented songwriters.”
Agitation scratched at Mike’s skin, making him want to strip down and run into the frigid Pacific. Instead, he scoffed. “But you also told him you won’t sing if we write anymore.”
“I know, but you’ve got to understand. That night after the Grammys, it felt like being called to the principal’s office because that’s exactly what he wanted it to feel like.
He only called me in. He didn’t do it at his office.
He did it at one in the morning overlooking his swimming pool.
And he put the blame squarely on my shoulders. I had to come up with an answer.”
Mike stayed silent long enough for Zane to shift uncomfortably.
Then he turned and looked him in the eye.
“You know, Zane, I’ve spent the last month thinking about everything, and I keep coming back to the promises we made to each other when this all got started,” he said.
“I can’t believe we named ourselves The Vows.
Goddamn na?ve. All for one and one for all.
We were so sure we’d never wind up exactly where we are right now—with one of us trampling the rest to get what he wants. ”
“Shit man, we were just kids. We didn’t have the first clue what we were getting ourselves into, and I promise you that’s not what’s happening here. I’m not trampling on—”
“Is it about the money? Because if you need cash, you can tell me. You know I’ll help you out.”
“Money’s not an issue.”
“Then why?”
Zane listened to the next wave as it rolled to shore. “Did you know my dad was my age when he lost the store?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t want to be like him. A guy who starts out as a success, only to lose it all and wind up working at J.C. Penney, you know?”
“You just said money wasn’t an issue.”
“You know what I mean. You saw what he was like. Miserable. Emasculated.” Sighing, he said, “I can’t let that happen to me. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to stay on top.”
“Even if it totally fucks the rest of us and makes you look like some sort of victim. Poor Zane, having to sing subpar songs all these years written by his talentless buddies.”
Zane’s shoulders dropped. “Aw, come on, Mike. That’s not it at all. I’m not that guy. You know me.”
“I thought I did, but honestly, it’s been a long time since that guy showed up…”
Zane turned his gaze to the waves as they rolled and foamed and retreated. “I think maybe I’ve been scared, you know? I spend half my time feeling like a total fraud.”
“That’s the last thing you are. An asshole maybe, but not a fraud.”
“Thanks.” Zane swallowed hard, keeping his gaze on the water.
“I love you, man. I love all the guys. Other than Sienna and Ivy, the band is the best thing in my life. And if I could pick any other life with any other group of musicians, I wouldn’t do it.
” He turned to Mike. “I’d pick this crazy, wonderful, way-too-wild life with you every time. You’re the brother I never had.”
Mike stared at him, feeling his heart soften, then turn hard again. “If that were true, you wouldn’t want to take this away from me.”
“It’s too late. It already happened, and I can’t undo it now,” Zane told him.
He sipped his beer. “But more than that, I don’t want to take it back.
I’m not connecting with the stuff you and Russ write the same way I connect when it’s coming from me.
And it’s me standing in the center of the stage, my voice that strains and fights to get every syllable out.
It’s my energy that makes them scream, my body that’s moving and dancing and making them jump up and down.
I’m the one the audience is feeling, and if I feel what I’m singing, if it’s everywhere in my body—every cell, every muscle, every breath—they feel it too.
They do. And that’s what sells out stadiums.” Zane threw up his hand.
“I know I sound like some fucking delicate artist here, and I hate that, but I can’t keep pretending it’s not what’s happening inside me. ”
Mike knew he was being given a choice—to return to the band under these awful new rules or quit.
Quitting would be the death of the life he desperately needed to hold onto, but coming back carried its own pain.
He felt the final wisps of innocence within him abandoning him forever while he sat there watching the yellow and orange flames flicker and dance along the driftwood.
The last bit of faith he had that his best friend cared about him as much as he cared about himself was now charred bits and ash, soon to be swept up by a gust of wind and carried off down the beach.
But these were the new terms and conditions.
A swell of emotions filled his chest, and he lifted his chin to snuff them out like he would a burned down cigarette.
He saw Venus sparkling down at him and he sighed.
Knowing his voice would give him away, he said nothing.
If he spoke, he knew his words would come out wobbly and soft, and he’d feel weak and stupid every time he looked at Zane from then on.
And there was no way he could have that. Not on top of everything else.
“I need you, man. I need you up on that stage with me every night. I need you in the studio. I don’t want to do this without you.” Zane polished off his beer, then said, “I don’t expect an answer right now. I’d love one, but I don’t expect one. We’re booked to start recording in two weeks.”
The news felt like the aftershock of an earthquake.
It had already been decided, and it would happen without him.
He could either get on board or watch them leave from the shore.
His mind raced, showing him a future without the band.
The nothingness of it. The uncertainty. The deep and unyielding loneliness.
Glancing at his old friend, he said, “Those songs you’re writing better be fucking magic. ”