Chapter 22
CASSIE
One of the reasons I was so reluctant to move to Los Angeles was the rain. Or the lack thereof.
This may seem shocking to some, and terribly English to others, but I have always liked the rain.
Its many rhythms. It’s necessity. The nurturing and clarifying nature of it.
The better of my childhood memories feature a lot of rain.
Splashing in puddles. Watching raindrops glide down windowpanes.
Inhaling the cleanest fresh air that is only possible after a downpour.
So when we arrive in Seattle to an overcast sky and a steady drizzle, I waste no time getting changed and heading out for a walk.
It’s not my first time in the city, yet somehow I’ve forgotten the hills. Still I welcome the strain on my calves and the burn in my thighs as I walk without any purpose other than feeling the misty rain on my face.
Rain and pain. Apparently, that’s exactly what I need to help me make sense of the last few days.
Vik is out on bail in Vancouver but unable to leave the country.
Stephan is still behaving like we’re a married couple fighting, due to reconcile any day now.
George was so drunk on stage last night he walked into Vik’s drum kit, which was being played by a friend of a friend of a friend of Clarence, who promptly said he wasn’t going to do any more dates with us.
Clarence refuses to speak to any of the other guys, and I will be surprised if he makes it to the end of the tour. In many ways, I don’t want him to. He deserves better.
Kevin looks like he’s aged a decade in a month.
And I want to be anywhere but here.
No, that’s not true. I want to be wherever Pia is.
They’re playing in London tomorrow, so maybe she’s there already.
I’d like to be in London with Pia. I’d like to spend time with her in England.
Maybe I could take her to Oxford or to my home village.
We could do day trips to the Cotswolds or further afield, to the coast. We could have pub lunches and play board games and drink tea, and maybe I could even try baking scones or a Victoria sponge or…
I laugh to myself, head shaking, as I realise I’ve created a fantasy version of Pia. Pia would never do any of that. Pia would hate me for even suggesting it.
Another reason I love the rain is the anonymity it gives me. So few people are out on the streets – Seattle is still like most US cities, where walking is a rare pastime – and I like the sense of normalcy it gives me.
Not for the first time, I wonder if I should give it all up for just that. Normalcy. Anonymity. A life of rainy walks on rainy days.
But as I approach Pike Place Market and there’s more activity – bus loads of tourists – I know that again I’m imagining the impossible because if I walk away from the music, the industry, this peculiar universe I’ve become a fixture of, I would also be walking away from Pia.
And I hate myself for even considering that.
Besides, I know something about myself now that makes being “normal” even more impossible. I’m gay. No, bisexual.
I am something that will forever be othered. I am something that will always set me apart. And once more, that something connects me to Pia, and I don’t want to cut that connection.
I walk for hours in the end, and I know, when I’m up on stage tonight, I’ll regret it. My feet will hurt more than usual. I’ll be yawning into the encore. I’ll collapse in my bed and wish I could sleep for a week, only for us to pack up and move again. Portland tomorrow.
Touring used to be such a buzz. All the places. All the people. All the fans. All the energy.
I thought I’d never tire of it, and part of me never will. Part of me will always stand under a hot spotlight and thank my lucky stars I’m where I am. But a growing part of me is exhausted.
It’s still magical, but it’s a trick I’ve performed too many times.
Still, when I see a small crowd of fans at the entrance to our hotel, I put my game face on and greet them. I sign autographs. I take off my hood and smile for photos. I tell them that I’m sorry but I can’t (and won’t) perform ‘What I Want’ on my own.
“It’s Pia’s song just as much as mine,” I explain to the sweet teenage girl with braces who has her own version of my haircut.
“But you’re the better singer,” she says, innocently, I think.
“Oh, Pia is a beautiful singer,” I respond. “And the best performer out there right now.”
The girl and her friends disagree with me, but I am satisfied that I know Pia better. That knowledge has me nursing a secret smile as I wave them all goodbye and enter the hotel.
“There you are.” Kevin rushes up to me before I’m even at reception, and I hold my breath.
“What now?” I ask, doom clear in my voice.
“Oh, no, nothing bad.” He looks to the side as we walk towards the lifts. “At least I don’t think so. It’s Pia Lindberg.”
I stop in my tracks. “What’s happened to her?”
His eyebrows pinch together. “So, it’s true?”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, until I look away because it feels like he’s reading my mind. “Is she okay?” I finally ask, because he didn’t answer my question.
He rocks back on his heels, squares his shoulders. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Talk to me?”
“Yes, on the phone. In your room.”
“Now?” My heart is thumping in my chest and in my ears.
“In about ten minutes.”
“Okay,” I say, and I rush to the lifts, pushing the button for my floor. “Thanks, Kevin!”
I’m pretty sure when I look back at him before getting into the lift, there’s a small smile on his face.
The phone starts to ring while I’m still unlacing my boots. I rush over to it, tripping over my laces and landing in a lump on the bed. It’s why I’m breathless when I finally speak.
“Pia?”
“Hey, Cassie,” she says in her deep, rumbling, accented voice, and I’m instantly melting like butter. “You okay? You’re breathing very heavily.”
I scoop the phone up and cradle it in my lap as I get comfortable against the headboard. “I’m okay … I’m just…” I pause. In shock that I’m hearing your voice on the end of a phone line, I want to blurt. But I don’t. “I just got in.”
“Listen,” Pia says, and there’s some muffled sounds. I wonder where she is. How she’s sitting? Who is she with? Is she alone? “We read about Vik. What the fuck happened?”
The speed with which my heart falls takes me by surprise. So that’s why she’s calling.
“Oh, yes, we don’t really know. Kevin is keeping a lot of details from us; I think on purpose. But I’m pretty sure Stephan knows more than he’s letting on.”
“Hmm,” Pia says, and there are more rustling noises. “And are you okay?”
I don’t know why, but the directness of her question takes me aback. “Yes,” I say honestly. “I’m annoyed he’s making the tour extra … complicated. But I can’t say I’m surprised. I feel like he’s been on a path of self-destruction for a while. It all feels a bit inevitable.”
“Inevitable,” Pia repeats thoughtfully. “So you’ve got another drummer?”
“Yes. Actually, maybe not. I don’t know.” I sigh and slide down the bed so I’m more horizontal. “And I’m not sure I care.”
“Oh, but you don’t want to ruin your sell-out tour,” she says sarcastically, and again I hear scratchy rustling sounds.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“London. Some hotel. It’s nice. I’m in bed right now.”
My cheeks flush warm and, no doubt, very pink. “You have a show tonight?”
There’s a pause. “Tomorrow night. It’s nearly midnight here.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” I look down at my hand as I play with the curled phone cord. “You know, you didn’t have to call me.”
“I wanted to.”
The flash of a too vivid memory. Pia close. Her body hot and her smile sly and beautiful. And I always get what I want…
I smile. “I’m glad you did.”
“I was afraid Vik had gotten you all in trouble.”
I blanche, realising this thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I feel suddenly very na?ve. “Do you think he could?”
“I don’t know, Cassie. I just don’t trust him. Or his brother.”
“That makes two of us.” I sigh. “You know, they never used to be like this. Once upon a time, we were all good friends.”
“What is it you English say,” she quips. “With friends like that, who needs enemies?”
“I believe you’re supposed to be my enemy,” I tease back.
“Is that what you want? For me to be your archenemy?”
“I never wanted that. Not ever.”
“I did,” she says, surprising me.
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” she says with great certainty.
“Maybe I’m just competitive, but before I knew you, I wanted to be better than you.
I wanted to show everyone how much more talented I was than you.
I wanted to win more awards and sell more albums. I guess you just made me want to be better. And also…” She trails off.
My voice is dry and gravelly when I speak. “What?”
“Hating you would have been a lot easier than … this.”
I’m aware of a heavy lump in my throat when I swallow. “What do you mean … this?”
She doesn’t reply, and it’s no overreaction that I think my heart may crack open in the silence.
“Are you in your hotel room?” she asks eventually.
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Speak up,” she orders, and that alone has my nipples tightening painfully.
“Yes, I’m alone.”
“Good. What are you wearing?”
I lick my lips and look down at my denim skirt and the blouse I have on. “A skirt and a top.”
“Take them off,” she insists.
“What?”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Then do as I ask.”
“But what about the phone…” I ask, feeling foolish and confused, and so incredibly turned on.
“Put it down on the bed and take off your clothes. Pick it up again when you’re wearing nothing but your underwear.”
After another awkward swallow, I put the phone down beside me. My fingers are shaking as I undo the buttons on my blouse and then on the clasp of my skirt. I roll down my tights and discard my clothes on a pile on the floor.
“Okay, I’m in my bra and knickers,” I say when I have the receiver back against my ear.
“Knickers,” Pia muses. “I think that may be my favourite English word.”