25
The Zombies' "The Way I Feel Inside" whispered about the car as I woke from the best sleep I'd had in weeks. I shut my eyes and lay back in the seat, which I had reclined as far as it would go, surrendering to my lazybones and absorbing the tranquil lyrics.
They spoke for me. Making an appeal on my behalf, voicing things I was unable to articulate even in the quiet of my own thoughts. When the track finished, I looped it back several times before relenting and allowing it to progress to Corrine Bailey Rae.
It was before sunrise, and the sky was a faint gradient color that reminded me of an apricot; the kind my mother always fetched from the market and told me not to touch until they'd ripened.
I could almost sense their waxy textures against my tongue, and the tangy aftertaste that sometimes stung my jaws long after I'd eaten them.
Today was absurd. I hadn't calculated my next move, and now cursed myself for being emotional and brash, a deadly combination.
Everything could shift in one false move if I weren't careful.
I had to weigh my options—although no amount of rationalizing seemed to help me step beyond the notion that I needed to see him right away.
Now all there was left to do was wait until a more appropriate time of morning, so as not to incite his ire.
I shifted my weight to get more comfortable, rolling down the window for a wisp of air not stifled by my honeysuckle car freshener.
Right away the stench of a freshly mown lawn replaced it, and it wasn't long before I spotted the contraption rumbling across a neighboring yard.
My thoughts were shortly dissolved by a coughing fit that made my ribs ache, and in the end I was grateful to see I wasn't terribly hungover.
That was the bad news though. I was becoming a heavyweight drinker—less and less affected by these binges, which were increasing in frequency.
The thought alone alarmed me, so I shoved the empty bottle away, sending it flying onto the floor of the passenger seat.
I switched playlists in search of a better diversion. A hush filtered throughout the car as I sifted through titles like a crate of old vinyl. Deniece Williams' "Silly" spoke to my soul, and it was here that I considered calling my mum.
In her neck of the woods, it was late afternoon, and I knew she was the only person in my circle unaware of what had taken place last night.
Seeing that John had called repeatedly and left a few livid texts, I was positive he'd also called all my LA contacts in search of me. He’d be worried I was drunk driving, but even at my worst, I refused to do anything that stupid.
He should've thought better of me. Or perhaps I’d never given him reason to?
I rang my mum. She answered straightaway, gleefully calling me her baby. I smiled like a loon, always moved by her receptiveness and undying affinity for me. Nothing I could do or say would ever take her affection from me, and sometimes that was all I needed to get by.
I hadn't realized how friendless I felt until I heard her voice. I teared up listening to her talk about her day. She was totally unaware of my desperation, and would be ashamed if she knew I’d camped out in a car drinking all night. Particularly if she knew whose house I was stalking.
"Rafe? Love? Still there?"
"Yeah, mum…m’here," I sighed.
"You sound a tad down, love. Everything ok?"
"M'fine," I whispered, unable to tell her anything. "Just miss you, is all." That earned me a bubbly laugh.
"Now you see why I call you so much! I miss you too, love. I was hopin' you'd come home for a week or two. Or more..."
"Will do. Already in the works. I'll get there before filming starts and try to stay as long as possible."
"My heart skips a beat anytime the news comes up.
I just can't comprehend it. My baby, an actor....
I don't wanna fuss over you too much now—and I don't wanna make the girls cross by always talkin' up you and your sister, but this ought to be celebrated! I’ve told everyone I know and they’re just as over the moon as I am. "
“That’s awesome, mum. Thanks.”
She gave a little involuntary aww. "And everyone's just so happy for you, love. The music is one thing, but Spielberg is quite another."
"Yeah...tell me about it," I smirked. "I'm a lucky bastard."
"Y'happy, Ralph?"
"Mm-hm," I nodded, trying to convince myself. "Really happy."
"Good—"
"I've gotta have a trim for the role, too, so there's that. I, uh, think I want you to be there when it happens." That amused her.
"Don't think I'd recognize you anymore with short hair. Are you quite prepared for that?"
"Not really. Sometimes I think I am, then I look in the mirror and, uh, just can't picture myself with short hair anymore, y'know? Not since like what? 2010? Dunno what I'd look like with, uh, normal hair per se."
"D’you have a stylist in mind?"
"Mm-hm...from the band. She’ll style it afterwards. I'm used to the way she works and she knows what I like."
"Good then. We’ll get you sorted. It should be really good then after all."
"A fresh start..."
"Sort of symbolic, then…when you think of it that way," she sighed. "Rob says you oughtta just wear a shorter wig and call it a day!"
As usual, she broke off and began having a conversation with him and relayed everything he said to me, instead of just switching to speaker phone.
"What's it called, babe?" she asked him. "Say again—"
'Toupee', I heard him say with an affected French accent.
"Rafe, listen...Rob says: 'don't cut it.' He knows how much you love your hair—it's charmin', innit, Rob? How much he loves it?"
I laughed as they continued to speak to each other, forgetting me as they debated whether I should take the leap or not.
"Ralph, love? Still there?"
"Mm-hm," I nodded.
They kept going at it. I heard Rob's voice muttering in the background and suddenly missed him talking politics on Sunday mornings, although I rarely knew what he was referring to those days. I put the call on speaker and Googled toupee, and what I discovered was disturbing.
"This? Hell no, mum! That's for bald spots, I think. That'd look awful.”
"Hear, hear, I agree. Go ahead and cut it, love. I think it’d be best," she sighed. "What d’you think, Rob. It can always grow back. Let him have it his way."
After hanging up with them, I felt considerably better; my mood elevating in sync with the sun.
I got out of the car and stretched, walking a few paces down the road to study the old oaks and hedges that enshrouded the neighborhood.
From my last visit I knew they would leave massive shadows along the pavement in the early evening, and hoped I'd be around to witness it again.
Settling back into the car, the seat now in an upright position, I picked my nails and switched the playlist to "Night and Day" by the Temptations.
Thirty emails later—which were mainly just spam and requests for endorsements and articles sent from friends and family about me—I dared to ring up John.
He didn't pick up so I tried Jen; still nothing.
Finally, I tried Dan Winston, fellow Brit turned big time Hollywood producer, and he answered with a mischievous chuckle.
"Oh, mate, you've done it now!" he snickered. "Seriously Rafe, mate, what the hell were you thinking?! We were worried sick, yeah? John lost it! Mare and I went driving after you—couldn't find you anywhere, you bloody wanker. I ought to slap you silly!"
"Shit...sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to make anyone panic, I just couldn't be there anymore, y'know? I just had to get out."
"Hey, listen, I hear ya. Vi seems like a handful, if you know what I mean.”
"Trust me, I know. I've been juggling that handful for years now."
"But you're ok, right? You're alright, Rafe? You alone? Need me to come get ya?"
"No, no, I'm good, mate. Thanks. I'm just at a friend's." I bit my lip. The statement was so disingenuous I couldn't stomach it.
"Say, listen, I wanna see you before we head back, alright?
Get some grub, you know? We've gotta catch up on a few things, you and I.
Mare's missing you too. I told her we'd all have dinner the other day and it fell through.
She was gutted. The three of us haven't sat for dinner since we've been here, and that’s unlike us. "
"I know, I know... I'm really sorry, mate. Tell Mare I love her, please. I adore her.”
I missed us all spending time together when I roomed with them in the early days of Invicta.
I’d moved out of the flat I shared with Alex, straight into their sprawling north London home, despite having purchased a house of my own.
My place was under heavy renovations at the time, and they’d offered me room and board for months, free of charge.
That period in my life with the Winstons could easily be credited with keeping me grounded, no matter how explosive the band became.
And at times the money and adulation and demand had become dangerously difficult to contend with at my age.
“I intended to set aside time today,” I muttered. “But, uh, I might not be able to make it ‘til tomorrow. Don't hate me, ok?"
"Well, listen, just let me know, alright? Whatever works. I'm all yours. I'll listen out for your call."
"Thanks, mate. Talk soon."
"Take it easy, Rafe. I mean it. I don't like to see you upset. It's not like you to react that way."
"I know..." I conceded. "Again, m'sorry. Appreciate you all stopping by. That made my night...before everything went down."
Later, as I checked my screen, I noticed Rome had texted. My stomach flipped when I read: “Hey? Is that you outside?”
How the fuck did he know? Had he seen me? Had he wandered out in the night and saw me lying there, drooling and spooning a massive bottle of booze? I face-palmed hard, allowing my hand to smack my face repeatedly. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck.
Then suddenly, it dawned on me. Security cameras. Some stealth surveillance system must’ve captured the car.
Mortified, I simply replied: "Yeah."