Chapter 18
What's Harvey like when no one's watching?
“Where do you want this?”
I turn away from the window to the movers behind me, holding up a sofa.
I look around. “Just over there.” I point to a spot behind me.
The furniture truck in the driveway is nearly empty.
The only things left are the bed and dresser for Sunny’s room.
I told Peach I’d come pick up Sunny tomorrow.
I have a lot to do before then. One thing is to go to a couple of stores and get a few other items a home needs, like food, towels, bed sheets, etc.
The other is to go to Pete’s and get some of Sunny’s things to bring them here.
I’m not expecting any sort of confrontation, but I have a plan if I do.
Pete and Tamar have been shut up in their room ever since he got back from Vegas, and I know what they’re doing. Neither of them has asked after Sunny. Tamar hasn’t called Peach’s looking for her. I know exactly what they are doing.
When the movers are ready to bring in the bed and dresser, I show them where to put it, roughly arranged the way Sunny’s room is at Pete’s.
She’s got a bigger bedroom here, which I know she’ll love.
There are no decorations on the walls yet.
I don’t even have rugs for Sunny’s bathroom.
I figured I could take her somewhere and let her pick out what she wants.
It took me a week to find this place. The house is in Bel Air and not too far from Pete’s. It’s a nice home, large, with a swimming pool. There’s a nice stretch of yard on the south side. It’s somewhere of my own. Somewhere to bring Sunny where she’s wanted, and it’s safe.
But I’ll be here mostly alone.
I’ve been trying not to think about it, but that’s impossible.
I used to think when people talked about having a broken heart, how dumb that sounded.
Is it still beating? I’d want to ask. Because if so, then it’s not broken. And that could never happen to me. Wouldn’t ever happen to me. Hearts don’t break like a glass you dropped on the floor. They just stop. And a heart can’t stop unless something makes it stop.
Disease or death.
Not losing someone you love.
It doesn’t feel so dumb now. I had no idea. All the happy words I was writing in the notebook before get replaced. I scribble them out in the middle of the night. Just bits and pieces of phrases here and there. I don’t know if they’re anything just yet.
I started to feel like I was losing my mind.
It got to the point where I couldn’t stand not knowing where Austin was.
At first, I went out a few times to places where I thought he’d be.
Once I saw a redheaded guy dancing with another guy at one of the clubs off Sunset.
When I tapped him on the shoulder, the face that looked back at me wasn’t freckled and had green eyes.
I got as close to the studio lot as I dared without actually going in, worried Phil Baxter would see me, so I could watch for Austin’s car.
I finally caught him driving through the gate one morning, greeting security, but he was too far away for me to see his face clearly.
I just wanted to see if he’s happy. Happier without me.
But I wasn’t sure, so I went to his house.
Not right to it, and not too up close. I parked one of Pete’s cars down the road a little, across the street, where I could see his driveway and front door.
I ran into a little bit of a problem, though.
I’m sure I’m being followed. Phil and his lackey were pretty slick.
I never noticed a thing, and I’m sure they’ve got somebody watching me to see if I keep my end of the deal.
They’d have to. Once, after dropping Sunny off at Peach’s after school, I noticed a black Toyota driving by real slow.
I cut down some side streets and wound up following it all the way to an apartment building in Van Nuys, only to see an elderly couple get out and shuffle inside.
They’d have to be watching me, though. I know it.
Phil’s kept his end of the deal. I keep an eye on the papers, and there’s been nothing about Austin getting canned.
There’s been nothing much about the show in general, except that it’s been moved to a new time slot—Fridays at eight.
Phil and those network jerk offs must be confident.
They’re betting on people missing out on Donnie & Marie and The Incredible Hulk to watch.
But for me to park that close to Austin’s, I needed to make sure I wasn’t consistent.
I drove a different car from Pete’s and parked in a different spot every evening.
I’d wait until I saw Austin come home and his lights go out before I’d curl up in the backseat and go to sleep.
I’d set an alarm on my watch to make sure I woke up with enough time to see Austin leave for the studio and go take Sunny to school.
Except one morning, I didn’t see him because a woman with a bandage across her nose knocked on the window.
She said I was blocking her driveway and threatened to call the cops on me, so I had to leave.
I’ve slept in a car every night for a week, and now I’ll be sleeping in my own bed in my own home. It doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would.
Once all the furniture is moved in, I run a bunch of errands. I spend the evening putting things away, putting things together, and then I finally go over to Pete’s.
It’s quiet and dark when I walk in. I don’t stop to look for anyone.
I just go straight to Sunny’s room with a box and start gathering up her things.
After a few minutes, I start to worry that I’m not hearing anything—no muffled music, laughing, or coughing.
So, I go down the hall to Pete and Tamar’s bedroom and find it empty.
They’re not even here. But I do find a couple of needles and a small bag of white powder.
I don’t have it in me to be angry anymore.
I take Sunny’s things with me in one of Pete’s cars. I’ll have to get one of my own, but I can take my time with that. He’ll never even realize it’s missing.
Judd and George rent some studio time at the place near Westlake.
Judd and I composed three songs from what I wrote. But it was everything I wrote before. The happy and lovey-dovey stuff. They don’t know. And there’s no reason to tell them that the person who inspired all of this is no longer in my life.
George sits next to the guy tinkering with the mix, and Judd is in the live room with me.
They tell me not to be nervous, but I am.
I’m not faking it this time. It’s really me singing and playing a guitar to a song that I wrote.
Judd can tell that I’m nervous, so he goes through it with me a couple of times.
He’s going to be singing harmony and playing along with me.
When we’re ready to start recording, my mouth gets dry, and I have a hard time with the first couple of notes.
George brings me a glass of water, and then I get the hang of it.
It’s just like Judd and I are back in his living room.
George has us come out and listen to the track, and they’re all smiling, and I find myself smiling along with them.
“Damn, kid,” Judd says. “This is gonna be on the radio all the time.”
For the first time in my life, I feel proud of myself. I did something. I might actually be good at something.
I just wish the sense of pride and accomplishment would last.
But it doesn’t.
When I brought Sunny to the house, she was confused. Then thrilled.
“This is all mine,” I told her. “No more going to Peach’s.”
I showed her to her bedroom, and she was happy with it, but then she wanted to know how long she’d have to stay here.
I gave her my honest answer and that was that I didn’t know.
I did decide to heed Peach’s warning and left a note taped by the telephone at Pete’s with my new address and phone number, and that they would find Sunny here.
But after seeing the needles in their bedroom, I’m not expecting a phone call or visit anytime soon.
I don’t even think they’ll notice that we’re both gone. They only care about one thing now.
Since Sunny has started back to school, I consider hiring a housekeeper.
I don’t know how to do laundry. It makes me feel like a spoiled brat.
The spoiled son of a rock star. I get into a routine, though.
Taking Sunny to school. Going to Studio City and parking down the road to watch for Austin.
Going back home to keep myself occupied with putting together bookshelves for Sunny’s room or spontaneously deciding to paint a wall goldenrod.
Then I go pick up Sunny from school, take her home, we do homework and have a snack.
I let her watch her shows, I fix us dinner, I put her to bed, and I stay up until two or three, chain smoking out on the patio.
I hate the long nights of not knowing where Austin is or what he’s doing.
I can’t go check on him now with Sunny here. I can’t leave her alone.
Then I remember I have a telephone.
I get a couple of drinks in me first to get up the nerve.
I just want to hear his voice. I call at ten and eleven.
I call after midnight or close to dawn. I’ll let it ring and ring.
He’s not a heavy sleeper, he’d have to hear it if he’s there, but sometimes I don’t get an answer.
If he’s fucking somebody else, and they answered, I might kill them.
But when I do get an answer, when I hear his sleepy voice say “hello?” it takes everything in me not to say it back.
Not to tell him I miss him more than anything, and I’ll never love anyone as much as I love him.
But I have to hang up. I have to let that one word get me by.
That one second, like a deep breath of oxygen.
But then I just want more. I’ll never get enough.