Chapter 20
L iam
Wes and I practiced it all week, and Robbie okay’d it, so we went ahead…
We added Abby Shines, the new acoustic piece, to the Chicago set. Nobody knew we were going to do it. It was as spontaneous as writing music gets. Originally, I wanted to write lyrics to accompany Abby’s Serenade , but she wasn’t available for me to ask her for the rights to use her song, so I “borrowed” the dark, rhythmic elements from her composition, which had been haunting me, and went from there. Yes, it was similar enough to her original composition that she’d be well within her rights to sue me, but I was willing to take that chance, and so were the others. I was making a statement here, and it had to be a huge one. Wes came up with a chiming guitar riff to go with it, and together with my lyrics, it was about as poignant a piece as anything we’d ever performed.
That night, it was hard to sing it without a hitch catching in my throat. I’m sure everyone thought I was just acting, but still, there was no denying that moment when the guitar rang clear, the last note hung suspended, and I moaned out the final “… And she’ll never see me again. ”
I ended the last note, pressed two fingers to my lips, then held them high against the brightest light in the stadium. “For you, Ab.”
And kill the lights.
It was the last song before our first encore set, and good thing, too, because I needed the break to go backstage, lock myself in the bathroom, and remind myself not to text her anymore before returning to wrap up this carnival. I could only hope that some way, somehow, Abby would hear about the song.
And she’d see it for what it was.
The promise I was finally making her.
After the show, I was chillaxin’ in the VIP lounge with Robbie and a couple of our roadies, having a simple beer, munching on nachos, doing my best to stay away from the hard stuff. Though she wasn’t there to watch me stay in line, I imagined Abby looking on, approving of my new attitude.
My phone rang just then, and pulling it out of my pocket, I saw it was Helen FaceTiming me. “Hey, I’ll be right back,” I told Robbie, who watched me tromp off with a careful eye. I left the room to take the call in the hallway, pressing the accept button. “Hey, you.”
Helen’s face was sullen and puffy, and her nose was snotty. “Hey.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, my instincts to protect her kicking in, despite her melodramatic bullshit weeks ago. “Where are you? ”
“LA. I’m home.” She pressed her hands to her eyes and released them. “Can you talk?”
“Yeah, just finished twenty minutes ago. Was just hanging with Robbie. ’Sides, I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”
“Don’t give me shit, Liam. Just hear me out.” She was always pretty, even when she was crying. Right now, she was beautiful.
I felt bad for her, whatever was wrong with her, though I had a suspicion it had to do with me. “Okay. Shoot.” I turned the corner into a quieter hallway and slid my back down a wall until I was resting on the floor.
“Look, this isn’t easy for me to say,” she began, biting her lip to keep from crying harder. “But I’m sorry for acting like a douche when I was there. The thing is, Liam, I don’t think you know how much I love you. Or maybe you do. I don’t know.”
I thought about it. “I do. I mean, I know you love me, ’cause I love you, too. But I had no idea you feel the way you do. I didn’t know to which degree, I mean.”
“The way I do love you, Liam. Still do,” she said. Her lip quivered, as she fought to control it. Wow, I had no idea it was this bad. “And that’s just the problem. I can’t be around you anymore. It’s hurting me. The more I try to be near you, the more you don’t see me. I think I need to just find my own life, do my own thing. I loved managing merchandise, but being so near you when you don’t give a shit about me hurts me, Liam.”
“Who said I don’t give a shit about you?” I asked, my tone fierce. “Of course I do. You’re my best friend.”
“That’s not what I mean. God, Liam, you’re so dense sometimes!” She burst out laughing and crying at the same time, her tears degenerating into a soggy mess of hair and snot.
“I am not going to deny that.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry I can be an idiot.”
She wiped her whole face with a crumpled ball of tissue. “Okay then, listen to me, stupidhead. I just watched the Livestream. I heard that acoustic song you did with Wes. Honestly, I’m surprised it took that long to write one. I knew you would.”
I smiled. She knew my every move even before I did. We had one Livestream camera set up for family and friends on a website whenever they wanted to watch us perform. I honestly hadn’t even thought she’d care. “Wow, so you heard that? What’d you think?”
She shook her head slowly, and I thought she was going to start wailing, because the tears were coming fast. I had never seen Helen cry like this. “It was beautiful. Really beautiful. I hate you and love you for it at the same time.” She wiped her face then gave me a serious look. “You have to go see her, Liam.”
I said nothing. I knew she meant Abby. But she’d been ignoring my texts. That was as good a sign as any that she didn’t want to see me. Going to her in spite of that would seem pushy. Wrong. Like I didn’t respect her enough to know her own mind.
“She won’t have me, Helen. She’s done with me.”
“No. She loves you. I saw it. Her friend Rosemary saw it. Shit, everyone saw it, Liam. I’m sorry I set Giselle up to go see you, but I was scared. I’d never seen you in love like that before, so if I couldn’t stop you, I knew Giselle would.”
“But nobody stopped me. I still love Abby. I just…I never told her.”
Helen’s face cleared up just then, and a calm resolve washed over her. “Then you have to go to her. Tell her it was my fault. Tell her you were stupid. Tell her whatever you want, but tell her that you love her.”
“I did. I wrote her that song,” I said.
“And it was by far the best love ballad you’ve ever written, so if you don’t show up at her doorstep tomorrow, I’ll be hugely disappointed in you,” she said.
I couldn’t speak. I just watched her face pass through an amalgam of emotions. She must really love me to give her blessing like this, considering what she felt for me.
“Do it for me, Liam. If I can’t have your love, then I want Abby to have it. Please?”
Whoa.
“She won’t talk to me, babe.”
“She will, Lee. She keeps hoping you’ll come see her. Trust me on this.”
Women know how each other thought. Maybe she had a point.
“Liam?” Robbie’s voice echoed down the opposite hallway.
“Okay.” I nodded at Helen, watching the sheer relief wash over her face. “I’ll go to her. Thank you, babe. And I do love you. Don’t ever doubt that, okay?” I air-kissed the camera, which made her smile. We were going to be okay. That’s why we were friends to begin with.
She hung up, her sad smile burning an image into my brain, and I scrambled to my feet.
Robbie rushed around the corner, nearly slamming into me. “There you are. Classic Rock is here. I need you in the lounge ready to interview. Apparently, they had their nights messed up and came tonight.”
“Be right there, but then, Rob, I gotta go.”
“What the fuck you mean, Lee?” A knot formed between his eyebrows.
“I mean, I have to go to New York for a day—two days tops. We don’t have a show until Friday in Philly. I’ll meet you there when I’m done.”
“Liam?” Robbie picked at his temple, his voice taking on an authoritative tone. “Don’t do anything stupid. We need you here. We can’t have a Point Break show without Liam fucking Collier. I can’t have you risking your career, especially over a girl. Don’t leave,” he stressed.
I held him by the shoulders and gazed steadily into his eyes. “ It’s personal business. It won’t take me long, I swear. Robbie, have I ever let you down before?” I asked to no response. “Have I?”
His steel-blue eyes and fatherly concern were killing me. “Is this about that last-minute song you wrote?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Then go. Do what you have to do. I’ll see you in Philly by Friday at 10 a.m. Now…” He nudged me in the direction of the VIP lounge where an interviewer and photographer patiently waited outside. “Go. Do your interview then get the fuck out of here.”
I chartered a private plane to JFK so I wouldn’t have to deal with other passengers or take Nathan with me. It was faster, too. Finding out Abby’s Brooklyn address wasn’t easy. Robbie wouldn’t disclose it, thanks to her legal personal info rights. Her friend Rosemary wouldn’t talk to me at first, then she talked but said she wouldn’t disclose Abby’s address even if I was the pope himself from the Vatican. Apparently, that was just her way of making me suffer, because eventually, she told me how beautiful the new song was, gave me Abby’s address, and told me Abby loved sunflowers.
“Thanks for the tip.” I hugged her hard and was on my way.
It’d been years since I’d walked through Brooklyn. Vanessa’s uncle lived in Brooklyn, and we’d gone out one winter break to visit him. Our favorite place to eat that trip had been Yemen Cafe. We must have eaten there every day, so it was no wonder that the fond memories attacking me just now were all about food. I was starving by the time I reached Abby’s brownstone.
Hopping up the steps, I paused at apartment 3B and breathed in deep. I rang the doorbell and waited with sunflowers in hand.
“Hello?” a female voice said through the door .
“Hi, I’m a friend of Abby’s,” I said, bouncing on my feet.
The woman who answered the door could have been Abby’s older sister, but I didn’t remember her mentioning a sister. As far as I knew, she was an only child and lived with her mother. “She’s not here,” the woman said, reading my face, then eyeing the sunflowers. “She’s busy at the studio. Some people actually work hard for their money. You’re Liam?” She said this much the same way she might have said, “You are the spawn of Satan?”
“I am, ma’am.” I gave her my best smile, trying not to look like the no-good smartass she probably pegged me for. For years, people had wanted to interview me, pick my brain, hear me speak on any ridiculous subject, and for once, here I faced a woman who couldn’t care less what I had to say. From the look of it, she already knew what I’d done to Abby and was about to crucify me for it. “Would you be able to give me the address to the studio? I won’t bother her long.”
She rested an elbow on the doorframe. She was small, thin, but every bit as beautiful as Abby. I could see how a difficult life might have hardened her a bit. “What do you want with my daughter?” Narrowed eyes shot invisible laser beams at me.
“I don’t want anything from her, Ms. Chan,” I said, twirling the flowers nervously. “It’s what I want to give her—everything.”
She assessed me up and down, and I’d liked to think that maybe she noticed something in my face that settled with her just fine. Giving me a sad expression, she said, “She’s working a wedding, but she’ll be by the studio afterwards. 316 5 th Avenue. Third floor.”