Chapter 6
It wasn’t long before we were finishing the appetizer, but I was only sipping my wine—because, even though I wasn’t working, I didn’t want to get silly or giddy.
I wanted to focus—because I was enjoying Braden Mitchell’s company.
“So what do you think about the bruschetta?”
“Good stuff.”
I said, “I plan to write your article this weekend before I have to head to Florida on Tuesday, but it might take me longer to get it just right. I’ll send you a rough draft so you can read through it, no matter when it’s done. Do you want me to send it to your publicist?”
“No. You can send it directly to me.”
Wow. That was some trust. It was then that we exchanged email addresses and numbers so I could send the draft both ways. Braden said, since he’d be back on the road, he wasn’t always good about checking emails daily, but “it’s hard to ignore a text.”
I agreed, vowing I’d never abuse that trust either. And that reminded me of something we’d talked about earlier. “I get why you were hesitant. I mean…the first article about what happened showed up on TMZ, I think, and man, did they get that shit wrong.”
“Yeah, I was stupid enough to read that—but I’m not sure it was TMZ.
I guess that doesn’t matter. But that first article made Dani out to be the stereotypical runaway bride, accusing her of cheating and using me—and the way they described me was even worse.
I think they even called me milquetoast, the scorned guy jilted at the altar.
They didn’t get it all wrong, but just enough.
And what I hated the most was how they seemed to want us to fill these roles rather than actually take a real look at what had happened. ”
“Obviously, they didn’t see the note,” I said, hoping I wasn’t poking at a painful memory while knowing I absolutely was.
“Yeah, and they never will. That was between me and Dani and no one else.”
And I sure as shit wouldn’t remind him that I’d been the first person to read it.
Instead, I wanted to pull him away from this topic that had to feel like a sore wound, regretting that I’d been the one who’d steered us here.
“I think that’s an easy hole to fall into as a reporter—forgetting that your subjects are human beings and not just characters in a play. ”
“I think it’s more than that,” Braden said, picking up his wine glass. “Those kinds of people doing that sort of reporting would be shitty human beings in other jobs too. It’s like they feel better about themselves when they trash other people.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. They project their bad shit onto others.”
“Exactly.” He took a sip of his wine. “They’re just using their subjects rather than trying to understand them.”
Every word Braden said amazed me, making me see the whole person and not just the guy I’d seen through Dani’s eyes…
or the man I’d seen onstage. And I tried not to go there, but my heart told me we might have a lot more in common than we might have originally considered.
“Yeah. That sounds right. And that shit’s exhausting. ”
“It is.”
I’d already known that Braden wasn’t the guy the tabloid mags had made him out to be—but he was even far more than I’d thought. He wasn’t some fragile, delicate, wimpy guy who’d just laid down and taken Dani’s shit. Instead, he was thoughtful, introspective…and smart.
“And,” Braden continued, “I appreciate that you weren’t just trying to draw that kind of shit out of me. Instead…you seemed to notice things that I know none of those other reporters had bothered to think about.”
“I try. And I think part of it is because, when I can, I try to focus on stories. You know…like what drives people. What motivates them to get up in the morning. What shaped them before they became famous? Those are the things I want to know, and my focus lends itself to longer pieces. I’m not in this business to report breaking news.
That’s a lot of times sensationalist, gossipy bullshit.
I’m here to give fans what they want—a glimpse into the people who write and perform the music they love, not just an overreaching piece that’ll be forgotten when the next item of trash appears. ”
“It shows in your work.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“I know it’s not all sensational reporting, but I became weary of the press fairly early on, because I saw us being forced into stereotypical roles.
You know, Zack was the frontman who was battling demons.
Cy was the silent, brooding guy who had to have skeletons in his closet.
Dani was the sassy female drummer, lucky to be part of the band.
And me? I was the dependable guy, kind of like a faithful dog. ”
“Really?” I said, a kneejerk reaction until I thought about it.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. And, now that you’ve pointed it out, I don’t think I’ll miss that again.
I suppose there’s an undercurrent of expectations running through the business—and it’s not without reason.
I mean, how many frontmen do you know who’ve battled addictions…
and either died from them or emerged on the other side triumphant? ”
Braden raised his eyebrows, picking up his wine glass, now half empty. “You’ve got a point.”
“But, like all stereotypes, it’s bad practice. It forces us to look at people as two-dimensional objects.”
The waiter appeared with two steaming plates of food and, as he placed them in front of us, I realized the restaurant had filled up and, in the space where we sat, there wasn’t a single empty table. My conversation with Braden had been so consuming that I’d missed it.
And I knew already that Dani really had given up a good guy…but I didn’t know how to say that without sounding condescending or insensitive.
“Fresh parmesan, sir?”
In response, Braden grinned. “You know it.” The sauce for my calzone already had plenty of parmesan on top, as did my salad.
Once the waiter left, I ventured into the topic, feeling the need to say something about how Braden was seen by others. “You said you’ve been perceived as the ‘dependable guy’ in the press, but I think there’s a little more there.”
Braden stabbed some penne in his fork. “Like what?”
“While Dani was getting a lot of heat for what she did, I read a lot of ‘unnamed sources’ in several articles who mentioned over and over what a good guy you are—that you’d give the shirt off your back to help someone. And I wonder why that doesn’t overshadow the ‘dependable’ comments.”
After he swallowed his first bite, he said, “Because it’s part of the same view.
A good guy is partly that because he’s reliable.
You know? And that’s part of why they’ve been merciless to Dani, because they’ve pitted my supposed goodness against her supposed heartlessness.
They’ve completely missed the point. What she did was difficult and maybe even brave.
She was being honest about her feelings—and, now that a lot of time has passed, I can appreciate what she did and why.
” Putting down his fork, he used his fingers to air quote what he said next.
“If she’d just been good, we might have found ourselves five or ten years from now—both of us—unhappy and unsatisfied.
I don’t regret the time we spent together but she was right.
We shouldn’t have stayed together if her feelings weren’t what mine were. ”
His words hit me like a punch in the chest, hitting my heart. He had so much depth and what he was saying here and now…as much as I would have liked to tell the world who he really was, I couldn’t. He was opening up for me, the person, not the interviewer. And I loved what I was seeing.
And it inspired me to open up further. “Yeah. I, um, grew up in a super religious household. We went to church every Sunday, mornings and evenings, and every Wednesday night. We attended other church functions and, when we had people over, they were always church families. I was homeschooled until I was older and, by the time I was in middle school, I was a bit of an outcast because I was the weird religious girl.”
While I took a sip of wine, Braden said, “I never would have guessed that.”
With that, I grinned. “That’s another story entirely—but…
when I started attending high school, a boy on the JV football team who didn’t know me already asked me out.
I couldn’t go on a date, not until I was seventeen, but what my parents didn’t know didn’t hurt them.
I saw him when I could without officially dating—and everything started out great.
And by the time I realized he was kind of a bully—mentally abusive, controlling—I was in way too deep.
See, in my role as a religious girl, I was nice.
And nice meant you didn’t break up with your boyfriend.
“But I credit my psychology teacher with opening my eyes. See, Matt would always wait for me outside the room so he could walk me to my next class, like he didn’t want to lose sight of me for a minute—and when we were studying one particular chapter in our book, my teacher talked about conformity, peer pressure, and love.
And I’ll never forget one thing she said that spoke to me: What seems important now will not be ten years from now.
And I imagined the life my parents wanted for me: to get married to a ‘nice boy’ after high school, have as many kids as he wanted, and to be a good little wife.
By that point, they knew he was my boyfriend without knowing how intimate we’d grown, and I was sure they thought he was the one for me.
I didn’t want any of that, but I didn’t know how to not do that…
because my mother had always modeled being a good wife.