By Degrees (13 page)

Chairs scrape back and everyone’s standing.
 
“Good luck, everyone,” I say.
 
“See you tomorrow morning early.”

“Later!”
 
Ricky jogs away from the table, trying to outrun Tarin to the car.
 
Zach and Leonard are even faster, reaching Tarin before he gets to the back door.

I’m left with Mel, Scott, and the band manager.

“Well,” says Mel, breathing out long and slow, “I guess that went okay.
 
At least he didn’t throw anything at anyone.”

“He wanted to,” says the manager, holding out his hand.
 
“Best of luck to you, Ms. Barnes.
 
Call me if you need me.
 
I don’t know how much of a signal I’ll have, but I’ll try to check voicemails from the hotel.”

I shake his hand.
 
“Thanks.
 
Don’t worry about us.
 
Tarin’s going to be fine.”
 
I truly believe this, which is why my smile is so confident and strong.
 
I feel high on life right now.
 
Tarin not flipping the table and throwing dishes is indeed a step in the right direction.

Mel moves off to join his wife and some of the crew members by a chocolate fountain, leaving Scott and me alone at the big empty table.

“Get some good notes?” I ask, leaning over to look at Scott’s pad.

“Yep.
 
I have a great profile all built up.”
 
He looks down at his chicken scratches. “Rude, angry, hurt, undependable, short-tempered, and a man-whore drug user.”
 
Scott looks up and grins at me.
 
“The only thing he hasn’t done that I can tell is kill someone.”

I grin back.
 
“Then we’re all good, aren’t we?”

He puts his arm over my shoulder.
 
“Austin would be proud of us, I think.”

I’m choked up, but I answer anyway, my voice a little raspy. “I know he would be.
 
Come on.
 
Let’s go get some cake.”

“Awwww, yeah buddy,” says Scott, dropping his pad in his chair and abandoning me for the dessert table.

I follow behind him, my heart beating slow and sure.
 
I feel like Austin’s spirit is guiding me every step of the way and it makes me strong.

Slow and steady wins the race babe.
 
You got this.

Chapter Twelve

SCOTT AND I SHOW UP at Tarin’s front door at five the next morning.
 
Ricky lets us in, dressed for our morning’s activities in navy blue basketball shorts, a white t-shirt and glowing green running shoes.
 
He and Scott look like they’re on the same sports team, their clothes are so similar in style and color.
 
Scott’s shoes aren’t nearly as flamboyant, and I catch him staring at Ricky’s with envy. Normally I can count on Scott to keep the footwear interesting, but Ricky wins today in that department. I make a mental note to add bright green shoes to Scott’s Christmas list.
 

“Looking good,” says Scott, holding out his hand to Ricky.

“Thanks, man.
 
You ready to hit the pavement?”
 
They exchange hand slaps and knuckle bumps.
 
Scott has tried several times to teach me that intricate set of maneuvers that they all seem to know how to do instinctually.
 
He’s given up on me ever learning, but I haven’t.
 
I study their movements and try to memorize them for my next attempt.

“As ready as I’ll never ever be,” says Scott, dropping his duffle bag on the floor in the front entrance and looking around at the opulent foyer.
 
He’s not a huge fan of exercise.
 
Like me, he does it as part of the job, but he’s one of those guys who doesn’t have to do anything to look lean and fit.

“Can I get that for you?” Ricky asks me, gesturing to my bag.

“Sure.
 
There’s another in the trunk, but you can leave it there.
 
Is Tarin up?”
 
I eye the stairs leading to where I assume his bedroom is.

He smiles.
 
“Yeah, but it ain’t pretty.
 
He’s in the kitchen having some coffee.”

I smile back a little evilly, a piece of me happy we’re making him work for this.
 
Stupid jerk, getting that ding dong pregnant
.
 
Maybe.
 
We’ll find out soon enough if she’s really pregnant, if I have anything to say about it.
 
“How’d last night go?” I ask Ricky as he takes my bag from me.

“Good, I guess.
 
Jelly had a fit and Tarin kicked her out after listening to her for a hour.
 
Nobody gave him any trouble after that.
 
He went to bed early.
 
Early for him, anyway.”
 
Ricky puts my bag on the bottom stair and then goes to the front door.

“What time did he go upstairs?” I ask.

“Two in the morning.”

I roll my eyes.
 
“Great.
 
He’s going to work out on three hours of sleep and a hangover.”

Ricky talks louder to be heard from out in the front valet area.
 
He’s disregarded my offer to leave the other bag in the car, pulling it out of the trunk.
 
“The caffeine will get him to lunchtime. Maybe he can take a nap or something before we do anything later.”

I don’t commit to anything.
 
I’m going to play these first few days by ear.
 
I pray to any god listening that Tarin’s drug use hasn’t messed him up too bad.
 
I’m still fairly confident he’s not a drug addict, even if he is addicted to bad behavior and destructive users.

One thing at a time - first the physical health, then the mental health.
 
Rome wasn’t built in a day.
 
It wasn’t built in thirty days either, but I’ve been called a miracle worker before for good reason.
 
This is what I was meant to do.
 
Rescue party, reporting for duty.

Scott is in another room, but his exclamation of happiness makes him easy to find.
 
I walk into a big family room to find him glowing with joy, staring at a huge television screen and a boatload of stereo and video equipment.

“Did you see this?” he asks, his voice an octave too high and cracking like it used to when he was fourteen.
 
“Every single awesome video game known to man … it’s like a frigging video store in here!”
 
He’s staring into a cabinet that goes from floor to very high ceiling.
 
“I’m pretty sure I’ve just died and gone to heaven.”

“Oh yay,” I say with zero enthusiasm.
 
“Now you can kill off a few million more brain cells.”

“Hush your mouth, woman.
 
Can’t you see I’m in church right now?”

“You let him talk to you like that?” asks Ricky, standing behind me, obviously amused by what he’s seeing and hearing.

I walk out of the room and gesture for him to go in front of me.
 
“Once a week he gets a pass to be a complete fool.
 
He just used it all up in there.
 
Could you show me to the kitchen?
 
It’s time to get this party started.”

“I’ll be with you in a minute!” says Scott at our backs.

“Yeah, come on,” Ricky says, his long strides carrying him swiftly down the hall.

I follow Tarin’s driver and sometime babysitter through the large house, taking in the details as we make our way to the kitchen.
 
An interior decorator was hired to do the designing, that much is clear.
 
It has a cold, beige, perfectly-put-together look about it.
 
I can’t picture Tarin being happy here or being involved in the buying of any of these items other than to sign a check.
 
The place could go up for sale tomorrow and be purchased by a wealthy couple not at all involved in the entertainment industry, that’s how
not
Tarin it is.

It makes me sad knowing that maybe this is the whole point for him; he doesn’t want to connect here and needs to be ready to fly the coop at a moment’s notice without any attachments holding him back.
 
Maybe this should bother me on Jelly’s behalf, but it doesn’t.
 
I don’t want him to be with her, and the idea of them being a couple out of a sense of duty over a child makes me want to rage at the world.
 
It’s because I care about him as a musician and a person, nothing more.
 
I hate to see a wasted life.
 
It has nothing to do with the fact that I find him attractive and annoying and maddeningly similar to someone I once loved with all my heart.
 
Tarin deserves that kind of love and dedication. Not from me of course, but someone.
 
Someone who wants to be with him for who he is, not because of his money or status.
 
Grrrrr … Jelly
.
 
I smile bitterly, thinking how it’s those two things that make him the completely wrong person for me.
 
He has too much of both the money and the status.
 
Never
ever
will I get involved with someone in this world again.

“Hello? Anybody in there?” Ricky is stopped in the middle of the hallway and I do the same behind him without even consciously doing it.
 
He’s caught me staring off into space.

“Oh, ha, yeah…” I giggle, trying to play off my space cadet act, cringing when my goofy laugh makes it worse, “…just lost in thought for a second there.”

“Looked serious.”
 
He’s probing.

“What’s behind that door?” I ask, letting him know without exactly saying so that I’m not the sharing type.

“That’s the music studio.
 
No one’s allowed in unless invited.”

“Do you get invited?” I ask, staring at the door handle, wondering if it’s locked.
 
My curiosity is instantly off the charts.
 
This would be the room where Tarin can be himself.
 
I really want to see that, and then again, I really, really don’t.
 
I have a feeling it would do something irreparable to me, and I’ve already had those kind of things done to me before. I’m not fond of being broken like that.

“I’ve been in there once or twice maybe.
 
But I don’t stay.”

I look up at him.
 
“Why?”

He shrugs, looking sad.
 
“I don’t know why.
 
I guess … I don’t like to see him doing something he should love and looking unhappy about it.”

A lump develops in my throat as a picture of Tarin’s tortured expression comes to mind.
 
I nod, taking a moment to collect myself before responding.
 
“Yeah.
 
I know what you mean.”
 
It’s exactly how Austin was near the end.
 
I’m so glad I’m here to help Tarin.
 
Everything I learn about him makes me feel stronger about my goals for him.
 
This is
so
going to happen.
 
We’re going to get Tarin back on his feet and performing healthy again if it’s the last thing I do.

I’m jerked out of my inner pep-talk by Tarin’s voice coming from the kitchen.
 
It’s loud, and he’s clearly angry.

“That’s not going to happen!
 
I’m telling you right now, it’s just
not!”

“Uh-oh,” says Ricky, loping down the hallway and turning a corner ahead.

I follow behind, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen.

Tarin’s on the phone.
 
He looks at me as he listens to the person on the other end of the line and throws his hand up while rolling his eyes.
 
Apparently, I’m the icing on his poo-cake.

“No …
no.
 
Fuck that.
 
No.”
 
He pauses before launching into another tirade.
 
“You tell them they can kiss my fucking ass and suck my dick twice while they’re at it.
 
I’m not paying them shit.”

I walk over and stand in front of him.
 
“Lawyers?” I ask softly.

He nods.

I hold out my hand.

His eyebrows go up, but he shrugs and hands the phone to me, placing it in my palm.
 
“You want to deal with ‘em, go for it.
 
I’m over that shit.”
 
He leans back against the counter and snatches a plastic bottle filled with orange stuff, preparing to take a swig.

I take the container from his hand and sniff it before putting the phone to my ear.
 
“Hello?”
 
I take a quick sip of the drink to make sure it’s alcohol-free.
 
When I’m sure it’s just orange juice, I hand it back to him.
 
Tarin’s mouth is hanging open at my nerve, but I ignore his reaction and concentrate on the phone call.

“Who’s this?” asks a frustrated male voice.

“This is Scarlett Barnes.”

“Oh … Hi, Scarlett.”
 
His tone goes from angry to conciliatory in the blink of an eye.
 
“This is Nick Galanos.
 
I was told you’d be getting involved over there.”

“Hi, Nick.
 
Nice to meet you.
 
So what’s going on?”

Tarin takes another swig of his juice and I watch his Adam’s apple bounce up and down in his throat. When his head tips down again, he stares at me, licking a couple droplets of juice off his lips.
 
It sends a tingle through my body that I work desperately to ignore.
 
Such a bad idea, Scarlett.
 
Stop looking at him
.
 
I cast my eyes to the floor.