Authors: Amanda Weaver
“Mom…” Justine groaned.
“Hush,” Dillon shushed her with a smile. “This is good stuff. So you guys aren’t upset she’s hanging around rock bands all day?”
Marietta smiled at her daughter, overflowing with pride and love. “It’s where her calling is. You know,” she turned to Dillon and touched his arm, like they were confidants for years. “I’m a school teacher and Tom is an accountant, but we’ve always had a love for the arts.”
Tom tapped his chest. “Artistic souls. Just happened to be good at math.”
“We knew both of the girls would be artists,” Marietta went on, casting an indulgent smile at Emily. “When Emily was four, she repainted her entire bedroom with finger paints. The most amazing mural you’ve ever seen.”
Ash chuckled. “My dad would have killed me if I did that.”
“Oh, no!” Marietta exclaimed. “She had something to express and that’s how she wanted to do it. That’s when we knew she was an artist. We signed her up for art classes so she could work it out on paper and not the walls. It was all fine then.”
“And Justine was the singer?” Dillon prodded.
“Always our little songbird,” Tom said.
Justine sighed. “Dad.”
“We knew right from the start where your path would lead.” Then he turned to Dillon. “All through high school, every dime she got she spent on music. She had walls of CDs. She always knew what she wanted, didn’t she, Mare?”
Justine’s mother nodded. “We knew she wasn’t staying in Sacramento. We weren’t even surprised when she came home in high school and told us she was moving to LA as soon as she graduated. And now look at her!”
Dillon turned his head, his dark eyes sparking with amusement. “Now look at her.”
“Our girl is going places,” Tom said with absolute conviction.
“That’s something we can agree on,” Dillon said. “She certainly will.”
“This calls for a toast!” Ash shouted. Justine and Dillon exchanged a glance. Everything called for a toast with Ash.
“I’ll say so!” Tom enthused, lifting his glass.
Marietta and Emily clinked their glasses.
“To success,” Tom said.
“To setting the world on fire!” Ash shouted.
Justine could see in his eyes that he wasn’t talking about just her.
Dillon was strumming his guitar and singing in a ridiculous falsetto nasal whine, imitating a boy-band hit all over the radio stations that spring.
“Oh, hey girl, you know you make me rock this club out—”
Justine doubled over with laughter. “Oh God, please stop! I’m sorry, Dillon, but I never need to hear you sing about rocking a club out. If you sing ‘put your hands in the air’ next, I swear to God, I’m flinging myself off this bus.”
He laughed, too and the song filtered away into a finger-picking riff. Parts sounded familiar to her, little phrases and note progressions she recognized from other things he’d been working on while they toured. At this point, listening to him play was like listening to him talk. It was all one language with them.
Justine loved music as much as Dillon did, but they saw different things in it. She loved it on a deep emotional level. Songs would bring her to tears, lyrics would obsess her, even if she couldn’t always articulate what moved her. She fell in love with the tapestry of a song. But Dillon saw the whole and every nuanced detail that made it brilliant. He could tease the music apart into threads and show her exactly why she loved it.
The bus hummed along yet another indistinguishable stretch of interstate. They were on their way to Buffalo, or maybe Hartford, or some other city she couldn’t remember right now. It hardly mattered since the venues on the other end were all so similar. Most of the time, they could be anywhere.
Being on stage, honing the act and her performance in front of enthusiastic, consistent crowds, had been an amazing experience and one she’d always be grateful for. But these moments—on the bus, backstage, in a hotel room—were the ones she really lived for. Right now, Ash, Rocky, and Paolo were crashed out in the bunks, David was away in the back somewhere, and JD and Eddie were playing Halo on the TV up front. It was just Dillon and Justine, as it had been so many times before. They whiled away these hours of tedium listening to music, playing together, working on Dillon’s songs, or just watching TV and bullshitting. It hardly mattered. They were the best hours of her day. And nothing on earth compared to watching Dillon play. His fingers were strong and agile as they moved across the strings, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each movement. He always bent low over the guitar when he played in private, almost one with the instrument.
“When did you start playing?” she asked absently, throwing an almond in the air and catching it in her mouth.
He shrugged, not looking up. “Seven, maybe? Eight? I can’t remember.”
“Who taught you?”
“Nobody. One of my mom’s boyfriends left a guitar behind when he moved out. Best part of him, frankly. I taught myself. Eventually I went back and learned how to read music, so I could write stuff down for the band.”
“I bet your mom was impressed.”
He snorted dismissively. “Not really. Probably didn’t even notice I’d learned.”
“I’m sure it’s—”
He abruptly cut her off. “Hey, you need to help me with this.”
Justine knew a diversion when she heard it, and Dillon’s mother was clearly off limits for discussion. “Help you with what?”
“This chorus thing sucks and I can’t figure it out.”
“You played that for me yesterday. It sounded great.”
“No, the harmony thing. I want it to open up at the end with a bunch of voices but it sounds cheesy right now. Like a Disney cartoon.”
“Like that’s a bad thing.” Dillon scoffed and she kicked at him. “I’ll have you know I can sing all of Beauty and the Beast by heart. But it’s not important right now. Play it for me again.”
He did, approximating the vocal split with a chord and humming. His songwriting still blew her away, even when she was helping him do it. Half the time she was so busy marveling over what he was doing she forgot she was supposed to be listening and contributing.
She squinted and cocked her head. “You’re right, it’s too happy. Try D minor there?”
He played the chord again. “Oh, wait—” he muttered, and then bent low, strumming one and then another dozen chords, each a variation on the one before, each one closer to what he wanted. The last one, the one that finally made him smile, was so poignant that her heart hurt. She swallowed around a lump in her throat and tossed her uneaten handful of almonds in the trash.
“How do you do that?”
“What?”
“That. What you just wrote. It’s like the whole world’s heartbreak in a guitar chord.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“Totally a compliment. But seriously, I think that’s it. You got it.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, running a hand through his hair. “It feels good. Hey, I was playing around with those lyrics we were writing last week. Remember the ones? I changed some stuff. See what you think.”
There was a bang behind them and Justine turned to see David emerging from the little hallway leading back to the bunks. His eyes darted between Justine and Dillon.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your epic jam session.”
“You’re not—”
“I mean, you guys could be crafting the next Outlaw Rovers top ten hit and here I am getting in the way.”
As always, Justine’s temper flared up in an instant. “Godammit, David—”
But Dillon reached out and touched her shoulder. “David, man, relax. Justine’s just helping me work out some musical stuff.”
David stood there another minute, jaw tense. Finally, he snorted and shook his head. “Yeah. Okay. Whatever. Good luck with that.”
He turned to head back down the hall. Justine lunged up to storm after him, but Dillon tightened his grip on her arm. “Don’t,” he murmured. “Just let him go.”
“Why should I? That fucking jerk. He doesn’t think I have a single bit of talent outside of my voice, so he gives me a hard time when somebody else does? Why do I need to give him a pass because he’s jealous? I can play with anybody I want on my own time.”
“That’s not why he’s jealous.”
Justine spun around to look at him. “What?”
Dillon just shrugged and looked back down at his guitar. “It’s not why he’s jealous. The music.”
She sat back down heavily, never taking her eyes off Dillon. “What are you saying?”
Dillon squinted up at her. “You really don’t see it?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, starting to feel uncertain of herself and maybe a little stupid. “Enlighten me.”
A tiny crease played at the corner of his mouth, like he was trying like hell to suppress a smile. “He wants you.”
A cold wave washed over Justine with his words.
No
. “No,” she said out loud. “He’s never…. No.”
“He might not have ever said anything to you or made a move, but it’s still true.”
“You’re imagining it.” Justine snapped, praying she was right. Because if she wasn’t, if it was true, it would be really hard to look at David the same way. The awareness would weigh on her, infect her…
No.
“Not just me.”
“What the hell are you saying, Dillon?”
“I’m saying anybody can see how bad he’s got it for you. Everybody
does
see it. It’s obvious.”
“Shut up! It’s not true. He can barely stand me. We fight all the time.”
“Because he knows you don’t want him back. He knows he doesn’t have a chance, but it doesn’t keep him from being jealous of anybody who gets close to you. Me, Ash, Rocky, even Eddie. He hates us all.”
“And you’re saying it’s because of me.”
Dillon wagged a hand back and forth, indicating the reason was split. “Well, he’s also kind of a jerk. But yeah…the thing with you is a big part of the attitude. And the control freak thing? He knows how good you are, and he knows the minute people get a good look at you, he’ll lose you, even the shitty way he has you now.”
Justine shook her head again, certain they must all be mistaken. There was no way—no
way
—David felt anything more for her than seething resentment. She was used to that. She knew how to handle it and hit back when she needed to. If it was something else… she could feel the knowledge starting to alter her perception already.
“Hey, I’m sorry I said anything,” Dillon said, reaching out to touch her arm again when he sensed she was genuinely upset. “I figured you already knew.”
She let out a wavering breath. “Apparently I’m clueless on this one.”
“Don’t let it bug you. It’s not your problem, right?”
“But don’t you see how this messes things up?”
“How does it mess anything up if he never says anything?”
“Because now I know. Before, I thought he didn’t like me, or was jealous of the attention I got, or whatever. Now… there’s all this other stuff going on. It’s like poison. It’s going to mess up the band, just wait.”
Dillon’s expression softened, his eyes almost pitying. His hand slid down from her shoulder until he was grasping her hand. He squeezed her fingers gently.
“Babe, you already know this band isn’t going to last.”
She said nothing, she just stared back at him as his words, the finality of them, settled into her stomach like lead. Because she did know. On some level she knew her time in this band had an expiration date. And then what would happen? What would she do when she wasn’t in a band anymore and there was no audience to sing for?
“But what will I do then?” she finally choked out.
Dillon chuckled and squeezed her hand again. “Anything you want? Honestly, Justine, the world better hold on the day you decide to really cut loose. You’ll light it up.”
She managed a weak smile, grateful for his unwavering belief in her. “But all I know right now is this band. I don’t know how I’m even supposed to talk to him anymore.”
“Go easy on him,” Dillon said, leaning back and stretching. “It’s not his fault he feels that way. And I’m pretty sure he’d rather he didn’t. He can’t help it.”
Justine watched Dillon, or rather the top of his dark hair, as he turned back to his guitar. Now she understood how Dillon was always able to brush off David’s often blatant insults and rudeness. He felt sorry for him.
He was right, of course. In the end, although it made her uncomfortable, she couldn’t blame David for feelings he had no control over. Besides, she’d be a big fat hypocrite if she did. After all, she sat here day after day with Dillon, in love with him and never saying anything. When she looked at it that way, she almost felt sorry for him, too. They were the same stupid, hopeless fools, wearing themselves away on lost causes. Maybe she’d buy him a drink in Rochester. And then introduce him to some hot groupies so he could get on with the business of getting over her.
As she watched Dillon, beautiful, unreachable Dillon, play around with chord progressions, she wished she could do the same thing for herself.
June, 2008
The man lounging against the door to the green room looked familiar. He was thin and average height, although the shaved head made him stand out a bit, as did the chunky geek-chic black-framed glasses. She supposed that was the point of his look. He was wearing an artfully casual blazer over a faded band t-shirt and really expensive jeans. His shoes looked Italian and pricey. So he was aiming to look legit, but he had money. Justine had met enough label types to know one when she saw him.
As she made her way towards the green room, he noticed her and perked up. It wasn’t that kind of notice. She could see that coming half a mile away. His eyes stayed on her face, for one thing. His expression was sharp and alert, a far cry from the wasted leering she was used to back stage.
When she was close enough to hear him, he smiled and extended a hand towards her.
“Justine? Jon Verlaine from Nightfall Records. We met a couple of months ago when I came out to see the guys.”
“Oh,” she said with a smile, everything slotting into place. Jon was the A&R guy who signed Outlaw Rovers, the only one at the label, according to Dillon, who had any sense at all. It was Jon who the band bonded with. Since then, they’d been unhappy with every single label interaction they’d had. It was someone else, more senior than Jon, who’d stuck Outlaw with their disastrous producer, and it was Jon who’d stepped in and convinced the label to let Dillon finish the job.