13.
Standing alone on the beach at sunrise, my shadow stretched out onto the breaking waves and we stood face to face again and again.
I’d decided to go to Stellastic Records on Monday to figure out a new deal, using “Despicable Me”’s failure as leverage to release my own songs under my own name. In the meantime, I would find somewhere else to live. I spent a long time sitting in the sand scrolling through apartment listings. There were a lot of openings, but even the cheapest were pretty expensive, so I made a note to let Julie know about LA’s high cost of living when negotiating my new deal.
For the time being, my only option was to camp out in my car, but all my stuff was back at the condo. I needed clothes and deodorant and toothpaste, not to mention my guitar and my computer. I walked around all morning, agonizing over whether to go back. By three o’clock, I was starving, and I didn’t want to pay for lunch. My choice was made for me. I only hoped Kevin was still asleep.
I unlocked the door carefully and quietly nudged it open. I stuck my head in. No sign of him. I grabbed some leftover Chinese takeout from the fridge and ate it cold, locked in the downstairs bathroom. When I finished, I quietly threw the box away in the kitchen trash, then tiptoed upstairs into my room.
“Winston.”
A jolt ran up my spine. Kevin was lying in my bed, pale and sweaty.
“You’re back.”
“Um, yeah. I went for a walk.”
“How did I get here?”
“Um, well, you got pretty drunk last night and were playing my guitar and stuff, so I slept on the couch.”
“Huh.”
I could tell he didn’t remember anything, and even if I’d told him everything, I wouldn’t have answered his question.
“Could you bring me some water?”
“Um, sure.” I went downstairs and poured him a tall glass, then brought it back up. He took it with both hands and drank the whole thing.
“More, please.”
I filled it up again in the bathroom sink and he sat up and drank half.
“Thanks.”
“Sure thing.”
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “We really fucked up, didn’t we?”
“Um, I don’t know. I think it was kind of the label’s fault.”
He laughed, an agonizing, hollow laugh that turned into coughing. He sipped some water, grinning.
“I should have known better. But she was so hot, man, I couldn’t help it! Fuck!” He hit the bed with his fist and his whole body rippled. He was still smiling but his eyes were full of tears.
I stood there waiting, working up the nerve to walk out without my stuff and just drive and maybe come back for it later, but then again I was already there, I’d have my chance any minute—
“Fuck it, man.” Kevin wiped his eyes and sat up. “Let’s go to Vegas.”
“Vegas?”
“Yeah, man, let’s get the fuck out of here, go have some fun. Fuck it.”
“Um—”
“I know people there, trust me. We’ve got access. Any club you want, any girl you want—and shit, they’re connected. Like, inner circles. We go have fun, play it cool, but they could help us out, turn this shit around, man!”
“Really?”
“A hundred percent, man! Fuck, why didn’t I think of this sooner? Come on, pack your stuff, let’s go!” He bounced up out of bed.
“Right now?”
“Yeah, man, fuck it. You got somewhere to be?”
“Um, no, but—”
“But what?”
“Um, nothing. I guess, yeah, if they can help then it sounds like a good idea.”
Kevin laughed. “Man, all you think about is work.”
“Um, yeah, well it’s kind of—”
“I love it, man, you still got that pop star spirit. Come on, let’s make some moves.”
“Okay.”
He got out of bed and went downstairs, leaving me alone in my room. There was my chance to pack up and make a break for it, but I couldn’t turn my back on a chance to salvage my dreams. I packed some clothes, toiletries, and my computer in my backpack, picked up my scuffed guitar, and waited in the foyer, listening to him shower.
Finally he emerged wearing shorts and a loose silk shirt with half the buttons undone, carrying a black leather duffel bag.
“You ready?”
.
The drive out of the city was the most relaxed I’d ever seen him. He took it easy in one of the middle lanes on the 10 and we listened to soft, acoustic K-Pop. Yet despite the chill music and Kevin’s calm driving, I was sick to my stomach. I gazed out at the horizon, past the ragged palm trees scratching in the breeze, past the sea of houses and glistening skyscrapers standing in isolated huddles like smokers in the cold, out into the haze hiding the ocean, into the illusion of infinite sprawl. But it didn’t help.
We stopped for dinner at In N Out. It was my first time there and Kevin made a big deal about making sure I ordered something called animal fries off the secret menu. They were alright. I think Kevin just liked being in the know about the secret menu, though judging from all the other tables who also had animal fries, the menu couldn’t have been all that secret.
Finally we crossed the mountains, their long shadows stretching into the desert as the sun set, night falling before we could escape them. As we made our last turn and coasted onto the desert floor, Kevin rolled down the windows and slammed on the accelerator, pushing the car past 100, 120, screaming his head off. My face was like a rubber mask about to fly off and I begged him to slow down but he just kept laughing and rolling my window back down whenever I tried to roll it up. He spotted a cop in the distance and slowed down enough not to get pulled over. When the coast was clear, he took a deep breath and casually sped back up to 95.
“Having fun yet?”
“Please don’t do that again.”
“It’s the desert, man!” He revved it back up to 110. Scraggly bushes slid past us at different speeds, notches on the spokes of some invisible wheel turning day into night. A love ballad played and his mood darkened. He turned it off halfway through the chorus.
“Fucking algorithm.”
I didn’t think the song was bad, but it wasn’t worth saying anything.
“It should know I don’t want to hear that shit.”
The minutes crept by in silence, the AC was chapping my lips, and there was nothing to look at out the window. The tension became unbearable. Eventually, I worked up the courage to ask if I could play some of my music.
“No, Winston, I’ve heard enough of your music. We are taking a break from that. No thanks.”
“Um, I meant—”
“What don’t you understand about no?”
The car rumbled along the bumpy highway.
“Fuck!” Kevin slammed the wheel. “Why the fuck did you have to write that piece of shit fucking song?”
“Um—”
“Fucking tell me, Winston! Why? Why the fuck why?”
“Um, I guess to express myself? I thought you liked it.”
“Not anymore! You blew it, Winston, you really blew it. God, out of all the fucking people why the fuck did I take a chance on you?”
“But Trappa—”
“No, I don’t want to hear about Trappa. That was your song. You did this. If you were a real artist, if you had half a fucking spine, none of this would have fucking happened! Fuck!” He slammed the horn and pushed the car to 130.
I plugged my ears.
Finally, he let go of the horn. “I know you told Nancy.”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb. Don’t you dare lie to me. I saw the footage, I know everything.”
A wave of horror rocked my stomach.
“I trusted you. I gave you everything.”
“Kevin, I’m sorry, but she already—”
“Fuck you, Winston! You little snake, you little worm—fucking kill yourself!”
“Kevin, I’m sorry!”
He slammed the brakes and the car skidded and swerved until we stopped in the dust by the side of the road. He got out and opened my door.
“Get out.”
“Kevin—”
“GET THE FUCK OUT!” He undid my seatbelt and the buckle whipped across my nose and drew blood. He grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me out into the dirt. I heard the trunk open and my bag and my guitar landed on top of me, a dull, dissonant chord ringing out across the desert. He got back in and sped off, the passenger side door flapping in the wind until he swerved and it slammed shut.