sauntered over my direction. “You look as miserable as I feel,” he said as he took a seat on the barstool next to mine. “God, I hate these things. Some of us were made to be front men,” he said as he indicated toward Vanni and Jace, “and some of us weren’t.” He grabbed a shrimp from my plate and tipped it toward me in a toast.
I didn’t know how true that was. I’d wanted to be a superstar from grade school, when I was singing into my hair brush for an imaginary crowd of my greatest fans. “I don’t know. I make it to the spotlight every once and awhile,” I commented.
He gave me a knowing smile. “And you hate every minute of it,” he declared. “That microphone is your force field, just like my guitar is mine. You have to gear yourself up to go out there because you know you can only plug into them if they’re digging you. If that happens, it’s magic and it’s worth it and it’s fucking addictive – but not a minute goes by that you don’t worry they’re going to turn on you and leave you hanging That’s scary as hell and you’re just gritting through the terror of it all.”
I had to laugh. “I’ve never given it that much thought before,” I admitted.
He shrugged. “It’s all I think about. The surest thing about success is that it has a short lifespan. Eventually failure will come. It has to. No one can be on top forever.”
I toasted him with another bite of shrimp. “You certainly are a ray of sunshine, Yael.”
He chuckled. “But I speak truth. It’s easy to love someone when they’re on top. It’s when they flounder that they find out who truly counted. That’s why it’s right to resist the urge of the spotlight, but those who need to fight it the most are the ones most susceptible to its lure. The bitch of it is, those people in the audience can only give so much. The rest? That’s all up to you.” He glanced over at Vanni. “He made that mistake for a long time. He chased after the spotlight to fill this emptiness the world left in him. The one we all have, really, but some are deeper than others. I fill mine with music, but he needed something more. He wanted to be adored. That’s where the groupie thing came in and nearly spoiled everything. He got this ego that said he was the most important guy because he was the one in front. It nearly ended us as a band.”
I listened intently. I didn’t know why this notoriously quiet man was confiding in me, but it felt important. I knew I should pay attention.
“The more he was loved, the more he needed to be loved. When that didn’t happen he started punishing himself with booze and pills. It took a mighty big fall for him to realize that the stage is an illusion. Success is an illusion. And the truest artists seem to know this. They know how fleeting it can all be. They keep expecting it to rip apart like tissue paper. All that shit,” he said, motioning to the press flanking Vanni, Jace and Shelby, “is fake. The only thing we can ever count on for sure is my guitar and your voice.”
“So we’re smart to be so miserable,” I filled in.
“Fucking geniuses,” he nodded.
Well, fine. I had a 19-year head start on the suffering.
That night, Jace was already in my bed when I emerged from the bathroom after another fragrant, bubbly, glittery bath. He was perusing through the T&L catalogue as I climbed into bed, wearing a flannel night shirt.
“This is beyond me,” he admitted as he gestured to the glossy pages. ‘I’m not a model. This was a bad idea.”
I shrugged. “Shelby didn’t seem to think so.”
“Shelby is in her element. I’m not.” He sighed as he swiped all materials into a pile on the floor. He took me into those strong arms. “I would have rather spent the day with you.”
Such sweet words. They should have been a balm for my spirit. Instead I just got pricklier. “You looked like you had a good time with Shelby. It couldn’t have been all bad.”
He propped up on his elbow to
I didn’t know how true that was. I’d wanted to be a superstar from grade school, when I was singing into my hair brush for an imaginary crowd of my greatest fans. “I don’t know. I make it to the spotlight every once and awhile,” I commented.
He gave me a knowing smile. “And you hate every minute of it,” he declared. “That microphone is your force field, just like my guitar is mine. You have to gear yourself up to go out there because you know you can only plug into them if they’re digging you. If that happens, it’s magic and it’s worth it and it’s fucking addictive – but not a minute goes by that you don’t worry they’re going to turn on you and leave you hanging That’s scary as hell and you’re just gritting through the terror of it all.”
I had to laugh. “I’ve never given it that much thought before,” I admitted.
He shrugged. “It’s all I think about. The surest thing about success is that it has a short lifespan. Eventually failure will come. It has to. No one can be on top forever.”
I toasted him with another bite of shrimp. “You certainly are a ray of sunshine, Yael.”
He chuckled. “But I speak truth. It’s easy to love someone when they’re on top. It’s when they flounder that they find out who truly counted. That’s why it’s right to resist the urge of the spotlight, but those who need to fight it the most are the ones most susceptible to its lure. The bitch of it is, those people in the audience can only give so much. The rest? That’s all up to you.” He glanced over at Vanni. “He made that mistake for a long time. He chased after the spotlight to fill this emptiness the world left in him. The one we all have, really, but some are deeper than others. I fill mine with music, but he needed something more. He wanted to be adored. That’s where the groupie thing came in and nearly spoiled everything. He got this ego that said he was the most important guy because he was the one in front. It nearly ended us as a band.”
I listened intently. I didn’t know why this notoriously quiet man was confiding in me, but it felt important. I knew I should pay attention.
“The more he was loved, the more he needed to be loved. When that didn’t happen he started punishing himself with booze and pills. It took a mighty big fall for him to realize that the stage is an illusion. Success is an illusion. And the truest artists seem to know this. They know how fleeting it can all be. They keep expecting it to rip apart like tissue paper. All that shit,” he said, motioning to the press flanking Vanni, Jace and Shelby, “is fake. The only thing we can ever count on for sure is my guitar and your voice.”
“So we’re smart to be so miserable,” I filled in.
“Fucking geniuses,” he nodded.
Well, fine. I had a 19-year head start on the suffering.
That night, Jace was already in my bed when I emerged from the bathroom after another fragrant, bubbly, glittery bath. He was perusing through the T&L catalogue as I climbed into bed, wearing a flannel night shirt.
“This is beyond me,” he admitted as he gestured to the glossy pages. ‘I’m not a model. This was a bad idea.”
I shrugged. “Shelby didn’t seem to think so.”
“Shelby is in her element. I’m not.” He sighed as he swiped all materials into a pile on the floor. He took me into those strong arms. “I would have rather spent the day with you.”
Such sweet words. They should have been a balm for my spirit. Instead I just got pricklier. “You looked like you had a good time with Shelby. It couldn’t have been all bad.”
He propped up on his elbow to
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