Bullet(90)

We didn’t have the money.

Worse, though, we didn’t have the time. We knew time was of the essence. If we didn’t get this CD off to Clay, we could kiss our chances at the big time goodbye.

So we had a huge band meeting, and I tried to put on the bravest face I could. All I wanted to do was bury my head in my pillow and cry forever. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t even have the voice for it. I know I couldn’t keep the tears from wetting my eyes, but I was at least able to keep them from falling down my cheeks. We all agreed that Brad should take over. He knew the songs, had been singing most of the backup with me ever since I’d joined, and he had a better voice than he’d ever admitted.

They all wanted to keep my rendition of “Metal Forever,” raspy or not, and that’s when I lost it. I couldn’t stop crying. So I went to my bedroom and lay on the bed, just letting the tears flow again and again.

That night, Ethan made love to me and tried to make me feel loved, but I needed time. Just when we had our shot, the universe decided to flip me the bird, and I wasn’t happy about it. I needed time to adjust. Add to that I was still working a shitty waitressing job, and I was miserable.

They finished the recording, and it sounded fantastic. I tried not to cry, hearing Brad’s voice singing when it should have been mine. But he sounded great. I remembered that first time I’d met him in his garage all those years ago, how he’d talked like he had the worst voice in the world, but he’d always had a great voice. And it was metal. God, I just knew…as soon as the people who made the decisions heard the CD, they’d sign Fully Automatic.

Brad shipped it off to Clay who’d promised great things. Clay said he was sorry to hear about me. I’d been one of the selling points, he said, but I called him later and begged him to still give it a fair shot. I told him what was going on with me. He said, “Yeah, I know Brad’s a good singer, but…”

“Just f*cking do it, Clay.”

“I promised you, Val. You know I will.”

I thanked him before I lost my voice again.

* * *

Before we heard about the powers that be and what they thought of the CD, Ethan learned that Burt Richards had died. He’d had some kind of cancer and Ethan said, “Like that’s a big surprise. Motherf*cker deserved it.”

But I saw his face. I saw his pain. I could sense his guilt. He didn’t really mean it, and I suspected Ethan was now wishing he’d forgiven his father and developed a relationship with him.

Three nights in a row, he didn’t sleep well. He was up late, then up early again, and when he did sleep, he woke me up continually with his constant motion in the bed and talking in his sleep. I told Ethan he needed to forgive himself, and he just looked at me.

And the next night he was drinking. For the first time since we’d rushed him to the ER, he was drinking. And I knew Ethan—I knew that was just the beginning.

I decided I couldn’t just stand back and let him destroy himself—destroy us—again. I had to talk to him before it got bad. He was sitting at the kitchen table when I came home from work one night. My voice was scratchy from talking all night, but I was going to push it a little longer. I needed to get through to him. I sat at the table and set my purse on the floor. He looked tired. His eyes were droopy, and he hadn’t shaved around his goatee in days. He was even wearing the same clothes today that he had the day before. I touched his hand that wasn’t holding the glass and said, “Ethan, I know you don’t want to, but we need to talk. This guilt you’re feeling is—”

“Talk? The last thing I want to do is talk, Val.” He took another drink.

“It’s not healthy to keep this shit all bottled up.”

He snarled. “I suppose walking around the apartment crying all the time is so much healthier.”

I just stared at him and withdrew my hand. I swallowed. “I know you’re hurting, Ethan, but you don’t need to be an *.”

He just kept looking at me with contempt. “Stop pretending to know what I feel, Val. You don’t know.”

That hurt. That he couldn’t support my feelings but then just withdrew into a cave and started the old stupid habit of drowning in liquor…that didn’t feel like love to me. “You know what, Ethan? I might not know what it was like for you growing up and how you feel…felt about your dad, but I know what it’s like to feel guilty. I know what it’s like to be disappointed and hurt. And it’s killing me to watch you do this to yourself.” I stood up and went to our bedroom.

And he stopped drinking again a few days later when I threatened to leave.

Shortly thereafter, Fully Automatic got a recording contract.

And when their first CD was released to the world, it shot up the charts with a bullet.

And the rest, as they say, is history. But there’s still more left to my story if you can spare me the time.





Chapter Thirty-nine

Present



I’D BEEN FEELING down. I couldn’t focus on even the most mundane housework…which I’d never been that thrilled about anyway, but it had just seemed harder lately. What was the purpose? Sure, I liked having a clean house, and I certainly didn’t want my child getting dirty just walking through the house, but I couldn’t find the motivation to do everything that needed to be done.

Ethan moped around the house, never showering, never picking up after himself. He wouldn’t talk to Chris or even look at him. He hardly ate anymore but when he did, he ate way too much. Still, he was losing weight. When he bothered to speak, he’d curse at me or the world. He was drinking, smoking, and God knows what else. When he bothered to leave the house, I suspected he was sleeping around on me, and—unbathed or not, in poor shape or not—he was a rock star. There would be some girl somewhere happy to f*ck him. I knew that much. If I even so much as tried to get him to talk to me, he’d just tell me to leave him alone.

And then I noticed he’d stopped wearing his wedding band.

All I could think of for days was how marriage was supposed to last forever…till death do us part. And I knew it was bullshit, but I just couldn’t get up the courage to decide to end it for good. I wanted my child to have his father, to know him and love him.

But it was a joke. Even when Ethan was there in body, he wasn’t present in mind. He was no more a father to Chris than I was.

I’d finally had enough. I couldn’t take it anymore. Ethan was still in bed, and it was past two in the afternoon. I’d just laid Chris down for a nap and so I went into the bedroom.

I sat on the edge of the bed. “Ethan, wake up.” No answer. “Wake up, Ethan.” I kept my voice low and calm, because that was the kind of discussion I wanted—rational and calm. “I can make some coffee if you want.”

He stirred but kept his eyes closed. His voice was thick when he said, “Just leave me the f*ck alone.”

“Ethan, it’s two o’clock. You should get up.”

“What for? Just leave me alone, mom.”

God, I hated when he called me that. It was a blow off. But I’d promised myself I’d stay calm. “We need to talk, Ethan. Please. Please just get up for a while.”

“If I have to tell you one more time…” He fell back asleep. I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

“What, Ethan? You’ll what?”

“Just get the f*ck out of here. I’m tired. You and that little brat were so goddamned noisy this morning…”

Oh…that did it. “Brat? You’re calling your son a brat? That precious child who wants nothing more than his father’s love? Did you know he’s talking now, Ethan? He says real words, communicates. But I suppose you think that’s just noise.” I inhaled, trying to calm down again.

“Goddammit, Val. Just get the f*ck out of here.”

I took a deep breath. I had to try a different tactic. My voice was low. “Can we talk about your depression, Ethan?”

He muttered into the pillow. “Who says I’m depressed?”

“What would you call it, Ethan?”

“You’re bothering me. You’re always bothering me. That’s what my problem is.”

I shouldn’t have let that comment get to me. But it did. Still, I tried to maintain. “How am I always bothering you?”

“The kid constantly screaming. You constantly harping on my about shit. I just want to be left alone.”

To this day, I’m not sure how I managed to keep my cool. It was as if the angrier I felt, the more I buried it. “A little solitude is good for a person, Ethan, but you’re taking it to the extreme and you know it. Fine. You can treat me like shit. You always have. But you need to spend time with your son.”

His voice was almost a growl, but he still didn’t open his eyes. “Goddammit. Just leave me the f*ck alone, Val. How many different ways do I have to tell you I don’t want you around?”