Page 39 of Dead Rockstar

“Sure,” he said, his face stony. “We're all just out there trying to be that guy. Scratch the surface of any strung-out rock star and you'll find a little boy who just wants to please his mama who abandoned him. Win her love. The public becomes a version of that same feeling – we just want to please you, win you over. That's all any of us are doing out there – drugs, groupies, stardom – it's all just us trying to climb back in the womb, trying to win our mother's approval, and everyone else’s.”

“So that's your story, then? It’s that simple?”

He nodded. “Yep. Jason's, too. My mom was around though – you read the biography?” I had. “She was there, but she was a drunk, blah blah. Different stepdad every year, but at least she was around. And she was proud of me when I made it. In her own way, you know. Jason's mom, though....” He made a noise in his throat. “She was something else. She neglected him, left him alone for months at a time. Would come back strung out and beat the shit out of him. The whole reason he got into music was because she had this stupid idea that he'd be a child prodigy, like the next Mozart. Like every other boy on the block isn't picking up a fucking guitar. All he ever did was disappoint her. Once we started making money she tried to come back around, and it got real ugly.”

I had read about some of this. A fight that had come to blows, Jason serving time for battery after punching his new stepfather in the face. The band had fired him over it, but hired him back a year later, after yet another stint in rehab. I didn't bring this up. “Do you think he's okay? You know, these days?”

“No idea,” he said. “No idea at all. I hope so. I guess we'll find out.”

“What about your mom?” I asked. “And your...Barb?” I almost didn't want to bring her up again. “Have you thought about where they all might be? How they're doing? Do you plan to...”

“No,” he said succinctly, not letting me finish my question. “I won't be visiting anyone from my – my other life. My life before.” He cleared his throat. “For one, it's too risky. For me and for them. But also, I don't want to disrupt anything. It would be an ordeal. How would I explain? How could we go back? I've been dead for over twenty years. I can't expect any of them to -” He seemed to be having a hard time. “And I don't know that I even want to go back, to see them all. Before I died, it was so bad, so much shit. What if some of them have died? And Barb...” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “Well, you don't want to hear about all that. About her.”

“I don't mind,” I lied. “I've read a lot of it anyway. If the magazines can be believed.”

He laughed. “They can't, but it's probably all true in my case.”

“I always thought it was funny that you were married so long,” I admitted. “You don't seem like the marrying kind. Especially not back then.”

“I wasn't,” he admitted. “Barb would be the first person to tell you that.” He shrugged. “But we were just kids when we got married, and it was right before Bloomer Demons hit it really big, so I had no idea what was in store, and neither did she. We thought we were in love. Whatever...it is what it is, I guess.”

“So what happened?”

“Same old story. Drugs. Cheating. I did all kinds of dumb shit and she put up with it because the checks were rolling in. We weren't right for each other and everybody told us that, but we wouldn't listen. She was so hot then, you have no idea. And she had an attitude on her that I just loved. Most girls, the groupies, were all docile and sweet, sucked up to the band. Even before we made it. And I liked that, too, but what I liked about Barb was that she just didn't give a fuck. She wasn't impressed by me. She let me know fast she could do better elsewhere if she chose to. And that's what kept me around. I knew she meant it.

“But even after we got married, her attitude was the same. I never felt like she really loved me. It always seemed like she was just waiting for the next, better opportunity.” He looked at me. “Don't get me wrong – I'm not making excuses or blaming her. I was cheating on her every stop of the tour, and I was on drugs and not very good company when I was around. I was a terrible husband. I treated her like shit. She had every right to think I was a piece of crap, because I was.”

“Sounds like she and I have some things in common,” I said. “I also stuck by a man I knew was no good for me. He didn't have any money, though.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “That he treated you badly.”

“It's okay.”

“You didn't deserve that.”

“I know.”

He went on, “After our divorce she got a pretty big settlement, I didn't dispute it, and we went our separate ways. She was heavy into drugs too, and I hope to god she got off them. It's a blessing that we never had any kids. I wouldn't be able to bear the thought of leaving somebody alone in that world.” He looked sad, distraught even, and I wondered if I should tell him that Barb had indeed cleaned herself up, remarried and had children of her own now. Would he be happy for her, to know that her life had gone on, or would he grieve over all he had missed? I wasn't sure it was my place to delve into such heaviness - something so personal – but I knew what it felt like, to watch the life you thought you'd have go up in smoke, with nothing to show for it after. His pain was my pain. I stared at him for a beat, watching him bite the inside of his cheek, his face set in a painful grimace, and decided he'd rather know.

“If it makes you feel any better…” I said, “From what I’ve read, she’s okay. Remarried, kids, the whole bit.”

“Well, that’s great,” he said, his face breaking into a genuine smile, but there was a darkness behind his eyes. “I’m glad. Glad she's doing okay, has a family. But…I still don't want to see her.” He sighed heavily. “Is that awful?”

“I don't know,” I said honestly. “My ex is kind of a weak point with me. He hasn't been gone very long and he...well, he still has power over me. I'm a fucking idiot around him.”

“No, you aren't,” he said. “Love is complicated. Sometimes we give people more chances than they deserve.” He paused, then asked, “Do you still love him?”

“No,” I said quickly. “At least not the way I used to. But I hate being alone, and when I get really lonely, it feels like I love him. I just want him near me. He’s one of very few people who really knows me. I get confused, you know. Lose sight of what it is I really need.”

“Stormy,” he said quietly, his eyes back on the road. “That's no good, girl.”

I suddenly wanted to tell him everything. So I did. About Tess' infidelity, the drug use, how I had given him a second chance, only for him to be arrested without even giving me the dignity of coming home from jail with me. How he'd left me nothing but our pitiful trailer and a truck on its last leg. How I still waited by the phone for him to call, which he hadn't, not until he'd come breezing back into town with Roberta, asking for favors from my best friend.

Phillip listened in silence, but his hand was still on my arm. It felt good, telling him. Just getting it off my chest, I felt lighter. “I guess for a long time I thought he was all I could get. Guys don't hit on me much; they never did. I know I'm not a knockout. Tess was the first guy to show a real interest, and he seemed so hot for me-” I blushed a little. “-and I responded to that, because it didn't happen much. When he started to drift from me, I kept clinging to him even though I knew it was over, because I was scared. Scared of not being wanted, of going back to that invisible place again. Scared I might not ever get anybody else.”

He looked at me again, frowning. “You're insane. You're beautiful, Stormy.”

I shrugged.

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