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I recognized the voice immediately. Though he wasn’t on speakerphone, Miles was loud enough to hear easily.
“What the fuck do YOU want?”
I was shocked for a moment that he would talk to Ryan that way – and then I remembered that Ryan was calling from
my
phone.
Miles thought he was talking to
me.
If I was Miles’s least favorite person before (other than Riley, maybe), I shuddered to think what that made me now.
“It’s Ryan, Miles.”
There was a pause.
“Seriously? Calling from… THAT number?”
I wondered why he paused before saying ‘THAT number.’ Then I figured that Derek was nearby, and Miles didn’t want to say my name. Or ‘her number.’ Or any other identifier that might betray how I was involved.
He more or less confirmed it with his next comment:
“Have some fucking decorum, for Christ’s sake.”
Ryan wasn’t about to take the bait. “Skip it. How is he?”
“He’s fine. God protects little children and drunks. And idiots, apparently.”
“Did he hurt himself?”
“No. Unfortunately, didn’t pound any sense into his head, either – he’s as big an arsehole as he ever was.”
“Is he there? I want to talk to him.”
“He’s here, but I get the vague notion that that’s an absolutely shite idea.”
“Tell him I want to make sure he’s okay.”
Miles sighed and went away. He returned about 30 seconds later.
“He says – and I quote – ‘Tell him to go fuck himself. And tell his whore to fuck off, too.’”
My guts twisted – with rage, with hurt, with betrayal. All I had done was care about him; all I wanted to do was make sure he was alright – and this was the way he treated me?
Ryan reacted, too, but only with rage.
His face twisted into a frightening scowl. “Put him on the phone.”
“This ain’t exactly the time, but you an’ me are gonna have to have a chat about shitting where you sleep, my friend.”
“Fine. Put him on the phone, Miles.”
“I don’t particularly fancy having him set it on fire.”
“Then put him on speakerphone – but
put him on the fucking phone
.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Apparently the manager knew Ryan meant business, because all he said was
“Right.”
The room sounds suddenly became amplified.
“Ryan, what are you – ” I started to say, but he walked away from me.
“Is he listening?” Ryan said sharply into his cell.
I could hear Derek’s voice, loud and slurred. Drunk already on a Sunday morning. Or maybe he hadn’t sobered up from the night before.
“I thought I told you to – ”
“You can say whatever you want to me, but you
leave her out of it,
you self-centered piece of shit,” Ryan barked into the phone. “She’s been worrying herself sick about you, and that’s what you say to her? FUCK YOU. And while you’re at it, pull yourself together, or the next thing they’ll be doing is putting your name in the obituaries next to Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain’s.”
And with that, Ryan hung up.
I stood there, my mouth open, as Ryan walked over and handed me the phone.
“He’s fine,” he said coldly, and walked out of the barn.
43
Ryan’s speech over the phone blew me away. The way he fought for me – the way he chewed Derek out –
I have to admit, it stirred something inside me.
And his actions afterward – walking away from me rather than giving in and being all
aw, shucks
– caused me to stand up and take notice, too.
Of course, all this was kind of percolating in the background. I wouldn’t actually recognize it for what it was until several days later – partly because there was more drama in Derekland.
On Monday morning, TMZ reported the words that should have filled me with gladness. Instead it just made me sad that it had taken almost losing his life before he stopped his destructive downward spiral:
DEREK KANE ENTERS REHAB
Derek Kane, lead singer of Bigger, is reported to be entering rehab at the insistence of his band’s manager.
After an epic two weeks of partying, Kane was in a car wreck last Saturday morning. He walked away from it without a scratch, but was charged with DUI. He reportedly had a blood alcohol level of 0.17, over twice the legal limit, and was allegedly in the possession of drugs.
Some consider rehab to be a PR stunt, or an early attempt at cultivating sympathy from the judge at Kane’s eventual DUI hearing. In response, Bigger’s manager, Miles Sumner, made this characteristically colorful statement: “Derek has entered rehab to deal with personal issues, namely that he drinks too bloody much. We request that the media respect his privacy, but since I know you won’t, f*ck off, then.”
Ryan stayed in daily contact with Miles. Derek was doing fine, according to the band manager. Or, at least, he hadn’t burned the facility down yet.
Ryan was fully supportive of the entire rehab attempt, as was I.
Riley had a slightly different take on it the next time she talked to us via Skype.
“Pussy. What a quitter.”
She was a lot more animated than the last time we had talked to her.
She also happened to be drunk.
