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I looked around at the green grass and the granite markers. “No chance of that. You booked me a tour so that couldn’t happen.” In the distance under the oak tree sat Deb’s grave. “I gotta go.”
“Where are you at?”
“The cemetery,”
“Fuck,” he responded.
I pressed end and climbed out of my car. The phone rang right away. I saw that it was Felix again and tossed my cell onto the seat before I walked away. Had it been three years already?
I made my way up the hill and stood in front of her gravestone.
Debra Tyler
Beloved Daughter
Singer
Song Writer
“I’m early this year, Debs,” I began. “Normally, I would have brought a bottle and shared it with you, but I’m sober now for six months and staying that way.” Last year I’d brought a case of her favorite wine and we drank it together. Each time I tipped one bottle back, I poured another on the grass where she was buried. “I start a new tour tomorrow.”
It’s funny how I waited for her reply. A reply that never came except for her voice in my memory. Somewhere in my head, I heard her tell me to knock them dead.
“I’m getting a babysitter.” My legs folded under me as I sat on the grass and picked the dandelions from around the granite marker. “Can’t really blame them for wanting to protect their investment, but honestly I only get in trouble one time a year.” The anniversary of Deb’s death was the hardest day of the year for me. She was in the business like me. Traveling around and making her mark on the world. People compared her to Janis Joplin and she died the same way. Heroine was a stone cold killer. What really dug at my heart was the fact that I didn’t even know she was using. I blamed myself because a good friend should have known.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry our careers pulled us apart.” Deb was my best friend, sometimes lover, and always confidant. We couldn’t have a traditional relationship because we rarely crossed paths, but when we did, it was amazing. I’ve often thought about what would have happened had I been there. Would I have seen the signs? Could I have stopped her from spiraling out of control?
“You fucked it all up.” It was the same thing I told her every year when I visited her grave. She’d just won a Grammy. As soon as she left the stage, she called me. I was in Scotland where I was doing a benefit concert for cancer. She rambled on quickly, about a thousand words a minute. That should have been a clue. I thought it was excitement, but after watching the replay of her acceptance speech and seeing how dilated her eyes were and how much she fidgeted on the stage, I knew she was on something stronger than wine. “You really fucked it up.”
In the silence I listened for her reply. Other than the wind, nothing moved and not a sound could be heard until the familiar sound of a shutter clicked in the distance. I looked over my shoulder to see the long lens of a camera. They never left me alone. They were like a black cloud that followed me everywhere.
I lifted my hand in the air and gave the photographer the finger. That should make some news.
I lowered my hand, pressed my fingers to my lips and touched her name. “See you next year.” I rose and shoved my hands in my pocket. Hanging my head low, I walked to my car and climbed inside. In the fifteen minutes I was gone there were as many calls—all from Felix.
I texted him back.
I’m headed to the studio to lay down those tracks. See … no babysitter needed.
He responded immediately.
Glad to hear it, but Gia is on her way. If nothing else she can be good company for you. You could use a friend.
Company was the last thing I needed, and I didn’t want any more friends. I liked my quiet life. Isolation was infinitely less painful.
The car started with the push of a button. I left the cemetery but not without my tail. The press always seemed to stick to me like lint on tape. The last three years I’d made the headlines getting drunk and being stupid.
This year, they would be sadly disappointed. I’d be like Waldo and everyone would wonder where the hell I was when I wasn’t on stage.
It took me two hours to lay down the tracks Felix needed to finish the album. I walked down the street to the local barbershop to get a trim with the paparazzi hot on my heels.
I turned around. “No story here.”
If the pr
ess wanted to follow me, that was fine. Sober, I was an average guy. I woke up in the morning like every other man and took a piss. I might live in a million dollar house in the hills and drive a fancy Mercedes Benz, but I was still an ordinary man living in extraordinary circumstances.
Who would’ve thought that a homeless guy playing for dollars on Sunset Boulevard would make the big time? I still didn’t believe it myself. It’s in these times of reflection that I miss Deb the most.
