“Maybe you think you weren’t, but you were. Violet, you watched everyone else live and you stood on the sidelines, waiting for your chance to pick up the pieces when things fell apart for them. Myself included. But that’s no way to live. You have to have something for yourself. You have to have something else to live for.”
“And risk feeling like this?” I murmur woefully. “No thank you.”
“What I don’t understand is why you’re just letting it end this way. Why don’t you confront him? Ask him what the hell?”
“Now that would be pathetic!”
“That’s not pathetic. That’s strong. That would be you taking charge and letting him know you’re not some piece of garbage that he can so blithely toss aside. Because you’re not, Vi! You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him, and if he can’t see that, he’s not just an ass**le. He’s a frickin’ stupid ass**le.”
“No, I refuse to give him the satisfaction.”
“Don’t look at it that way. Look at it as you taking charge, growing a pair, taking life by the horns.”
“I already do that.”
“No, you don’t. You hide.”
“I don’t hide.”
“Yes, you do. Can’t you just trust me on this?”
“Ummm, no. I don’t need to feel any worse than I do right now.”
“I bet you a Sherpa that you’d feel better afterward, regardless of what he says.”
“Tia, you don’t have a Sherpa.”
“But if I did, I’d bet that woolly, mountain bastard that you’d thank me later.”
I shake my head, even though Tia can’t see it over the phone.
“I think you’re nuts.”
“So what’s new?” Tia sighs. “At least tell me you’ll think about it.”
“Fine,” I say, giving in just to shut her up. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good God, Vi, for once in your life, don’t think so much.”
“You just told me to think about it.”
“But what I meant was for you to just do it. Can’t you just ‘do’? Just this once?”
“It’s not that easy, Tia.”
“It’s exactly that easy, Violet.”
I sigh again. I foresee this conversation being repeated again and again until I give up or stick hot pokers into my eardrums.
“Just go by one night before he has a gig or something. You know where he’ll be. You’ll surprise the shit out of him. And maybe you’ll even get an answer. But if not, you’ll walk away, and he’ll be thinking, ‘Damn! That bitch has some balls!’ And he’ll respect you for it. Any wuss can let herself be treated this way and say nothing about it. Only a woman with a strong sense of self-worth will call a guy on his crap. To his face. Don’t be the wuss, Vi!”
I say nothing for a few seconds. For once, I can actually kinda see her point.
* * *
As I sit in the quickly filling parking lot of a club in Summerton, the only one across from Brass that boasts a sign saying that Saltwater Creek is playing tonight, I replay the conversation with Tia in my head. She had me feeling convinced she was right at the time. But now, now that I’m staring at the place where this showdown will actually occur, I’m wondering how in the world I ever saw wisdom in Tia’s advice.
But I know I did. And that my reluctance now is probably just nerves.
I haven’t heard a word from Jet since he dropped me off on Sunday night. It’s Wednesday, which is only a few days later, but when our last run-in involved a weekend of sex followed by his quick emotional withdrawal, it might as well have been a month. To my heart, it feels like it. And I need to know why. I need this for myself. So I can get over it and move on.
Even though I know that will likely be a process that could take months or maybe years, if it ever even happens.
Minutes tick by until they become an hour. Then two. I know my window of opportunity is closing quickly. I missed my chance to talk to him before the show. Now my only option is to wait until after. Or don’t do it at all. This is the only place I know of that I can ambush him, because I’m sure as heck not going back to a meeting!
Taking a deep breath, I get out of my car and close and lock the door. Boldly, I walk into the club, paying the cover charge to hear only a couple of songs. I know the set will soon be over since I waited so long.
I go to the bar and order myself a Coke, finding a nice dark corner to stand in and watch Jet perform. He’s amazing, as usual. Something about watching him, watching him work the crowd, and listening to him, listening to the rough rasp of his voice, is mesmerizing. I can completely understand why the women in the crowd want to touch him, to get close to him, why they’d risk getting thrown out just for a moment onstage with him.
But how many of them get thrown out? How many of them just end up backstage, as toys for the band?
My stomach roils and I close my eyes against the ache in my chest, against the knowledge that maybe I was just one of these girls. Maybe I was just one of many who couldn’t stay away from the flame. And got burned. And now he’s up there, wings spread, shining brightly, while I’m down here, hurt and alone.
Determination wells inside me. I’m not just like them. And I’m not going to let him treat me as if I am. I won’t let him just discard me without so much as a by-your-leave. It’s with that in mind that, when Jet finishes the last song, I skirt the crowd and make my way to the door that leads backstage.
Thankfully Trent is there, guarding the entrance. Thankfully, Trent remembers me. He smiles and opens the door to let me go back.
The hall is empty but for a few random people. I smile, holding my head high like I’m supposed to be here, and I aim for the door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. This one isn’t guarded, so I turn the knob and slip through. There’s a small anteroom, furnished with a thin couch and coffee table. Both are empty. Beyond the tiny room, I can see light, and I can hear the rowdy voices of the band.
I make my way slowly forward, listening.
“Hell yeah it was! And dude, you were definitely on with your vocals tonight. We might just have to kick Jet to the curb and put you up front instead.”
There is laughter.
“God no! We can’t get rid of him. Nobody brings the women like him, man.”
More laughter and agreement.
“At least he could. He’s off his game since he started attending those bullshit meetings.”