Tracks (Rock Bottom) (21 page)

But in looking more closely, I notice
he’s barely standing. He’s being basically carried out of some kind of restaurant by two members of his security that I recognize. Behind him follows a group of beautiful women, including the blue-haired girl that followed him onto the plane. The heading underneath the picture says, “Jeremy Mason Parties in Cleveland.”

I freeze, my mind shutting down as a defense mechanism.
Slowly, I move the pointer and click on the story. A page pops up, showing the picture again, and has a story underneath. According to the story, Jeremy and his group of ‘young men and stunning women’ arrived at the bar after his show and drank for over four hours. A witness in the bar said Jeremy drank so much that he had to be carried out of the bar. They mentioned that he looked like he had been intimate ‘with at least one or two of the beautiful women.’

I feel my hand slam down on the table next to me. I stand up from my chair, still staring at the screen. Theresa looks up from her phone in shock. “What?!” sh
e exclaims.

I’m scared to open my mouth. I’m not sure if I want to scream or cry.
“Excuse me,” I manage to mumble out. I see her look strangely at me and grab at the computer before I turn and walk towards my front door.

I take my phone out of my bra and find Jeremy’s number in my contacts. I push
his name and put the phone to my ear. I swore last night I’d wait for him to call, but I’m done playing games. He can’t keep sending me mixed signals like this.

The phone rings four or five times, and then his machine picks up. It’s a female pre-recorded message with just his phone number repeated. I assume he doesn’t want anyone to
know when they accidentally stumble upon his number.

I hang up and call back.
I hear someone pick up after the second ring. “Hello?” Jeremy grumbles. My stomach tightens and my body tingles.

“H
i,” I say, trying to remember how upset I am.

“Dylan?”
he grunts, confused. “What time is it?”

“12:30.
In the AFTERNOON,” I emphasize.

“Honey,”
he says, more clearly, “what’s wrong?”

I feel a lump forming in my throat. I never ever cry, and I’ve cried more in the last few days than I ever have. Is this what love is? “W
hy didn’t you call last night?”

He sighs. “You know,
with the show and everything…”

“The show?”
I say shortly. I feel the burning in my stomach. The lump in my throat almost chokes me as I try to speak. “I saw you on the news barely able to walk.” I will not lose it.

He’s silent. “
Okay. So what do you want me to say?” He’s defensive.

“I thought you weren’t going to drink li
ke that.”

“I’m sorry you found out about it,” he growls.

“I didn’t say ‘don’t drink like that around me.’ I said, ‘I don’t want you to drink like that anymore.’ You promised.” The burning rises in my stomach.

“You never said that, actually,” he says curtly. “You told me to get some help. And since it’s an imaginary probl
em, I got some imaginary help.”

I growl, “Ok, boy genius. The fact that I didn’t want you to drink li
ke that was more than implied.”

He sighs. “Last night was a bad night.
Being without you.”

His sweetness catches me off guard. I absorb that for a minute. “Jeremy, I don’t want to be an excuse for your drinking. And t
hat doesn’t explain the women.”

He laughs lightly. “I’m always followed by beautiful women.
But not one of them has affected me like you. Dylan, I was trying to explain to you that this is my life.”

‘Well, now you’re
my
life’ I want to say, but I hold back. We’ve only known each other for a couple weeks. It sounds ridiculous. I try to lighten up on him. “I know about Harvard. And I can’t possibly accept your help.”

He laughs. “I was wondering when you’d realize. When y
ou claimed you didn’t benefit from my fame, I thought I’d stick it to you.”

I snort. “You are such a child. But I still can’t accept this. And neither can Th
eresa.”

I see Theresa peek her head around the corner and make a slashing motion across her throat.
I wave her away and she disappears back around the corner.

“Dylan, I have nothing to do with my money. Let me invest in the assholes of the future.” I hear him intake a shar
p breath, like he’s stretching.

“Gee, thanks,” I laugh.

“Anytime you need books or anything, rent money or whatever, send the bill to Steinbrook and Barr. Just address it to Steinbrook. He knows who you are. He’ll reimburse you. There’s more than enough money to see you through, baby. And it will be there no matter what. It’s a trust, I can’t touch it now. So it will just sit there untouched if you try to give it back, anyway.”

My anger melts away
, and I’m touched. “Thank you,” I say, gratefully.

I wanted to bring up the girl with the blue hair, but I remember how his mood shifted last time I brought her up, and decided to save those questions for another time. This was the first time we’ve talked since he left, and I should be happy.
I try to talk more about his day and his plans for the tour. He tells me endlessly that he misses me, and promises to try harder. We talk for about an hour while I sit on the floor beside my front door.

Time passes quickly the last week and a half before school. August turns into an almost chilly Boston September. Jeremy makes good on his promise to call, and he calls me religiously every night. Sometimes we talk only for a few minutes, sometimes for a few hours. I don’t see news reports about his wild escapades anymore, and he never seems intoxicated when he calls. Maybe he was right, and he really just likes to drink and doesn’t have a problem.

The reporters are still on me endlessly, and Rich has faithfully taken me to and from wherever I have to go. Thankfully, with Rich by my side, the reporters tend to keep their distance. I’m not front page news anymore now that Jeremy isn’t around me, so my news exposure has
at least dwindled. I’m hoping no one notices who I am on my first day of school.

My
Dad has been in contact with me over the past few weeks, and tries his hardest not to sound happy about Jeremy’s long and extensive tour. My Dad still thinks I shouldn’t work and still offers to help me with the mortgage and books, but I obviously decline, especially with the fund that I now have. The truth is, I’m not ready to tell him about the account. Sometimes the fact I even accepted it makes me feel gross. I’ve done nothing really to earn it. Besides, I think working will be fun and will help me take my mind off of Jeremy. I’ve set a personal goal to do something other than think about him or talk about him for at least 30 minutes a day, and I seem to be able to do it.

It shocks me how much he’s changed me in the last month. My entire life was surrounded by nothing but school and success for a very long time. When I finally realized classes were approaching quickly, I was surprised they hadn’t
crossed my mind almost at all.

The night before our first day of classes, Theresa and I are packing our very professional-looking black bags
, including my brand new laptop. I’m very excited to have Theresa in most of my classes. It will really make studying easier. After we finish packing the bags at the kitchen table, we walk them over and sit them by the front door. Our classes begin early at 8:15 and they last until 2:00, but luckily we only have classes Monday through Thursday, giving us long weekends.

“Is Sean going to show you around campus tomorrow?” I ask Theresa, walking back into the living room. Sean is a second year and top of his class. I met him last week when he finally came over for dinner. He has perfect dark skin and bright white teeth. He towers at 6’3”. He graduate
d from UCLA, where he attended thanks to a basketball scholarship. Theresa is so happy with him, she’s almost a different person.

“Yea
h, we’re meeting after our first class. You want to come?” she asks. I shake my head, deciding against being a third wheel.

Theresa’s smile fades. “I wanted t
o talk to you about something.”

I sit down on the couch in the living room. She sits across from m
e and crosses her legs. “What?”

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll probably be staying with Sean pretty regularly on the weekend. You know, to see how we get along when I stay there so often
…”

She trails off. My eyes widen. “Are you thinki
ng you might move in with him?”

She shrugs. “We’ve been dating only about a month so I’m not rushing into it or anything. But, you can afford the mortgage here now that you aren’t paying tuition and you have tha
t fund. So I’m considering it.”

“Oh,” I say, sadly. What will I do with my weekends? I’m not much of a party goer, and I don’t make
friends easily. My heart drops.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure once the tour is over, Jeremy will fill your weekends.”

I smile, trying to appear happy. But the tour isn’t over for months, almost a year from now.

Later
, however, I did get some good news when Jeremy called late in the night. He said he’s doing a show in Orlando, and he’ll have a day or two after he lands there before he has to perform, so he’s sending a plane for me. It’s not for another few weeks, but at least it’s something to look forward to. “Dylan,” he says, in a low husky voice, “I can’t wait until I can be with you.”

His sweetness still takes me by surprise. “I miss you,” I say, shyly.
He makes me feel so wonderful when I talk to him, like nothing else matters in the world to him but me.

I’m still not sure if I’m in love with him.
I’ve never been around love and I’ve never felt anything close to the love that I’ve read about in books or poems. All I know is that when I talk to him, I’m happy and content. When I’m not talking to him or around him, I feel incomplete and depressed. Does that mean something?

These thoughts, plus the normal stress of starting school and work tomorrow, make me toss and turn all night. When the alarm finally goes off at 6:00, I’ve barely slept at all. I get up slowly and walk into the bathroom. I start the shower and wave to Theresa, who walks by and says, “Hey,” in an equally tired voice. After showering, brushing my teeth, and doing my hair, I walk to my bedroom, smelling the sweet smell of coffee.
I dress in something sensible- a black pair of pants, pink shell, and a black blazer. I pull my hair back into a low pony tail and secure it with a barrette. I put some make-up on for good measure.

When I make it to the kitchen, Theresa is standing by the counter, waiting to hand me a thermos of coffee. She’s wearing a blue business dress than touches her knees with sandals. “Chic,” I complement, grabbing the bottle from
her. We head towards the door.

Rich is outside at the door, and I give him a smile and quick hug before we walk down the stairs. My poor little red
car hasn’t been driven in over a month, and I stare at it longingly. There are only one or two photographers outside anymore, so Rich is hardly necessary. But I’ve gotten such little sleep, I’m thankful I can rest on the short drive to campus.

I was worried it might draw attention to us if we were dropped off at the college
by a driver, but thankfully we aren’t the only ones with a chauffeur. In fact, many students showed up with drivers. The cars that actually are self-driven and parked around the school are expensive: Porsches and BMWs. The people walking into the school are tapping away at IPads or carrying Louis Vuitton brief cases.

I turn my attention to the building.
The main building, large and light with many windows, looks airy and light instead of intimidating like I feared.

“Harvard,” I breathe, under my breath. I worked so hard to get here my whole life, and now here I am.

I can’t seem to stop smiling and looking towards the school. Theresa laughs at my gawking. “So excited!” she squeals, opening the door and getting out onto the sidewalk. I scoot over to the door and say goodbye to Rich, telling him I’d call when I was done my last class.

The hallways are large and shiny, crowded with people. Theresa and I are able to find our first class easily, Criminal Law, and sit in the middle of th
e room at a long, shiny brown table. Theresa sits at the very end of the table to my left. The classroom isn’t huge, not like my old college, and it will be nice to have a smaller class size for a change.

Theresa grumpily pulls out her laptop and sits it on the table.
Theresa wants to go into corporate law, and she’s convinced she’ll find this class useless and boring. I take my time pulling out my laptop. We’re early, and there is barely anyone in the classroom yet.

After I pull my laptop free o
f my bag that sits on the floor, daydreaming about my trip to Orlando, I turn and set it on the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone sitting to the right of me. Instinctually, I turn and see a man looking at me.