9
Adam
I looked out onto the crowd.
This was my first time playing at this venue and I was loving what I saw. The ladies looked good wearing clothes that were tight and revealing. It left very little to the imagination. The few gentlemen in the crowd were handsome.
I knew how to put on a good show and turn on a party.
Every performance made me drunk with euphoria. I loved the feeling of being drenched in my own sweat and hearing the crowd chant my name.
It felt better than sex.
I felt like making sweet, sweet love to every single person in the room.
Some of the dudes in the back were too cool to sing along. There were the ones with girlfriends who gave me death stares.
I knew they were jealous and they wanted to be me. It only gave me that much more energy to give it my all during my performance.
I loved the acoustics of this venue in particular.
It was an old warehouse that was converted to house concerts. It was only renovated a year or so ago, so all the equipment, speakers, lights, were brand new.
I loved the behind the scenes stuff as much as I loved the performance.
If it wasn’t all the bullshit that came with being a famous celebrity, I would have loved it even more. Too bad there were always those nosy fucks who were there to tear me down and capitalize on my success.
I delivered song after song.
Even Simon and my mom who were standing backstage were smiling. Usually, they had criticizing looks on their faces.
I had performed in much larger venues, stadiums that housed tens of thousands of people. This concert was a bit more intimate, and it was nice because I was after all in my home city.
I scanned the crowd and among the hundreds of people, I managed to find Pacey there.
I mean, it wasn’t that hard. He stuck out like a sore thumb with his perfectly slicked back blonde hair and brown glasses.
I remembered giving him two tickets, but I couldn’t make out who he came with.
I looked at him as I sang, and he looked away feeling uncomfortable. I smirked and I continued to sing while looking at him.
It was a summer hit that was ghostwritten for me, about heartbreak with some girl. The ladies sang along like it was a song I had written about them.
Now that I knew where Pacey was standing, it was hard for me to look away, and I wasn’t sure why.
I felt like I had something to prove when he was there. That what he told me six years ago was a projection of his own insecurities.
Near the end of the performance, after almost two hours of singing my heart out, I was ready for a drink.
I started to get the shakes, the feeling that was all too familiar. I didn’t want to admit that I had a problem, but I did, and it was the price to pay for the life of a rock star.
There was one promise that I kept to myself, to be sober during every single performance I had. In the past six years, I’d never broken that rule.
A part of it had to do with the fact that being on stage was kind of like a drug itself, I loved it too much. Another thing was that I owed it to my fans, some of which would do anything to see me live.
There were no sick days on tour and the show couldn’t go on without me.
My head was starting to spin from the withdrawal but I knew I was getting close to the end.
We arrived at the last song. The large fan on the ceiling blew cool air on my sweaty body, making me shiver. This one was special to me, it was the one that started it all six years ago.
And it was one that was written by Pacey.
“This one goes out to someone who I owe it all to,” I said.
I said that line no matter which city I was in.
I wasn’t sure if it was the first show that Pacey had seen me perform. I could see his eyes light up like he knew which song I was talking about.
I closed my eyes and was transported to the winter when I was seventeen in Pacey’s bedroom.
I set my Fender down, and Gray, the drummer rest his drumsticks on the snare drum. Carson set the bass down as well. It was just Keaton on the keyboard—which should have been Pacey instead. I put the microphone close to my lips.
The song was a slow ballad.
It was the hardest song to sing because it reached both the upper and lower limits of my vocal range. Pacey had written that song for my voice only. It was the song that won me my first Grammy.
A song about being young, and about friendship.
I couldn’t look at Pacey when I was singing it because I was afraid I’d trip up if I saw his face. I pretended like he wasn’t there.
It was the only way that I could get through the song.
Even the crowd was silent for that song. It was too difficult for them to sing. They gave me all their attention instead. Keaton gracefully played the chords to accompany my voice.
It was the only song that meant something to me.
One that had real meaning behind the lyrics. Not just another catchy tune that sold millions of copies.
It was one that skyrocketed me to stardom, and it was something I took credit for when I shouldn’t have. Because the song wasn’t mine, or Kingdom 4’s, or Simon’s, or my fans.
It was Pacey’s.
Straight from his heart, and written for my voice.
But of course, no one fucking knew. People had no idea. And Pacey never even talked to me about it. He never asked me to collect any royalties on the millions it had made, never asked if he could be credited for it.
I resented him for that.
I hated that he never said a thing and let me just take the whole damn thing.
I sang my heart out, and it sounded no different from when I sang it for the first time at seventeen.
Seventeen.
When I was chasing girls like it was the most important thing to me. Playing ball like it was my life. Chain smoking cigarettes that I stole from my mom.
Just being young and naïve.
How did Pacey know?
This song was written as if he knew me inside and out and that was what scared me the most. He knew my vocal range, and he perfected the song to fit my voice.
I remembered hearing other famous singers try to cover it, and it made me cringe because it wasn’t right. It didn’t sound right at all. I could have coached them for months, hell even years, and still, they wouldn’t know how to sing it.
The funny thing was that even Pacey didn’t even tell me how to sing the song.
I knew exactly how when he handed me a folded piece of lined notebook paper after class. He’d handwritten the lyrics of the song. It was in a white envelope along with a cassette tape of him playing the chords on the keyboard.
Fuck, Pacey. What happened to us?
We were buds.
Best friends.
Brothers.
I got through the song, and I opened my eyes again.
The crowd looked different from just five minutes ago. People were emotional from that song, as they should have been.
There’d been many fights between my mom, Simon, and the band about which song I should close the show with. They all argued that this song was too sad, too slow, and too emotional.
They didn’t want people to leave the show crying.
But I would stand my ground every single time. I was adamant about closing with that song.
They didn’t have a say, and by now they didn’t even try to argue with me.
“Thanks for coming out tonight,” I said. “You guys were awesome. Stay beautiful.”
Everyone cheered and I took a small bow in front of my hometown crowd.
My bandmates walked up next to me and put their arms around my sweaty shoulders, and we took another bow. I blew a kiss to the smiling faces.
Then, I grabbed my Fender and headed offstage. I was ready to party and finally get a fucking drink in me.
I passed by a security guard. “Hey, you see that gentleman with the glasses standing right there,” I pointed out.
He nodded. “The nerdy one with the blonde combed back hair?”
I smirked. “Yeah him. Can you ask him if he wants to come backstage and party with us? He’s an old friend of mine that I want to catch up with.”
“Sure thing, boss. I’ll go grab him now.”
I went to my dressing room and grabbed a fresh towel sitting on the vanity to wipe myself of all the sweat. Then, I put on a clean shirt.
My hands shook as I did so.
Fuck, I wanted a drink so bad. The high of performing lasted only when I was on stage, and maybe five minutes after it. As soon as it was over, and the crowd wasn’t in front of me chanting my name, the darkness started to consume me again.
I heard my mom in the hallway talking to someone, her voice was recognizable from miles away.
She walked into my dressing room smiling and holding a bag in her hand. Her black heels clicked against the floor.
She came up towards me and rested her hand on my shoulder, squeezing it tight.
There was an elegance in the way she moved, like a fifties movie star. Her skin was smooth and tight from all the Botox she’d been getting.
“Great show tonight, honey. I’m proud of you,” she said, giving me a kiss on the forehead.
“Thanks, mom,” I said.
She handed me the bag she was holding. “Open it.”
I peeked inside and pulled out the black box. It was heavy. I looked at her and she was grinning from ear to ear. I opened the box, inside was a brand new and shiny Rolex.
“It’s an early Christmas present,” she said.
I looked at the gold watch with an emerald green dial. “Mom, you shouldn’t have.”
“Add it to the collection, you deserve it.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Of course I’m sure. Put it on and see if you like it,” she said, taking the watch out of the box.
I put it on my wrist, the gold band glistened under the fluorescent lights.
“What do you think?” She asked.
“Obviously I like it, but are you sure?”
“Don’t ask me again, Adam. There’s one more thing in the bag.”
I looked inside and pulled out a velvet sack. I loosened the string and pulled out the Grey Goose bottle. The trembling in my hand stopped.
“Let’s do a shot before I leave,” she said.
She grabbed two glasses sitting on the counter. I quickly opened the bottle without any questions. Then, I poured the shots into the glasses, it was at least a double, if not a triple shot.
I had been waiting all night for it.
She raised her glass and we clinked them together.
“Cheers, baby,” she said and chugged it down.
I did the same. We drank together often, and I had no doubt in my mind that I inherited those genes from her.
“I’ll leave you and the boys to enjoy the rest of the night. Simon and I are going to head home and…you know,” she gestured with her hands that they were going to have sex.
“Gross, that’s way too much information. Thanks for putting the image in my head.”
“Hey, everyone does it. Don’t pretend like all the girls there tonight aren’t thinking of getting in your pants.”
She kissed me again on the forehead and left the dressing room.
The shot I took hit me harder than I expected.
I turned my wrist to look at the new watch. I understood that we could afford it now. But six years ago, it was a totally different story.
Now, whenever I received a gift from my mom, I couldn’t help but feel hesitant to receive it. As if it had been ingrained in my childhood that we could use that money to pay the electricity bill, or even rent and food.
I still couldn’t fully process that I’d truly made it this far, and I could afford to splurge once in a while.
I poured myself another drink, and I felt normal again. My body felt alive and I was ready to fucking party.
I headed down the hallway to the other room. My bandmates were sitting on the large leather couches, chilling. There were chicks everywhere, they were all invited back after the concert.
The guys most likely picked the hottest ones to come party with us. It occurred to me that I hadn’t been looking out in the crowd for any girls that night. I was too focused on the performance to think about anything else.
“Man of the hour. Look who decided to join us,” Gray said.
There was a girl with straight black hair sitting on his lap.
“Come do a shot with us,” Carson said, already holding two glasses in his hand.
He handed me one of them, and I wasn’t going to decline in front of a bunch of chicks who were looking right at me. I didn’t even question the contents, and I downed it.
Fuck, it was whiskey which never sat well with vodka. But I kept a straight face.
The jitters in my hand completely disappeared by now, and I could have performed a second show that night.
I felt fucking good.
I looked around the room. The chicks were cute, and most of them were looking at me, even the ones who were already flirting with my bandmates.
I played it cool and sat by myself on the couch. I was trying to steady myself after drinking so much in such a short period of time.
A girl came and sat on the couch. She had bleached hair and pale skin.
“Hey, you were great tonight,” she said.
Her dress was short, and it left little to the imagination.
“Thanks,” I smirked.
We chatted for a bit about nothing in particular. She went on and on about my songs, how it changed her life.
I sat and listened trying not to look bored. But I couldn’t pay much attention to what she had to say.
I was wondering where the hell Pacey was.
I knew I had asked the security guard to get him to come backstage. But I should have known better than to actually believe that Pacey would show up.