Chapter 7
He saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and, in one sweeping arc motion, ripped the headphones from his head. The shock on their faces mirrored his as they entered the apartment.
“Jesse,” Alexa Seurley, one of the most well-known faces in fashion modeling, stumbled on her words as she stopped abruptly in the doorway. “I didn’t think you were going to…” her words trailed before she completed her sentence.
“Be here.” Jesse picked up without skipping a beat.
The statuesque brunette, accompanied by a younger model and two burly tatted guys closely stacked behind her looked confused as to their next move.
Standing up from the rough-hewn wood table, Jesse approached the supermodel, hand outstretched. “My keys, please.”
Not sure what to do, Alexa, moved her hand down to her side, “These are Claudine’s.”
“I own this apartment,” Jesse’s voice was soft, his tone even. “So, we can play this one of two ways. You hand me my keys or I call the cops and have you arrested.”
Alexa looked back to the guys behind her for guidance.
The guy pulling up the rear spoke, “Give the man his keys, Alexa. I’m not getting arrested for one of your flaky friends.” Recognizing the rocker, “Hey Jesse, I had no idea this was what she was getting me into when she asked for help.”
“Why are you here, Alexa?” Crossing his arms over his chest, Jesse approached her, standing nose to nose with the model.
“Claudine asked me to clear her stuff out.” As she spoke, her eyes cast downward, no longer able to make eye contact with the famous rocker.
It was a blindside blow. And yet, it wasn’t. The real sucker-punch was the sharp and unexpected pain in his gut and solar plexus. That was the surprise. Reminding himself to breathe, and outwardly showing no emotion, Jesse, the showman had arrived on the scene to save Jesse, the songwriter and the boyfriend.
“Shipping it to Nick’s?” He cast the red herring.
“Yeah.” Alexa nodded, confirming Jesse’s suspicions.
Looking at his watch, “You have five minutes. I’m calling my security now and in five minutes I call NYPD and report a break-in. Your five minutes starts now.” And he pointed down the hall where they could find Claudine’s clothes and personal items.
“Hey, take this,” the guy in the way back handed Alexa and her friend several empty duffel bags. “Man Code invoked here, I can’t help you.” Turning to Jesse, “Dude, I’m sorry. I had no idea this was the shit they were getting me into. This is some crazy bullshit.”
The other guy, who had yet to speak, finally broke his silence. “Jesse, so sorry, man,” he apologized to the rock icon. “So, so sorry.” And with that, the two guys were out the door, leaving the two supermodels to forage through Claudine’s closet and dressers.
“You have three minutes,” Jesse appeared in the doorway to the room. “Three minutes and I call the cops.”
“What about the rest of her stuff?” Alexa’s wide-eyed accomplice asked.
“She can buy it back from Goodwill.” Jesse was dead serious.
At four minutes, Jesse snapped pictures with his phone of the two women franticly going through drawers. At four-and-a-half minutes, he announced, “You have thirty seconds to zip those bags and get your skinny asses down the hall and out of my home.”
Blocking the entrance to the room, he once again found himself toe to toe with Alexa. “Forget something?” the venom in his tone was chilling.
Reaching into the pocket of her skintight jeans, she pulled out the keys, and with a sigh and an eye roll, slapped them in his hand.
Leaning forward, he growled in her ear, “Now get the fuck out of my house.”
Sitting back down in front of his laptop, he imagined a cold beer and his taste buds craved the acrid flavor almost as much as his blood stream yearned for the calming rush.
“Fuck that and fuck her.” He got up and stormed into the kitchen. Prowling through cabinets and the refrigerator with purpose, he pulled an odd variety of ingredients: an avocado, which squeezing it he found was bordering on overripe, a carton of blueberries, plain Greek yogurt, and a jar containing Maca Root powder. Dumping everything into a smoothie maker with ice, Jesse proceeded to make himself a smoothie from these high Vitamin B ingredients that he knew would have a calming effect on his body. He then poured almonds into a bowl and carried the drink and snack back to the table where he had been working.
Proud that instead of pursuing the initial craving for a beer, he proactively made himself a calming holistic alternative. Jesse sat back and drank his shake, wondering what the hell Claudine was thinking sending people over to gather her belongings versus having a conversation with him to end their relationship. Their multi-year relationship. Was it because she’d have to confess to her relationship with Nick? The one Alexa confirmed tonight when he threw out the red herring.
Dialing her cell, he wondered was she back in New York? Or was she on Formentera? If she’d ever actually even gone there. After three rings, the call went to voice mail and he hung up.
Classy move, Claud.
He texted.
I didn’t think you’d be there.
Seriously, you didn’t think this deserved a conversation? We deserved a conversation?
We’ve been over for a long time, Jesse.
He couldn’t disagree with that.
Had it been me, I would’ve shown you more respect. He was pissed at her cowardice. Doing the right thing was not easy, as he was well finding out.
I’ve had enough of your respect over the years, Jesse. Your idea of respect was calling me from somewhere in the world to say goodnight with a groupie attached to your dick. So please don’t talk to me about respect.
She wasn’t wrong. The waters under their bridge had become a toxic pollutant long before tonight and most likely long before the mysterious Nick had emerged onto the scene.
I’m sorry that we ended this way, Claud.
But he also knew, that he wasn’t sorry they ended.
First inclination, a habit born of repetition, was to scour the liquor cabinet and see if a bottle of Jack Daniel’s No. 27 Gold was hiding back there. The seductive mellow of the first sip coursing through his bloodstream made his body quiver. Tennessee whiskey had always been his unrivaled lover. The Juliet to his Romeo. Heh, he thought. Well, that didn’t end up too good.
Picking up his phone again. He shot off another text.
I’m sober. And I’d like to stay this way. Can you meet me?
••••••
Faith Hill’s “Mississippi Girl” blared from Kylie’s phone at a volume way too loud for eight a.m. on a Friday morning.
“Looks like your boyfriend is making headlines again,” Hayley informed her.
“Huh? What are you talking about?” Kylie’s voice was rough from sleep.
“Did I wake you?”
“Yeah, I worked last night. I actually had a modeling gig and we shot until about two a.m. on the steps of the New York Public Library.
“Well, turn on the NBC morning show, Gracie. They are just about to talk about your boyfriend.”
Reaching over for the remote, Kylie got herself into a comfortable position to watch the TV.
“Here it comes,” Hayley sounded excited.
Kylie watched as the camera focused in on the attractive blonde. Behind her was a still photo of Jesse on stage.
“It’s been several months since the onstage meltdown in Sydney, Australia of rock ’n’ roll bad boy, Jesse Winslow. The uncontainable half of super-couple, Claudesse, with fashion model, Claudine, Jesse Winslow has been keeping a low profile. That was until fans photographed him three weeks ago, feeding a pastry to a mystery woman in a Starbucks on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. That woman has now been identified as former Miss New Jersey, Kylie Martin.”
Groaning, Kylie smushed her face into her pillow. She’d just been outed.
“Today new video of Jesse has surfaced checking into the exclusive Crossroads Centre, located on the island of Antigua. Crossroads is a residential substance abuse treatment center founded by legendary guitarist Eric Clapton. He’s seen here entering the facility accompanied by an unidentified companion. Spokespeople from neither his nor Claudine’s camp could be reached for comment.
“We wish you the best for a speedy recovery, Jesse.”
The warm, salty tears were threatening to roll off her jaw as Kylie watched a hoodie and sunglasses-shrouded Jesse being escorted into the facility by none other than Dr. Claire Stoddard. A pang of hatred for the psychiatrist soared through her heart, followed immediately by guilt. There was no reason to hate the woman. She was trying to help a patient. But Kylie’s instinctual reaction was not born of logic or anything that made sense.
Hitting the back button on her remote, she watched the clip again.
“Gracie, who is that with Jesse?”
She had forgotten that Hayley was still on the phone.
“I dunno,” she lied, knowing it would not be cool to divulge the doctor’s identity and expose Jesse that way.
Pausing the TV, she tried to see Jesse’s face, but his head was down and the hood of his sweatshirt obscured any chance of capturing his facial expression.
What happened, Jess? she wondered. You were doing so great. You were writing, exercising, eating healthy. You were the one getting me healthy. What the heck happened?
And why didn’t you tell me?
Her heart ached at the realization that she was an outsider in her new friend’s life. Intellectually she knew it was ridiculous to think he would turn to her, I mean, what could she really do anyway? Yet, there was an annoying stabbing in her craw that he turned to Claire. Again, intellectually she knew he did the right thing to insure his health by seeking medical help. It just bothered her deeply, and in a way she couldn’t quite grasp.
“Do not get involved with that man, Gracie. He is nothing but heartache and trouble and hot ass. You are never going to fix him,” Hayley warned, still on the phone.
Holding on tightly to the phone she had forgotten was still in her hand, “Don’t worry, Sip. We’re just friends.”
And Kylie wondered if they were even that as she hit the back button on her remote and attempted another glimpse of Jesse’s face through her tears.
••••••
“How’s Jesse doing?” It was the first question out of her mouth upon entering Claire’s Inner Sanctum.
With a lack of any kind of expression on her face or in her voice, “You know I cannot answer that, Kylie.”
Bitch. But Kylie hadn’t expected any other answer.
“Can you give him a message from me?” Kylie sat on the couch.
“Kylie,” Claire began, her tone already betraying annoyance.
Cutting her off, “Geez, Claire, it’s not like I’m asking you to pass the guy meth. Ask him if he’s okay with getting a message from me and if he says yes, tell him I’m thinking about him and sending good, healing thoughts.” And just to piss off Claire and because it was true, “And tell him, I miss…,” her voice trailed off. “No, forget that. Just tell him I’m sending good, healing thoughts. And if he tells you he doesn’t want a message from me, that’s fine, too. Can you do that?”
“What you are asking is highly unorthodox.”
“Yeah, well, what we do in here is highly unorthodox. It doesn’t make it wrong,” Kylie pushed back. “If he says no, he says no. If he says yes, it’s not going to disrupt his treatment to know someone is pulling for him.”
Three days later the text came.
I’m okay, Toots.
Jesse! OMG. I’ve been so worried about you. Seriously, are you okay???
Yeah. I’m good. It’s gorgeous down here.
What happened? If you don’t mind my asking?
Claudine sent some friends over to move her shit out. I was just sitting in the living room writing a friggin’ song and four people walked into my apartment (said ‘ex-‘girlfriend was not one of them)
Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. How are you doing with that? That’s a huge change. Are you devastated?
Nah, I’m fine. It’s the removal of a toxic relationship from my life. So, that’s a healthy thing. It’s a big change, though, and I knew something like that could potentially be a trigger and I didn’t want to relapse. I worked very hard getting clean, Toots. And I was feeling really good. Honestly, my relationship with her was one of the last negative things in my life.
So, you didn’t start using or drinking again?
No. I stayed clean.
I am so proud of you, Jess.
I’m proud of me, too, Toots. How are you? Are you okay?
Looking at the text for a few minutes, Kylie started multiple responses and stopped, deleting each one. She wanted to tell him, but she didn’t want him to feel any pressure.
Yeah. I’m okay.
Really?
It felt as if he were reading her.
Yeah, really. I just miss you. I miss our “sessions.” There she said it. It was out there in the universe.
I miss you, too. I’ll be home in a few weeks. We’ll get that special key for L9 and hang out there and catch up on everything, okay. I’ll even make you a smoothie ☺
Kylie, couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in weeks, she felt whole. He was getting in deeper than she’d allowed herself to admit.
You’re on.
A picture came across her phone. Jesse must’ve been standing on a hill at the facility and shooting across the water at another part of the island. Rising from the sea, a volcanic remnant basked in solitude under the equatorial sun.
Gasping, not the reaction she knew Jesse intended to evoke from her upon sending it, Kylie looked at the lone stretch of island, as she felt bile burning dangerously close to the back of her throat. Gazing at the beautiful image, a photo that looked as if it were publication quality for an exclusive and remote resort, she questioned why the icky, overall feeling had seized her. Why not a Zen-like feeling when looking at the beautiful Caribbean island? But there was nothing soothing in the pains that were wracking her stomach, making every muscle in her body ache, sending cold shivers up her spine and an even colder sweat across her forehead. She might as well have just looked at a photo of snakes based on her extreme visceral response.
Jesse come home, was the overwhelming thought pattern wrapping itself tightly around her brain. Jesse, come home.