EPILOGUE
Raven Dawn
Three years later…
From backstage, I watch the crowd stamp their feet and scream my name. I’ll never tire of this. It’s the best drug in the world.
My fans are screaming and holding up their phones. They want more, another encore. I’ve already given them two, but this is a very special night for me and they know it. When the clock strikes twelve, I’ll turn twenty-one. Another big milestone.
I’m happy I’m back home in Toronto for my birthday, performing at the enormous Air Canada Centre. I’m awed that I’ve been able to fill it to capacity. This is the final show of a five-night stand and although I’ve warned them twice already that I’m almost done for the night, I have one more trick up my sleeve.
I nod to my band and they retake the stage. I didn’t think the crowd could get any louder, but they do. They know this means they’re getting another encore.
I smile, drinking in their love, take a deep breath, and walk onstage.
I changed outfits one final time for this encore, to pay homage to my mom and her hero, David Bowie. I can barely breathe in a skintight multicolored bodysuit that leaves nothing to the imagination. It looks almost exactly like the one Mom wore when she performed live on the TV show, Much Music, years ago. More, it looks like one David Bowie wore years before that.
Standing in front of the mic stand, I wait for the crowd to settle down, but they don’t seem to want to.
“Thank you, thank you,” I say into the mic, trying to quiet them. At last they quiet enough for me to continue speaking. “I love my hometown fans! You guys are the greatest! So I put together something very special for you!”
I nod toward stage right and the lights on stage dim. The only illumination is a spotlight next to me, leaving me in darkness. The audience can’t see what’s going on but they sure know something is up. I almost can’t contain myself, I’m so excited.
Finally, when the anticipation has been drawn out long enough, the spotlight is suddenly filled by a figure. When the crowd realizes who it is, they scream loud enough to blow the roof.
Still shrouded in darkness, I speak into the mic. “Please give my mom, Rachel St. Claire, a warm Toronto welcome!”
The band starts playing one of mom’s biggest hits, “I Want to be Dirty,” and when she takes the mic the crowd roars out the lyrics with her.
I move to the far side of the stage to give Mom her shining moment and when the stage lighting comes back up, it’s just her singing her heart out. I’ve never been more proud. Catching a glimpse of Dad watching from the wings, I smile and he blows me a kiss. This is a perfect night, but it’s not over yet.
Mom is about to get to the first chorus, which is my cue to come back center stage. A stagehand hands me a mic and I join Mom to sing the rest of the song with her. I’m about to bust with pride but there’s still one more treat I have in store.
Fringe and I went on tour with Uncle Milo and Uncle Dave as planned two months after I turned eighteen and those were some of the happiest days of my life. Fringe was an instant success when he took the stage and got more than his fair share of solos. It worked out well since Uncle Milo and Uncle Dave don’t enjoy singing the lead the way Fringe does.
Then came the shows during which Fringe insisted I come out and duet with him on “When Raven Calls” or solo on the poem I wrote, “Losing It.” I caught the rock star bug quick. I guess it’s in my genes.
We lived this way in a blissful and not very private bubble for nearly a year—performing, then writing lyrics and music during the day and practicing our lovemaking at night. Oh, did we practice, and got damn good at it, too. We were never tempted by the usual pitfalls of rock star fame, like drugs and alcohol. I guess we’d both had our fill of that before we ever hit the stage.
Over the months, Fringe got more and more popular until my uncles made it official and he became the main attraction, the star of the show. My man was the lead singer, and I was so proud of him. Especially because it never went to his head. He was forever grateful to finally get his big break and it couldn’t have come at a more opportune time. He no longer needed to worry about money or Lucifer’s Angels.
He and I both cut records and started getting airplay. Downloads of our songs broke records, and I guess while no one was looking, I became about as big as Fringe had. Uncle Milo and Uncle Dave realized it was time I branched out on my own, that I shouldn’t be in anyone’s shadow any longer. I thrilled to the idea and so did Fringe, but it meant a parting of the way for us. I’d be touring in one direction and he in the other.
There’d be no time for us.
It broke my heart, but at the same time, I saw this as an opportunity to have experiences apart from him. Hell, I’d been with him since I was twelve years old. I couldn’t help wondering what other guys might be like. I took on the role of the bitch and with the heaviest heart did the hardest thing I’d ever had to do in my life.
I broke up with him.
Oh, how lost I was without him.
Going our separate ways, we had fame and fortune, but the pain of not being with Fringe never stopped hurting. I was only nineteen and thought I’d made the right decision, but the pain was unending.
In a weak moment, I called him once. He didn’t answer and I didn’t have the courage to leave a message. I cried myself to sleep that night and in the morning, eyes bloodshot and puffy, I vowed to myself that things had to change. I broke up with him to experience life but I hadn’t even made an attempt to do just that. I thought, maybe, that the pain would lessen if I met someone else, if I let someone else touch me the way only Fringe had.
I tried dating but never got past a lunch or a dinner and could count on one hand the number of times I saw the same man more than once. Nothing felt right. Or good. A kiss at the door turned my stomach. The thought of going further than that unbearable. There was nothing wrong with these men except one thing.
None of them was Fringe.
A lot of my anguish went into my songwriting but a part of me hated that I was telling the world all about my private hell, my pain. They ate it up though, and gave me several number one hits. Despite my success, I couldn’t go on like this. I thought I was losing my mind.
In my desperation, I called Divine.
“I still love him,” I cried.
“Then get him back. He’s not dating anyone either. You two belong together.”
I sniffle unceremoniously into the phone. “I hurt him. What if he won’t take me back?”
“Listen to me. Have I ever steered you wrong?”
I smile through my tears but it comes out more like a grimace. “No, never.”
“That’s right, you know I got your back. If he says no at first, convince him. It’ll just be his macho bullshit anyway. He loves you, Dawn. I know it.”
“How can you know—?”
“Hey, don’t question me. Didn’t I know the first time? Wasn’t I right? Think about it. What do you have to lose?”
“My dignity?”
She snorts into the phone. “Go get him back.”
I take in a shuddering breath, my voice sounding tiny when I breathe, “Thank you.”
That was five months ago, when Divine helped me realize with cold certainty that I had made a mistake. The biggest of my life. I had to get him back, if he’d have me.
The second I had three days off in a row, I booked a flight to where he was performing and wrangled my way inside his hotel room to wait for him. I knew his bandmates, so it wasn’t that hard to do when I told them I was there to win him back. They got someone to open the door for me. Hell, I’ve had my life subjected to the public eye since birth, what’s one more time?
I sat nervously in a chair in the sitting room of his fancy suite, texting my friends back home. By the time I heard the doorknob turning, I was a wreck.
When he entered and I was finally in the same room as him after so much time, I knew this was where I was meant to be. Just looking at him made my heart lighter. I noticed a silver bird hanging from his ear. The piercing was new. Could it be a raven, I couldn’t help wondering.
I had my speech prepared and didn’t give him a chance to react to my presence. “I was wrong. I’m so sorry. I’m in love with you. Always was and always will be. I’m begging you to forgive me. To take me back.”
I stood, chewing my lower lip and wringing my hands together while Fringe stared at me. I couldn’t read his expression but, at least I didn’t see that awful rage that consumed him the last time we saw each other. The silence lengthened and I grew uncomfortable under his gaze.
“Fringe? Please say something? At the least tell me to get the fuck out?”
I guess hearing the last words he said to me coming out of my mouth broke through to him, and his stony demeanor crumbled. One side of his mouth quirked up and he crossed the room in a couple of quick strides. Gathering me into his arms, he crushed me against him almost to the point I couldn’t breathe, but I wasn’t complaining. I was in heaven.
“You got a lot of nerve showing up here tonight and breaking into my room. But you always had balls.”
I yanked him to me for a kiss, then we laughed and held each other until Fringe turned serious.
“Don’t you ever fucking hurt me like that again. I won’t risk my heart like that, understand?”
“Yes. Oh god, yes, I promise you. I’m so sorry. I’ll take forever making this up to you.”
“Eh, not forever. A few years’ll do it.” He remained silently serious for a moment more before breaking into a beautiful smile.
Now, here in the packed Air Canada Centre, Mom is taking her final bows and leaving the stage. I’m alone again in the spotlight with the crowd on their feet, clapping and screaming. The stage lights dim again and a stagehand hurries out to me with two tall three-legged stools. He adjusts the mic stand to the proper height and dashes backstage.
When the lights are brought back up, I’m sitting on one of the stools and Fringe is sitting on the other, a guitar in his hands.
We gaze into each other’s eyes as the crowd just about dies.
“Good evening, Toronto,” Fringe says into his mic. “I thought I’d stop by and help Dawn celebrate her birthday. It is nearly midnight.”
I laugh as the crowd cheers and Fringe plucks out the beginning of “When Raven Calls.” We sing it together in that same beautifully elegant two-part harmony we did the first time for my uncles. Tears of joy make the lights of the stage and the blur of the audience look like it would in a dream.
This night cannot get any better.
I’m wrong.
It does.
When we’re finished, we say our thank yous to the crowd and I wait for Fringe to make his departure like we planned.
Instead, taking his mic, he gets down on one knee in front of me. A drum roll starts and from my stool I glance at my band to find them all grinning like lunatics.
Like a dolt, I’m clueless about what’s going on and with my hand covering my mic, whisper urgently to Fringe. “This isn’t what we rehearsed. What are you doing?”
He laughs and in the palm of his hand holds out a small black box.
My mouth drops open, understanding slowly dawning.
“Happy birthday, Raven Dawn.” He opens the box to reveal a good-sized diamond engagement ring. “Will you do me the great honor of saying yes to my proposal of marriage? Will you marry me?”
The crowd is unnaturally silent. You could literally hear a pin drop in the arena.
I stand, tears streaking down my face, and nod, unable to find my voice.
“Baby doll, I think they want to hear you say the word.”
“Yes, oh yes, I’ll marry you!”
The roar from the crowd is deafening as Fringe sweeps me into his arms and presses his lips to mine.
It took almost a lifetime for the two of us to get to this place but I wouldn’t change a second. Isn’t the ride as important as the destination? There is, however, one thing I am certain of.
When two rock and roll rebels like us come together, it’s forever.
THE END
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