Chapter 62
Max paced in the center of the backyard. Kyle stood at the lip of the patio, agitated, but not foolish enough to venture further into the yard. He felt like a fish, taking shelter on the shallow side of a sandbar, while a great white cruised in the deeper water.
“Did you watch the video on YouTube?” she asked. “Reveille?”
“I saw it,” he said, indignant.
“You realize it’s about you, right? Even you can’t be that dense.”
“I’ll concede that perhaps it had something to do with me.”
“And you’ve heard all the buzz about the new record, I imagine?”
“What are you, Billboard now?”
“You know what it’s called right?”
His face twisted, as if he had bit into something sour. He looked away. “I know what it’s called.”
“And would you ‘concede that perhaps’ it’s about you as well?”
“Yes, senator.”
“Don’t be a shit.”
“I know about her visit to the Academy, I know about Reveille, I know about the album. I know all about it, alright?”
“And that doesn’t make you feel anything?”
“Yeah, if I’m being honest it makes me angry.”
“Angry?”
“Yeah, I feel used. Like my life was co-opted. I hear the words Running Light now, and I don’t even think of the Academy, or you or Bobby or Charlie. I think of her. It’s cruel.”
“Stop ascribing malice to it. You think she met you, seduced you, carried on a relationship, all so she could write some songs? Even your fifteen-year-old daughter knows you pour your life into your art. Hello? Wag Bag anyone?”
“What you want me to do, Max?”
“Something. Anything. Just don’t shut down. You can’t protect yourself from everything. You can’t wall off your heart.”
“Why not?” he thundered. His voice echoed through the yard, bouncing off the trees and back at him. The silence following it was heavy. He rubbed his forehead, mostly to conceal his watering eyes. Max just folded her arms.
“Because you tried it once before,” she said.
“That’s completely different, Max. We grew apart.”
“No, Kyle, we didn’t. I kept growing. You stopped. You stopped everything. Don’t do it again. This isn’t the Jesus nut.”
He knew what she meant. It was slang for a main rotor nut, the failure of which meant the rotor separated from the helicopter’s mast, an immediate and catastrophic failure that guaranteed your next conversation was with Jesus.
“Don’t.” He glared at her. “This is not that.”
“You’re right. That’s a completely unpredictable, black sky event you can’t plan for, control, or fix. And I’m sorry one happened to you before, but this isn’t that. This is not irreparable. So don’t give up on her.”
He finally ventured out onto the grass, holding his hands as if he was carrying an invisible bundle. “I didn’t. You have to believe me, Max. I was all in and she dumped me. Out of the blue.”
“So she had a bad day.”
“She broke my heart.”
“And it sounds to me like she broke her own too. Maybe she thought it was a preemptive strike. Maybe you’re more alike than you think?”
Kyle’s phone rang. He looked at the unknown number, then jammed it back into his pocket.
He sighed. A long, tired sigh.
“So she got spooked,” said Max.
“By what? My snoring?”
Max shrugged. “Maybe the weekend was all too much. Not me, of course, I’m a delight, but collectively we’re an insular bunch. It’s tough being on the outside looking in. I could see how it might overwhelm a civilian.”
“Her exit was pretty definitive.”
“Well, now she’s back in touch and you’re being stubborn.”
His phone pinged in his pocket. A text. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered and pulled it from his pocket again, and was startled to see the sender.
This is Louise Yardley.
Pick up the phone, Kyle.
Max saw the look on his face. “Who is it?”
Before he could answer, the phone rang again in his hand. He looked at Max, then said, “I should get this.” Into the phone, he offered a tentative, “Hello?”
“Kyle?”
“Yes.”
“You know who I am, yes?”
“You’re Corey’s manager.”
“Best friend and manager.”
“Why are you calling me? Is she okay?”
“She’s performing tonight at Madison Square Garden, and I know her well enough to know that she’s shitting kittens about it.”
“I know. She texted me.”
“She did? Huh. Well, it’s worse than I thought then. Anyway, where are you now?”
“I’m in Connecticut.”
“Why are you in Connecticut? Why are you not in in New York, Kyle? That’s where Madison Square Garden is, and by the transitive property, also my aforementioned best friend and client, Corey Lyondell.”
Kyle was annoyed. Getting dressed down by Max was one thing, but he didn’t need it from a stranger. “Why aren’t you in New York then?”
“Because a K-Pop band just imploded and I’m in Seoul wooing the next Harry Styles,” she said, equally as irritated.
“I don’t know what any of those words mean. How did you get my number?”
“As her manager, I can assure you my artist is a motherfucking professional who will over-deliver on her commitments and will shine onstage like burning magnesium. As her best friend, I’m worried and Kincaid gave it to me.”
Kyle felt his pulse quicken. He glanced to the patio, where Bobby and Kirby had snuck out and were conferring quietly with Max.
“Why are you worried? What’s really going on?”
“Anders André. I don’t trust him.”
“What does that mean?”
“You ever watch They Live?”
“It’s an 80’s classic.”
“I didn’t ask for a review, Rotten Tomatoes, just if you saw it. Anyway, everyone walks around and sees Anders as this Awesome Rock God. But I put on the glasses a long time ago and see him for the fucking little shit-lizard he is.”
“Look, I don’t know how many times, how many ways, or how many people I have to explain this to but Corey broke up with me.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t be that guy. Be the other guy.”
“What other guy?”
“The one who gets over himself.” He heard fumbling on the line, then, “Shit, too late. Just got a text, she’s hitting the stage now. Thanks for nothing, Connecticut.”
The line went dead.
“Shit,” he said. Then louder, “Shit!”
“What?” called Max.
He looked at his family.
“I think Corey needs help.”
“What’s wrong?” said Kirby, her voice rising.
“I don’t know,” said Kyle, feeling panicky himself. He began to pace. “Nerves, Anders, I don’t know…shit!”
“Dad, go!” said Kirby.
He took a deep breath and looked up at the night sky. In that moment, alone on the lawn, he felt as helpless and desperate as he had at sea a long time ago. That day, he was trapped in place, wanting to be anywhere else. This time, there was only one place he wanted to be, and he couldn’t be there. He took in a deep breath and blew it out. He ran the numbers in his head. Time, distance, traffic.
“It’s too late,” he said quietly.
Kirby ran out to him and grabbed him by the arms. “No,” she said. “It’s not.”
He looked over Kirby’s head to Max.
“I blew it, kiddo.”
“Come on, Dad. Corey’s awesome. Give her another chance!”
“It’s not that, honey. It’s just not physically possible. Besides, you have a big day tomorrow.” He tried a smile. “I’m your assistant, remember?”
“No!” Kirby yelled, jerking away. She started to cry. “I want you to be happy too.” She looked toward the house, frantic. “Mom, do something!”
Kyle tried to put his arms around his daughter, to quiet her, to tell her it was going to be okay, that she needn’t worry about him, but she wasn’t having it. Suddenly, a command voice cut through the melee. Kirby froze. Kyle looked up.
“Do you love her?” asked Max.
Kyle raised his arms from his sides, then dropped them in a gesture of futility. What does it matter?
“Do you,” ordered Max, “love her?”
Kyle nodded.
“With every broken bit of me.”
Max folded her arms, and studied the flagstones as she digested his answer. After a few moments, she looked up.
“Prove it.”
“How?”
“Fortune favors the brave,” said Max.