One Motion More (Consistently Inconsistent Book 1), page 14
We continue with the song, and near Theo’s usual masterpiece, where he wears his guitar over his shoulder and switches from his keyboard to his guitar mid-song, pumps out an inexplicably glorious guitar solo then returns his focus to his keyboard.
I am unsure what we will do to fill that void, but I continue with the vocals, and just when I think everything is about to fall flat and empty, Theo’s guitar solo rips through the empty venue. It almost sounds so perfect, so unblemished and exact, that I assume it’s prerecorded—set in at the exact second we needed it. I turn around in confusion, but it’s not Theo’s solo at all.
Julian executes the melodic passage perfectly, like he had never put the guitar down at all, but even more than that, he finishes the solo and turns into the keyboard, picking up the keystrokes that belong to the song as well.
We finish and I return the mic to its holder. Blake places his guitar on its stand and Dom, Blake and I just stare at Julian in disbelief.
“What?” he asks as casually ever. That one word, that one slightly sarcastic, overly relaxed word, was a portal leading to the version of Julian we used to know. The music still lives in him.
But does the personality?
Can we possibly make it back to where we used to be?
The stage crew is rearranging the stage, setting up for a local New York band that will open for us. We stand backstage, going over set lists and seeing if anything needs to be substituted for an older song Julian may have more practice with, but he seems to be keeping up just fine. He plays and practices so perfectly that it was as if he’d never missed this tour.
The excitement in every move Blake makes is tangible. He is happy to have Julian back. In fact, Blake seemed uncharacteristically down for a good portion of the tour, and I assumed it was because of Julian’s absence. Having Julian backstage with us sparks a flame in Blake that I haven’t seen in months.
I stand in the wings of the stage by myself and check my phone to see if I have any messages from Natalie. Nothing yet, but she should be arriving any moment. I pace back and forth at the stage exit, running through my songs, lyrics and most importantly, what I was going to say to address this crowd—the crowd I walked out on only a few weeks ago.
Julian approaches and stands a few feet away from me, rocking on his heels in a way that makes me feel uneasy, like he’s trying not to get too close.
“Hey, man,” he says, “I just wanted to say thanks for all this. I know it must not of have been easy for you to invite me back after everything I’ve put the band through. I know I wasn’t there for you all last time, but things are changing. I’m changing.”
“Julian.” I take a deep breath and let it out. I place my hand at the back of my neck and try to figure out what to say next. “This… This is just for tonight. I really appreciate your willingness to step up. I do. But I meant what I said earlier. You need to work on you and, well, recording a new album, releasing new tour dates, getting back on that bus… It’s not a good fit for you right now.”
Pain sets in behind Julian’s piercing eyes.
I place one hand in a firm grip on his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m incredibly happy to have you back for tonight. We have missed you up there. But, let’s just take it one step at a time. Day by day, okay?”
“Day by day,” he repeats.
Blake is yelling to us from the center area behind the stage and signaling for us to join him, Cooper and Dom.
We walk over toward them and Blake has multiple shot glasses set out, filled with clear liquor.
He hands out the drinks first to Cooper and Dom, then one to me, then extends one to Julian.
I don’t miss the twitch of Julian’s hand as if he is considering taking the drink, but his eyes meet mine and he thinks better of it.
“I’m good. I’ll pass, thanks.”
Blake shrugs his shoulders and downs Julian’s drink but saves his other one for the pre-show toast to our final show of what turned out to be a great tour, despite some losses.
My phone buzzes in my hand with a text from Natalie stating she’s outside. I down the drink without waiting for the others to join, place my glass on a table and excuse myself from the group.
Cooper hollers, “Make it quick,” as I walk out. He’s kept me on a short leash all day, as if I’ll bolt if given the opportunity. I have no intention of going anywhere—not tonight. I’m lightyears away from the agony I felt the last time I stood on this stage. The happiness I have in me now completely eclipses the negativity that existed during that last New York show.
Natalie is waiting just a few steps away from the main doors when I find her. She looks… Wow. If a picture is worth a thousand words, her presence in front of me now is worth millions—and still, none of them would be enough. She wears a whisper of makeup, enough to accent her features but not cover or take away from them, a low-cut body suit and high waisted jeans that show off each perfect curve of her body and heels that give her a few more inches than she is used to.
Previously, I believed that it was not possible for her to be any more beautiful than the ways I’ve seen her before, and yet, somehow, I never get used to how striking she is. Whether we’ve been apart for days or I close my eyes for only seconds, she’s even more stunning every time I see her again.
She waves to me and her mouth turns up at the corners. She doesn’t have to tell me what she’s thinking, because I already know. I can sense her indecision from here. She’s happy to see me, but she’s nervous about what tonight will bring. There will be more interviews and cameras and media around tonight than usual, waiting for me to misstep. Since this is the redo of a show where I walked off the stage and started a fight with a fan, the media presence and buzz tonight is louder than any other show on the tour—maybe ever.
In a deep part of my mind, one I keep trying to turn off, I keep thinking something will go wrong—and I would imagine she probably is thinking it too. All I can do is cross my fingers and hope that’s not the case.
She walks toward me and wraps her arms around me. I brush her cheek with my lips take her hand to lead her inside the venue and get her settled in wherever she wants to watch the show from. We step inside the main doors and Natalie stops without warning, staring ahead at something—or someone.
Mariah stands in the center of the main entrance wearing leggings with black tie-up boots and an olive-green loose-fitting top—a change from her usual slim fit, skin-tight ensembles. She poses and the cameras of the media flash so quickly and so repetitively that their lights mock the strobe lights we use in the show.
My grip on Natalie’s hand tightens, but hers loosens, allowing me to physically feel her slipping from me, questioning me and, in turn, questioning herself.
This night was just as strange for me as it was for her. There are skeletons in my closet, but I didn’t expect them to make appearances at my fucking shows. Julian…now Mariah… My father has been unaccounted for nearly half my life, so he’s probably sitting front row wearing a T-shirt with my face on it.
Mariah smiles and waves, dismissing the cameras, even though I know she loves every minute of it.
“Xander, just the person I was looking for.” She talks to me as if we’ve been close friends for years and not like she’s an ex-girlfriend I had no intention of ever talking to again.
“Hi. I’m Mariah,” she says, offering a hand to Natalie.
Natalie wipes her hand on the front of her jeans and places it in Mariah’s grasp. Toxicity invades the area the moment their fingers touch, like two opposing chemicals coming together to form a lethal combination.
“Or not.” Mariah scoffs when Natalie doesn’t respond.
Natalie’s eyes flicker up to meet mine. I clear my throat.
“Natalie Montoy, Mariah Delani and vice versa,” I say, offering an unenthused introduction.
Natalie signs the three-gesture combination I recognize as ‘Nice to meet you’. Mariah’s eyes widen, and she purses her lips. It’s a look I know all too well—a look I have seen her give hundreds of people—when she sits on her throne and looks down on people she believes are less than her.
She all but dismisses Natalie and looks at me.
“Can we talk?” she asks.
“If I hear that goddamned phrase one more time tonight…” I trail off, thinking out loud about my initial conversation with Julian.
Natalie looks at me with large, worried eyes, but I nod to her and hold up one finger. She places her mouth against my skin at the very corner of my lips—a brush of the lips lost between a kiss on the mouth and a kiss on the cheek. She disregards Mariah as she walks past her and into the main room of the venue, but not before she turns her head over her shoulder one last time, taking a long look at me and Mariah standing together at the main doors before she disappears behind the venue wall.
“Was it not enough for you to ruin my last New York show? You have to attempt to sabotage this one too?” I ask in a breathless, dismissive way.
“I wasn’t even at your New York show…” she starts, but she’s missing the point. She has no idea what I’m referring to.
“The voicemail. The message you left me confessing all your lies and stories. I got it just before our show the night we were here last.”
“I-I d-didn’t realize…” she stutters.
“You didn’t realize how it would affect me? You didn’t think I would care? I wasted a lot of time caring, Mariah. Too much time, in fact. Do you want to hear that you tore me apart? Do you want to hear that you ripped out the floor from underneath me so unexpectedly that it took me weeks to find flat ground again? Because you did. For a little while, I allowed it to ruin me. And that’s not just on you. That’s on me too, because I let you damage me. But that won’t ever happen again. I’ve moved on. I’ve found better, and for weeks, Mariah, you haven’t crossed my mind…not even once. Let’s take it a step farther and not cross paths either.”
“Moved on?” she scoffs. “Come on, Xander. How long will this last? A few months? She doesn’t exactly scream ‘celebrity arm candy’, does she? You can’t possibly think this is a long-term thing. I can see it, and deep down I know you can. And if she doesn’t see it, well, then, she might be blind too.”
I clench my fists and the back of my neck grows hot. My chest rises and falls with every deep, angry breath I take. My nostrils flare as I exhale through my nose. Rage courses through my veins now, in this moment, faster and fiercer than it ever has before, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
“You need to go, Mariah. I don’t care where. Go to Boston. Go to California. You can go to Hell for all I care, but you can’t stay here,” I spit through gritted teeth.
Her eyes fill with tears and her lip trembles. She started something she couldn’t finish when she chose to speak negatively of Natalie. I try to step around her, but she closes in the gap between us.
“Xander, wait.” She presses both her palms against my stomach and stands much too close to me. “I didn’t come here to fight, okay? I just want to talk. I want to apologize. I want to start over,” she says, and the tears fall harder. She wipes them away with fingertips adorned in long, red painted nails and I don’t believe a second of her charade. We’ve done this more times than I care to admit.
“Why can’t you even look at me?” she asks. “Why can’t you just try to talk to me?” She tacks on to the end of her already over-dramatic monologue.
“You’re really wasting your talents directing, you know,” I hiss. She looks up at me, expecting a compliment. “You would be better suited for acting.” I walk away and leave her behind, by herself in the foyer.
Stomping through the main doors, I turn the corner and almost straight into Natalie. I place my hands on either side of her face, my fingers lace into the hair at her temples, and I kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek then my lips are on hers. I step back to pull away from her but she pulls at my shirt, keeping me close.
The sudden volume increase of voices, footsteps and metal detector beeps indicates the doors have opened, and we’re standing in much too public of a place. I wrap my fingers into hers and lead her back. The introductions to the staff and crew are quick. The band joins us. Dom waves. Blake takes her hand, leans forward and kisses the back of her hand dramatically. She laughs, and Blake is lucky I’m in a forgiving mood. Joking or not, I can be a jealous man. Add it to my list of flaws.
But, then again, perhaps the playing field has been leveled. She did have to leave me alone with Mariah today. I can’t imagine that was easy, and yet, just like every situation she encounters, Natalie handled it with patience and grace.
I pull her into the wings of the stage. I want her to myself as much as I can before having to leave her for my performance. I could kiss her forever, but she pulls away.
“What did Mariah want?” she signs. I take a deep breath and shake my head.
“Don’t worry about her,” I say. “She won’t be causing any more trouble.”
“I hope not.”
The lights over the stage darken, and the crowd screams a ferocious roar. I ask Natalie where she wants to be for the show and she responds, “Anywhere where I can see you”—her eyes flirting with mine as her lips and hands move. I find a spot for Natalie, close to the back of the stage where the subwoofers and speakers are—the closest she can be to feeling the music, but still in a wing so she can see the show. Our opener takes the stage, the lights bright and moving. The vibrations from the speakers and instruments travel over the stage and through the soles of my shoes into my feet. Her eyes widen, her mouth morphs to an excited smile.
I lean in and kiss her—a long, slow kiss accompanied by blue and purple flashing lights that dance across our faces as we share this moment. We watch from the wing, my chest at her back and my arms around her waist. The lead singer takes a bow at the front of the stage. The lights go down and they exit the stage. Crew members in primarily black outfits take the stage and adjust the set-up.
Most of the lights are down and the area is dark, except for the slight illumination of my phone as I type a new message. I wrap my arms around her again, holding her so my chin rests on her head but she can read my phone in my hands in front of her.
I’ll see you after the show, the message reads. She nods, slowly. Her hair tickles my throat.
Break a leg, she types, then turns to look at me. I break into a childlike smile I can’t control. I don’t recognize the happiness she brings me because I never allowed myself to have it before.
But I do now.
Booming music plays us in, and we take the stage. The stage remains dark for a long while, and the crowd is getting antsy. They can see us up there, though the lights aren’t on yet. They are yelling and screaming, but we make them wait it out. We’re still surrounded by almost total darkness and I take the microphone in my hands.
“Hello, New York,” I say in a long, drawn-out style. The crowd erupts. They’re ready for the music.
“We meet again,” I say in dramatic fashion. Sometimes drawing out the introduction is amusing. The crowd unhinges with excitement and impatience that begs us to get to the show.
“You there, guys?” I say, addressing the band.
“Yeah, we’re here. Hello, New York,” Blake says, “and go Yankees…or whatever.” The crowd laughs. Blake couldn’t care less about baseball. That’s about all the effort each city gets from him.
“Psssttt… New York,” I say in a whisper that echoes through the microphone. “I have a secret. Make some noise if you want to know it too.”
The crowd hollers and yells a simultaneous response through the darkened venue, but it’s mediocre at best.
“I guess they don’t really want to know, guys.” I say to the band. “New York! Make some noise if you want to know the secret.”
And this time, they take the bait. They yell and scream and cheer and only when their vocal chords can no longer take the strain do they fade out.
“All right, all right, jeez, you don’t have to yell at us,” I joke, getting a laugh from the crowd.
“Here with us tonight,” I yell, enunciating every syllable, “a special appearance for this crowd… I give you…the one, the only…Mr. Julian Young!”
My voice thunders through the microphone, drowned out by the love and applause the crowd emits as the spotlight turns on above Julian, proving his presence, and he strikes a few loud, impressive guitar chords.
As expected, the crowd falls in love with the musical style of Julian Young all over again, and it’s a tease, for us and them, because it’s an experiment with a shelf life.
He still has it. I had doubted his ability to captivate a crowd at a height I know he’s capable of after being off stage for so long, but I’d underestimated him. The music lives in him and he lays it all out on stage, not leaving one ounce of talent untapped or any morsel of potential behind. He pours everything he is and was into the music, and the crowd drinks it in.
We play a few fast-paced, well-known songs to get the crowd on their feet and kick off the night. About mid-show, as we usually do, Blake and I sit in stools at the front of the stage with the lights dimmed in a soft blue glow around us. We play a few slow-burning, soft acoustic numbers. As I play, I look around and find Natalie has made her way to the side of the crowd. She stares at me, and I at her, playing each chord and singing each note as if there is not one other person in the world, never mind the room.
We regroup as a full band to finish off the night with more of our number one hits—the kinds of songs where I stop singing, completely cut out the words, turn the microphone to the crowd and let them finish the lyrics because I know they know them.
My eyes shift to the set list taped to the ground—Delayed Reactions is up next. Blake strums the opening chords and Dom keeps time on the drums. The song sounds slightly hollow without Theo, and Julian doesn’t know this one, but somehow, it works. In some ways, less is more, and this was beginning to sound like a stripped or acoustic version.
