The Beautiful Machine

The week before we left for New York was awkward. We practiced every night, but Scott and I didn’t speak. Scott was distant from all of us—his relationship with Kenny was just as rocky after their fight. Jim made the wise choice to not get involved with trying to clean up the mess.

I wasn’t even upset that Scott hit me. I needed someone to bring me back to my senses. But after that first punch it wasn’t about me anymore—he was just taking his problems out on me.

With the distance between us, I’d fallen back into the habit of sleeping with Skye every night. There was romance. The night before we left for New York, she finally told me about what was going on between her and Courtney.

“So, before things got messy with Scott—do you want me to tell you what I was going to say?”

“Yeah.”

“I asked Courtney to keep an eye on you at shows… I knew that you’d started taking Xans at one point to deal with anxiety—I could see it in your body language. As an extension of our agreement, she wanted me to be more…mindful of how I interacted with you.”

“It was obvious that the push-and-pull in our relationship was taking a toll on you. So, whenever I was getting too eager, she was holding me back.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup. You completely fell apart because we were trying to protect the man we love,” she said with a sting to it.

“Man, if I would stop being so selfish, I’d notice I have an amazing girlfriend and sister,” I said.

Skye shuddered.

“I know that you two are friends, but never call her your sister in front of me again,” her voice was disgusted.

“What’s so wrong about that?”

I was dense.

“Wes, Courtney has touched herself to us having sex in front of her on numerous occasions. Calling her a sister is fucked.”

I froze. That was not the kind of intimacy I wanted to imagine. And yet—I had no idea how to respond. Of course I didn’t. That was the whole problem.

“Speaking of the agreement, she stopped coming around recently,” I probed.

“Yeah, I… stopped texting her about it. She asked me if she could join at some point and I’m not comfortable with that.”

“I just wanted to protect you,” she said. “But maybe I needed space too.”

“Yeah, that’s… way over the line.”

We let the Courtney conversation die there.

“So, Skye, are you ready to see me a lot less? I know I’m not exactly stoked for it.”

“I think it’s good for me. It will give us more time to grow as people. I can focus on my studies and maybe get back into writing when you’re away.”

“You’ve never really talked about writing.”

“Yeah… I write poems and short stories. None of it’s good yet, but I’m getting better. Darker Days made me want to start writing poems again,” she smiled.

“I’d love to read some of your work sometime… maybe you can make a folder over the next year and send them to me to read on tour—so the distance doesn’t feel so far.”

That was corny.

She laughed, “That doesn’t sound too bad… It’s funny, that’s the first time I’ve felt like you were in love with me.”

We continued talking into the night. That was the first time that our intimacy felt like more than a performance.

***

The label’s van was great. Being the only one without a license meant I got to relax—but Scott’s silence the entire ride was annoying.

Sometime in the afternoon, the radio station we were listening to played Darker Days. It was surreal that we were on fm, and people in at least the north east were being introduced to us for the first time.

We were driving in on the Friday before the show to meet with Stan and the other higher-ups at R&R. We were getting the high-end treatment—they saw us as their next long-term project.

The hotel they put us up in was too nice—two suite rooms on the top floor of a luxury hotel that the label co-owned. Courtney would room with Scott for the two nights we were there while Kenny, Jim, and I were together. In one of his brief periods where he was talkative, Scott was trying to crash with us—probably so he could medicate without guilt.

“Man, it’s nice being in a room with windows instead of particle board,” Kenny remarked.

Jim looked at him. “Dude, my dad and I can replace the windows at your house anytime.”

“It’s fine—they’ll just get broken again.”

I was glad that they weren’t nervous. We probably weren’t going to have much to say tonight. Most of it would be listening to executives and old-timers rant about the good old days. Depending on who was talking, it could be interesting, but it wouldn’t be as stressful as the others were expecting.

We dressed respectfully for the event—button-down shirts and dress pants. We wanted to at least look like we had our shit together.

The meeting was in a function hall in the hotel we were staying at. Stan collected us from our rooms wearing a black suit—shabby, with a few buttons missing and holes in the blazer.

“You guys look great—I dig it.”

After some pleasantries, he continued.

“Basically, people are going to talk at you all night. You’ll meet Doug, who’ll be relocating to Boston after this. Your A&R guy, Jason, will be there… he won’t really do much—but he’s excited about how Darker Days is blowing up around the country.”

Yeah, this was exactly what I expected.

The whole event went by quickly. I mainly hung out with Stan all night, listening to his glory stories—he told the X-Mass story to Jason, Doug, and anyone who would listen. It was great internal PR that he mentioned that Tony Black had taken an interest in me and that my brother was Caleb Rondeau. He used that to explain that my stage name was Wes Reau.

Why? There were a lot of reasons. I didn’t want to immediately be known as Caleb’s brother, I didn’t want to make my father’s name famous, Tony Black told me to change it, and it just sounded better.

By the end of the event, Courtney and I were the only ones left, lost in a long conversation with Stan and Doug. Doug seemed to take to her quickly—it actually looked like she might get her shot at tour management after all.

On the walk back to the room we tried to get back to normal with each other.

“How’s Scott been at home since Saturday?” I asked.

“He’s been quiet. To be honest, he’s been harder to reach since the show in Lowell—I’m not sure what’s going on, and he won’t talk about it.”

“That sounds right.”

I promised him I wouldn’t tell her—but he did fracture my nose.

“I think he’s just struggling with how he sees himself… He’s getting exactly what he wanted, but he’s afraid he’ll be left behind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Scott’s a fake tough guy, Courtney. Acts like he can take on the world—lashes out when people don’t live up to his standards. But he’s weaker than the rest of us.”

Her expression changed. I’d struck a nerve.

“What do you know?”

“More than you.”

I timed this to open the door to the room I was staying in. I wasn’t going to argue.