Page 93 of Revel
She shakes her head. “I’ll admit he knew what he was doing acting like that, but you, my friend, you crossed a line even you haven’t crossed before. You were in the middle of a concert venue with thirty-thousand fans, media, it’s on YouTube for fuck’s sake. It’s being played over and over again.”
I nod but remain quiet.
“The tour managers have canceled the final two shows, and they’re going afteryoufor the loss in ticket sales. Promoters are suing. You’re being sued by Breckin’s lawyers for assault… I think we might be able to get you off with rehab and probation, but I don’t know. It’s a mess, Revel. A big fucking mess.”
Leaning back in the chair, I run my hands through my hair and then flop them at my sides. “What do you want me to do?”
For a moment, Liz doesn’t say anything, but I know where this is going. She’s been our manager for years and kept her mouth shut when we did stupid shit. This time, I don’t think I’m getting off that easy. With a flush to her cheeks, she adjusts her black-framed glasses and does that thing where she starts to speak, then stops, and sighs. “I. . . want you to appreciate your life. You have talent. You’re by far one of the most, if notthemost talented singer/songwriter in the industry. The way you draw crowds in, your performance, it’s incredible. But it’s you who needs to change. I get it. You were seventeen when you made it and I know it’s young, but at some point, emotionally, you need to grow the fuck up. You can’t go around beating the crap out of people when you’re at the level you are. This is one you can’t talk your way out of or use your fame. Your blood alcohol content was .28 when you were arrested not to mention they found cocaine in your system!”
“I don’t—”
“Nope. No talking!” She stops me from speaking, her hand snaps up, silencing me. “I’m not finished. You’re an idiot. I’m sorry, you’re an amazing artist, but you’re a dumbass. You need to appreciate those fans who witnessed you at your worst. The fans who waited in line for hours in a blizzard that night to watch you throw it all away, yet still stand by you. Appreciate Cruz, Hardin, and Deacon for being your family. Through everything you do, they stand by you.”
Again, I nod. She’s not going to let me speak, so there’s no other option but to listen, and I do, for once.
“I want you to appreciate your life and that the world doesn’t owe you a goddamn favor. News flash, they don’t. I get it. You didn’t have the ideal childhood and that’s where all this stems from. It’s what makes your music so influential, but buck up, bitch.” Her eyes drift to the table, the coffee in her hand and the ring on her finger from a man she never discusses with us. She won’t even let us meet him. Can’t say I blame her. “I grew up in foster care. Your grandma might not have been perfect, but at least she was there. Try packing your belongings in a garbage bag and being moved from home to home every six-to-eight weeks because the family who took you in wanted a baby, not a teenager.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure what else to say to her. I never knew any of that about her and it only makes me feel worse.
“I don’t want your pity. That’s not why I’m telling you any of this. I’m telling you this so you realize what’s at stake here.”
“I do.” It’s the truth. I do know. I just don’t know if I’m ready to face it.
COLD AND DISTURBED
TAYLAN
I think of Revel and my heart does that thing where it beats so hard it hurts. It’s worse than any anxiety attack I’ve ever had. And I’m sad for him, for us, reality, and knowing he might go to jail for a long time for what he’s done.
I think of Breckin and my dad, and I’m instantly enraged to the point my lips are numb and I’m sweating and pacing the room. For the last two days, I’ve been sick to my stomach, constantly. Anxiety builds and builds, and it feels like I’m swimming in an ocean, barely able to keep my head above water. My hands shake staring at my phone and the constant ringing and messages. I scroll through them all, never responding to them until I see one from my mom, urging me to call her.
I’m not sure how much of my dad’s past Mom knows, or chose to know. Had she known about Hensley? Were there others? Maybe she’d been blind to it all along, or maybe the good southern woman in her chose to focus on her family. I’m certainly not saying it was right of her to do that, but in my heart, I can understand why she did.
I call her that afternoon while Revel’s meeting with his attorney, and the first thing out of her mouth is, “I’m divorcing your dad.”
For a moment, I don’t say anything. Maybe it’s not my place. Maybe she’s not looking for anything but someone to talk to. I want to say good for you, but instead, I simply listen to her words.
“You deserve so much more,” I whisper, trying to hold back tears. “I just can’t believe him.”
She chokes on a gasp. “Tay, honey. I knew for a long time. I just didn’t want to admit it.”
“So you stayed in a broken marriage where he disrespected you?” I ask, wondering what the driving force behind her staying with him would have been.
“I stayed for two reasons. You, and I wanted him to admit it.”
“Why would you have stayed because of me?”
She sighs, and then speaks, her voice softer now. “He’s your manager, your label, and more importantly, your father. I didn’t want our issues to destroy your image of him.”
I laugh, though I know I shouldn’t. “He destroyed that image by treating me like a possession rather than his daughter.”
Surprisingly, Mom laughs. “Sounds a lot like my marriage for the last twenty-five years.”
We make small talk for an hour, and it’s nice and the closest I’ve ever felt to her. For the first time in my life, it feels like she actually cares about me. She even asks how Revel’s doing, which if we’re being honest, I don’t know the answer to that question.
I meet with my dad that same afternoon, against my requests not to see him. He pushes past security to find me in my room, packing to leave for LA tonight. With the tour canceled, I can’t stay here, and with everything going on, it’s best I’m not here. I can’t even go outside the hotel without being mobbed by the media and paparazzi.
“You’re fired,” I tell him, angrily stuffing shirts and jackets into a suitcase that’s clearly not going to fit all my clothes in.
