But whatever she was, it was too much for me to deal with just then.
I needed space and, as much as it hurt, like a fucking knife in my heart, I knew that Stephanie was absolutely right that I couldn’t see Seth again.
Chapter Ten - Seth
It had started out so well.
We’d met through a friend of a friend, the usual story.
I’d never really been a scene sort of boy. Not even during what some have termed ‘the party years.’
Sure, I went to lots of parties, due to the music I was involved in, but I more tended to be on the stage than on the dance floor or at the bar. It was an arrangement that helped me develop my tea-totalism with a minimum of hassle.
Not that there was no drinking on stage, Thom always having at least one can or bottle balanced on his keyboard, but that was to be expected from a band. Not from me, though. I stayed sober.
I was also always the designated driver, which allowed the rest of the band to get plastered, if they wanted to. I was also the one who would drive some other folks home if it was a local gig. There were times in which I felt like that ‘bus driver’ should be added to my list of jobs in the many hats I wore.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” my friend Cam said, as we took down our set.
“Is he cute?”
“I mean for you, smart ass.”
“Oh, is she cute?”
“Naw, more like smokin’ hot.”
“Goodie goodie gumdrops.”
We were past the point of picking up on sarcasm. We had been friends too long, and more or less assumed most things had at least a tang of irony to them.
We were from the tail-end of Gen X, after all. The fact of the matter was, in my experience, that being pretty brought problems. I had a feeling that Clara would be trouble, way back then, and I should have listened to my gut.
“Clove?” she had asked, offering me a cigarette.
“No thanks.”
“Mormon?” she guessed, blowing out a puff.
It was 1997 or thereabouts and smoking indoors was still legal in most states. As much as I hated it, I had to admit she did make it look sexy.
“Nope. Just mortal,” I pointed out. “And planning to continue being that way for a long time.”
“Interesting,” Clara said, actually seeming to ponder what I had said.
The sparks were instant and the fire they lit burned bright for about a year. Right up until the ‘98 tour.
Things cooled significantly then, with Clara getting paranoid that I was cheating on her, that I had a girl in every town, or at least that I was fucking groupies on the regular. Never mind the fact that most of our fans were guys. Plus, I was faithful, although she seemed convinced otherwise.
If anyone was hooking up with anyone else on the road, it was Cam, who was happily unattached. Even if I’d had the opportunity, I wouldn’t take it, obviously because I was with Clara, but also, even if I was single, I just wouldn’t have the time. I spent most nights on tour or at the hotel, working on new lyrics or practicing my basslines with headphones on.
And yet she still never believed me. Her constant paranoia and jealousy just got to be too much, and I ended it. Or, so at least I’d thought.
It was uncanny, really.
Just when I thought I’d really moved on, as in, literally moving to a different end of town, meeting a new girl, focusing on the label following the implosion of the band, Clara had appeared again.
I had been dating a nice girl named Luna. Maybe we didn’t have a future together but it was good for the time being. But Clara had come back and ruined all of that.
Just like she had come back now. Strolling back into my house like she owned the place and into my life as if she belonged there. When she totally didn’t.
“See?” Clara asked, after Jonna ran out. “They will always leave you. It’s always fuck and run with those sluts, but I’m the only one who loves you.”
“You might not want to be quoting Liz Phair lyrics while making a declaration of love,” I told her. “It just doesn’t sound right. Particularly after what you did to Luna. I know she didn’t just leave me voluntarily, and you know that, too. In fact, you’re the one who caused her demise.”
“Oh, come now, lover. You know that was an accident.”
“Freud said there are no accidents.”
“Freud is a lying prick who made things up after coming to unsettling conclusions about the daughters of rich assholes,” she spat back. “The truth of the matter is, I didn’t know Luna was allergic to shellfish. Just that she didn’t like them. I was trying to annoy her and maybe make her a little sick, not kill her.”