I simply couldn’t be impartial anymore. Not after the conversation Dante and I’d had right before he OD’d. This wasn’t my editorial to write. This was someone else’s.
I knew it and Levi knew it. He didn’t try to change my mind when I refused.
The call came after midnight when I was already in bed. My stomach flipped. The number had been programmed into my phone by Dante himself years ago. And I was realizing it only now.
He sounded different. There were occasional long pauses between the words as if he needed to make sure what he was about to say was exactly what he wanted me to hear.
“How did you get my number?” I asked, slightly stunned. I didn’t remember giving it to him. I’d been the one on the receiving end.
“I’ve got powerful friends.”
“Such as?”
“Geez.” There it was again. A stop. “It’s public record.”
“Is everything okay?” I probed.
“Yeah.”
“I saw the press release.”
“It was never my band. It was always Frank’s… We were all just tagging along.”
“Says the man who tried to kick the other man out.”
“It wasn’t like that.” His speech slurred. He paused again. “I’ve had a moment of clarity.”
“What’s going on with you, Dante?”
“I’ll live.”
I didn’t know how to react. There was clearly something wrong with him health wise. He sounded lost and tired, but each question I posed was dodged.
I wasn’t sure why he was calling, and the fact that he was actually calling rendered me speechless. The silence between us deepened with each passing second.
Dante broke it first. “I wanted to thank you personally for not leaving my ass to die.”
A laugh escaped from my chest. “I mean, I do hate you for what you did to Frank, but I’m not going to stand and watch you choke on your vomit just because you’re a selfish asshole.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“No, but you scared the hell out of me.”
Dante’s voice crumbled with lingering anguish. “I think you’re a very kind person, Cassy. I’m glad you were there.”
“You’re welcome.”
We fell back into another long moment of silence. Talking to Dante on the phone was strange. Almost too intimate.
“Did you ever report that punk who pushed you?” he questioned.
“I decided not to. He’s in high school and his parents begged me to reconsider. He erased the footage.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, he erased it in front of me.”
“Trust me, people say a lot of shit and then two years later, your homemade porno movie is all over the internet.”
“Honestly, I don’t have it in me to deal with a legal hurdle right now. We need to lock down the venue for the screening, and it’s been a stressful week.”
“You still haven’t found anything? How hard can it be if Frank’s name is attached to the project?”
“We’re not publicizing that he’s financing the album production. The documentary is nonprofit. His contributions are registered as donations. Besides, his stunt at your party was a big turnoff for people. We lost several sponsors because their reps felt very strongly about the footage of Frank circulating online. A lot of Isabella’s fans are teenagers who are still in high school. We can’t have a drunk lunatic as the face of the campaign.”
“Drunk lunatic, huh? So you’re not going to give him another chance.”
“I’m not a genie bottle full of chances. He had plenty.”
“I really did root for you two.”
“You were also the one who accused me of stealing demos and then came on to me.”
“Oh, darlin’, I did a lot of bad shit. I do apologize for accidentally coming on to you. I was probably high. Doesn’t mean I don’t want other people to be happy.”
“I’m not sure you have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t give me enough credit.”
“I haven’t seen you doing anything to deserve my credit. Music doesn’t count.”
I heard a groan of frustration. “You’re a very difficult woman, Cassy.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Now I see why no one wants to work with you.” He laughed.
“People do want to work with us, but it’s not that easy. If you haven’t noticed, Isabella isn’t your typical nineteen-year old. We need to make sure the facility meets ADA requirements. Not all do. Many places that were willing to donate their premises are located inside older buildings. Some are simply too small. I’m trying to find something similar to Melrose Cinema in size and layout, but most theaters aren’t willing to shut down for a nonprofit event on a Saturday night during the new James Bond movie release week.”
“What can I do to help?”
His question was unexpected, an eerie whisper inside my head. “I’m not asking you for help, Dante.”
“I’m not implying you are, but if there’s anything I can do, you can tell me.”
“I think maybe you should concentrate on getting better instead of making promises you might not be able to keep.”
He was quiet. The stillness that stretched between us on the line was like rubber. The words that followed next almost hurt.
“Listen to me, Cassy,” Dante spoke, tone soft and serious. “I know you’re mad at him for all the shit he did, but you should call him. I’m not saying forgive him…just call him.”
“Why?”
“Because life is fucking short, Cassy. Because you’re here one minute and gone the next.”
He ended the call before I had a chance to respond. There was one part of me that wanted to dial his number and demand an explanation. But instead, I dialed Frank’s. My heart palpitated inside my chest. My ears rang. Anxiety swirled through my stomach. The room suddenly felt like a box. A trap. A prison. And the only way out was the voice
