Beyond the Footlights, page 28
Tanner clamped his mouth shut, gave a curt nod, and signaled the left turn toward town.
“I’ve been busted up worse falling off horses and not needed a doctor,” Kilmer assured him.
“Not going to a doctor and not needing a doctor are not the same thing.”
“You’re very literal.”
“Deal with it. It isn’t going to go away.”
For some reason, that made Kilmer smile. Maybe because the implication was that there would be time in the future for that little idiosyncrasy of Tanner’s to both get on his nerves and become endearing.
They had made it into town and settled in the waiting room when Tanner brought up the music again.
“You never did answer my question.”
“Which question?” Kilmer pretended to focus on the television above the seats across from them. His head was too full of Len’s comments about him being different when he was playing. And the recollection of playing in Tanner’s garage lent credence to Len’s assertion. He hadn’t hated it. In fact the music had been soothing lately, more than he remembered it being when he used to sneak away from Jacko to plunk out a few tunes.
He looked over at Tanner, who was watching him carefully, lips pursed.
“You mean the ‘can I play’ question.” He shrugged his less sore shoulder. “Probably.”
“But do you want to?” Tanner held his gaze, waiting for his response.
What else was he supposed to say? He still didn’t know what he wanted.
“Look, telling me you can play isn’t the same thing as telling me you will play. So start there.” He touched Kilmer’s aching shoulder. “Can you play?”
Kilmer blinked and licked his lips. “Um.” He rolled his shoulders and had to stifle a groan. “Maybe. Sitting. For a little while. Couldn’t dance around a stage or anything.”
“Sitting’s fine.” Tanner touched his right pectoral, softly laying his palm over the area. “Once we’re done here and have reported back to Maggie, we’ll go back to your place. I left your instrument there. You can practice while I spackle.”
“Spackle?” For the life of him, Kilmer could not imagine what kind of vocal machinations or guitar lick Tanner could possibly be talking about.
“Spread plaster,” Tanner told him. “You know? Over drywall seams and screws?”
“Oh!” Kilmer shuddered. “The house. Yeah.”
“Yeah.” He offered a puzzled look and might have said more, but a nurse called them to the exam room then.
The next little while was filled with prodding at all his sore spots, examining his bruises, manipulating his stiff shoulder, and asking him his name and the date and who was prime minister. He thought about messing with them and telling them it was Jean Chrétien, but after a glance at Tanner, at the worry still evident in his eyes, he swallowed his ire and talked about the elections and minority governments. That at last convinced everyone he was as fine as he insisted he was.
After making him more sore and more tired than he wanted to admit, Rhonda pronounced him bruised, battered, and dumber than a bag of hammers for not having Len bring him in the night before. But she did let him go home after he promised to stay with Tanner for a few days so he had someone to look after him. She also offered advice about over-the-counter painkillers and not driving for a few days, just to be safe.
“Come on.” Tanner stood and held out his hand. “Let’s go back and let Maggie clap eyes on you one more time before I bring you home to get some rest.”
Kilmer nodded, took the offered hand, and followed Tanner out of the clinic without protest.
THEY PLACATED Maggie by eating the breakfast she provided. Then Kilmer took a half hour to talk to Patrick and Len about what they needed to do over the next couple of days. He worried about leaving Len alone for so long, but Maggie assured him he was being ridiculous. Len was hardly alone.
By the time he was climbing back into Tanner’s truck, Kilmer was closer to exhaustion than he wanted to let on. He leaned back and the dog settled against him with a sigh.
“We’re going back to my place,” Tanner announced. “You need sleep.”
“It’s the middle of the day.”
“And?”
Kilmer petted his dog and gazed out the window. He grimaced when they passed the spot on the road where he’d hit the ditch. His car was gone, so he assumed Cade and Arnie had also arranged for a tow truck. He’d have to thank them later.
“Did you sleep last night?” Tanner asked.
Kilmer shrugged. He hadn’t really.
“You don’t have to sleep now. You can watch movies on the couch if you want. But you will rest for a couple of days, let the bruising go down some, and just relax.”
“I don’t need to be babied.”
“Why is it someone showing that they care about you, wanting to see to it that you’re comfortable and okay, translates into you being a baby? Is that a cowboy thing? A Texan thing. Or just you being an asshat?”
“Excuse me?”
“Because maybe part of the reason Jacko couldn’t figure out how to love you properly was because you wouldn’t let him.”
“Wouldn’t let him?” Kilmer glared at Tanner, completely confused.
“It doesn’t excuse what he did or make how he treated you anything but his to own. But Tex, you gotta let people in. You’re this tough rancher dude who doesn’t get hurt. Doesn’t need help. Doesn’t need anything, except you followed Ashcroft here from Texas with a bass in your hand just to get his attention. You lived under Jacko for four years, hoping for him to see you the way you wanted him to see you. Now you’re still hiding behind his collar, because why? You think that’s all I’ll see when I look at you? Is that all you want me to see? Are you afraid I won’t like what’s underneath? It’s like you’ve lived your whole life waiting for someone to see you. Then someone does and you run for the hills.”
“I panicked.” Kilmer closed his eyes as he uttered the confession. How pathetic did that make him sound?
“I know you panicked, Tex. Everything that gets you close to feeling like someone might see the real you puts you in a tizzy. You can’t breathe. You can’t look at them. You want them to see you, but you can’t stand it if they do. Because they might see you aren’t so tough after all. I got news for you, Tex. None of us are. Why do you think Len makes the music he does? Because it purges all the shit out of his soul so Vance can see him. Vance needs the spotlight and the crowds for the same reason. Those people think they know him, but it’s just a front he puts out there. When he comes home, that’s not the guy Len knows. It’s not the guy you know. But being larger than life is what gets him through letting the people he cares about see him when his soft parts are showing.
“I put my soul into lifeless pieces of wood so I can straighten up from that task and know I have something to offer when I look a man in the eye and tell him I am not going to turn my back on him just because he thinks everyone else in his life has and that’s all he’s worth. Knowing I can turn a hunk of wood into something beautiful, that’s my armor against how vulnerable it makes me to say I care that you’re okay. So what are you going to do to prove to yourself that you can be loved and it won’t break you?”
“Vance has never turned his back on me. Nor Len in the short time I’ve known him.”
“But they turn to each other, and you’re not a part of that.”
That was true and it hurt, even though Kilmer knew them turning to one another wasn’t about him.
“What you have to understand is that if they turn to one another because they’re in love, that ain’t about you,” Tanner said, echoing his thoughts. “If your parents turned to their work and neglected you, maybe that had nothing to do with you either. Maybe it was about them. Maybe they had issues that were none of a little kid’s business. Maybe they were just shitty parents. But you let that neglect define you and you will never feel like you’re worth loving.”
“What? Now you’re a shrink?”
“Just a person who can see things from a perspective that you can’t.”
“Len thinks I need a shrink.” Kilmer’s gut roiled as he said it. Tanner was not going to want to be with a guy who needed therapy just to feel normal.
“What do you think?” Tanner asked.
Kilmer said nothing. He’d lain awake trying not to think about it all night. It had been all-consuming.
“Does Len’s therapist know about him and Ashcroft? The domination and submission, I mean.”
“Yeah. Apparently she’s pretty good. Len hated her for the longest time, but I guess she’s helped. He isn’t the same guy Vance first brought home. I think this is who he was always meant to be.”
Tanner merely shrugged. “Might be worth thinking about.”
Kilmer sighed. “Yeah. I guess.”
31
TANNER DIDN’T bring up therapy again. He didn’t have to. It was pretty much all Kilmer thought about as he lay on Tanner’s couch and watched movies, or as he perched on the stool near his front window, played his guitar, and watched the world go by.
Len called him every day and Kilmer told him he was doing better, but was a little too sore to be doing ranch work. It was a lie. He could have managed light duties without a problem. He just didn’t want to be around that many people.
After that first day, Tanner went back to working on Kilmer’s house. Kilmer didn’t join him. He was aware Tanner was doing much more than the basic repairs they had talked about. He didn’t stop him. Tanner seemed invested in the project and that was fine with Kilmer. He could pay, and as long as it was a construction site, he didn’t have to live there.
By day four, though, even Kilmer had to admit hanging out alone in Tanner’s house all day was nothing more than hiding. Len had asked him to at least visit and play some music with him, maybe record what they had been working on, and Kilmer was tempted. But he didn’t look forward to a repeat of the tantrum that had sent him away in the first place.
It wasn’t until Vance called him, furious with him for not calling to tell him what had happened, that he knew he had to stop moping and get on with his life.
“Look, yelling at me from…. Where are you again? Doesn’t matter.” Kilmer set the phone on his thigh and hit Speaker so he could continue to pluck at his bass’s strings. The motions soothed his nerves. “It isn’t going to change anything. Besides, Maggie already tore a strip out of me, so I doubt you can do worse.”
That at least got a chuckle out of Vance.
“But you still should have told me. Len felt like he was betraying a confidence when he finally came clean. You have to go over there and make sure he knows you aren’t mad at him for telling me.”
“Maybe I am mad at him.”
“He only told me what you should have.”
“Van.”
“What?”
“I don’t have to report every little thing to you.”
“Totaling your car is a little thing? I hate to think what you consider big.”
Big. What was big news in his world? He pulled in a deep breath and plunged. “I made an appointment with Len’s shrink,” he blurted. “I go see her next week.”
Silence.
“Van?”
“That’s… pretty big.”
“Tanner wants me to join his band. I don’t want him to think I’m a basket case.”
“Does he know about the therapist?”
“I just made the appointment an hour ago. I haven’t told him yet. But he knows I was thinking about it.”
“For the record I think this is a good idea.”
Kilmer let out a breath he hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, Kil. A really good idea.”
“I—”
For a long time, neither of them said anything.
“You what?” Vance asked softly after a while.
“Am I broken?”
Van chuckled. “We’re all a little bit broken, Kil. If you want to know the truth, I think you’re the least broken guy of anyone I know. Being on the road again just reminds me how much I’ve always relied on you to have my back at home. You’ve always been there for me, and I don’t think I could have left Lenny if I didn’t know you’d be there to look out for him. I know he’s a grown man. But I worry. Just that I worry less with you there.”
“Are you sure you trust me still?”
“What? Because you decided to talk to someone about what’s bugging you? Man, that only makes me more sure. I’d worry more if you insisted you didn’t have issues. Unlike some people, you at least know there’s shit going on in your head that you can’t drink or fuck away.”
Kilmer’s stomach knotted. Jacko. “He’s drinking?”
“He’s not your problem, Kil.”
“He shouldn’t be yours either.”
“Do you remember when I couldn’t go a day without a bottle? You and Jacko kept my life together. You kept my place running. He kept me alive. I owe him, even if it means pouring him into a rehab center or something. I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about him. Worry about you.”
“Fine. I don’t… maybe I don’t even want to know. Does that make me a terrible person?”
“No. It makes you human.”
“If you say so. Listen.” It was enough already. If Jacko was pissing away his chance to get his shit together, that was his problem. Kilmer couldn’t worry about him and keep his own sanity. “I have something I want to ask you.”
“Shoot.”
“You think maybe it would be a good idea to get Len’s band down to the ranch for a while? He’s going a little stir-crazy. He’s got all this music pent up inside him, and I can’t help him get it all out like he needs. I think maybe he’s ready to mend some of those fences. You think they are?”
“I think most of them have been ready for a long time. I think the others need to see him, see how he’s changed, to trust that he’s not a threat anymore.”
“So you’re okay with it if I call Stan and see if they have some time in their schedules.”
“I trust you, Kil. If you think this is what he needs, go for it. I haven’t been there in over a month, and yeah, we talk every day, but I hear it in his voice. He needs more. If they can’t ground him, at least they can distract him. But I want you to be there. I want you to be his wall, yeah? Don’t let any of them hurt him.”
“Of course. I’ll look out for him. Always.”
“Good. Listen, I gotta take off. Almost time for a sound check. Let me know what Stan says, okay? Ultimately it’s up to him to talk to Trevor. Just be nice.”
“Aren’t I always?”
Vance snorted. “I know you. Trust Stan. He wants what’s best for them as much as you or I.”
“Okay. I’ll call him later today and leave you a text. Have a good show, yeah?”
“We will. Take care. And don’t fucking drive into any more ditches, shithead.”
“Love you too, buddy.”
“You know it.”
Kilmer hung up and set the phone on the window ledge. For a long time, he played aimlessly, stared out at the lazy small-town afternoon, and considered how he was going to make this proposal to Firefly’s manager, Stanley. Len needed his friends around him. Kilmer did his best, but he hadn’t known Len long enough. He needed the comfort of the people who knew him best and understood his music because they were a part of it.
This was a long time to go without the cornerstone of his life and the strain was beginning to show.
32
KILMER SPENT the two weekends before Thanksgiving clearing boxes and boxes of motorcycle parts and dried auto paint out of his garage. He texted Vance, asking him to find out what Jacko wanted of his mechanic’s tools, then boxed up what Jacko was keeping and delivered it all to the guitar shop, where the manager helped him pile it into a back storage room. The rest he left at the end of his drive. By the end of the day, everything had disappeared to better homes where it would get used.
He’d then taken every spare moment he had—and some of Len’s spare time as well—to wash down and degrease every surface and to paint layers and layers of white and beige over everything until the garage gleamed and shone with pristine new surfaces.
They finished just in time to present Tanner with the unspoiled workspace the Monday before the holiday. It was spacious enough Kilmer could park the truck Jacko had given him on one side, and Tanner could use the other side to work on some of the bigger projects that he didn’t have room for in his own basement. Tanner argued that Kilmer could probably use the area for his own purposes.
“Like what?” Kilmer asked. He leaned on the newly painted workbench and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Like… I don’t know. What do you do in your spare time?”
A couple of months ago, Kilmer would have been hard-pressed to answer that question. Now he grinned. “Thanks to you, I spend most of it in your garage playing bass. Some of it with Len in the sound studio. Playing bass. Some of it on my living room couch. Playing—”
“Bass. I get it.” Tanner had an answering grin for him. “That’s a lot of playing bass you’ve been doing lately.”
“Well.” Kilmer softened his grin a little and took in a deep breath. He’d been hesitant before now to mention his therapy sessions, but he’d had one that afternoon, and Lenore Stanton had encouraged him to open up about their talks. “Communication is key” was her favorite saying, and he was beginning to see how sorely it had been lacking in his relationship with Jacko. He didn’t want to go down that path with Tanner.
“Well?” Tanner prompted, moving a step closer.
Kilmer reached out a hand, which Tanner took, then settled closer still to make the connection a comfortable one. “When I picked it up again, at first it was to distract me. Didn’t want to be thinking about all the shit, you know?”
