Caught Up in You: Chapter 8

Pretty Pimpin

Chapter 8: Pretty Pimpin

Gabe knew the minute he walked through the door, he’d be met with Jenna’s icy glare, or worse, her fiery screams. She didn’t disappoint. She brought out both.

“Where the hell have you been?” she snarled. The front of her shirt was covered in some sort of goo— either from the baby or food, or a combination of the two, he wasn’t sure. He also wasn't an expert on women’s hair or nails by any means, but from the looks of hers, he was going to guess she didn’t make it to her appointment.

“I told you the session ran long. Sorry.” The sorry was more accusatory than an apology should be, but they were both used to that. Jenna handed the baby over to the nanny, which made Gabe wonder why she couldn’t do that to begin with instead of riding his ass so hard all the time. With the baby now out of ear-shot, Jenna spoke with a venomous resolve.

“I spoke to to your fucking manager. Or should I say your former manager. He called here before he got a hold of you on your cell. You didn’t even have a session booked today, fucker.”

Now Gabe didn’t know what to do. His manager never sold him out before. That was kind of the unspoken agreement between a music manager and the musician, after all. You could do as much shit as you wanted and they would have your back. Gabe knew they were also supposed to manage your career, but that seemed almost secondary to the more important role of being a vault of secrets. Gabe also realized this meant just how checked out he was. If he was willing to rat him out to Jenna, well… that didn’t bode well for their future endeavors, namely Gabe’s career. Gabe cursed his name in his head, while trying to come up with a secondary defense strategy.

The problem of course was Gabe was high as a kite and it was a small miracle he made it back home at all. He’d been wise enough to say no to the eager college chick, but everything else after that time had been questionable at best. And now he was trying to connect the pieces of his broken memory to form some sort of coherent story to his wife.

He remembered deciding not to drive so he could do a line. That was at least one good choice. There was time in Gabe’s life that he would’ve driven, consequences be damned. He shuddered to think about the time he drove Cassie the 30 miles from Escondido to Pacific Beach after taking copious amounts of Vicodin, weed, and alcohol. That was when he remembered the past at all, and not his impressions of it. It’s funny how years of drugs and fame will erase the details from your brain.

After he did the line (okay, more like six lines), he decided to stop for a drink to wet his whistle. It was at that point in the day that he came to regret turning down the college chick’s offer. At least then he wouldn’t be drinking alone. He may’ve called Big Mike to see where they were, but those details were fuzzy. He found a nondescript bar and drank a scotch (or again, six scotches), then the rest was pretty much a blank. He didn’t remember getting kicked out of the bar, so that, at least was another good thing.

Jenna’s accusatory tone pierced through his thoughts like a knife, “Are you fucking high?”

“No.” Yes.

“Unbelievable. We talked about this, Gabe. I don’t want you in the fucking house or with our daughter when you’re like this.”

“I’m not high. I had one beer.” Or six lines and six scotches. And maybe other things he couldn’t remember. He definitely smoked some weed at some point, but that hardly counted.

“One beer, huh?” Her tone suggested she didn’t believe it, but she’d go with it for now. That was also reflective of the status of their relationship.

“With who?”

Shit. Gabe didn’t really have friends. He’d usually use his manager as an excuse, but that well was apparently dry. Big Mike would be a dead giveaway. Everyone else was a blank.

“Mark.” He didn’t know why he said it. It was the first name that came to mind. He also got a flash of calling Mark at some point during the day, but couldn’t remember why.

“Mark? Who the fuck is Mark?”

“My old bandmate. You remember. From college.”

“You never talk to me about college or your old band. You never talk to me about anything!” Gabe thought that seemed like a fight for another day, so he pressed on.

“He’s in town and text me to see if I could grab a last-minute drink.”

“Uh huh, and you couldn’t text me to let me know because…?”

“Because he told me not to. He’s about to get married and just wanted some guy time. We made a pact to not tell our ‘women’ like we used to do in college. Guy is going through a rough time, so I went along with it.” Gabe couldn’t tell if the lie was believable or not, but Jenna seemed to soften a little. It was amazing the lies that came out of his mouth sometimes. How easily he could concoct an entire tale without thinking twice about it. It scared him sometimes.

“If he’s such a good friend, how come we’re not invited to his wedding?”

“We are! You must’ve not seen the invitation.” This was actually true. And Gabe did that on purpose. The less Jenna knew about the band, specifically Cassie, the better. Those were two worlds he didn’t want colliding. “And, to be honest, at the time I wasn’t sure we could make it with my schedule.”

She seemed to buy that. The fact that it was mainly true certainly helped his case. But, he had to figure out how to play it from here. If he told her he wanted to go to the wedding, she would want to come. He didn’t want that. But, if he didn’t tell her he was going to the wedding, she’d be pissed at him for lying again. Either way, he was fucked. It was now just a matter of how fucked he wanted to be.

“So, when’s this wedding?” she asked, curiously piqued.

“This weekend. Since my schedule opened up, I was thinking of going.” He hoped she wouldn’t ask him why his schedule was free. Fortunately she didn’t.

“This fucking weekend? As in, three fucking days from now?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re just now mentioning this? Jesus Christ, Gabe. I can’t go.”

“Why not?” This was playing out perfectly. He didn’t know why she couldn’t go, and frankly he didn’t really care. But, if he played the part of the sympathetic husband who wanted her there, he could maybe be the good guy for once.

“BECAUSE I CAN’T JUST DROP EVERYTHING LIKE YOU CAN,” she roared. Who was Gabe kidding. He’d never be the good guy.

“I’m so glad that you’re used to life on the road and not having any fucking responsibilities. But, I can’t get a sitter to take care of Bella for three fucking days.” The calmness with which she spoke was even scarier to Gabe than if she was shouting. He knew that she was building to an explosion.

“And I have the gallery opening this weekend.” What gallery, Gabe thought?

“We were supposed to get dinner with my parents at some point. You’ve only been putting that off for the past two YEARS.” All those years of resentment came spilling out.

He looked at this screaming and panting woman, and tried to see some semblance of his wife in there. He couldn’t. He had known his marriage was dead for quite some time, maybe even before they had a real shot at it, but he didn’t see how much she loathed him until that very moment. The lifestyle, the baby, getting to be Gabriel Luna’s wife was not enough for the hell he put her through. He was the one to blame for turning her into this miserable person, but Gabe had way too much pride to admit that. Especially now. Especially when he was high and secretly didn’t want Jenna to go to the wedding so he could see Cassie on his own.

“You know what, Jenna? You’ll never be satisfied. And that is not my fault. Come. Don’t come. I don’t really care.”

And with that, he turned away from his wife who began to shout after him. But, he couldn’t even pretend to care. Once again, he had gotten his way. Damn be the consequences. As he walked toward the loft-space, he actually felt a smile spread across his face. And the drugs were only partially to blame.