Chapter Eight
Three more weeks passed. Paige visited almost every night of the week. Sometimes overlapping with his mom, who only came twice a week. Bas and Dane came every other Saturday, and set that schedule until Tommy needed them less. He did sometimes call and talk to Dane or Bas during the week when therapy had him struggling. And he still had days to himself, which he found hard to fill if left on his own to decide. But the staff kept him busy with classes of all types. Even bringing a vocal coach in for him. They didn’t do much more than run through scales, but that was fine.
Tommy spent a lot of time humming, playing with the pitch and wondering if he recorded different tones, could he sound like his own backup? An a cappella thing? He’d heard other artists do it from time to time, but never thought he would have the skill, range, or interest. He had always sung pop, not that moody folk stuff of a cappella. But now he wondered if maybe he’d chosen the wrong genre of music for his voice.
He wondered, too, if he’d settled for mediocre because that was what he was used to? The easy route. He knew Ru worked insanely hard at his craft. Singing all the time. Running to improve the strength of his lungs. Writing songs constantly. Tommy had never really had that drive. He sang well, and practiced when the group did, but not the hours a day Ru did.
Motivation. Drive. Tommy had been lacking it. No wonder he’d never really stood on his own in VG. He tried not to focus on the past as the therapist had him setting small goal points to keep him moving forward. And daily vocal practice was one of those things. He liked singing. And the big foyer of the rehab center had a great echo he could play with as long as the main doors remained closed. No one had complained about him singing into the echo, but there was always at least one NA with him.
Paige gave him two more needlepoints. One that was a floral ring that said “Keep that shit up!” and the other had a black cat on it, butthole on display with a pink X, and said, “Does this make my butt look big?” He cracked up over both, noticing the dark hole in his brain seemed to be shrinking a little.
Paige was a bit like his own Disney princess with a sailor’s mouth, and he loved it. He always looked forward to evenings talking to her, or the occasional Sunday movie party, which included Paige, Bas, and Dane, watching random things with him in the media room. They all took to coloring. And Tommy had gifted Paige a couple fantasy art pages of half-naked men who were part fish or horse, lower parts changed to cover the NSFW bits. They gave him the strangest coloring books. But she smiled and hugged him, kissing him on the cheek for the gifts.
He was moving around on his own, without the wheelchair. Tremors came and went. One of the NAs, or one of his nurses, were nearby on the rare occasion he fell. He did yoga, started a light cardio routine of walking the halls, usually with Derek in the evenings, or Sergio on the weekends, his alternate evening nurse, and could get to the media room or the dining hall on his own two feet.
“Tell me the truth,” Tommy asked when Katie stopped in on week four. She came by once a week. His first request was always to see Ru, but today it was more than that. “How bad is the press?”
“Most of it has died down. They know you’re in rehab. That’s it.”
“And how much are they bugging Ru over this?”
“Tommy. Ru is fine. He needs time.”
Ru was the kid brother of Tommy’s heart. He couldn’t help but worry. Did anyone but him understand how Ru wore his heart on his sleeve? He had Adam now, and that helped, but Tommy hadn’t seen Adam either. “Can I see Adam?” Maybe Adam would answer his questions.
“Not without Mr. or Mrs. Corbin present.”
And they were pissed at him. “Maybe I can call them?”
“Maybe you can,” Katie agreed. “Start with an apology? You brought drugs to prom,” she said tightly.
Tommy flinched, but nodded.
Katie let out a long breath. “I need to talk to you about something else. Warn you. I did talk to your therapist, which is why I’m here during lunch before your afternoon meeting. To give you a chance to discuss your feelings with her right after this.”
Okay, that didn’t sound good. “What’s wrong?”
“Your mom and dad are getting a divorce.”
Of all the things she could have said, he hadn’t thought it would be that. He hadn’t seen his dad, but thought maybe he was working? His dad worked a lot, even though Tommy had given them money and investment accounts. But his mom had said nothing, nor had she indicated anything was wrong.
“What?”
Katie looked uncomfortable. “I wanted your mom to tell you. She…well, I won’t speak for her. Anyway. It’s going to be messy. There are some arguments over money as often happens when big dollar amounts are involved.” She paused, “And your father is demanding Power of Attorney. Has already served me with the paperwork.”
“You’re my PoA. Until I get out of here…”
“He thinks you need a conservatorship. Someone to run the money while you’re recovering.”
Tommy narrowed his eyes. “I already have a team of people doing that.” It was one of the first things he’d learned from other big-name performers he’d met when their careers first started to take off. Remove the power of money from his parents’ hands. Diversify so no one entity had control over the lot. It only caused trouble down the road. He had been the only one with a family intact, but had spent time consulting and taking that advice, using the record company as a lever to get his parents to relinquish control as he diversified the earnings through accountants rather than family ties. Even the record company had less control of him than they would like. When he’d left VG, they’d been unable to keep selling rights to old songs without renegotiating royalties every five years. Ru had recently started rerecording old songs he’d written for VG, reclaiming the recording rights, and outselling anything the old record company had. Which hit the income for the rest of them, but Tommy hadn’t cared. He had more baskets and more eggs. “They would have to do some crazy work to bring it all together.” Not even Katie had control of all his money.
She nodded.
This was a power grab. “And what is his plan if he gets control?”
“He’s not happy you’re here. Thinks it’s too fringe.” She put the word in air quotes with her fingers. “That they should medicate you and be done with it. Thinks the cost is too much.”
That idea set a chill in his bones, and a rise to the anxiety. “I’m getting better.”
