PROLOGUE
RAFF
The repetitive beatof this trashy remix of “Santa Baby” is giving me a headache. There isn’t enough bass and the vocal line sounds tinny, like a choir of chipmunks has taken over. What should be a knowing, sexy song is just irritating. Or maybe I’m coming down?
I’m floating in a pink-lit swimming pool in a house somewhere in Malibu. My manager Dave’s friend is one of those bigshot producers, with even more money than me, and this is one of his mistress’s houses. Dave informed me of our destination with relish. “One of his mistresses, Raff. You know you’ve made it when you have more than one paid side chick. I think he has four.”
This might be Dave’s ultimate fantasy, but it’s not mine. My eyelids are heavy from the pills I’ve taken and the expensive champagne we necked when we got here is making me sleepy. I could nap.
I lean my head back on the inflatable. It’s in the shape of either a donut or a boob, I’m not sure which. I’ve been floating around in circles for a long time. The girls here circled me like sharks when I arrived, so I slipped out to the backyard and got in the pool. It’s a cool night in LA, and most people are inside.
I take another swig from the bottle in my hand, the alcohol burning my throat and numbing the pain for a moment. I know it’s not a permanent solution, but it’s the only thing that seems to help, even a little. The music is getting louder now, the cheesy lyrics filling the air around me. I should go back inside, join the party, and pretend like everything is okay. But I can’t bring myself to do it.
The stars are out in the cloudless night sky, twinkling above me. It’s like they’re flashing on and off in time to the music. My head is heavy, and my eyes struggle to focus. I can hear laughter and voices coming from inside the house, but they are too far away to make out. I can’t seem to shake off the feeling of emptiness that has been gnawing at me for weeks. It’s like a black hole that sucks in all of my happiness, leaving nothing but darkness and despair. My therapist thinks I’m having an existential crisis. Maybe I am.
The sliding door opens and someone comes outside.
“Raff…Raff. Raffy? Mate?” It’s Dave. Even in an exaggerated whisper, his British accent is a dead giveaway.
“In the pool.” My voice sounds weird, like it’s coming from far away.
Dave walks to the edge of the pool. “Come on over here, mate. Paddle if you must.”
I kick my legs and move the inflatable until I’m close to where he’s standing. He crouches down so our eyes are on the same level, wobbling to remain upright on his haunches. He’s wearing sunglasses, but where mine are tinted yellow, his are mirrored and I can’t see his eyes. All that’s reflected is me, sprawled on a tiny donut, spinning round and round in the pink pool.
“There are some VIPs inside. Are you too fucked to give them a little performance? The dude that owns this place has decks and everything, not that I think he knows how to use it.” Dave puffs on his vape and a cloud of weed smoke billows across the pool.
“No, I’m not into it. I don’t feel like partying, okay?” I spin around again so I’m facing away from him. In the distance, there are clouds approaching. Steady rain would suit my mood better.
“Listen, mate.” Dave is pissed. He only says ‘listen’ when he’s starting to get angry.
“I can’t hear you, Dave. I’m meditating.” The inflatable donut/boob spins faster.
“Yes, you bloody can. Stop being such a dickhead and get inside. They’re all doing coke and you’ll have a rapt audience. I’ve been bigging you up for the last fifteen minutes. It could be very lucrative if you get a film deal.” Dave reaches out and stops the inflatable spinning with his foot. He almost falls in but grabs the back of a chair in time.
“I’m not clear-headed enough to do it. Give me some time.” I stare hazily up at him.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes. Stop fucking around and get your shit together.” Dave pushes himself upright, almost falling in the pool again, and goes back inside.
I sigh. This is what my Christmas is going to be like, then. I’ve been touring for the last ten months without a break. Looking at the same drugged-up faces in different clubs all around the world. Who knew being a superstar DJ would get this…dull?
I have as much expensive booze as I can drink, all the drugs I can take and women throwing themselves at me wherever I go. And all I can think of is going back to Snowflake Falls. Spending some time with my brother Evan and his family. Staring at the huge Christmas tree in the town square bedecked with twinkle lights, drinking some hot chocolate and watching wonderful, familiar holiday movies.
Except I can’t.
I’m in no state to visit my brother. The last time I saw him, he told me in no uncertain terms I needed to kick the drugs. Sent me the name of a rehab place close to Snowflake and said I should look them up. Told me it was time to get my shit together.
That was eighteen months ago.
There’s a blast of music from inside. One of the guys has plugged in an electric guitar and is playing a truly terrible version of “Stairway to Heaven.” A bunch of them are singing along, although the younger girls gathered around them are checking their cell phones and looking confused.
My mind’s made up. That’s bought me some time. The first thing I need to do is find my jacket. The second is to make an Irish exit and leave without anyone noticing. The third is to get my sorry ass into rehab.
It’s not going to be pleasant and Dave will blow his top, but I’ve had enough. I’m tired of being out of control and on the road. I don’t want to use drugs and alcohol to numb the pain of my shallow existence. Who knows if it will work? I might be back here or in another pool next Christmas.
But I need to give it a try.
CHAPTER1
