“Bye, Mom.”
A few minutes later, Zane arrives at Dean’s loft. He sits outside the building for a minute, trying to decide if he should go in or not. The last time they saw each other was at the courthouse. The family circuit court judge had summoned them about falsifying the original documents that had been submitted. They each brought their own lawyers, who blamed the other one’s client. Dean had been certain he’d be sent to prison for signing a false affidavit, and Zane told him he would take full responsibility. He was willing to go on the record as the one who told Dean it was Mike’s hair sample. In the end, the judge, who happened to be a golfing buddy of Zane’s lawyer, went easy on them. He said it was understandable that they’d try to cover the truth up, given Zane’s level of fame and the harm it would do to his family. He agreed to change the paternity to show Zane’s name and leave it at that, trusting that they’d both learned their lesson. When they walked outside, Zane slapped his friend on the back. “That was a close one. Should we go celebrate?”
Dean’s answer was one word. “No.”
Sitting there now, the memory of that moment has Zane starting up his car. But after a few seconds, he shuts it off. He was already here. He might as well try.
Leaving may have been the smart move. Their visit is awkward as all hell as they sit in the living room sipping warm beer from a can. He had hoped for Dean to loosen up and relax after a bit, maybe do some reminiscing, and eventually suggest they call Steven and Rusty and see if they can work things out.
Only Dean doesn’t say any of that. He doesn’t talk about the good old days. Not even one little memory. Instead, he asks about the kids. “Are they okay, since … well, everything?”
Zane offers him his charming ‘things are perfect’ smile. “Great. Everyone’s great. Ivy’s at Princeton now.”
“Yep, I heard. Good for her.”
“She’s got herself a boyfriend. I’m not sure I like that, but I don’t exactly get to decide.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Parker’s judo is going well. I’ve been taking him to his classes every week since Sienna’s super busy these days. Taking Poppy to dance class too.” A memory of sitting in the dance studio waiting room surrounded by glaring friends of his soon-to-be ex-wife pops into his mind. This is coupled with the sound of the eighty-year-old pianist playing the same short, jaunty tune repeatedly while the teacher barks,‘Plié! Tendu! Chassé! Plié! Tendu…’.“It’s good,” he lies. “It’s a privilege to be the one to take them.”
Dean gives him the tiniest hint of a smile, as if he’s enjoying this too much. “You hate it.”
Letting out a sigh of relief, Zane nods quickly. “So much. It’s so, so boring. And all those moms hate me. I thought … you know…”
His friend’s face slides back to its deadpan version. “They’d be thrilled to be in your presence because you’reZane McCreight.”
Feeling sheepish, he says, “Yep. Yeah. I mean, I get it. And there are still millions of women out there, but it stings a little.”
Dean has a sip of his beer. “I imagine it would.”
Dean doesn’t ask about Elliott, and Zane knows it’s because he sees him more than Zane does, so he knows exactly how his son is doing. Zane takes him on Saturday mornings, but as soon as Claudia stops nursing, Elliott will start staying overnight every other weekend. Zane’s not sure how he’ll do it, since even a few hours of looking after a toddler (who just learned to walk) is exhausting. But Parker and Poppy will be there some of the time, and they’ll be a big help for him.
He stares at his manager, knowing he has to speak now or forget it forever. “The thing is, I’ve grown a lot over these past few months, you know? I get it now. ‘The Zane Show’ took over everything—the band, our albums, my personal life. I was a dick, man. But I’m not that guy anymore. I’ve been taking this time to get back to my roots. Digging deep. Figuring out who I was before fame and all that power fucked up my brain.” He pauses, hoping Dean will show a hint of enthusiasm at his revelation.
But he just makes ahmphsound.
“Okay, so obviously, you know what I’m hoping for. I have to be, right? And I came to you first because Rusty and Steve still aren’t returning my calls.” He rubs the back of his neck, feeling supremely stupid, and a little angry to have to come crawling back to Dean, hat in hand. “I was wondering if maybe you’d be willing to talk to them for me. See if we might have a shot at getting back together.” He follows that quickly with, “Not now or anything. But down the line a little. We could head out on tour maybe. Or record a new album. Their songs this time. Start to finish.”
Dean doesn’t sugarcoat it. “You need to hear this, Zane, because otherwise you’re going to waste a lot of time on something that isn’t going to happen. But the truth is, you are never, ever, ever getting back together.”
It’s the gut punch of a lifetime. Well, maybe not of a lifetime. Having his wife say, ‘It’s over,’ was about equal. This shouldn’t be as bad, but it is. He opens his mouth to argue, but he can see by the resolve in Dean’s eyes that there’s no point. Nodding, he says, “That would make a good song title, except swap out ‘you’ for ‘we.’ Someone should use that.”
When Dean doesn’t agree with him, Zane knows it is probably over for real. But it can’t be. Not after thirty-five years. It was a rough patch, to be sure, but it can’t be the end. He opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then says, “You sure? I mean, have Russ or Steven said anything that might hint about them missing the band?”
“They’re starting a new band called The Has-Beens. Apparently, they’re in talks with a couple of the guys from Nirvana.”
Zane’s stomach turns to stone. “They are? Without me?”
Dean gives him a hard stare. “We lied to all of them, Zane. About something massive. And you accused Steven of trying to sleep with your teenage daughter.”
Zane’s neck grows hot. “Yeah, okay…”
“Do you know how hurtful that was for him? You threatened to kill him.”
“All right, all right. I get it.”
“Kitty is …nevergoing to get over it. She won’t even be in the same room as me.”
