“However gullible you think you were, I was worse.” He dropped his hand and looked down at his lap.
Scooting up against the headboard, I waited for Jamie to continue. He sat with his back slightly slumped, as if he’d been carrying something heavy on his shoulders for too long.
“I could never judge you for falling under his spell, because I was there.” He tilted his head to look at me. “I was fucking there, Ivy, and it took me nearly ten years to break out.” The pain in his voice was palpable.
“How did it happen?” I asked quietly.
“Oliver met me when I was nineteen,” Jamie began, steepling his hands in front of him. “I was playing at an open-mic night in a college bar. Back then, I had brutal social anxiety. It wasn’t just performing that scared me, it was everything. Talking to people I didn’t know, interviewing for jobs, asking questions in class... But I’ve also loved music. I started writing songs back in middle school and never stopped. I wanted to be a musician, but that dream seemed impossible given how much I struggled with having people pay attention to me.” He paused, scratching at his jaw. “That night, I’d broken up with my first serious girlfriend, and I was miserable. We broke up partially because she was tired of me never wanting to go to parties with her or on double dates with her friends. I remember feeling so sick of my own shit, so powerless. I decided I’d get some liquid courage and forced myself to show up to the open-mic night. I guess, I was trying to prove to myself that I could beat my demons.”
That hit close to home. Young Jamie didn’t sound so different from me.
“I had a few shots and then a few more. I was wasted, but in that state, I felt like I could actually get up on stage. So I did. The crowd swam before my eyes, but I played the two songs I’d written, and I played them well. The audience gave me a standing ovation, and when I stumbled down toward the bar, this light-haired guy approached me.
“He was charming and friendly and complimented me on my performance, which was exactly what I needed to hear. He said he was a guitar player and was looking to start a band. My memory of that night isn’t very complete, for obvious reasons, but I woke up the next day with a sense of optimism I hadn’t felt before.
“We met up the next day to jam together, and I saw that Oliver was a good guitarist. With more practice, I thought he could be great. He showered me with compliments and told me I had great stage presence. Somehow, he’d pinpointed my biggest insecurity, and he made me think that I was better than I thought I was. It felt amazing to hear that. I thought maybe my issues weren’t as bad as I thought they were. Before we split up that day, he told me his dad was an executive at a small record label, and that we’d have an easy time getting signed with him if we made a good demo. He told me I’d won the lottery by meeting him.”
I wrapped my arms around my knees and thought back to how I’d felt when I first met Oliver. Like everything was about to change.
“When we made the demo and got the record deal, I thought he was right. Ihadwon the lottery. At that point, he was my fairy godfather, and I would have trusted him with my life. He gave me a contract to sign, and I did. Told me to drop out of school, and I did that, too. We got to work on our debut album, with me writing most of the songs. He was busy with the business side of things. Sure, we worked together on the songs here and there, but I was perfectly fine letting him deal with all that other stuff while I focused on the music.
“On the eve of our first live interview, things ground to a halt. I’d gotten comfortable with Oliver, and in the six months leading up to the release, I rarely saw anyone other than him. When we started having to market ourselves, my social anxiety came back with a vengeance. I told him I couldn’t do the interview, and he was understanding. He said he’d do the talking and even discuss the songwriting process, but he’d have to play down the fact that I wrote all of the songs, otherwise the interviewer would want me to chime in. I agreed. I didn’t care about the fame or recognition as long as I could do what I loved.
“This was a calculated move on Oliver’s part. You see, our contract said the principal songwriter would get the majority of the royalties. I think Oliver lied to his father about who wrote the songs right from the beginning, or at the very least, he oversold his contribution.”
“Because he wanted to live up to his father’s expectations?” I asked, recalling the exchange I overheard in Jamie’s kitchen.
“Yeah. When I took them to court over the royalty payments, his father denied ever knowing the truth, but I think he was lying. I think he knew. He just didn’t want to acknowledge what he’d driven his son to.”
I could understand the pressure of parental expectations, but that didn’t come close to excusing Oliver’s actions. “You told me you signed that contract because you trusted Oliver.”
“I did. I was barely twenty, and I’d never seen a contract before in my life. The thought of hiring my own lawyer to review it didn’t even cross my mind. I trusted Oliver completely.”
I chewed on my nail. If Zoey told me to sign something, I would without question. I could see why Jamie would do the same. “When did you figure out what he was doing?”
“I didn’t for a long time. From my point of view, things were going well. I had a salary that seemed ridiculously generous, especially given that I’d grown up poor and lived on instant noodles my first two years of college. Oliver and I worked well together, and in what seemed like no time, we were gearing up for our first tour. Naturally, I freaked out about it, but Oliver was nothing but supportive. He hired vocal and stage coaches for me, saying they’d get me ready to perform in front of large crowds in no time. After a few months of training, it started to pay off. We went on tour, and I managed to do it, even if I didn’t knock it out of the ballpark. I thought with more coaching, I’d continue to improve, so I kept working hard at it. By our fourth tour, I started to feel comfortable in my own skin and was ready to play a more active role publicly as well. When I voiced that desire to Oliver, he finally understood his mistake.
“He’d allowed me to get too confident when it was in his interest to keep me feeling low. There was a balance to it. I couldn’t be too down on myself for the sake of the performances that earned us a ton of money, but I also couldn’t go too far in the other direction.
“At first, he said it was about time I started doing the interviews. Joked it would take a load off his shoulders, and I felt bad for putting all that on him for so long. He agreed to what was going to be the biggest interview of our entire career—our first one withRolling Stone. It scared me, but I told myself I could do it. Kept telling myself that all the way up until the morning of the big day, when he showed up at my place and admitted thathewas worried. The interview was a really big deal, and there was no room for mistakes. He got into my head, made me so fucking anxious, and I just remember feeling as if I couldn’t breathe.”
Jamie’s shoulders dropped at the memory and I reached over to squeeze his knee. “What an asshole,” I said. “He threw you right into the deep end.”
“Yeah. I told Oliver maybe I shouldn’t do the interview after all, but he said it was too late. I had to be there. Still, he was sympathetic to my panic, so he suggested we take the edge off by having a few drinks. He made me one, then another when I told him it wasn’t enough. We kept going until we finished the entire bottle. I showed up to the interview wasted. I thought I somehow managed to keep myself together and get through it, but when the story came out a month later, I realized the interviewer knew I was drunk. He painted me in a terrible light, and that’s how the rumors about me being an alcoholic started.
“They didn’t remain only rumors for very long. The experience left me devastated, and suddenly my coaches became unavailable. I’m sure Oliver arranged for that. Without their support, I began to spiral. I started to freeze up again. Oliver was always there, comforting me and eager to help before we were due to go on, which usually meant pounding back a few drinks. The number of drinks it took kept escalating, and it quickly morphed into a habit. One night I had too much, and Oliver offered me some coke. Said it would increase my energy, make me sharp. So I started doing that, too, and he became my supplier. Even when we weren’t touring, he’d come over and give me whatever he had on hand. He orchestrated my addiction perfectly, tugging on just the right triggers and fears until I felt like I was nothing without the alcohol and drugs.”
A silence descended. I felt nauseous. Oliver had never been Jamie’s friend. He was his enabler. “Oh my God. He’s insane. He has to be to do something like that to another person.”
Jamie let out a cold chuckle. “Yeah. That’s why Fox called him a psychopath. And the most fucked-up thing was that for years I thought Oliver was helping me. He was so good at making it seem that way. But eventually, I stopped trusting him. I saw how he treated the women he met on tour, how he liked toying with them. I guess seeing him use his techniques on other people finally made me realize he was doing the same to me. For about a year before I left the band, I knew what was going on, but I still couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it. I felt so weak and powerless. He had his people watching me constantly, even when I was at home. My bodyguards were his spies. My doctors were on his payroll. I didn’t have any friends I could call for help.”
His gray eyes focused in on me. “You saved me that night. Oliver was pissed at me for trying to warn you away from him, so he tossed me a bunch of drugs and didn’t stick around to monitor me. I mixed stuff I knew would get me really fucked up. I know you just think you called the ambulance, but really, you got me out. Abel, too. He stayed with me and made sure they didn’t pull anything to get me discharged without my consent while I was still going through withdrawal.”
Bile rose in my throat at the thought of Oliver trying to take advantage of Jamie when he was so vulnerable. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “For not believing you.”
“You had your reasons,” Jamie said.
“They were very stupid reasons.” I put my chin on top of my knees. “That tour… I was so protective of my memories of it. I refused to consider things weren’t as they seemed. Those two weeks seemed like the peak of my existence. Oliver’s attention changed me. He made me feel good about myself for the first time in my entire life, and I craved that feeling. Then his fury made me feel lower than any low. I thought getting back into his good graces was the only thing that would fix everything I didn’t like about myself.
