Page 5 of All That Remains
He'd got to set the precedent, and it’d be his bar I aimed for, hoping to come close. But I was also excited. I wanted our music to be mentioned in the same breath and compared for the rest of our lives, because even if we were estranged, at least our legacies could be remembered in conjunction with one another. And in that regard, I felt no envy. I longed to hurry in his wake. And maybe one day if I was fortunate, he'd look back and smile.
Choking up, I grabbed what was left of Jen's martini out of her hand and swallowed it in one gulp. She fumed and snatched the olive away before I could bite into it. I promised to get her another, though that was a lie. I couldn't bear to look up again, let alone rise and risk drawing attention to myself.
"I'm going to kill you if you don't get me another!" she hissed, glaring at the stage as another speech began.
I reclined again and took another appraisal of the impeccably groomed stranger in the collared shirt. Our split had fallen far beyond the realms of a potential reunion. Far beyond the awkward handshake and a‘long time no see’.He grinned at something onstage, but I was too late to catch the punchline. He was uncomfortable with the scale of the event. With the pageantry. He didn’t trust famous people and this place was lousy with them.
I crunched my toes in my shoes before bouncing my leg beneath the table. When the glassware began to clink, Jen set a hand to my knee.
"What's wrong? Is someth—" She followed my gaze across the room. He was sipping from a short glass of liquor. He smiled again when the woman whispered something in his ear. She had a remarkable underbite, detectable from across the room.
"Did you know he'd be here?" Jen whispered to John. He looked around, then scoffed upon spotting Rome.
"Don't turn around!" I hissed. To spite me, he turned and craned even more obnoxiously than before. "Fuck’s sake, mate, what're you trying to do?!"
"Rafeeee!" A woman sang from across the room. "Rafe, luv! Look 'ere, I'm 'ere, luv!" Adele stood and laughed her ridiculous laugh, waving me over.
I blew a few quick kisses in hopes they’d suffice, but she insisted I come over. We’d become friendly over the summer when we realized we were both vacationing at the same resort in Lake Como. Our managers had introduced us, and we’d hung out and dined together most days until I departed home to the UK. As someone who dominated music markets the world over, she was a tremendous friend to have in an industry often cold to outsiders.
Soon she took note of my reluctance and pouted, tracing a fake tear down her cheek. I got up and made my way to her, crouching to avoid being seen. We hugged awkwardly, since I was half squatting, and the entire table erupted in laughter. She rambled in her clipped accent and called meBlue Eyes, an affectionate nickname I’d earned during our time in Italy. It was her opinion I had the deepest and saddest blue eyes she’d ever seen. She then smoothed down my mussed hair, fawning over how long it’d gotten and tucking it behind my ears.
Sometime later, I returned to my seat and straightened my coat. When I glanced up, Roman was staring across the room, directly at me. I nearly swallowed my tongue. We watched each other for a while, his face unreadable, before he brought two fingers to the top of his head in a lazy salute. I inclined my head in response. With a half-hearted smirk, he dragged his attention back to the stage and seemed to forget he ever saw me.
As my table rose to leave, we locked eyes a second time and he gave a limp wave of farewell. In it I heard:Good to see you.There was nothing more to be had; nothing more to be deciphered. I knew he’d made a concerted effort to avoid giving the impression there was more. I couldn't bring myself to smile back. As we watched each other on my way out the room, I realized I’d stopped breathing.
***
The rear exit wasn't exactly pap-free, but they’d been barricaded at a distance. I followed John and crew down the stairs into a night that had completely turned on its head. Every few steps I glanced back, searching for any sign of his emergence. None came.
Ten minutes into the ride home, Jen ventured: "Coffee?"
"Mm-hm," I muttered against my fist, elbow propped along the window.
“Espresso sounds good,” John agreed. We all had a bad habit of caffeinating after a night out.
"Sooo..." Jen began, after rerouting the driver to the nearest Starbucks. "How was it?"
I knew the question was directed at me. Playing it safe, I didn’t glance her way. I continued to watch the warped, whizzing shapes of Beverly Hills, strangled by my own cowardice.
"Lovely spread," I muttered, unwilling to encourage her.
"Not the party..." she insisted, after a careful pause. "How wasit? It's been a while, right? Since you've seen him?"
"Sure. A while, I guess."
"C’mon, Rafe, gimme a little more than that, man—"
"Of what?" John interjected. "What're we on about again?"
"You didn't see?"
"Obviously not, babe."
"Roman!How could you not see him?” she gaped. “Where the flip were you?"
"How could he see anything when he never stops talking or texting?" I scoffed.
"Yeah, yeah—and how many times did you leave the table your damn self? Talking everyone’s ear off? And four drinks tonight, Ralph? Hitting it kinda hard, aren’t we?”
