Legendary
Chapter Three.
Silent. Absolutely silent.
That was the deal – if I came to this thing, I wouldn’t have to do a thing, say a word, make a sound.
Pete was still rambling. He was good at that. For hours, he could just talk, words flying out of his mouth a million miles a minute, making you think you know something, making you think you were learning something. Except, not at all. Every bit of it was Filler, and no one noticed. As long as he was talking about the band, people were happy. Even if it was random, useless shit you’d never even need to know.
I was far more tuned out than I should’ve been. I should’ve been nodding, making eye contact, something. But, like it even matters.
Though, as much as I was trying not to listen, I was amused by how he planned to break the news; more amused on what peoples’ reactions would be.
A few reporters were gathered in front of us, along with our (ex)manager, who already knew what this was all about. One camera was there too, its sole purpose being for the fans. Thirty minutes after the conference and the video would be streaming on our website, YouTube, Vimeo, Friends or Enemies, Pete’s blog, and a million other dark corners of the internet.
Still standing slightly uneasily in front of everyone, Pete let out a deep, hallow sight that seemed to bounce off the walls. An awkward cough and an uncomfortable shift later, Pete continued.
“The thing is – we all have our own, separate lives. Fall Out Boy is” –he paused, swallowed down some thoughts– “was in the way.”
About then is when it hit; all over again. My fingers tightened around the phone in my pocket, screaming with the desire to call Rachel and listen to her tell me everything was going to be fine, everything would turn out okay (again).
She was in a meeting, though, and would be all morning. Plus, that would mean I’d have leave, in front of every ill-dressed reporter, our very, very upset manager, and each and every fan who would turn their love of us into hate with one click.
I can stay. I can hold.
“We’re grown up now; we’ve got responsibilities, people to take care of, some things Fall Out Boy can’t be put in front of anymore.”
Phone-in-hand, speed dial two already ringing, I stumbled out the doors, through the lobby and outside to fresh air, moments after feeling as if I was going to blackout knowing something only a handful of people know. Just standing there, I could feel every bit of doubt, hate, love, and hope crashing down on me.
After getting Rachel’s voicemail I tried her work number, instantly greeted by the secretary.
“Is Rachel Trbbiani available?” I sputtered out on impulse, my palms slick. The secretary asked me to hold and a few seconds later, the sound of her keyboard clicking.
One hand clutched to the phone, and the other tapped impatiently against my jeans.
“Rachel’s actually in a meeting right now. As soon as she gets out, I can-“
“Can’t you pull her out? Just for a moment.”
There was an unsure sight from the end of the line. “Sir, unless it’s an emergency…”
“It is, really.” Silence. “Please, I need to talk to her.”
“Alright,” she huffed, “give me a minute.” This time, when she left, cheesy elevator-type music took the place of her oh-so-delightful voice.
I trailed around the building a bit, discovering a bench to sit on, still keeping the phone pressed tightly to my ear, despite the shit-worth music.
“Patrick?” Rachel answered sharply, obviously already annoyed. Damn.
“Hey Rach,” I replied back casually, knowing this was already far past fixable.
“’Hey Rach’? You pull me out of the biggest meeting of the year, and greet me with ‘hey Rach’?”
I sat silent for a moment, choosing my next words carefully. As of now, she was about the only person I had left, and losing her would break me. I’m pretty sure she knew it too.
“I’m sorry, honey, I am. I freaked out, acted on impulse.”
A low hum sang across the line. Thank god, her voice went back to sympathetic. “It’s alright. How was the press conference?”
“I –uhm– I left in the middle of it. “ She didn’t say anything for awhile so I continued. “Can I come see you?”
“Today’s not a good day… I’ve got to meet a million people and won’t get a chance to see you really.”
“I’ll bring you lunch.”
“Patrick…”
“Please? Chinese take-out?” I could almost feel her resolve cracking.
“Fine. I won’t get much time to see you though.”
“It’s alright, I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
She let out a low chuckle and I could picture her shaking her head at me. “See you then.”
“Love you,” I said quietly, to myself almost, figuring she was already gone, running back into the meeting-
“Love you too.”
---
I knew she was staring at me; I didn’t even have to look up to know it. I swear to god, if looks could kill, I’d be dead on the floor as we speak.
I pushed around my fried rice some more. She cleared her throat, “You just… up and left?” I nodded. “In front of everyone?” I nodded. “What did Pete say?”
“He didn’t.” Still avoiding eye contact, I set my plastic fork down and laid my head in my hands. “I left before he could come back out and say something.”
I could hear her moving, her heels scraping against the linoleum, her chair creaking as she leaned back in it, her fingernails tapping on the wood. “And you think that’s what you should’ve done?”
This time, I lifted the hat off my head and ran a hand through my hair, taking in a deep breath. “Talking to me like I’m three isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
“It’d help if you didn’t make decisions as ifyou were three.”
“Am I seriously that much in the way? I’m sure there are much better things you could be doing. Should I just go home now?”
No, no, of course not. Stay, is, certainly, what I was hoping, even expecting her to say. Instead, she gave me a wave of her hand and closed the lid of the white Styrofoam box. “I’ll be home late. I have no clue how long this meeting will last.”
“That’s it? Like that, I’ve pissed you off, now I have to leave?” I huffed in annoyance, though, it didn’t help the whole I’m-not-acting-three cause.
“Patrick, baby, I know this whole Fall Out Boy thing really sucks. It’s shitty, and I feel for you, I do. But I can’t take your moping all day, every day. Being a singer of a band, you could practically act three all day and still get your paycheck handed to you. Newsflash, honey, you’re rounding closer to thirty every minute. And, worrying about this stuff all the time is doing nothing but digging your grave.”
She paused; took a drink of her diet Coke.
“And, trust me, I’m not burying you.”
That was the deal – if I came to this thing, I wouldn’t have to do a thing, say a word, make a sound.
Pete was still rambling. He was good at that. For hours, he could just talk, words flying out of his mouth a million miles a minute, making you think you know something, making you think you were learning something. Except, not at all. Every bit of it was Filler, and no one noticed. As long as he was talking about the band, people were happy. Even if it was random, useless shit you’d never even need to know.
I was far more tuned out than I should’ve been. I should’ve been nodding, making eye contact, something. But, like it even matters.
Though, as much as I was trying not to listen, I was amused by how he planned to break the news; more amused on what peoples’ reactions would be.
A few reporters were gathered in front of us, along with our (ex)manager, who already knew what this was all about. One camera was there too, its sole purpose being for the fans. Thirty minutes after the conference and the video would be streaming on our website, YouTube, Vimeo, Friends or Enemies, Pete’s blog, and a million other dark corners of the internet.
Still standing slightly uneasily in front of everyone, Pete let out a deep, hallow sight that seemed to bounce off the walls. An awkward cough and an uncomfortable shift later, Pete continued.
“The thing is – we all have our own, separate lives. Fall Out Boy is” –he paused, swallowed down some thoughts– “was in the way.”
About then is when it hit; all over again. My fingers tightened around the phone in my pocket, screaming with the desire to call Rachel and listen to her tell me everything was going to be fine, everything would turn out okay (again).
She was in a meeting, though, and would be all morning. Plus, that would mean I’d have leave, in front of every ill-dressed reporter, our very, very upset manager, and each and every fan who would turn their love of us into hate with one click.
I can stay. I can hold.
“We’re grown up now; we’ve got responsibilities, people to take care of, some things Fall Out Boy can’t be put in front of anymore.”
Phone-in-hand, speed dial two already ringing, I stumbled out the doors, through the lobby and outside to fresh air, moments after feeling as if I was going to blackout knowing something only a handful of people know. Just standing there, I could feel every bit of doubt, hate, love, and hope crashing down on me.
After getting Rachel’s voicemail I tried her work number, instantly greeted by the secretary.
“Is Rachel Trbbiani available?” I sputtered out on impulse, my palms slick. The secretary asked me to hold and a few seconds later, the sound of her keyboard clicking.
One hand clutched to the phone, and the other tapped impatiently against my jeans.
“Rachel’s actually in a meeting right now. As soon as she gets out, I can-“
“Can’t you pull her out? Just for a moment.”
There was an unsure sight from the end of the line. “Sir, unless it’s an emergency…”
“It is, really.” Silence. “Please, I need to talk to her.”
“Alright,” she huffed, “give me a minute.” This time, when she left, cheesy elevator-type music took the place of her oh-so-delightful voice.
I trailed around the building a bit, discovering a bench to sit on, still keeping the phone pressed tightly to my ear, despite the shit-worth music.
“Patrick?” Rachel answered sharply, obviously already annoyed. Damn.
“Hey Rach,” I replied back casually, knowing this was already far past fixable.
“’Hey Rach’? You pull me out of the biggest meeting of the year, and greet me with ‘hey Rach’?”
I sat silent for a moment, choosing my next words carefully. As of now, she was about the only person I had left, and losing her would break me. I’m pretty sure she knew it too.
“I’m sorry, honey, I am. I freaked out, acted on impulse.”
A low hum sang across the line. Thank god, her voice went back to sympathetic. “It’s alright. How was the press conference?”
“I –uhm– I left in the middle of it. “ She didn’t say anything for awhile so I continued. “Can I come see you?”
“Today’s not a good day… I’ve got to meet a million people and won’t get a chance to see you really.”
“I’ll bring you lunch.”
“Patrick…”
“Please? Chinese take-out?” I could almost feel her resolve cracking.
“Fine. I won’t get much time to see you though.”
“It’s alright, I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
She let out a low chuckle and I could picture her shaking her head at me. “See you then.”
“Love you,” I said quietly, to myself almost, figuring she was already gone, running back into the meeting-
“Love you too.”
---
I knew she was staring at me; I didn’t even have to look up to know it. I swear to god, if looks could kill, I’d be dead on the floor as we speak.
I pushed around my fried rice some more. She cleared her throat, “You just… up and left?” I nodded. “In front of everyone?” I nodded. “What did Pete say?”
“He didn’t.” Still avoiding eye contact, I set my plastic fork down and laid my head in my hands. “I left before he could come back out and say something.”
I could hear her moving, her heels scraping against the linoleum, her chair creaking as she leaned back in it, her fingernails tapping on the wood. “And you think that’s what you should’ve done?”
This time, I lifted the hat off my head and ran a hand through my hair, taking in a deep breath. “Talking to me like I’m three isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
“It’d help if you didn’t make decisions as ifyou were three.”
“Am I seriously that much in the way? I’m sure there are much better things you could be doing. Should I just go home now?”
No, no, of course not. Stay, is, certainly, what I was hoping, even expecting her to say. Instead, she gave me a wave of her hand and closed the lid of the white Styrofoam box. “I’ll be home late. I have no clue how long this meeting will last.”
“That’s it? Like that, I’ve pissed you off, now I have to leave?” I huffed in annoyance, though, it didn’t help the whole I’m-not-acting-three cause.
“Patrick, baby, I know this whole Fall Out Boy thing really sucks. It’s shitty, and I feel for you, I do. But I can’t take your moping all day, every day. Being a singer of a band, you could practically act three all day and still get your paycheck handed to you. Newsflash, honey, you’re rounding closer to thirty every minute. And, worrying about this stuff all the time is doing nothing but digging your grave.”
She paused; took a drink of her diet Coke.
“And, trust me, I’m not burying you.”