Do You Love Me

"Well, Diane, I don't know for sure, but judging by your crying daughter dragging Melody out of the room, I'm inclined to think it was pretty fucking real."

"Jordan, I'm so sorry," my slut of a wife said as she stood in front of me.

I handed her the phone and said, "It's for you." I walked out of the room as she sobbed on the phone with her mother. She didn't even try to stop me from leaving.

I walked into Melody's bedroom and kissed her cheek.

"What was Mommy doing, Daddy?"

I didn't know how to answer the question, so I said the first thing that came to my mind, "Ending our marriage. I'm going away for a while Melody. Be a good girl for Mommy, and I'll see you soon."

I got my wallet and keys off of my dresser and walked down the stairs, past my moaning wife, and out the door to the garage. I started my neon green Wrangler and drove off to I didn't know where. Yeah, it was the color of my favorite guitar, so what if I was eccentric?

*****

I woke up in a hotel room in Akron. Ironically, it was the flea bag hotel where I wrote my biggest song. There were bottles of Jack everywhere. On the table was a bag of coke and on the floor was Danny Cash.

I kicked him to wake him, and said, "Danny, what the fuck?"

He stirred up and said, "Bro, it's too fucking early for this shit."

I walked into the bathroom and puked as much as I could. I was certainly hungover, so my sobriety was shot to hell. I was absolutely certain I'd been doing the coke, too. I was devastated. I walked back into the room to find my phone. It was sitting in a bowl of water.

"Wonderful," I sighed.

Danny laughed, "You got tired of the bitch calling. You were gonna throw it in the pool, but the pool is empty."

"Real fucking funny."

I was in the same clothes I was wearing when I left my house, who knew how many days earlier, and I stank. I looked around and found my wallet and keys and left Danny on the floor of the room. That was another mistake, and I'd regret that decision for the rest of my life.

I started my Jeep and looked around to make sure there weren't any open bottles or bags of drugs around. When I felt I was clear, I went to the first store I saw and bought a new phone. They moved over some part or another, and I ended up with the same number and I was happy. Happy until the phone started ringing again.

"What?" I shouted into the phone when I got back to my jeep.

"Jordan, baby, please come home," my soon to be ex-wife cried into the phone.

"No, we're done. I don't have a home anymore."

I hung up, called my lawyer and had him find a divorce lawyer to end my marriage.

*****

I was pretty happy that once I checked in at a better hotel, I stayed clean and sober. That lasted three days.

I was reading the newspaper on a gray Saturday morning and threw up when I saw the headline for the entertainment section.

"Rock Drummer Found Dead"

It was Danny. He had a heart attack the day after I left him on the floor of that hotel. To this day, I don't know if I would've stayed could I have helped him. If I would've been there, could I have called for help and he would've survived? I just didn't know. I went to the nearest liquor store and bought a ton of Jack Daniels. I didn't see or talk to anyone for a week. That's when the police found me and knocked on my door.

They wanted to know what I knew about Danny and the drugs. I was honest and told them I left the day before he died and had no idea what happened after I left. Thankfully, the security cameras confirmed that, and they didn't charge me with anything. Weeks later, the autopsy would show that he had a blocked artery and had a natural heart attack, not an OD. Of course, the drinking and drugs were a contributing factor to his heart disease, but sadly, my former best friend was still dead.

I saw in the paper that the funeral was the next day. I went to a store, bought a suit off the rack, and tried to sober up enough to not embarrass myself as my friend was laid to rest.

*****

I wished I had my Lexus as I pulled into the funeral home's parking lot. My neon green jeep was garish and out of place there. My plan was to get there early and avoid the room. I only wanted to speak to a few people and avoid the rock star bullshit.

When I walked into the room, I saw an older lady standing by the coffin with a couple of kids. I walked over and stood silently next to them as we prayed. I asked God to forgive him for all he did and take him up to Heaven. It wasn't his fault, well, as much as being an addict isn't your fault. I'm sure the counselors would say differently, but what did I know? I was an addict, too.

I gave the sign of the cross and the teenaged boy next to me said, "You're Jordan Shock, aren't you?"

"I am," I said.

"Dad talked about you all of the time. Man, the stories he told us were incredible."

Before I could ask his name, the lady walked up and hugged me. "Oh, Jordan," she cried as I hugged her back.

I couldn't believe I didn't recognize Danny's mother. I spent a lot of time at her house when we were in Cleveland, where Danny grew up.

"Hi, Mrs. Casselli. I'm so sorry about Danny."

"He loved you the most, Jordan. You know that, right?"

"Yes ma'am. I loved him like a brother."

"Would you believe it was his heart? All that crazy stuff he did over the years, and a heart attack killed him."

"Honestly, I prefer seeing that it was a heart attack rather than something else, ya know?"

She pulled back and smiled, "I suppose you're right, Jordan. It's better to remember him dying of a heart attack than a drug overdose. Look at you; you look sick. Have you eaten anything today?"

I laughed, "You're always worrying about me eating, Mrs. Casselli. If it were up to you, I'd weigh a hundred pounds more."

"Your skinny butt could use the weight," boomed a voice from behind us. It was Ryan Jackson. He was with Chris Davis.

I walked over and shook his hand; I couldn't believe it when he started crying and pulled me into a hug. "Fuck, I miss you, man."

I returned the hug and agreed. "It's been too long, brother."

Chris hugged me, as well, and started to apologize for the bad blood. I stopped him and said, "Not today, man. Today is about Danny."

We broke the hug and he smiled. I was going to bust his balls about the bad wig he was wearing, but thought better of it.

"How's everything going with your wife? The papers are saying all kinds of crazy shit and we saw the show. Was that real or staged?" Ryan asked.

"Real. It's over. I've got someone working on the divorce." Both of them looked at each other and frowned.

Chris asked, "Jordan, did you have a prenup to protect yourself?"

I shook my head. I knew it would bite me in the ass.

Ryan grumbled, "Fuck!" and walked out of the room to make a call.

"What's that all about?" I asked.

"If I don't miss my guess, he's on the phone with our lawyer about the band's corporation. You're still a part owner of the Goblin Nob name and corporation. We're both wondering if she gets a piece of that asset."

"Christ, I don't know. It's owned through corporations though. She probably can't get a piece of it, right?" I asked worried. That was a pretty valuable asset on paper. Granted, it wasn't worth what it was in the eighties, but it still generated revenue after our marriage. I texted my lawyer to get his take on it.

Chris smiled, "Well, don't worry about that right now. I'm sure we'll be fine."

I had a bad feeling about it. When I got married, our band was worthless. My only real assets were my house and money, and I was so in love I didn't worry about getting divorced.

*****

The rest of the day went smoothly. I avoided most of the crowd, but they were family and friends of Danny's, anyway. The press wasn't allowed inside and didn't bother anyone except me and the guys from the band. Some celebrity friends of Danny's gave the press a nice comment or two about Danny, but we didn't. Chris would make sure to have a press release done on all of our behalf.

Thankfully, I was invited to ride in the family's limo with Danny's mom and kids. I don't know which wife he had them with, but none of the wives showed up. One of them died in the nineties.

The funeral was solemn and well attended. The procession of cars was long, and I was glad that Danny had touched so many people. Later, I'd learn that the procession of cars was estimated to be a mile long. I didn't know if that was a lot or not, but it sounded good on TV when they said it.

There was a luncheon for close friends and family. Me, Chris, and Ryan were invited to sit with Mrs. Casselli and the kids. They peppered Chris and Ryan with questions that only the kids could have come up with, and to their credit, the guys answered them all graciously. We traded stories, clean ones, of course, about their dad and his antics on tour. Chris oversold Danny's contribution to the success of the band and the kids ate it up. I thought that was a nice gesture. Chris always was the most political of us.

Once everyone left, Chris and Ryan drove me back to my car. They were extremely worried about the corporation and what my pending divorce would do to it. I finally told them to shut up about it and let the lawyers figure it out. I wasn't going to worry about it.

When we said goodbye, we exchanged current emails, phone numbers and hugs. I promised to let them keep voting my shares by proxy. They were happy and I didn't care. If they fucked the band up, so be it. They were running the show, anyway. Danny had sold his share to them a decade before. He was just paid a salary when he rejoined them. I felt bad for him for doing that, but he had different priorities.

You wouldn't think it, but there's a lot that goes into managing a successful band. Merchandise rights, music rights, little things like using songs in commercials had to be approved. Using the name when the band toured created issues, putting my songs on greatest hits and other compilations required approval, it was nuts. I didn't want to be involved that much and always let Chris vote my shares by proxy. I trusted him to not screw up the band. It was his baby, and up to that point, he was doing fine. I'd be outvoted 2 to 1 anyway. Ryan and Chris were always on the same side.

I knew that I had to do whatever it took to keep Sara's hands off of the band.

*****

I didn't speak to Sara through the entire process of the divorce. I had visitation with my daughter on weekends, and I ignored Sara when I picked Melody up. Melody always asked when I was coming home, and it tore me up to tell her that I would never be home again.

It turned out that Sara was entitled to a certain percentage of my ownership in the band. I had to buy that out with cash; there was no way I was going to lose that cash cow. She also got half my money and fucking alimony. My lawyer tried to claim that I wasn't working, but the judge laughed that off. I had a lot of income on my stupid tax returns from the royalties.

A few months later, I was divorced. I never let Sara explain why she did what she did. I mean, she left a thousand messages telling me it was a drunken mistake. The thing I couldn't get past was her doing it so publicly. She embarrassed me pretty good, and I was the laughingstock of the music business for a few years because of it.

Jimmy fucking Grant got his though. Someone beat his ass as he left a club in New York. He was too fucked up to know who it was, and I was playing poker in Akron at the time. Well, that's what my alibi was, but no one ever asked me about it. I heard Jimmy's crotch was kicked so many times he'd never get it up again. Damn shame.

Because of the divorce, my liquid assets were depleted by much more than half. I had a bunch of real estate that made up the bulk of my net worth at that point; she didn't want it, so I had to buy her out. I had rental properties that generated some income, and I listened to my accountant and took mortgages out to buy them. The working theory was the interest rates were low enough that I should keep my money in my other investments which were making more money. It sounded good to me at the time. We didn't expect the banks to melt down in 2008.

In a matter of months, my properties were all under water. The mortgages were more than the houses were worth. On top of that, the stock market crashed and another 40% of my assets went kaput. It was a nightmare.

Taking more genius advise from my accountant, I sold all of my investment properties and had to bring money to do that because they weren't selling for enough to cover the mortgages. It seemed like it made sense to me. Dump them before I lost even more money. The main concern was I was losing tenants, so the income wasn't going to be as consistent as it had been if I kept them. With the crappy market, no one wanted to pay my previous rents. That cost me over a million in cash. It was ironic. My tenants were all buying other houses because values were tanking, making it a buyer's market.

*****

By the time everything was stable for me, it was 2012 and I had less than half a million dollars left. I couldn't believe it; it was a nightmare. Then a miracle happened.

I went back to work. Well, not touring or any of that shit. I did appearances. For some reason, my fans wanted to see me. I guess I was looked at as some kind of hermit or something because I didn't do anything for over a decade. People were dying to pay large sums of money to see me.

At the same time, Goblin Nob put out another greatest hits album. It was mostly our hits from the eighties remastered, but there were a few of the newer songs Chris and Ryan did on there. It was good for me because it gave me a reason to get in front of the fans again and generated some royalties.

I was doing an appearance at one of the few record stores left when I saw a gorgeous blonde in line. She had an amazing body and was carrying a guitar case I recognized immediately: my neon green prototype baby's case.

I stood and walked around the table. The woman was smiling as I walked up to her and held out my hand, "Jordan Shock."

"Jenny Mason," she said softly, still smiling.

"Is that what I think it is?" I asked hopefully.

She nodded and a tear fell from her cheek.

"Come on, let's go to the back." I turned to the crowd, "Folks, I'm taking a fifteen-minute break."

The line of people groaned as I led Jenny by the hand to the back room.

When we got there, she set the heavy case on the table and I stared at it reverently.

"Jordan, my mom asked me to bring it back to you."

I looked at her and couldn't speak. I sat down, and asked, "Are you..."

She shook her head no. "My sister died about a year after you gave her this guitar."

"I'm so sorry, no one told me," I whispered as a tear fell down my cheek. I'd have gone to her funeral. Well, at least I think I would. I didn't even remember meeting her.

She started crying, "You have no idea of the joy she got playing this guitar. She played it every day she was well enough to do so, and some days when she wasn't well enough."

I touched the case and wiped my hand across the decades old stickers.

"I'm sorry, we didn't take particularly good care of it after she died. We kept it in her old bedroom, always in the case, always laying on her bed."

I looked at her and asked, "May I open it?"

She nodded. "We're sending it home, Jordan. I'm giving it back to you."

I hurriedly opened the case and the musty smell of age hit me like a wave. There it was—my baby. The strings were rusted and the neck needed adjusting, but it was there in all its glory.

I pulled it out of its case and held it to my body. "You have no idea what this means to me, Jenny. Thank... wait, what's that?"

There was a folded piece of paper where the body of the guitar sat. Jenny took it, opened it, and immediately hugged it to her chest. "Oh, my God!" she whispered.

I set the guitar down and asked, "What is it? Some forgotten song lyrics or something? It wouldn't be worth that much."

She shook her head, "It's a note from my sister. We never knew it was there."

I hugged her and said, "May I?"

She nodded.

I took the note and read,

Mom,

Please give the guitar back to Jordan. I feel bad that I took it from him, as much as I loved that he gave it to me. It was his favorite guitar. I heard the doctor tell you the last treatment didn't work, and I don't have much time left. It's okay. When I sit in this place with not much to do but think, I understand I'm not going to live much longer. Anyway. Give Jordan his guitar back and tell him to write me a song. A power ballad like "Your Love Is My Heart." That would be pretty sweet, and I should've asked him for that instead of the guitar so I could have heard it. I love you and Dad and Jenny. I love Jordan, too. Make sure he knows that.

Tara.

I broke down in sobs. I went to sit but missed the chair and fell to the floor, still clutching the note. Jenny knelt next to me and hugged me. As we cried together, the manager of the store came in and said, "Jordan, what the fuck, man? We have a crowd getting..."

"Shut the fuck up!" I shouted. "Shut your fat fucking face before I fucking knock you out."

He put up his hands and backed out the door. I stood and helped Jenny stand. "Here. Take this for your mom. Tell her I'll write Tara the best fucking song I have left in me."

"Thank you, Jordan. I hope we didn't ruin the guitar by letting it sit so long."

I shook my head, "Don't worry about it. If anything's damaged it won't be difficult to fix it."

I hugged her again and she smiled as she walked away. That stunning woman was walking away, and I was letting her. I snapped out of it and ran after her. "Hey, Jenny!"

She turned and smiled, "Forget something?"

"No, um, I, listen, let me get your number so I can let you know when I finish the song."

Her smile went wider if that were even possible. "Sure, give me your phone." I handed her my cell, and she typed her number into my contacts. "There you go. Now you can call me anytime. Oh, shit! I'm sorry, I, uh..."

I laughed. "I'd like to call you; would that be okay?"

She smiled and said, "I'd like that." She turned and walked out of the store. I watched her go and then my attention went back to the line of pissed off fans. I apologized and went back to signing for them.

*****

I was working on the lyrics to Tara's song a week later when Chris called me.

"Hey, Jordan. We've been offered a million bucks to play for some billionaire in Oregon. Some private party."

"Sounds great, man. Don't fuck it up."

"No, um, he wants you to play with us. Will you do it?"

I laughed. "Dude, I haven't played seriously in years. I don't think I have the chops to do it."

"I'll work with you. We'll get you back in playing shape in no time."

I thought about it and my shitty financial situation, "Okay, when's the show?"

"Six weeks."

"Okay."

"Fuck," I thought. What the hell did I get myself into? I went back to working on the song. A few hours later, I was done.

I called Jenny and she answered, "Hello."

"Hi, Jenny. This is Jordan. Jordan Shock."

She laughed that musical laugh and said, "You're the only Jordan I know, handsome."

I heard her mumble away from the phone, "You idiot. Don't overdo it."

I smiled and said, "You didn't overdo it. Listen, I finished Tara's song. I'd like to play it for you and your parents. Will that be okay?"

She screamed, but it was muffled, like she put her hand over the phone.

"How, I mean, when?" She asked.

"Come to my house on Saturday. I'll make us some lunch then I'll play you the song."

"Your house? No, we couldn't..."

I laughed, "Of course you can. It's just a normal house. My rock star days are long behind me. You can meet my daughter Melody. It's my weekend with her."