Success

Eli Trenchard | Oct 17, 2023

The pill dissolves on my tongue and the music blares around me. The couch feels hard and uninviting. My palms are sweating profusely. My heart is beating so hard I think it may beat out of my chest. Outside this room there are thousands waiting to see me. Thousands chanting my name, anticipating my appearance on stage. I put another two in my mouth and wash them down with the glass of gin in front of me. The alcohol always seems to take effect first, warming the harsh world and making me soft. Not in the sense of being emotional, but soft literally. My bones seem flaccid, and my skin melts like a chocolate bar on a hot day. My toes move inside my shoes, pressing against the hard bottoms and then releasing, allowing the blood to flow back into them.

I look around at the scene before me. To my right is a beautiful woman. I imagine she is important to me in some way, maybe I asked her to come, or maybe she was invited by someone else. I don’t know but I don’t really mind either way, she is nice to be around. Her voice, drowned by the constant drum of background music, is kind, inviting. The oxy is flowing steadily through my veins. It wraps in tendril like fashion around my heart and brings the lost and shattered fragments together. The world cascades around me and each image is frayed at the edges. It is almost as if the outer rim of my vision has become softly simmering embers. My tongue is alive with taste. I haven’t eaten in a day, I think. But I can taste ice cream, sugar cubes, and love.

In front of me there are two new faces. They look at me sideways. I recognize one, but the other I haven’t seen before. At least I don’t remember seeing them before. The one I recognize is a woman. She is tall, stunning, and wearing a powerful black dress. I bought it for her.

“Aaaanna” I say, each syllable falling off my tongue in a haze of tingling euphoria. “How are you this fine evening?” Her eyes are hard and angry. That is one thing the little white pills don’t seem to erase or dull. Anger. It is a nuisance to say the least.

“Jack, fuck sakes. You’re on in five.” She looks down at her watch and taps on the expensive glass. She is trying to show me the time, but I can’t see it. The hands move in and out of focus. Each one spinning furiously around the last, numbers jumbling and unjumbling. It doesn’t matter, I don’t even know when I am supposed to go on. I can hear them just beyond the curtain, the crowd that is. I mean I think I can, I am not sure what each noise means anymore.

“Jack, pull yourself together. These shows matter, these shows are the only reason you can afford that big house and the fancy cars.” 

I smile at her, she is beautiful. Her hips falling gracefully into her legs, dress wrapped around her body like a Christmas gift.

“I’ll be fine, Anna. Don’t worry. Sit down, have a drink. We have time.”

“No, get ready. You’re not even dressed yet you.... Fuck Jack, c’mon.” Her strong fingers wrap around my left wrist and she pulls me from my seat, away from the center of attention. The faces around the room look at me. They smile, laugh, and make jokes.

“Uh oh, look who’s in trouble.”

“Mommy came to ruin the party?”

“Leave him, he is Jack fucking Redman!” I laugh as my feet take the weight of my whole

body. My right hand reaches out and grabs the woman sitting next to me. I like her, she seems happy, free.

“Where are we going?” she asks playfully in my ear. Her words are slurred yet her eyes sparkle with intensity.

“To get dressed” I say slowly, trying to ride the wave I seem to be floating on. Anna opens the door to the dressing room and points at the clothes hanging on the hooks beside the mirror.

“Put them on, and when your done knock on the door. We have to get this show on the road.” 

I don’t respond, my tongue is alight with a multitude of flavours. Watermelon, peaches, jellybeans, and ice cream. I smile a little and drag the woman into the room with me as I slam the door.

I pull the loose t-shirt over my head, exposing my naked torso. Black ink appears at odd intervals across the tapestry of skin, and I smile again. The woman’s hands drift over the ink, tracing the outline of each letter and image. Her eyes are millimetres from my own, the green of her irises burn with intensity, yet she seems at peace, not running to keep up with the world but floating along with the current. Her lips lock with mine and I can feel nothing but passion. Her tongue touches mine softly sending a dulled tingle from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. My hands move with no reason or rhyme. The uneven leather of her belt sparks feeling in the tips of my fingers as they slide across its surface. Her hands are on my chest, moving across my smooth skin. She pushes me back onto a table and my hand topples a glass onto the floor. It smashes against the black tile and our lips part. There’s a hard knocking on the door, I can barely register its existence. My whole body is warm, it is safe.

“Get dressed, or I will have to come in there and dress you myself!” I unbuckle my belt and pull the jeans down my legs. It is an odd sensation. It isn’t entirely bad, just odd. The woman moves away from me and picks the black shirt off one of the hooks. She drapes it over my shoulders, and I slip my hands into the sleeves. She threads the buttons through the holes, leaving the top two undone. Her lips press against my neck. She moves away again, taking the black jeans from the hook and throwing them to me. I tug them up my legs and buckle the black belt that is already strung through the loops. I pull the same black leather boots that I was wearing over my feet and slip a black chain over my head. The small arrowhead pendant swings from side to side.

“How do I look?” I say as my eyes warm the edges of the figure in front of me.

“Like you need to wake up.” She pours a small amount of white power on the table and brings it together into a line with the card in her hand.

“C’mon quick, you have to go.” I look down at the powder and then back at her. I put my face close to the table and inhale deeply as I run my cheek along the surface of the wood. I look back at her. She is no longer warm, no longer inviting but sharp and stunning. My nostril burns but I feel alive, I feel okay. Everything is great, everything is brilliant and important.

“How’s that?” I say, no longer slow but firm, confident. She brushes her finger over my nose and upper lip.

“Perfect, knock em dead.” She says as she pulls me close and kisses me. It’s not soft, it’s not peaceful but hungry and animalistic. I pull her waist close and let my hand rest atop her hip.

The door slams against the wall.

“For fuck’s sake. At least your dressed. Here’s your mic. It will go live once you get past the curtains. Go, go!” 

I look back to the woman.

“Make sure ....

“Angie.”

“Make sure Angie is here when I get back.” I start to run; my veins feel wide and my mind

sharp. I can feel the buzz of the crowd, it fills my ears and dances across my consciousness. I can taste the sweat of the crowd on my tongue. It is salty, oily. I keep running. I can’t see my eyes, but I know the blue is sharp and defined as if the ocean is crashing against their glassy exteriors.

As I pass through the curtain between the back and the stage, the roar of the crowd fills my ears. Hands fight for space at the stage front. I laugh. It's long and childish, not for show but real. My mind has morphed into the performer, the icon. I move across the front of the stage, touching every hand. The lights rain down from above my head and I can feel the sweat start to bead at the base of my neck.

“Nashvilleeeee!” I scream into the mic; a smile is ripping my cheeks apart. My pearly white teeth sting against the chill in the air. The crowd screams again, a wall of admiration. Each voice, from the floor to the upper deck hit me like red A's written on the exam of my life. This is success, this is what it means to be excellent. 

“Here we gooooo!” The piano starts to ring out around the arena, and I can feel my legs move. Each note brings me further and further in. Eventually I am not even on stage, the words fly out of my mouth like haws diving for mice. I am harmonious, calculated. I can see reality, but I am no longer there. The coke and the oxy have blended together to create a land of their own. The alcohol tries to play along with the fantasy, but it cannot keep up. The latter drowns the former. Sweat beads down my chest and my hair flies around as my head bounces to the music. I can feel everything tenfold, every note, every spill of beer, every scream, and every voice singing along with me is a piece of the experience. A bitter aftertaste of coke moves in and out of recognition but that scarcely matters. I am the music, I am the drugs, I am success.

As the very last note is flung in a mic drop of passion I can hear the crowd chanting, again and again.

“Encore, encore, encore, encore.” The voices scream out. I run back to the curtain. I am exhausted, everything is wearing off. It is just me. I am all alone.

“Hey..." fuck, what’s her name. “Angie!” 

She appears, as if I summoned her. I guess I did in a way. “Hey, I need more, do you have more?” I see a hand pass a mirror to her; a line is already cut. I bring my face close and inhale deeply. I wipe my hand quickly across my nose and stab my thumb into the air, a noiseless question. She responds with a smile and a thumbs up of her own, before pulling me close and kissing me deeply. I almost fade into the passion but there is just enough coke in my veins to keep me tethered to reality. I run a hand through my hair and make my way back to the curtain. Pausing for a breath, I close my eyes and run back on the stage. My voice starts slow, my knees bent, and my head bowed. As the tempo rises, I fling my head back, straightening my legs and belting the emphasised syllable into the air. The air is sharp and my very skin tingles.

The final encore fades into the pitch-black arena. I always love this part, when the lighting goes dark, and I can breathe. The world cannot see me, I am invisible. I walk slowly to the curtain and pass the mic to Anna. She presses some unseen button and hands it to a man beside her.

“Do I have anything tonight?”

“The after party at Sean Smith’s club, or a party at that mansion in Edge Hill. You can go to either. I would say you don’t have to go, but you know you do.” Anna’s eye’s shimmer with something close to sympathy, but it is gone almost as soon as it appeared. She leans close to my ear.

“Sorry, I know it’s a lot. But the tour is almost done. Two more shows and you’ll be home free.”

“Yeah, ok. You have the luxury room set up at the Hazelden Center?”

“Yeah, it’s all ready to go, I’ve got it booked for a month. Is that going to be enough?” 

“Should be. And the house in Santa Monica?”

“Yeah, I sent in your offer, but it wasn’t high enough. They want another half million.” 

“That’s fine, get it done, and furnished.”

“You’re sure? Should I ask again in the morning?”

“Nah that’s fine, just make sure it’s ready.”

“Okay,” she says as she begins to walk away. I tap my buzzing finger on her shoulder

quickly. “Yeah?” 

I lean close to her ear; I can feel reality slipping.

“Thanks.... for everything. I know I’m a lot.” 

She runs her palm across my cheek and smiles softly. I watch her walk away for a second before I turn back to the room filled with the people that are supposed to be my friends.

“Who the fuck is ready to party?” I yell at the room. Faces light up and drinks cheers in excitement. I stuff my hand in my pocket and pull out two of the little white pills. Grabbing the nearest drink I wash them down my throat. This night, just like all the others, will be a hazy blur. I pull Angie close and lean her down into a deep, intoxicated kiss. Her hair falls from her face, and I can see the sharp sparkle of her eyes. 

Success is bliss.