Gorgeous Analysis

Riley

The hospital worker bringing lunch wakes me, and that's when I realize I've dozed off again. Marley is still here, sitting quietly in a chair, reading.

My immediate reaction is annoyance. Row has been gone for hours. But I remind myself that though time is interminable to me at this point, I did tell Row to take hers.

The food technician departs, leaving my food on the tray, after assessing that I am barely awake. When I raise the head of the bed, Marley rises, offering me the bottle of cold herbal tea.

"Thank you." I shake my head as she lifts an eyebrow and the cover on the dish at the same time. "No, thank you. Not now."

It's difficult to suffer all this...help.

I swallow the tea in small sips.

"Row has been gone a long time," I say evenly.

Marley nods, drawing her chair closer. "Does that bother you?"

"Ah. Bodie wasn't joking, when he said the doctor is in," I say grimly.

"You called Row a whore, Riley. I think we should talk about that."

"Can we not? It was...a moment of frustration. I didn't mean it, obviously. She's not a whore." I snort, then add, "She just plays one on tv."

Marley is looking at me with the expression I least like. Privately, I think of it as her Jasmine expression. Bodie loves it when she brings the Jasmine. As her employer, I am less enamored with her sassy side.

"Oh, come on. That was a joke," I insist. "Sense of humor in a time of trouble, all that," I gesture down my form.

"It wasn't funny."

"No, I suppose not."

"Also not funny is the reason why Row isn't here. She has been gone a long time because Bodie took her to an intervention," Marley says.

"An intervention?" My heart rate raises at once.

I thought she was better. She's still so thin, and I'm sure she's drinking too much—who doesn't—but I honestly thought she was off the diet pills. She was well off them before I filed for divorce. That was seven months ago, and I've had no oversight of her lifestyle since then. Seven months is a long time, and she went back to bloody New Zealand and the goddamn show. In fact, she's only been back in LA less than a month. Did the producers get her hooked again? Or is the problem worse than diet pills now?

I adjust the bed straight up, ignoring the excruciating pressure on my back. "Diet pills or something worse?"

I rub my eyes, reaching for my glasses on the nightstand, cleaning them on the sheets. One of the lenses is shattered, but I'll need one good eye if I'm going to look at my phone. And if Row is going to rehab, it's a problem that has to be managed, and unfortunately that still falls to me. For better or worse, she has not chosen another manager. Which means, all tthe show's producers still direct whatever concerns that might have with her contract to me. Her parents know nothing of that aspect of her life.

"It's not that kind of intervention," Marley says. "It's a relationship intervention."

I stare at Marley blankly, pulling off my glasses. "Relationship intervention?"

She nods.

"You mean, her family doesn't believe she should be here, with me, through this."

"That's right."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me. Bodie...that surprises me."

"The plan wasn't for Bodie to go. The plan was for me to take her. My very devious husband outplayed me. I suppose he thought I was more useful here, than there."

"You were going to take her?" I say sharply. "Why?"

"Because if I were conducting that intervention, Row wouldn't be coming back here. Not today. Not without better boundaries with you," she says calmly. "I was an emotionally abused woman. My specialty as a psychologist is emotionally abusive relationships. I know how to approach an emotionally abused woman with the truth of her situation. I know how to help them put up those first boundaries to stop the abuse. I know how to get them out.

"But since I'm not there, Trace and Bodie's somewhat misguided loyalty to you will weigh heavily. As will her siblings' support of Row's happiness above anything. Only her parents and Chili will be put her best interests over the sympathy your accident generates. Matt and Chili will come down to hard and piss her off. Only her mother truly has a shot of making Row hear her, but it's possible Marianne won't hit the right pitch to reach Row. Marianne will feel like a hypocrite, because she spent years in a toxic relationship herself and she knows that they can be healed, with enough work on both sides. So...I imagine Row will make her decision based on her heart, not her head. She'll most likely be back, unfortunately."

"Unfortuantely?" My heart rate monitor is starting to alarm. Marley returns the bed to the maximum incline recommended by the back injury plaque affixed above my bed.

"It's alright," Marley says. "Try to breathe evenly, and you'll be just fine."

I don't want to bloody breathe evenly. I want to tell my ex-employee to take her phD in pedal it somewhere else, because she's now in need of a job. But I don't. Because Marley is my friend, even though she's pissing me off. And because I can't truthfully conceive of firing her; Doc Gorgeous is invaluable to me. She's the smartest person I know, and she can negotiate better than I can. And probably the real reason I don't fire her on the spot is because I've already fired two therapists that said I was emotionally abusive to Row. How many of them can be wrong?

The nurse comes in, checks my blood pressure and leaves satisfied.

Marley crosses her legs. "Riley? I'm not your therapist, and you are my boss. But we are also friends. This is a difficult time in your life. As your friend I want to be here to support you, as I have been this past year. But I can't stand by and let you hurt Row all over again. Not like this. With you in physical pain and emotional terror, and her committed to seeing you through this as some kind of emotional penance, the dynamic between you two has the potential to go all kinds of horrible.

"If I were your therapist, I'd let you come to realizations on your own. But you don't have the physical or emotional energy for all that right now. So I'm going make an intervention of one, with you. I'm going to be your friend and tell you some things, with insight of a therapist. And you're going to listen. And because you are a brilliant and very adaptable person, I hope you are going to see some hard truths, and I hope you are going to realize that you need more than just physical therapy to heal, ok?"

"Do I have a bloody choice?"

She smiles at me. "Sure. You can ask me to go. You can fire me, even," she says.

I want very much to do both, but I can't do either. Deep down, I know she's right. I tried to stop hurting Row by leaving her, but here we are again. She won't go, and I'm angrier than I've ever been.

"Say your piece."

"Ok. From the top, then." She rises and begins to pace.

"I didnt know you when you lost Priscilla, but by your own self-admission, you coped with that loss by throwing yourself into treatment and bettering yourself. You couldn't save her; you honored her by saving yourself. But that situation has never left you, and now you overcompensate with an unhealthy need for control. A lot of people do that, and it was working for you until you fell in love again. With a girl I suspect is much like your first love."

I rub my eyes beneath my glasses. "Everyone thinks that. Even Row herself. That I have a type. I dunno, perhaps. Priscilla had her qualities. She was pretty. She was fun. She was a good singer and a good bandmate. She worked hard, like me. She was tough. We were well-suited. But the truth is, Row is on an entirely different level, as a human being. Even as young as she was when I met her, she was...much more than Sil. Row is intelligent, creative, witty and...capable of more feeling, more joy... than ever saw in Priscilla. But they both give off that rocker vibe, if that's what you mean. Priscilla was actually tougher than Row. She grew up hard, like me. The only weakness I ever say in Priscilla was addiction and that was probably genetic. Row thinks she's tough, but she's not. She's just...full of inspiration and enthusiasm that masquerades as bravado. She's actually quite fragile."

Marley smiles. "Ok, that's a pretty accurate description of Row, but she's actually not that fragile. Her baseline personality is quite confident and tenacious. When I first met you two, she was the one with the control in the relationship. She defined it. And you let her, because you were in love with her, but I'm guessing that it didn't sit well with you, because of your need for control, and that's why you two had such an on-again off-again relationship. Then, she went through a tremendous amount of trauma in a very short time. You two married when she was at her most fragile, that is true. She needed safety and you needed her safe. And you made her safe by taking full control. Control of her career, her finances, her environment, her routine...everything. And she let you.

"Then she began to heal. She needed to restore that power balance but you were already in complete control. She can't live like that. That's why she cheated. She was asserting her power. Admittedly, in an unhealthy way, but that's why she did it. She learned something then—she learned that she loved you, despite the problems that you have. What she didn't learn was how to love you any better than she had before. She tried to love you by giving you what she thought you needed...more power. And you? You took it. You do know why you took it, right?"

I swallow heavily. "I was afraid of losing her. To another man. Or even...like Priscilla."

"Right. I'm glad you see that. Fear is the heart of control issues."

"I'm so sorry to disappoint you, but you aren't the first insightful therapist to tell me that," I sigh.

"Well, you're a fairly straight-forward case. I'm sure they've also told you that love is not a feeling, but a set of behaviors. And you can change your behavior. You can love better." Marley smiles.

"Well, something like that, yes. But I...I rather like the way you say it."

"That's because you like me."

"Possibly."

"Ready for the news flash?"

"Sure."

She comes to the bed and stands by the rail.

"I'm going to skip the year of therapy where you struggle to get to the point. I'm going to tell you what the others can't because they don't know you like I do..." she leans forward. "Riley...you are in the wrong business. You hate your job. This accident? It's an incredible opportunity for you. You should take a complete leave of absence and focus on yourself in every way. Then maybe you can find the guy that you wanted to be when you fell in love with Row."

Has she gone completely mad? I hate my job? I fucking live for my job. My entire life has been my job. In truth, I probably sacrificed my marriage for my job. If I hadn't kept Row at arm's length in those early months after her affair...if I hadn't confined our problems to a box and focused on work instead...if I hadn't approached our failing marriage like just another client problem to manage...

Anyway, I did that because I AM my job.

I'm Soundcrush's manager. That's my very definition.

Plus, I've got another half-dozen clients that Ariadne, Marley and the assistants are developing.

I couldn't possibly have achieved all without being the best. And you don't hate your job if you're the best.

I laugh at her.

"I was with you up until that point. But you're barking, Gorgeous."

She shakes her head agreeably. "Nope. I'm not. I know the things you are saying in your head...that you are one of the best managers in the business, you don't get to be the best unless you love what you do. But you can be smart and strategic and dedicated and controlling and have no love for what you do. I've been with you for five years now. I've met hundreds of people doing our job. Most of the ones at our level thrive on creating the environment to let the artists do their thing. I feel like...the game is my artistry. When I set up Soundcrush for a performance I feel like...like I paint the tableau and they make the soundtrack."

I smile at her. "That's gorgeous, Gorgeous."

"But you don't feel that way, do you?"

"No." Probably because I made my own soundtrack once. I'm glad Marley loves being a part of the team, but I know there's a big difference in making the show possible and making the music.

"No. You turn your back on the show the moment it begins, and go back to work," she elaborates. "You no longer enjoy the product. It's all just bits and pieces to be moved around on a chess board to you."

"That's not true. I don't think of Trace, Bodie, Leed, Mac, Adam as pawns. You're confusing me with their last manager."

"That's not exactly what I mean. You think of the labels and the promoters as the man, and you align your emotions with your artists. Despite your investment in them as people, you don't participate in their joy. You don't appreciate the most important thing to them—that they live their life around making the music. Your attitude toward their creative process is often...irritation. Most of the time you deflect that irritation into dry humour, but not always. You are often in conflict with your artists, but they put up with it because you are so effective on the business side. For almost every one of them, you can do for them what they can't do for themselves. And they know it. Soundcrush is the exception. Trace and Bodie both fully understand the business, but they don't want to deal with that end."

"Of course they don't, it's a goddamn nightmare," I snap.

She shrugs. "I don't think it is. I think it's simply...business. I like the challenge of bridging the needs of the artist and the interests of the money machine. I like the art of the deal. I like the negotiation. I think it's worth it for the product. I think it's worth Bodie's joy, because his joy is my joy."

"It's different when it's all on your shoulders," I say.

"No, it's different when you think like  an artist and not like a manager. And at the same time you are emotionally invested in them,  and understand their perspective as musicians, you have no tolerance when your artists, or your wife-slash-artist, mess up. And they all mess up all their time, because their creative process, their creative brains, led them to experiment and take risks.  That is the most interesting thing about you, to me. You think like the guys in Soundcrush, you understand them and yet you resent their artistic process. A while back, something happened, and I finally realized why. Do you know why? Why you get so angry with them?"

"Because they are idiots," I say.

She laughs. "You don't really believe that. You believe Trace is an idiot? You believe Bodie is an idiot? You believe Leed—"

"Sometimes Leed is an idiot..."

"Okay sometimes Leed enjoys acting like an idiot, because it makes people laugh and it makes people love him and he's all about the love, but he's actually one of the most emotionally intelligent people I've ever met. None of your artists are idiots. Well, except the base player of Daze Gone. He's pretty dumb. But back to the question. Do you know why you feel so resentful of your artists?"

I ponder the question. For a long time. I sigh. "No, I really don't. All I've got is...my life would just be easier if they would bloody do what I tell them."

She squints at me. "You really don't know why anger and frustration with your artists is your go-to emotion?"

I press my head into the pillow. "I really don't. I thought you said you were giving me the crib sheet, Dr. Watkins—"

She smiles. "This a really important realization. One I think you have to come to on your own. You won't believe me if I tell you."

"What the bloody hell does this have to do with my marriage, anyway?"

"Not a thing, because your marriage is over," she replies with deadly seriousness. "Your marriage is over, Riley. You need to accept that."

"I know it's over, I'm the one that ended it," I snap.

"Then end the cycle of abuse that ended your marriage. Isn't that what you wanted? Isn't that why you divorced her? To stop hurting her?" she asks.

Damn. I never realized how good Dr. Watkins really is.

"Yes, it is. So you're saying I should refuse Row's help? I should send her away?"

She folds her hands and looks at them a long time. "I'm a therapist. I'm a friend, to both you and Row. Beneath all that, I'm also someone who has been abused by a controlling man. It's a bit tricky to blend all their perspectives and motivations. The abused woman and Row's friend thinks you don't deserve a second chance. Your friend thinks you need Row's compassion right now. The therapist knows this, though: your marriage is over and if you allow Row to be a part of your life now, you have an opportunity for a rest. A fresh start. How you treat Row is entirely within your control. You have no underlying neurosis or personality disorders. You're just terrified that Row is going to hurt herself with unhealthy behaviors and you succumb to your own controlling ways to combat that. And yet your unhealthy behavior hurts her just as much, if not more, than her own. You can learn to recognize your controlling behaviors and substitute healthier ones. The anger over her affair...that's another thing. A matter of grace and forgiveness..."

"If one more bloody therapist tells me that..."

"We say it because it's true."

"No one can tell me how to fucking do it!"

"I've been telling you how to do it this entire time. You have to be gracious to yourself before you can offer grace to others. Stop focusing on Row, her problems, and her mistakes. Focus on yourself. Answer my question."

"I forgot the bloody question."

"Why do you resent your artists?"

"I don't."

"You already admitted you do."

"You said that, I didn't."

"You admitted you don't enjoy your job. Why? Why does it get worse with every year, every new artist you acquire, every time you expand staff, every new responsibility you take on? Why are so irritated all the time? Why do resent your artists?"

"Because it's a helluva lot more fun to be on the stage than behind the curtain!!! They don't know how bloody good they've got it!!!" I yell at her.

She nods. "It wasn't that hard, was it? To admit you are a little jealous of your artists?"

"What was the thing? The thing you say that led you to this belief?"

"That impromptu gig Trace wanted to play at the Roxy. I couldn't scramble a full crew, and Trace was late to his own gig because he was still on European time. You soundchecked his guitars.  I'd never seen you play before.  You knew the songs.  You were good.  You enjoyed it.  Adam kept the soundcheck going, just to let you jam. Afterward, you put away your phone and watched their entire performance. That's the only time I've ever seen you do that...watch them. There was something different about your expressions, your posture. It was...a lightness."

The ache in my spine is just too great. I lower the bed and close my eyes.

"Marley, that's no great epiphany. Who wouldn't want to be on stage?"

"Not everyone. Not Street del Marco, and he could have punched the golden ticket at any point in his life and gotten a record deal.  But someone with the music running through their soul? Yes, I imagine they might feel that way. Riley, do you still own a guitar of your own?"

I stare at her in disbelief. "I'm contemplating life in a wheel chair, trying to figure out how to manage my agency from flat on my back, while struggling to be barely civil to the woman who used to be my world, and you're telling me the magic answer to my problems is to chuck it all and tune up my Martin?"

She picks up my cracked glasses and puts them on my face. Then she and reaches for my hands, rubbing my fingers in hers. "I'm telling you...you have a broken back, a broken heart, and a broken lens, but there's not a damn thing wrong with your hands. Why don't you use them to do something that makes you happy for a little while?"