My Life in Black & Blue

Chapter 14: Wonderwall

There were many ups and downs in the following weeks. Painting the way I did, drawing from my memories and emotions, it was very draining and it brought all sorts of feelings to the surface. So I cried a lot, so much that the ladies of my painting class took to bring me cookies and chocolates and sometimes hung around after the class was done and gave me free hugs so I could keep it together. Lots of people don't understand the power of a hug, but a hug given with love has almost magical qualities.

I was also angry a lot – I went through 20 tubes of red paint in various shades in a span of two weeks – so much that was unable to listen to Dean's voice after that first call. There was something in the sound of it that caused me to think of all the time I had lost pining after him, and I was very angry at myself for not doing something about it, for not saying 'enough is enough' when he made me help him pick out his outfits, and do his Christmas shopping.

Anger and crying usually led to meltdowns, and there were a lot of them. They seemed to happen every few days, and I don't know how many times I came home crying and telling Jess that I wanted out, that I didn't know what to submit for the exhibition and that I didn't want to do it at all! But Jess was good at playing Dr. Phil and always managed to get me through my crisis.

And once she drove with me to D.C. to drop the paintings – having to practically pry them from my fingers – things sort of settled down. I was still nervous as hell, but it was out of my hands, and if I had learned something from dealing with so many crisis while on tour with Black Hawk was that once it was out of your hands, there was nothing you can do and there was no point in freaking out over it.

.00.

The day of the exhibition, Jess and I drove early into D.C. to meet with Robin. As her treat – and Keith's – we were all staying the night at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in D.C. Robin had booked us all a full day in the spa, which Jess had said could only help me since I was tense and prickly.

It was weird being at the spa, Robin and I used to go often enough back in L.A. – since the boys rarely had time to go, we often went to swag parties in their stead, that's how we ended up getting all sorts of cool stuff, from free clothes to weekend get always at fancy spas – and it sort of made me miss my whole life there.

Sure, I loved Baltimore in the fall and winter, with its crisp weather and the promise of snow sometime soon. But being away and seeing things from afar for the first time in a long while had made me realize just how much I had loved that life.

As the days without Dean wore on, I began to miss him more and more once some of the anger wore off. We hadn't talked after that time he had told me he was sorry he had hurt me but I hadn't been truly ready to believe him.

As far as I knew he was still locked in a room somewhere in that awful house of his writing power ballads and eating burritos (his "I feel sad" food).

Jess and Robin tried their best to keep me from meltdown number whatever –and I admit it was hard to have a meltdown after a hot oil massage – and they managed to keep me calm through the afternoon, even after we left the spa, eat lunch at a fancy restaurant with Keith, Rick and Dan, and went to our hair appointments.

But by the time I was dressed and we were riding toward the gallery – Dan and Rick had rented a limo – I was kind of right on the edge and had to admit to myself that one of the reasons why I hadn't really 'fought for my art' before was because doing art shows and exhibitions was nerve wrecking. As a painter – or an artist in general – you were often expected to pour your heart out, make an exhibition out of it and take it on the chin if others thought it was absolutely awful. But then you had to consider if it was a risk you wanted to take or wonder for the rest of your life if you had what it took to make it.

Of course, since I had almost all of Black Hawk as my date, cameras went wild when we arrived at the gallery. The guys behaved for once, saying that they were there to support heir dear friend –me – and that that was all they had to say about it.

Bastian and is family greeted us once we were inside and I blushed a few times because Bastian's grandmother kept asking me if I was finally going to take her grandson back and give her grandbabies. Then Bastian father, Santiago Giordano, proclaimed the exhibition open – and spoke a bit about what it mean to this family to support new artists, and how it was important to give the arts and artists a proper opportunity to develop – and everyone began to move around.

Bastian father was crazy handsome and so charming, it was definitely from him that Bastian got his good looks and way with the ladies.

Then everyone began to mingle. I was too nervous to go see my own work, so I wandered around the other exhibits. There were many beautiful paintings, so different from my own but I didn't feel like I was undeserving, and that made me feel comfortable enough to go check out how my own exhibit was doing.

It just so happened that, as I stood there, looking at the painting I had based on the photograph of Dean and me at 16, I felt someone come behind me.

"Its quite something." Dean said.

I waited until he was standing next to me before turning to him. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit, with a white shirt and a stripped purple and gray tie that I had picked out for him earlier that year. He was clean-shaven and his hair looked shinny as ribbons, but there was certain haggardness to him, he looked tired and… worn. Still, he was smoking hot and I felt my knees tremble.

"What are you doing here? I didn't invite you."

"I got my own tickets when I saw you had applied to this. I saw the brochure the Italian guy sent you all those months ago. I knew you would get in, so I thought it was best to be prepared."

"So you knew I would get in?" I asked sarcastically.

"Of course I did. The awesome of your paintings has never been in question." Dean said and added, "I like this one."

"Do you really?"

"Is this…?"

"Excuse me," a new voice interrupted and we turned to see a middle-aged man with a camera. "May I take your picture, ma'am?"

"Okay," I said and tried to smile as he snapped a couple of shots.

"Would you like to get in the picture, sir?" The photographer asked.

"Of course," Dean said with his easy, photographer ready smile and before I knew it he had wrapped an arm around me and had me tucked to his side. He used to do that whenever we went to events together.

The photographer thanked us and left, "We really need to talk, Tess."

"So, talk." I said petulantly.

"Not here, let me take you home after this and we can…"

"The guys are giving me a ride back,"

"Tess, please."

"Dean…"

"There you are," Bastian said, interrupting. "Some people want to interview you. Oh, hello, Dean."

"Sebastian," Dean answered, and I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was growing frustrated.

"What are you doing here?" Sebastian asked.

"Supporting my best friend?"

"You might have done that sooner."

"And you might mind your own business." Dean snapped back.

"An interview, you said?" I asked, stepping between the two of them.

"Come this way," Bastian said, steering me toward a tall, stylish woman who was standing close by.

I was just telling the reporter, Isabelle DuPont, how I drew inspiration from personal experiences when the band that had been playing so far stopped.

"Hello. I'm Dean Hale." Dean said as he climbed onto the dais. Someone had handled him an acoustic guitar. "Today, someone I love very much had her night in the sun, and since music is the only thing I've ever done well in my life, Baby, this is for you."

Everyone hushed, and Dean began to play, to my surprise, it wasn't one of Black Hawk's songs.

Today is gonna be the day
That they're gonna throw it back to you
By now you should've somehow
Realized what you gotta do
I don't believe that anybody
Feels the way I do about you now

My breath caught, it was our song. The song we had been talking about that last night together, I hadn't truly thought he would remember. I was sort of the memory out of the two of us. But here he was, singing our song, by himself – I knew he didn't like to play solo, that's why he had formed the band, he didn't like being in the spotlight by himself – strength in numbers and all that.

Backbeat the word was on the street
That the fire in your heart is out
I'm sure you've heard it all before
But you never really had a doubt
I don't believe that anybody feels
The way I do about you now

He looked me as he sang those last few lines and launched into the chorus of the next verse.

And all the roads we have to walk along are winding
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There are many things that I would
Like to say to you
I don't know how

Because maybe
You're gonna be the one who saves me?
And after all
You're my wonderwall

Dean held my gaze for the rest of the song, and I could feel something inside me swelling almost painfully. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move. I simply couldn't stop looking at him.

And everything felt so raw and intense and here was this guy who sung song he hated at a friend's wedding and was just now conquering his selective stage fright for me, and all I wanted to do was run, but I couldn't. So I just stood there, trying hard not to cry.

End of Chapter 14