Limbo

ASHLEY:

"Yeah, dude, I know it's important! I'll be there, okay? No need to fuckin' nag me to death about it," I grumble into the phone.

"Chill, man, I'm not trying to nag, but you have kind of developed a bit of a hermit mentality recently," Blasko responds. "I know things kinda went bad for you up there in Canada, but it's been four months, Ash, you need to snap out of it. And hiding out from everybody isn't going to help, anyway."

"Well, neither does the party animal mentality. Trust me, I tried it," I retort. "Look, I understand what you're saying, and I'm trying to get my head together, really, but it just doesn't seem to be working."

He's quiet for a couple of seconds, and when he starts talking again, his voice is sort of hesitant, almost like he's afraid to say what he's thinking. "Umm... Have you thought that maybe you should, I dunno... Talk to somebody?"

So they've reached the point of thinking that I need therapy or something, and I can't honestly say that there might not be something to the idea. "The thought has crossed my mind, but I'm not sure how I'd explain the situation to anybody without having them try to commit me. Hell, you were about ready to have all of us locked up when we told you about everything!"

"Yeah, I guess I can see how that might present a bit of a challenge," he admits. "But if things don't get better soon, maybe you should try to think about it anyway, without discussing the whole 'ghost' thing. Seriously, dude, everybody's pretty concerned about you. Nobody want's to see you go off the deep end or anything."

Oh, lovely, this doesn't bode well at all. But I guess I can't blame them for being concerned, when even I know that I haven't been anything remotely resembling my normal self since we came back. So I say, "Okay, tell you what. I'll try to make this thing tonight the start of my... 'personal comeback', let's call it. And if I can't get back on track within the next week or so, then I'll consider getting an appointment with somebody."

"Good, that's pretty much what I was hoping to hear," he tells me. "But I'm gonna let ya go now, and I'll see you tonight. Later, Ash."

After I put down my phone, I sort of flop into the couch and groan. I'd kind of been thinking about finding some sort of excuse to blow off going to the awards show that Blasko called to bug me about, but that obviously won't fly now. So, unfortunately, I guess I'm just gonna have to suck it up and put on my happy face for the night.

But, I also have to acknowledge that the funk I've been in since that day at the hospital probably isn't good for anybody, especially myself. I managed to hold up well enough to finish the last bits we needed to record before we had to leave, and to keep APFI afloat, but other than that, I was a mess. It actually got so bad for a while after we got back home that the guys went to Dina and had her hire a P. I. to see if he could track Rachel down, but no such luck. He managed to figure out that she was on a plane that crossed into the States, but after that it's like she dropped off the face of the earth. So I guess I have to assume that she doesn't want to be found, and learn to live with it. I can't really blame her for hating my guts, because I know I deserve it, but I just wish I'd had the chance to apologize to her, even if she never wanted to see me again afterward.

I even tried to jump back into my normal 'playboy' lifestyle for awhile, but it just doesn't quite have the same appeal anymore. For the first three weeks or so after we got home, I was essentially banging any chick who would give me the time of day, which would normally be my idea of Paradise, but the more I did it, the worse I felt about myself. Then, one morning as I was basically skulking out of my bedmate's apartment, desperately hoping that she didn't wake up, it occurred to me that I'd never even bothered to find out what her name was, and that what I was doing wasn't much better than what I'd accused Rachel of. So I quit, and as of right now, I haven't gotten laid in a little over three months, unless you count the few times I've had to jerk myself off to relieve some tension. Don't think I'll drop that little bomb on the guys, though, or they might be the ones looking into having me put away.

I lay here feeling sorry for myself for a bit longer, then I drag my ass up and go to take a shower and get ready for the award show, since I've actually committed myself to going. Once I've cleaned up, I start looking through the closet for something to wear, pull together a pretty sharp outfit, then get to work on my hair. Since I can't get out of this, I suppose I need to at least make an effort to look good, or that'll just be more social-media drama that none of us want to put up with right now. We've already had to deal with the fallout from the stuff in Canada, and the latest glut of breakup rumors when the press got wind of the fact that I bought a house in Vegas, so I sure as shit don't want to get them started speculating that I'm having some sort of a breakdown, or that I'm drugged out or something like that.

I finally get into my car and drive to the venue, only to find out that everyone is at the entrance waiting, and I'm a bit startled to see the relief on their faces when I walk up to them. Damn, has it really been so bad that they're actually surprised when I do something I say I'm gonna do?

We go inside, and mingle for a little while before everyone has to take their seats, and I'm involved in a conversation with Jake and Chris Motionless when we hear the girls all start squealing behind us.

"Holy shit, I love that dress!" Juliet exclaims.

"And your bag is fabulous, too," Alice adds, "Where in the world did you find them? I'll be waiting at their door when they open tomorrow to get one for myself."

I turn around, and see that John and Amy Feldmann have arrived, and everyone is absolutely gushing over what she's wearing. I move a bit closer to get a better look, and I understand why, because it's definitely impressive. She's wearing a dress that's sort of styled like something from the nineteen-twenties, with a jade-green velvet dropped-waist bodice that transitions into a floaty sort of silk skirt in a slightly lighter shade, with kite-shaped pieces of a semi-sheer gold fabric fitted into the seams, flaring out the skirt and giving it sort of a handkerchief hemline. It's held up by two pieces of wide, pleated ribbon that tie behind her neck, and there are silk ribbon flowers and crystal beads sewn diagonally across the top, which had to have been put on by hand. She's also carrying a rather unique crazy-quilt bag, in various kinds of gold and bronze-toned fabrics, which is basically an inverted pyramid suspended from a length of chain, and absolutely festooned with ribbon flowers, decorative stitching, and crystals.

"You won't exactly be able to do that, I'm afraid," I hear her tell them. "I've been assured that these are both one of a kind pieces, and I actually lucked out, because the designer isn't even really set up for business yet. I'm apparently her first customer."

This gets my interest, and I can't stop myself from butting into the conversation. "You can't be serious, Amy! There's no way that someone who can do this kind of handwork wouldn't be fucking swamped with requests! What company do they work for?"

"None, this is all literally homemade," she tells me. "I was visiting with one of my co-workers this afternoon, and I got a call telling me that the dress I'd originally bought to wear tonight was still hanging in the tailoring shop, and hadn't even been touched yet. So my friend Gwen sort of prodded her niece into telling me that she was hoping to become a designer, and showing me some of her work. She's trying to build up enough inventory to start a website, so she's not officially in business yet, but she already had cards made, and I brought some with."

She reaches into the bag and comes out with a handful of cards, which she passes out to me and the girls. I look it over and see that it's sort of sepia-toned, with a sort of swirled background, and the words;

Deja Voodoo Designs
Retro Re-Imagined
Dawn Cameron, Designer

"So you're telling me that this chick doesn't work for a studio or a fashion house, and isn't even in design school?" I ask, almost disbelieving. "If that's the case, can you talk her into meeting with me? If she can show me some sketches, or more samples, I'd quite possibly be interested in having her intern at APFI, or maybe even hire her outright, if the rest of her work is anywhere near this good! At the very least, I'll give her an honest critique, and I'd be willing to give her some advice on anything she might need help with."

"Well, why don't you all come to the house tomorrow, and I'll call her and see if she's interested in coming to meet with you there," she says. "That way I don't have to worry about Gwen and Jed getting paranoid over her meeting alone with some strange guy."

"Hold on a sec, hon," Feldy interjects. "You're not trying to get Ash here tangled up with a teenager or anything, are you?"

She rolls her eyes, giving him an exasperated look. "Do I look that stupid? No, she's somewhere in her early twenties, but the way I understand it, she was involved in some sort of accident a few months back, and she's still having therapy to get everything back in working order, so they're a little protective."

She steps away from the crowd to make the call, and comes back a few minutes later to inform me that the girl will be coming to their house around eleven tomorrow morning, and bringing her portfolio for me to look over.

By the time we get everything settled, it's time to take our seats, so the subject gets tabled until tomorrow. The rest of the night doesn't go too badly, and we actually walk out at the end with a couple of awards. I even go out and have a couple of drinks with everybody afterward, but since I drove myself, that gives me an excuse to cut out fairly soon, since I don't want to drive home smashed.

I head home, and as I pull into my garage and turn off the car, I glance at the statuettes sitting in the passenger seat, and mutter to myself, "Well, this turned out better than I thought it would. Two more awards for my shelf, and the chance to nab a great designer before anyone else knows about them. Maybe things are starting to look up a little."

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I get to Feldy's place just before ten, and when I walk in, everyone else is already there, except Jinxx and Alice, who show up about fifteen minutes later. Everyone gets a drink, and we sit in the TV room shooting the shit until the buzzer for the front gate goes off. Feldy gets on the speaker, confirms that it's Dawn, and instructs her on how to find us, then hits the switch to open the gate.

"Good, I'm looking forward to this," I remark as he opens the gate. "I just hope that everything looks as good as what I saw last night."

Amy giggles at that, and says, "Oh, I don't think you'll be disappointed at all, Ash. I saw several of her other pieces, and they're fabulous. Plus, with your eye for the ladies, I'm sure you'll be glad to know that she's a very pretty redhead."

"Don't even go there," I say, holding my hands up in sort of a warding-off motion. "I do not need anyone trying to set me up with someone right now. My only interest is in her designing talents."

Tiff, who's standing by the sliding-glass doors, tells Amy, "Somebody's coming around the corner now." Amy goes to open the door, and as she lifts the latch, Tiff leans forward a bit, and says, "Okay, that's just weird. Chris, come and check this out, and tell me if I'm nuts."

He walks toward her, and she points to something outside. He looks, and his jaw drops almost to his navel. "Holy shit, I don't fuckin' believe this!" he practically yelps, and the rest of us get up, to get a better view of what they're looking at. From his reaction, I know it must be something pretty extraordinary, but I definitely don't expect to find myself staring into the beautiful amber eyes that have been haunting my dreams for months.

Rachel. She's here, in LA, right in front of me. But apparently, she's not Rachel anymore, which probably explains why we haven't been able to find her. I push past everybody, so I can go out there and put my arms around her, to make sure she's actually real, but my heart drops into my stomach when she goes completely white, turns away, and runs back toward the front of the house.

"Feldy! Close the fuckin' gate, dude!" Andy bellows, before he turns to me and says, "Ash, what the hell are you standing here for? You've been moping over her for months, fuckin' go catch her and talk to her!"

I'm out the door almost before he finishes his sentence, barreling around the house toward the parking area. As I get to the front, I hear her yelling, "No, don't close it! Let me out of here, I have to go!"

She's almost to her car by the time I catch up to her, but then she slips on one of the flagstones, and her keys fly out of her hand. Instead of trying to break her fall, she clutches onto her sketchbook, but fortunately I manage to catch her before she goes down. As soon as I have her on her feet, though, she's struggling to get away from me, saying, "Let go! What the hell are you doing here, anyway? You're supposed to be in Las Vegas! That's the only reason I came here in the first place. Just let me get my keys, and I'll go, and you'll never have to worry about me bothering you again!"

I feel my mouth drop open, and for a second, I can't form words. But I finally manage to say, "Rachel... Dawn... Whatever you want me to call you, that's the last thing on Earth that I want. We looked for you, but you totally vanished. I guess now we know why, though."

She snorts, and gives me a completely disbelieving look. "Sure you did. You must not have looked too fucking hard then, because I was stuck in that damn hospital for three days before Evie and my aunt got there, and you didn't even attempt to visit! So why don't you try that one again, huh?"

When she says this, it's all completely clear; nobody told her where we really were, and she's thought the entire time that we all just abandoned her, that we didn't care enough to come. "Yes, we did come to see you, darlin'," I explain. "They were practically holding us hostage at the police station for almost three full days, and the first thing we did when they let us go was go to the hospital, but we missed you by less than an hour. I know you might not believe me, after I made such a complete ass of myself, but we never would have just left you like that. Ask any of the other guys, they'll tell you the same thing."

She still seems a bit skeptical, but she's not fighting me anymore, just giving me sort of a confused look. Then I see tears start to trickle down her cheeks, and I almost can't hear her when she asks, "But why? You've been pretty clear that you don't want anything to do with me anymore, so why would it matter whether I believe you? Why would you even care?"

The fact that she feels like she needs to ask this question is like a kick in the gut, and I can feel tears starting to prickle in my own eyes. "Oh, trust me, it matters, because I do care," I tell her. "I've been calling myself basically every name in existence since we came back from that show and you weren't there, because I figured out entirely too late that I'm a complete fucking moron. Then, when we found out that you were still alive, I thought that I'd have the chance to tell you this, but they fucked that up for me, and I didn't think I'd ever get to see you again. I am so incredibly sorry for everything I said and did that day, if I could go back and undo it, I would. But I can't, all I can do is apologize, and hope that you might be able to forgive me one day. Do you think that might be possible?"

She stares at me, not saying anything, and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. But then I see her lips start to quiver, and she bursts into huge, racking sobs, tears dripping off of her chin. I free up one hand and take the sketchbook from her, laying it on top of the car, then I wrap my arms around her and cradle her to my chest as she cries herself out. From some of the things she said about her childhood, I know that this is something that she doesn't do very often, so I have no doubt in my mind about how badly I hurt her. This almost makes me nauseous, and all I can do is run my hand over her hair and just keep repeating, "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm so sorry, I'll never do it again."

When everything finally tapers off to sniffles and hiccups, I move back just enough to look her in the eye, and ask, "Are you gonna be okay, hon?"

She nods, and reaches up to wipe her eyes. "Yeah, I think so," she whispers. "But what do we do now?"

"Well, if I get to place a vote, I'd really like to have the chance to make things up to you," I reply. "So maybe we can try to get to know each other a little better, now that we're..."

"Now that we're what?"

"On the same plane of existence, I guess. Now that it's actually a real possibility, I'd really like to see where things might go for us. If you want it, too, that is."

A small smile makes its way onto her face, and she simply says, "I've missed you, Ash."

"I've missed you, too, darlin'. And now that we have that settled, why don't we go inside and let you wash your face, before the neighbors start wondering what's going on over here."

I turn to lead her back to the house and see that everybody has congregated in the yard just a few feet away. Amy and Feldy look totally confused, and from the way it looks, Jinxx and Alice are trying to explain it to them. Andy gives me a thumbs-up, and CC is grinning from ear to ear. So as I retrieve her sketchbook from the car, I point this out to her, saying, "Do you see that? I think that's your proof that everyone is glad to see you again."

"Yeah, I guess so," she responds. "Okay, let's go get cleaned up. Because if I remember correctly, the reason I'm here in the first place is because you promised me an evaluation."

I can't keep myself from laughing as I lean over to kiss her cheek, "Yes, I believe you're right. I was wondering last night if that was a sign that things might be about to get better, and I have to say, it's exceeded my wildest expectations. Things are officially perfect now."

Notes