Chapter 4

“Let me see your teeth, bury them into me,” I sang into the microphone at the New York recording studio. After sitting through the discussions of the next album (oh yeah, it’s called Sugar and Spice like I’m some sort of teeny bop artist), I was vehemently angry with the world. The sound and style that I put out is never a direct reflection of who I am. I planned on writing songs for this album. Sure, there would be some of the nice, happy songs the record company wants me to play but I decided to put some songs that I write on the album. They will be the spice this bland, cookie cutter establishment supposedly wants. I don’t think of my wife while I write these songs. I think of Marina and her touch, which was like a shock of electricity that made my heart race.

“Give me that sexual healing, tell me what you’re really feeling. Or rip it off fast like a bandaid, make it hurt, make my body ache.” Maybe if I get really fucked up these next few albums, my fan base will diminish to the point where I don’t have to do this shit anymore. Suddenly, though, I liked writing these songs. Being 25 and having to cater to a younger audience is hard. I yelled for the people recording to cut everything and I slammed my headphones onto the mic stand then rushed out the door. My manager and the recording engineer were yelling at me as I left, but it was too hard to sing while so many thoughts were running through my head. I needed air.

I burst through the front door of the building and headed down 27th to 5th Avenue, trying to walk quickly so I could round the corner before my manager came out and saw me. I succeeded and quickly made my way downtown, walking fast. I wanted to see the Empire State Building. It was time to be a tourist, not a sight. Hopefully nobody would recognize me in my street clothes and sunglasses, because I was hoping not to sign autographs.

As I turned the corner of 5th Avenue and 33rd, I noticed a box with some blankets coming out of it. I was ashamed to admit that, caught up in my own life, I forgot that there were people with no homes. I walked across the street to an ATM and withdrew, well, let’s just say a lot of cash. I never needed this much money. I went up to the box and leaned over. “Hello?” I asked, waiting for an answer. I spoke a little louder. “Hello, I’d like to get you a meal and maybe a place to stay.”

“Fuck off!” A gruff, elderly man’s voice came from within. “Nobody wants to really help, they just toss a couple of bucks my way and say ‘don’t use it for booze.’ I’ve been clean 20 years,” he sat up and I finally saw his worn out face. “I ain’t never used the cash for booze. I’m trying to save up but the food around here costs so damn much...” He trailed off into a little rant and I let him have it. When he was finished, I tried again.

“Sir, I really want to help you find a place to stay. I can actually find you an apartment and get you started with the money I have on me. No strings attached,” I rolled my eyes and muttered. “God knows I don’t need this much money.”

“What’d you do, win the lottery?”

“More like lost a bet with the devil. Come on, let’s find a place for you to stay. What’s your name?” I grabbed his arm and helped him up. We started making our way to a nearby hotel.

“Stan. My dad’s name was Stan too, but he was a jerk.” He turned his head toward me. “What’s your name?”

“I’m not really interested in saying my name.” As soon as I said my name, it would be for the attention. I didn’t want attention. I just wanted to help.

“Come on,” Stan elbowed my side. “At least a first name?”

I sighed and looked around, hoping nobody within earshot would hear me. “Estelle.”

“It’s a great name! See, what was the problem with that?” I nodded and we went into the Martinique. I gave the person at check-in cash and told her to get a nice room.

“And what’s the name for the room?” She asked. I stammered but said Stan’s name instead of my own. This is Stan’s room. My name being attached to it would taint it. We were given the key card and went up to his place of rest for the night.

“Okay, Stan, you make sure you remember the room number. I’m going to take off because I have stuff I need to do. I’ve got you a couple nights here and-“ Stan ran up and hugged me, tears in his eyes.

“This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me. I know this isn’t a cheap hotel and I don’t know who you are, but you’re an angel.” He whispered into my ear. I started tearing up as well.

“Listen,” I pulled him away from me. “I’m going to be back tomorrow. We’re going to find you an apartment and some groceries. I’ll be back tonight with some clean clothes for you. Go ahead and shower and whatnot. We’ll get you on your feet.” He nodded and went off on his business as I went back to the street.

Walking out of the hotel front door, I took a deep breath. The air was crisp but not too cold. Early mornings in late August are just like this. It was refreshing. I felt free. Maybe this is what I can do with my fame.

For the first time in a long time, I smiled a genuine smile.