One hour earlier

Adam slouched down against the back seat of the black SUV as it crawled its way through Manhattan rush hour traffic. He had just flicked his phone on for the third time in the past quarter of an hour. 6:45 PM. No new messages.

He had put the finishing touches on the playlist early this morning as he was heading out to catch his flight to NYC. He’d spent the better part of the week getting it just right, and he’d held his breath as he finally hit “Tweet.” The whole ride to the airport, he’d held his breath some more and watched as the responses rolled into his twitter account. Waiting and waiting and waiting. Still waiting now. He hadn’t known it was humanly possible for a person to hold their breath for a full 12 hours. 

Of course there had been quite a response from everyone but her. The record label in particular had a few choice words to say. The new song Payphone had been recorded last month but wasn’t supposed to be released as a single for a few weeks yet – they were furious that he’d leaked it early. But that was all background noise, tuned out easily enough. The only response he actually cared about had so far failed to materialize. He wondered if she’d even seen it. Did she follow him on twitter? He knew she listened to the music and went to the shows, and she’d confessed to watching videos of him on YouTube. He’d felt confident when he sent it that she would see it, but the silence now made his palms sweat.

This was how it always went, wasn’t it? He broadcast whatever it was he wanted to say to her out into the universe, and then he sat there like an idiot, listening to the deafening silence in response. He’d been doing it for 11 years now. What had made him think this time would be any different? No, he knew Jane. If he wanted a response, he was going to have to pick her up and forcibly shake it out of her. He wasn’t surprised, really. That’s why he was heading to her place now. He took a deep breath and sat up straighter in his seat, trying to prepare himself for all the different ways the conversation might go. None of them promised to be particularly pleasant. He felt like a warrior, girding himself for battle.

The SUV driver had switched the radio on, and Adam could almost laugh out loud at the song that started playing:

This love has taken its toll on me.

She said goodbye too many times befo—

“Could you turn that off, please?” Adam called toward the front seat, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

The music stopped, but he couldn’t shut off the new song that had started playing in his head. He sighed. How many times could he write the same song? How many more ways were there to say the same thing? Still, he had a whole album of new tracks that needed lyrics. He reluctantly pulled a notepad out of his overnight bag and began to write down the line running through his head:

You and I go hard at each other like we're going to war.

Maybe he wasn’t being fair. Maybe she just hadn’t seen it yet. In any case, he wasn’t about to let her shut him out without any response. Not this time. She wouldn’t be so hard to pin down this time. She’d taken more care, back when she’d first broken up with him, to keep herself out of reach.

Her best friend’s apartment had been the obvious place to go looking for her back then. He’d only managed to withstand the silent treatment for a week or two before he’d broken down and shown up at Marcy’s door. It hadn’t gone as well as he'd hoped.

He suppressed a shudder now, remembering.

***

June 2001

“Open up!”

Adam knew he shouldn’t be doing this. It was after 2 AM, and he was more than a little tipsy – but he’d had about enough of this game. How many more voicemails was he supposed to leave on that phone she never answered? It wasn’t like he didn’t know where she was. He pounded on Marcy’s door again until it swung open at last.

“Do you know what time it is?” Marcy hissed at him, trying to shut the door back in his face.

“Dammit, Marcy! Is she here?”

“What do you want from her, Adam?”

“There are things I need to say.” He briefly raised his fist to his mouth to suppress the hiccup threatening to escape.

Marcy glared at him. “She doesn’t want to talk to you. I think she’s made that pretty clear.”

“I just need to see her,” he pleaded. “Just one more night.”

 “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

Marcy always was a hard nut to crack. Time to turn up the charm. Adam cocked his head to the side a little and flashed her his most winning smile, holding up his right hand across his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Seriously, are you flirting with me right now?” Marcy raised her eyebrows at him. “You need to go.”

Shit, he must be losing his touch. “C’mon, don’t be like that,” he said, taking one step into the apartment to keep her from closing the door. “Jane?” he called out into the darkened living room.  “Jane, are you in here?”

Marcy sidestepped, blocking his path. “Leave, Adam. Now. She doesn’t want to see you.”

“What the fuck, Marcy? She’s hiding from me? What did I even do? She’s acting like I’m some kind of wife beater or something!”

“Honestly, I think you’re kind of proving her point.”

“Meaning?”

“A little stalkerish, maybe?”

Adam stared at her, speechless. He didn’t even know how to respond to that.

“Do I need to call the police?”

She might as well have thrown something at him. This was not how Adam meant for things to go. “I’m leaving,” he said, swallowing against the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat. “I’m going.”

He turned to leave and made it to the top of the steps, but he just couldn’t leave it on that note. Up until that moment, he’d thought that he and Jane were just having a fight. Granted, a worse fight than they’d ever had before, but nothing that couldn’t be resolved. He wasn’t even quite sure what they were fighting about. Something about kids and suburbs – about her not wanting him to go out on this tour. He just had to hold on, he’d thought, and keep trying to reach her until she eventually cooled off from whatever was upsetting her so much. Then he’d give her a piece of his mind for treating him like shit, but he’d take her back. Of course he’d always take her back.

He’d thought he was being a good boyfriend, leaving her all those messages. Telling her he loved her. Telling her he missed her. Telling her how sorry he was. Sorry for God only knew what, but it didn’t really matter, did it? But now he saw his mistake. She wouldn’t even let him get his foot in the door. To her and Marcy, he was no longer the boyfriend – he was the ex. The crazy ex who couldn’t take “no” for an answer. The crazy stalker ex who wouldn’t leave her alone without a restraining order.

He felt cold, suddenly, and began to shiver. He knew he should be angry. Later, the anger would come. But right at this moment, what he felt most was an urgent need to comfort her. “Oh, little girl,” he said silently inside his head, willing his thoughts to reach her telepathically. “You must be so lost right now.” 

For nearly four years, he had been the center of her universe. Her entire time at college, she’d never really even bothered to make other friends. What was the point, when she spent every waking moment with him? And he’d always had plenty of friends who were happy enough to adopt her as one of their own. Now what did she have? Just Marcy. At least he had his band, his music – what did she have to fall back on without him?

“Wait,” he called back toward the door. Marcy had already fastened the chain lock, but she opened the door just wide enough to peep through. “What, Adam?”

 “Just promise me something.”

He hesitated, waiting for Marcy to open the door, but she remained motionless. Adam wrapped his arms around himself to stop his shoulders from trembling. “Just look after her for me, OK?” he said in a near whisper, unable to speak any louder past the lump in his throat. “Promise me—“ his voice broke, and he swallowed hard to steady himself.

“Adam, you need to go now,” Marcy said softly, looking down.

“Promise me, Marcy. She’s going to need someone.”

Marcy met his eyes and nodded once, before slamming the door on him for good.

***

Now here he was again, getting ready to show up at Jane’s doorstep uninvited. Better if we’re not in touch, she’d texted. Get out of my life, was what she meant. But did he listen? No, he was the guy who got an NBC intern to track down her home address. He was the guy who bribed an office building security guard to get her floor shut down early for the day. Hell, he was the guy who had her fucking phone number branded on his arm. Stalkerish? Just a little.

His pen had started moving across the paper again:

Got you stuck on my body like a tattoo,
And now I'm feeling stupid crawling back to you.

What the hell was he doing? He closed his eyes and bent forward, resting his forehead against the cool surface of the open notepad. “Just one more night,” he’d begged Marcy all those years ago. Well, he’d already had his one more night. He’d had two more nights, in fact, and he’d squandered them completely.

It should have been that night in the club, after he sang the Sinatra song – that moment when she was happy, when she was remembering how things used to be between them. That should have been the moment. He should have told her he was still that guy, and she was still that girl.

That was his chance. That was the night he’d been waiting for all these years. And instead of telling her the things he needed to say, the things she needed to hear, he’d spent it making out in the back of a limo. God, he was weak.

Try to tell you "no" but my body keeps on telling you "yes."
Try to tell you "stop," but your lipstick got me so out of breath.

Was it too late now? Would she even let him in the door again?

He was jarred out of his thoughts by the car door opening. He slipped the notepad back into his bag and flicked his phone on one last time. 7:42 PM. No new messages.

“Mr. Levine?” the driver peered in at him. “We’re here.”

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