OCTOBER 1991
The day the Lightning Bottles were scheduled to shoot the video for “Dark Shine,” Elijah walked out onto the deck of the Malibu rental house. Jane was sitting with her coffee in the October morning sunshine, watching the ocean’s waves pound the shore. She turned to see him holding a garment bag. “What’s this?”
A shy smile spread over his face. “I was in Venice Beach yesterday, while you were at the hair salon with Petra.” Jane had had her dark hair cut into a blunt Cleopatra-style bob. It was the first professional haircut she’d ever gotten—back at home, Raquel would trim Jane’s hair, and she had cut it herself when she moved to Seattle, but never this short. She still wasn’t used to the feel of the Santa Ana winds against her neck. “I saw this in the window of a thrift shop, and I had an idea.”
Jane stood and unzipped the bag. Inside was a vintage lace dress, gently yellowed to a shade that matched the sunbeams falling across her bare feet. “Elijah, it’s so beautiful. It reminds me of the dress Marilyn Monroe wore in The Seven Year Itch. Is it for the video? I thought the stylist gave us our outfits already.”
“Yeah. Wedding outfits. A tux for me and a wedding dress for you that looks like we’re trying to re-create a Guns N’ Roses video. I couldn’t stop thinking, why would we fake it?”
“Well, it’s a video…”
“I know, I get that, but I don’t want us to have a fake wedding, ever. It feels like it will cheapen the real thing.”
Then Elijah pulled a rumpled, blue velvet smoking jacket from the bag and said, “This is for me to wear. And the dress… will you wear it when you marry me, Jane? Today?”
Jane had always associated marriage with the church, her past. She knew she and Elijah would always be together. In a way, she thought of the night his parents died as the night they were married—because it was the night she knew they would be bound together forever. But now she realized how sad that was and could see how important to him this was.
“Should I get down on one knee?” Elijah asked.
“Oh my god.” She laughed. “Please, no. You don’t have to do that.”
She kissed him, let the dress dangle from her fingertips and drop to the ground, where it landed like a puddle of silky, lacy butter. “But maybe you could do something else…” Elijah slid the straps of her white tank top down her shoulders, took off the black silk shorts she had worn to bed, looked at her body in the early-morning light as if he had never seen it before. It was always like this with him.
They made love on the deck, to the sound of the ocean and the seabirds overhead. After, she said, “Of course I’ll marry you. A thousand times, yes. Whatever you need, whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
When she put on the dress later, a small slip of paper fell out. It was an Adam & the Rib drawing. In it, Adam was kneeling and asking Rib to marry him. She kissed him and said yes. Jane wondered if that was how he had wanted it to go, or if he was happy with the way things were. She tucked the drawing away with the others, memories piled on memories. Or maybe not memories at all: maybe a story that was part fairy tale, part real life, and all theirs.
They drove their Impala out to Point Dume in their wedding clothes. The day had become overcast and rainy, a rarity in LA that Jane thought made the day even more special. It didn’t even matter that when the lace dress got wet, the fabric started to give off a chemical smell.
The officiant, who doubled as their witness, was a lawyer named Brenda whom Elijah had found in the Yellow Pages. She met them in the parking lot. She was wearing a raincoat, a navy pantsuit, and high heels, which she took off, discarding her nude hose socks before walking across the wet sand in her bare feet.
After they exchanged their vows to be together forever, to love each other through any storms—and Jane tried not to think about how unnecessary this felt, to her at least, to make these promises she always lived and breathed anyway—Brenda read from Elijah’s battered copy of The Prophet, the one that had once been Alice’s. The words were about creating space in their togetherness, but Jane found herself wrapping her arms around Elijah, leaning her cheek against his rain-damp velvet jacket, wishing to erase any distance between them at all. She decided then she liked the idea of a secret marriage, a promise made between them that they didn’t have to share with anyone.
Jane Pyre and Elijah Hart were not as famous that day as they were poised to become, but a family of tourists hiking the dunes in the misty rain couldn’t look away from them. Not really knowing why, they took a photo of the newlyweds standing with Brenda by the water, looking out to sea as more rain clouds rolled in.
The newlyweds drove straight from the beach to the sound stage in West Hollywood that had been turned into a replica of the Roxy. It looked exactly like the club where the fans had been recruited, but it felt nothing at all like the real thing. “You were right,” Jane said to Elijah. “It’s all really fake. I’m glad we did what we did this morning.” He smiled and kissed her cheek. Then they walked carefully around cameras, cords, and lighting towers toward their dressing room, as sound techs bustled around the stage and assistants were sent on errands, each one more urgent than the next.
The craft services table was stocked with éclairs in various exotic flavors—because apparently, Petra told them, éclair meant “lightning.” Alan had loved that idea and had had the pastries flown in specially from a bakery in Paris.
“Doesn’t it seem a bit silly,” Elijah said, plucking one of the desserts from the table and holding it between two fingers. “I mean, it’s essentially a cream puff. That’s not very rock ’n’ roll.”
Petra just laughed. She said, “Even rock ’n’ roll isn’t all that rock ’n’ roll. You’ll find that out today. It’s going to look like a wild, rad concert—but for you guys, it’s work.”
In their dressing room there were more éclairs, juice, water, vodka, and champagne. Elijah poured some for Jane and tapped his flute against hers. “Happy wedding day, Mrs. Hart.”
“Ha ha,” she said. “I love you, but I’m not taking your name. Maybe I should start calling you Mr. Pyre.”
“Hey, I like that,” he said. “Has a nice ring to it.”
As she drank from the flute, the bubbles tickled her nose. She felt light and happy, bathed in the glow of the secret knowledge of their wedding.
But then there was a knock at their dressing room door that felt urgent, jarring.
Jane experienced a flicker of panic when she saw the serious look on Petra’s face; she flashed through possible tragedies. But Elijah was here with her. Her mother didn’t speak to her. Jane had no one left to lose.
Petra got right to it. “Kim Beard is threatening to sue.”
“What?” Jane burst out, while Elijah stayed silent, his expression inscrutable.
“He’s saying he wrote ‘My Life or Yours’ with Elijah, that a portion of the intellectual property rights for the song rest with him. He’s delivered notice to the label and us via his legal team that if the song is on the forthcoming album and the lyrics are released along with it in the liner notes, he’ll sue both members of the Lightning Bottles, the label, and the song’s publishers. He’ll move to freeze any collective accounts so no publishing royalties can be released. There’s a cease and desist demand, too. He’s trying to stop you from playing it at all, from now on. I know it sounds dire, but he’s trying to scare you.”
Jane thought of the glimpse she had caught of Kim during the practice concert at the Roxy. How had he even gotten in? Where was he getting all this power, this confidence? She turned to Elijah. “It’s not true, is it? That he had anything to do with the song?”
“Of course not!”
“But why won’t he leave us alone? Why would he make something like this up? It’s evil.”
“Kim’s not evil,” Elijah said with a bitter laugh. “He’s just a dick. And he’s petty; he always has been. He’s mad that we’re not friends anymore. Mad because he thinks you took me away from him. Mad because I chose you over him.”
“But this is more than just petty!” She turned back to Petra. “Can he do this to us? Can he really stop us from playing the song?” Her heart was racing. Kim was going to ruin this for them.
“Don’t forget, anyone can sue a person—or threaten to do so. Anyone with the means can get a good lawyer and use this kind of official language to intimidate. Just because it sounds alarming doesn’t make it a true threat. Like I said, he’s trying to scare you. He doesn’t have the power to stop you from doing anything.” She continued to speak to them reassuringly, but something was bothering Jane. She turned to Elijah.
“Does he know what it’s about, what it means to you? Does he know this is the exact way to hurt you?”
“He knows,” Elijah said.
“But how?”
“From Shawn, I guess.”
“You still talk to Shawn?”
“Jane.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re my wife. She’s my friend.”
“Wait, am I missing something?” Petra said, looking back and forth beween them. “Wife?”
“We were going to tell you,” Elijah said. “It just happened this morning. And we don’t want anyone to know, okay? This is just for us.”
“Understood. Congratulations,” Petra said with a solemn nod. “I will not let Kim Beard ruin this day for you, okay?”
Elijah rubbed his eyes and jaw. “It’s just so fucking frustrating.”
“I know. But don’t give him an ounce of power. Got it?”
“I guess we need a lawyer,” Jane said.
“I’ve already called Martika Assad. She’s got a great reputation; I’ve worked with her before with another client and she’s the best in the business. Plus, she’s got the capacity to take this case on. She can meet with you once the video shoot is over.”
“And we can still play the song?”
“Until it’s proven otherwise in court—which it won’t be—you can do what you want.”
“What about the freezing of the royalties?” Elijah asked.
“Unfortunately, he can do that—but it will be temporary. We’ll discuss it more when you meet with Martika, okay? Try to put it out of your minds for now. Today is a big day.”
When she was gone, Jane poured herself a vodka. It surprised her, how fast she drank it, how she immediately poured more. Elijah was drinking, too.
“Nothing like someone threatening to sue you to ruin your buzz,” he said, tipping more vodka into his mouth. She didn’t laugh.
Kim Beard was not harmless, and Jane knew it. He was dangerous. He wasn’t going to give up until he took something from them—and Jane felt the sudden urge to mark their territory in some way. “Elijah… if it’s really our song, we have to claim it. Don’t you think? We can never, ever let any doubt be cast on the fact that it’s ours and no one else’s.”
He hesitated, but then she saw a glint of steely resolve take over his expression. “You’re right,” he said, and she could breathe again. “Let’s go call Alan. I’m sure there will be no problem at all swapping out the songs for the video—especially considering how badly he wanted us to do ‘My Life or Yours’ in the first place.”
But he hesitated at the dressing room door.
“It’s yours, Elijah,” she said firmly. “Don’t lose your nerve. He can’t take it away.”
“It’s ours,” he said, grabbing her hand. “No more fighting it. Come on, let’s go.”