Purple Method

by Victoria Milne

  “Fuck you,” Lee said. “This is serious.”

  “Spit it out, then, Lee,” Kyle said.

  “Right, well.” Lee cleared his throat and flicked his long black hair over his shoulder, staring at Tony with a defiant smile. “I’m sure you all noticed I spent most of the night with Vanquished—”

  “Traitor,” Max said and grinned at him. They all loved Vanquished’s music, but Lee had been the one fangirling all night.

  “Yeah, whatever, Max.” Lee glared at him, and Max’s stomach lurched. What was going on? “I noticed you were too bigheaded to even bother watching them.”

  “I was spending time with our fans. I heard them.”

  “What the fuck, Lee?” Tony raised his voice. “Why do you give a shit whether any of us watched them or not?”

  “You could learn a lot from them,” Lee said.

  “Bullshit! We were way more professional than them, and everyone says we were better.”

  “According to who? Your doting groupies? Have you asked anyone with a valid opinion?”

  “What the hell’s gotten into you?” Kyle shook his head in disbelief. “Why don’t you want to believe we’re better than them?”

  “We’ll never be better than Vanquished.”

  They all stared at him with open mouths.

  “Lee….”

  Lee studied his hands. “We’ll never be as good as they are because you refuse to take it seriously. You’re drunk or high by the time we play, you sleep with all our fans, there are more obscene pictures of you on the internet than I can quite believe, and you’re rude and obnoxious when anyone tries to interview us. For fuck’s sake, we’re supposed to be a heavy metal band, and I’m the only one with fucking black hair. It’s a total disaster waiting to happen, and to be honest with you, I’m embarrassed to call Purple Method my band. None of you make any effort to be what we need to succeed.”

  “Come on, Lee, that’s a bit harsh, bud.” The panic was clear in Kyle’s voice.

  “Surely we’re not that bad,” Max said, fighting back hot tears.

  “Yes, you are!” Lee screamed and threw his hands in the air. “Why can none of you see it? I’m done with Purple Method and all the crap that goes with it. Vanquished has asked me to join them, and I’ve said yes.”

  “What?”

  Everyone started talking at once, and fear shot through Max’s body. How could this be happening?

  “Get your things out of my house,” Tony said, his voice clear above everyone else and his eyes fixed on Lee. “Now.”

  “Don’t worry, Tony, I’m not hanging around. I’ve had enough of this shit.” Lee turned and strode toward the stairs.

  For a long moment, nobody spoke.

  “Doesn’t change the fact that we’re far better musicians than they are,” Kyle mumbled.

  This wasn’t right. Purple Method was Max’s whole life, the reason he got out of bed each day. He marched toward the stairs. There had to be something he could say to stop Lee from leaving.

  “Don’t you dare,” Tony said. “Didn’t you hear what he just said about us?”

  Shrugging, Max kept on walking. It wasn’t as if they had anything more to lose. This was their band, for fuck’s sake.

  Lee’s bedroom door was closed, so Max knocked and then entered. Lee looked up from where he was throwing his things into a suitcase and gave Max a weak smile. “Shut the door, will you?” He shoved an armload of clothes into his case. “I don’t want the others in here.”

  “Are we really that bad?” Max perched on the corner of the bed. “Everyone was cheering so loud for us last night.”

  “Max, you crowd-surfed while singing and nearly lost your microphone, Tony fell off his stool halfway through one of our songs not that long ago, Kyle electrocuted himself when he spilled beer over his amp when we were in Georgia, and it’s a miracle if any of you turn up at all. Shall I go on?”

  “They were one-offs,” Max mumbled, and Lee began counting off other incidents on his fingers until Max had to beg him to stop. It was heartbreaking listening to all the negative things he had to say about their precious band. “Okay, okay, I get your point. We can change, though. It doesn’t have to be the end of Purple Method.” It couldn’t be. Max hunched over and rested his head in his trembling hands.

  “Nobody said anything about it being the end. You can still carry on. Maybe Tony will even let you use some of the other songs you’ve written.”

  “Yeah, right. And why the hell would it be up to Tony?”

  Lee stopped packing for a moment and gave Max a sorry smile. “I’ll bet you anything he’s down there right now taking control of Kyle… of Purple Method. If you wanted a say in how the band moves forward, I think you’ll find you’ve missed your chance.”

  “But how can we even be a band without a bassist? It’s not possible. It’s always been the four of us—”

  “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

  “I don’t get it. We had such a great time on tour.”

  Lee squeezed Max’s shoulder and then went on packing. “I don’t want to be in charge anymore.” He zipped up his case. “I know it’s under terrible circumstances with what happened with their bassist, but Vanquished has given me the opportunity of a lifetime. I’d be a douche to turn them down in favor of Purple Method.”

  “The others will never speak to you again, you know that, right?”

  “Yeah”—Lee gave him a sad smile—“but it’s time to move on, and I couldn’t leave without being honest about how I’m feeling. It’s been building for a while.”

  “For you, maybe,” Max murmured. He was still numb from shock.

  Lee hauled Max to his feet and stared him right in the eyes. “You’ve got the potential to take Purple Method to the very top. Don’t drink yourself into oblivion and waste the opportunity to be something great, okay?”

  Max nodded and hugged him. “Do you need a hand with your stuff?”

  “Thanks, but Amelia’s outside waiting for me.”

  Lee hoisted his guitar case over his shoulder, grabbed his bags, and headed toward the door. “Don’t let Tony push you around, okay?”

  Max wandered back down to the kitchen to find Tony and Kyle sitting around the table, clutching cans of beer.

  “Has he gone?” Tony asked.

  “Yeah.” Opening the refrigerator with the intention of getting a beer, Max paused, thinking about what Lee had said about his drinking. Sighing, he slammed the door closed and switched the coffeepot back on instead.

  “Not getting a beer?” Tony asked.

  “Maybe later.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you? Can’t you even join in a celebration anymore?”

  “Celebration?”

  “Yeah.” Tony grinned, raised his beer, and took a long drink. Kyle avoided eye contact with him. That was odd. “We don’t need Lee. In fact, we’re better off without him.”

  “Without a bassist?” Max huffed a laugh and poured his drink, taking a sip to check the temperature. “Are you serious? How do you figure that?”

  “We have a bassist.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “You play pretty well.”

  Max spat out his mouthful of coffee. “What? No way. There’s no way I’m playing bass.” Had he heard Tony correctly, or had his brother really gone nuts this time?

  “If you want to stay in Purple Method, you have no choice.”

  “Why me? Get someone else to play it.”

  “You’re the only one with your hands free.”

  “I play guitar in some of our songs. There’s no way I can play two guitars at once.”

  “We can take them out.”

  “What? Why can’t we get someone else to join the band to replace him?”

  “No.”

  “Kyle could switch to bass. I play guitar better than him anyway.”

  “Hey!”

  “Max, you’re not listening. Are you in or out?”

  “Out? Of Purple M
ethod. Are you serious? You can’t do that to me. To our band. There’ve always been four of us—”

  “And for now it’s the three of us. Don’t you let us down here.”

  “I fucking hate you, Tony.” Max hurled his skull-and-crossbones mug. It smashed into pieces, and a stream of black coffee splashed up the smoke-yellowed wall. He was breathing heavily, panic taking hold. Turning, he ran upstairs; he had to get away. His whole world was falling apart.

  “Band practice is at six,” Tony called after him.

  MAX THREW himself down face-first onto his unmade bed. This was the worst day of his life, even outranking the day his dad had left. Purple Method had been his entire world for four years, since he was sixteen. Four years of his life now wasted. As far back as he could remember, he’d done nothing but practice his music so one day he’d be good enough to perform in a band. He felt as hollow as the cavity of the acoustic guitar that rested against his bed.

  Rolling onto his side, Max cursed as his cell phone dug into his leg. He pulled it out and stared at the blank screen. There was one person he wanted to call right now when his world was falling apart, and yet it felt like a ludicrous thing to do; he barely knew him. Before he could overthink it, Max dialed Rick’s number. After two rings, Rick answered, and Max’s stomach plummeted.

  “Hey, this is a nice surprise,” Rick said.

  “Um, yeah, hi. How are you?”

  “Yeah, good, thanks. You were lucky to catch me. I’ve this second finished teaching a class.”

  “Oh….”

  “Is everything okay?”

  Max took a deep breath. “Lee quit the band.”

  “What? You’re kidding. When?”

  “Just now.”

  “Are you okay? I mean, I’m guessing it’s not going to be easy with Tony in charge of the band.”

  What the hell? Max’s cell almost met the same fate as his hangover mug, but he stopped himself throwing it in time, clenching it in his fist and forcing it back to his ear instead. “How is it that everyone saw that coming apart from me?” This was ridiculous. Was he so blind where his brother was concerned?

  “I guess he must give off that kind of vibe. Will it be easy to find another bassist?”

  “Yeah, apparently. You’re talking to him.”

  “What? You’re joking. So who’s going to sing?”

  “He wants me to do both… or he’s kicking me out of the band.”

  “Can you even play bass?”

  “Yeah. It’s not hard. I’d rather play lead guitar.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What can I do? I can’t leave the band. I guess I’m stuck with the most boring instrument on the planet.”

  “Well, that’s not true.”

  “What do you mean?” Max shuffled up the bed so his head was resting on his pillow.

  “An old friend of mine was always going on about this British band that he reckoned was incredible, but none of us had ever heard of them. He dragged me along to see them one time when they played in Leatherton. Honestly, Max, it blew my mind. The lead singer played a six-string bass like it was a regular guitar. No, better than most people can play a regular guitar. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Was that even possible? To play a bass like a lead guitar? “Are you kidding?”

  “I’m deadly serious. The way I see it is that you have two options: drop out of Purple Method and find something else to do, or call Tony’s bluff and become the best bassist out there. You write your own songs, right? So you get to dictate what you play. There’s nothing stopping you writing complex bass lines.”

  Max bounced up from the bed and began to pace, trembling with excitement. What Rick was suggesting would be awesome beyond belief. “You really think I could do this?”

  “Of course… if you want to, that is.”

  Max laughed. “Tony’s going to be so pissed if I pull this off.”

  “Tell you what; I don’t have another class for a couple of hours. Do you want to meet me at the mall and we can go to that music store, check out their bass guitars?”

  “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  THIRTY MINUTES later Max arrived at the music store, and Rick was waiting for him, dressed in a black T-shirt with a red eagle on it, and jeans. It was weird meeting him like this, just the two of them. Even though he met up with other male friends all the time without thinking twice about it, he felt awkward around Rick, worried that if anyone saw them on their own, they would think they were “together.” Not that they were, of course, but what if someone noticed the weird connection the two of them seemed to have?

  “Ready?” Rick asked.

  “To give my brother the shock of his life? Absolutely.”

  “Did you check out the band?”

  “Yeah, you were right. I can’t believe I’ve never seen them, but then they are a bit jazzier than I would normally listen to.”

  Rick held open the door to the music store, and Max walked inside the gleaming haven with shiny new instruments occupying every available space. “Think you can do it?”

  “Sure. It’s going to take a bit of practice, that’s all. It’s going to be so awesome. I’ve never heard a bass sound so sexy. If I can put some of that into our music—”

  The store assistant looked up from behind the counter. “Hi, Max, how’re things?”

  “A bit crazy, to be honest, Hugh.”

  Hugh frowned, his trendy thick-rimmed glasses riding up his nose. “Why, what happened?”

  “Lee quit.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  “Is this your new guy?” Hugh nodded toward Rick.

  “I wish.” Rick chuckled.

  Max elbowed him in the ribs, his nerves ratcheting up a notch. “He’s kidding. He can’t play… can you?”

  “Not at the moment. Maybe one day, though,” Rick said.

  “Shame. Well, once you know what you’re doing—”

  “I can play the drums a bit. Had a couple of lessons when I was a kid until Mom decided it was too noisy and sold my kit.”

  Hugh closed the sheet music catalog he had open on the desk. “That’s too bad.”

  “Yeah,” Max said, “you could’ve taken Tony’s spot, and he could’ve played bass instead of me.”

  “You’re taking over from Lee?”

  “Yeah, looks like it. That’s why we’re here. Got any sexy six strings?”

  “Sure, right this way. It’s a good thing you’ve got long fingers.”

  Max frowned as they followed Hugh through the store past a display of violins. “Why’s that?”

  “The fretboards are pretty wide. Wide enough that most people find it too much of a stretch to comfortably reach all the strings.”

  Max stared at his hands and wiggled his fingers.

  “I think your fingers will be plenty long enough,” Rick said with a grin.

  Max fought the smile threatening his lips.

  “So, here they are.” Hugh stopped in front of a wall with about fifty bass guitars hooked to it. “We have these five in stock.” He waved at a cluster of basses halfway up the wall. “But there are more online that we can order in.”

  “Which one do you think?” Max asked Rick as Hugh went to find some steps.

  “I like the black one for you. I can picture you onstage with it.”

  “Can you?”

  Rick’s lips twitched. “Sure, it’s sexier than the others.”

  Max checked over his shoulder, but Hugh was too close for him to risk replying the way he wanted. He was enjoying Rick’s attentions—when no one else was listening.

  “So, Max, which guitars do you want to look at?”

  “Just the black one, I think. The others are a bit bright. It’s fretless too, right? I think that would suit me better. I was going to try some slap bass.”

  “I hear ya.” Hugh climbed the steps and hauled the bass down. “Fretless would give you more scope.” Max took the guitar fr
om him. The weight of it felt right in his hands—powerful.

  He could do some serious damage with this, and mostly to Tony’s ego. Hugh plugged the guitar into an amp and attached a strap, lengthening it so the bass hung low across the tops of Max’s legs. “You’re all set.”

  After checking the tuning, Max began to play “Music Is My Wonder Drug.” It felt good, the deep sound reverberating through his body. He’d always loved the power of the bass, but had never given much thought to its potential as an instrument. Lee had never been adventurous when it came to his bass lines. They were heavy, that was true, but what Max had heard that afternoon had changed his perception of the instrument. It was exciting to consider where he could take this.

  It was a bit of a stretch to reach all the strings, but nothing he couldn’t handle. It wouldn’t take him long to get used to it, of that he was sure.

  “Ever tried slap bass, Hugh?”

  “Slap bass? Sure. It’s easy enough.” Hugh grabbed a pink-and-white bass from the lower section of the wall and plugged it in. “You gotta hammer-on with your thumb.” Hugh dropped his right wrist and bounced the side of his thumb against the thickest string. “And pluck with your fingers, like this.” He struck up a rapid, funky rhythm with sharp lower notes followed by a higher twang, and the effect was breathtaking. “Make sure you deaden the strings on the fretboard with your left hand to control the length of the notes.”

  Max copied Hugh’s instruction, and it wasn’t long until he matched Hugh’s skill. By the time he stopped playing, a small group of people had gathered, and they all clapped and cheered.

  “That was awesome, man,” one of the guys said before the crowd dispersed again, murmuring their agreement.

  Max grinned. “I’d say it’s a shame you’re not available to fill Lee’s spot, Hugh, but I think this is gonna be fun.”

  “Bass is an underrated instrument.”

  “I’m with you there.” Max high-fived Hugh’s outstretched hand.

  “So, you gonna take her?”

  “Yeah, definitely. How much is she?”

  “This one is fifteen hundred dollars.”

  “Fifteen hundred?” Rick said. His horrified expression was priceless.

  Max chuckled and reached up to pat him on the shoulder. “Decent instruments don’t come cheap, you know.”