I shake my head.
“Lightweight.” Hammer declares.
“Geeze, can you really afford to be dissing your most loyal fans?” I ask incredulously.
“We’re in the middle of a sold out tour, I think we can do whatever we want.” He replies arrogantly.
Some of this stuff is definitely going on my blog. He can’t just say this crap about the people who made him rich and famous.
“While we appreciate your past support," Marcus begins. "We’re evolving as a band and we need a new breed of fans that are less looney and more rabid.”
I can’t wait to tell Silas what these guys are saying. I’m sure Silas doesn’t feel this way about his fans. It’s probably Hammer and Marcus’ attitude that’s causing the rift between them.
“So Silas isn’t such a good fit, image-wise, but is that enough to fire him?” I ask.
“Who said anything about firing him?” Hammer asks.
“I thought…never mind." I say. "So why else don’t you like the guy?”
“Isn’t that enough?” Marcus asks, quickly becoming bored of my questions.
“Not in my book. But something tells me there’s more going on here than an image problem.” I say confidently. I’m actually getting pretty good at this journalism stuff. “If he wasn’t your first pick then why’d you hire him?”
“We kinda owed it to his uncle to give the guy a shot.” Says Marcus.
“Really?”
“Yeah, way back when we were getting our first record deal, Stewart was looking to switch jobs. He was working for the record label we were in talks with and he saved us from financial suicide and helped us negotiate a good deal.
“How good of a deal?” I ask.
“He managed to get them to let us keep the rights to all our songs on the record; something unheard of for new bands. Thanks to that we have a nice steady income that just keeps going up as we get more and more popular. He saved our asses in terms of finances.”
“Wow!”
“Yeah, thanks to him we made a fortune, and continue to do so on our first album alone just because we retain complete rights to those songs. There are bands that sell way more records than us and they make a fraction of what we make. After we inked the deal with the record label we hired on Stew as our manager and fired the one who was letting us give up the rights to our music. We’d be broke and playing in dive bars if not for Stewart. He don’t ask for much, but when he does it’s usually pretty important and we tend to listen to him. That’s why we picked Silas.”
“Okay…”
“You ever play guitar?” Hammer asks.
“Took lessons for a while but never really had any aptitude for it.” I admit.
“An electric guitar?”
“Actually yes.”
He points to a guitar in the corner leaning up against the wall. It’s Silas’s flying V.
“Go over there and play a few chords.” Hammer commands.
Curious to see where this is going, I walk over and reverently pick up Silas's guitar. It still feels warm. I slip the leather strap across my back and instantly I get shivers running up and down my spine. I can’t believe I am holding Silas’s guitar.
It’s like it resonates with Silas’s life-force or something. It actually feels alive, and I feel like I don’t have any right to be playing it, even if it’s just a chord or two. I look over at the boys who are watching and waiting. Well, here goes nothing.
I hit the first chord. Oh shit, I must've had my fingers wrong ‘cause that was definitely not an F. I look at my fingers this time and make sure I’m playing a G and I stroke the pick across the strings. Once more, complete discord. What the hell is going on here? I know for sure I played a G that time.
“That’s enough!” Hammer calls out.
Hastily I put back Silas’s guitar and return to the couch where Hammer is waiting.
“Well?” He says as I sit down.
“Something’s wrong or I am more out of practice than I thought.”
“No, you had the chords right. It’s just that Silas’s guitar is way out of tune. It was that way all night.” Hammer says.
“But…”
“We didn’t figure it out till tonight. And since he’s got his own guitar tech, we don’t know how long he’s been faking it and playing a recording. Kinda like lip synching only with a guitar.”
I’m appalled! I can scarcely believe it. Silas seems nice and he really does seem like a genuine guitarist. I find it hard to believe his uncle would have pushed his nephew on the band if he was incompetent. This kinda thing can ruin a man’s career and it’s exactly what Brand is looking for.
The question is, do I believe it? His guitar certainly was way out of tune, but maybe he was screwing around with it in frustration because of what happened tonight? Maybe he thought it was out of tune so he tried to tune it onstage between songs or something. There has to be another, rational explanation for this, and I intend to find out.
I spend the next half hour or so talking with Hammer, Marcus, and Lance about all things Fringe, when suddenly a chill sweeps over the room. Startled at the sudden change in the mood of the three guys I sit up from my relaxed, slouched position on the couch and look around the room. Just as I thought, Silas has come back in from somewhere and Stewart is tailing him. Neither looks all too happy.
I have to find out Silas's side of the story, so I walk over to where he's taken refuge; a reclining chair off to the side and well away from his band mates. I pull up a chair and sit across from him, not sure where to begin.
He solves my dilemma. “So you’re siding with the enemy now is it? Or you just looking for another chance to knock me on my ass?” He accuses.
Despite the obvious undertone of anger in his voice I am still drawn to him like a moth to flame. I don’t seem to be able to help myself. He’s sitting there dressed in his traditional black jeans, and black tee shirt. The tattoo on his right shoulder is showing through his torn cut-off sleeves. I wonder what other tattoos he has that I can’t see. I love how he’s muscular, but on the lean side; almost like a runner, but not that lean.
“Earth to June…Earth calling June…”
Startled I look up from his chest. This time when he looks at me his eyes twinkle and the corners of his mischievous mouth turn up into a smile. I can feel the heat rising in my face and I wonder if he knows I've been undressing him with my eyes.
“Don’t you just hate that?” He asks me.
I’m confused. “Hate what?”
“When people just stare at your chest while you’re talking to them. Why can’t they look into your eyes, or watch your mouth at least when you speak?”
I can feel my face burning up. He’s got a serious expression plastered on his face at first, then seeing my guilty expression, his face softens and he begins to laugh.”
It’s infectious; his laughing. Suddenly I find myself following suit, and my earlier dark mood has been lifted. I’m sure now that there’s got to be another explanation. On impulse I glance over at Hammer and the guys; they on the other hand are not happy at all. I resist the temptation of giving them the finger and focus again on Silas.
“Hey about the other night…really sorry I ran out of there. It was just getting too…too-”
“Don’t sweat it. I already forgot about it. How you feeling? I know you kinda got ganked at the last show. I’m really sorry about that June.”
“Hey I should have known better. I shouldn’t have taken that third pass.”
"So the show…how’d you like it? My little bit of it at least.” He asks, still smiling.
It’s so hard to concentrate when he smiles at me. I feel like I’m the only one in his world and it makes me feel unbelievably important, and at the same time immeasurably self-conscious. I’m not used to feeling like I’m the center of someone’s world. At the same time it dawns on me how egotistical I’m being right now. Of course I’m not the center of his world. He barely knows me.
&nb
sp; “The show…” He prompts again.
“Oh yeah, the show… Well, other than some amateur wailing away on an out of tune guitar, I’d say it was an excellent show. Well, up until the point he stormed off the stage, that is.”
“Yeah…” He says, at a loss for words.
“Rough day at the office huh?”
He laughs. “Yeah, office life can be hell. Not like yours is though. No life and death stuff going on here.”
“I don’t know, I think most of your fans feel differently about that. They came to see the new guitar god, not to watch a beginner plunking away on his first guitar.” The instant I say that I feel bad. He probably didn’t deserve that. I smile to take the sting out of my words. I have to know if there’s any truth to what Hammer and Marcus were saying and I can think on only one way to find out. I get up from my chair, walk over to Silas’s flying V and pick it up.
“I used to take lessons.” I say to him. “In fact, I learned on a guitar sorta like this one.” I hand it to him. “I never had a chance to play a rock star’s guitar before. If you could just tune it for me, I’d love to try a riff or two…”
He looks like I just handed him a rattlesnake; and it just bit him. I glance over at Hammer, he and Marcus are watching with great interest. I feel like I’m about to get to the bottom of something here. I’m just not sure what.
Silas loops the strap over his neck and is just about to strum it when Stewart walks up.
“Sorry June, I need to borrow Silas for a moment. You’ll have to postpone your lesson for another time.” Then he looks at Silas. “Silas, why don’t you let June plunk around for a bit, and come with me?”
A quick flash of relief spreads across Silas face, and then it’s gone again. Silas gives me an awkward smile then follows Stewart out of the room. I look back to Hammer and he and his buddies are shaking their heads collectively.
What just happened? There’s something going on here that I’m missing and I wonder if it’s as simple as a guitarist who can’t tune his own guitar or if it runs deeper than that? For his sake, I better not discover that he cannot play the damn thing.
Chapter Ten
Dinner and a Mess
Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
It’s nearly ten in the evening the next day when I walk into Ricardo’s Pastaria to get a late dinner. And of course, the first person I see is Silas, sitting at a booth by himself. Panicked, I turn to make a hasty exit and run right into a waitress loaded down with a full tray. Every single dish comes crashing down on the floor, sounding for the world like a train wreck.
I offer up round after round of apologies and resign myself to the fact that I’m likely going to be dining with Silas this evening. There’s no way he didn’t notice that failed exit. I turn slowly around and give him a tiny wave, acknowledging his presence. He immediately gets up and makes his way toward me. I sink down into the nearest booth and sigh as he slides into the seat across from me.
“Nice work Junie. I've been in a lot a restaurants over the years and I’ve never seen anyone take out a whole table full of dinners in a single blow."
“Yeah, I’m really that clumsy. I was actually trying to get away from you, if you must know.”
“Me? So you thought that attacking the wait staff would make for a good escape? Next time you try to cover your retreat with a diversion, try not to actually be a part of it. Kinda draws the attention back to you.”
“Very funny Silas," I say, "Can we just order something? I’m starving.”
He grabs a menu off the table and passes it to me. “Whatever you like, it’s on me tonight."
“So, you eat out a lot?”
“Lately, yes. I’m trying to get in as much as I can before people start recognizing me. Then the paparazzi will never let me have any peace.”
“What an ego! You’re assuming that people will like you that much. Based on your last performance I’d say you’re going to have plenty of privacy.”
“Not my fault! I can’t help that my guitar guy can’t keep me supplied with working instruments. And the lighting guy, he’s gone. This hasn't been a good start. I fully expected my life to change when Fringe hired me to play guitar, but it's been a real shit storm."
“Well, you still have fans that wanna see you playing guitar for Fringe, right?” I can’t bring myself to inquire further about the guitar thing, and clearly he doesn’t want to talk about it. Some journalist I am. Unbidden, Brand pops into my head. I have to do it for Brand, if for no other reason. I owe it to him.
Time to spoil dinner, I think to myself.
“So—” I start.
“So how’s your friend Brand?” Silas cuts in, “He still in the hospital?”
“Yes...”
“Wow. What kind of injuries did he have, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Plenty. Broken bones, knife wounds. He nearly bled to death. He would have, if he wasn't discovered by a police officer not six seconds after he was dumped along a roadside and left to die. And now, if his injuries don’t kill him, his hospital bill will.”
Silas looks at me for a few moments in thoughtful silence. “That really sucks, June. I’m so sorry that happened to your, uh...boyfriend.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty bad. I don’t know what to do. I go to visit him, but I just can’t stand to be camped out there holding his hand waiting for some change in his condition.”
“And you don’t have to. Nobody questions your loyalty, June. You have a full time job. You just can’t live at the hospital. Talk about bringing your work home with you. It’s not healthy. And besides, he’s not going to know the difference if you spend three hours in there or three weeks. It’ll all be the same to him in the end.”
“Maybe.”
“And you wouldn’t be the first girl to break up with her comatose boyfriend either.”
My mouth drops open. I don’t know if I’m more upset that I have been considering that option, or the fact that he seems to have figured it out.
“Oh come on Junie. You’re catching flies.”
“How did you know—I mean, what makes you think I’m thinking of breaking up with him? You're do damn full of yourself. You actually think I’d break up with my boyfriend in a coma for a guitarist whose skills are questionable at best! Is that what you think?”
He gives me an apologetic smile, “So...am I right then?”
I lurch up from my seat and run straight into our waitress. In an instant, we’re covered in delicious Italian food. I can feel heat in my loins, alright, but not from any supposed passion for Silas. This time, it’s from Ricardo’s famous homemade garlic pesto. Good thing I’m instantly chilled by the $17 glass of Pinot Grigio I’m now wearing. I close my eyes for a second and wish it all away. When that doesn’t work, I take Silas’s offered hand.
“I am so sorry,” I tell the waitress, “I had no idea you were standing there. I really am sorry. If I had known you were there...”
Silas fishes out his wallet, retrieves three hundred dollar bills, and hands them to our stunned waitress. She is stunned, but I’m sure when she’s buying a new outfit tonight she’ll remember this evening fondly...unlike me. Not only do I not get dinner, but I don’t get the benefit of Silas’s generosity when it comes to replacing my own marinara-stained outfit.
“I’m so sorry June,” he tells me. “Why don’t you come to my hotel and I’ll get some cash to replace your outfit.”
Wow, looks like the night won’t be a total loss after all.
“I’ll follow you,” I begin, “But I’m not coming into your room.”
“Fair enough,” he smiles, heading for the door.
Chapter Eleven
Midnight in the Den of the Rock Star
Silas is staying in a swanky hotel on the water. Of course. As promised, I don’t join him in his room. In fact, I don’t even get out of my car. When we pull up, a valet parks his BMW while I hang out in my car and wait. I amuse myself by trying to guess the nature of the late
night visits from various guests as they cue up to the hotel and hand over their keys to the valets. I don’t see a single car that would carry a price tag under $60,000. The guests are all dressed in the finest couture, like there’s some kind of ball going on in the hotel. Hell, maybe there is.
Silas finally shows up with a white bag from a boutique clothing store in the hotel’s lobby. Inside is a pair of designer jeans and a white tee with an image of a sexy, green-eyed rocker girl. Silas waits patiently as I look over the clothes. He must have spent at least $200 on this.
“How’d you get my size right?” I ask.
“I have three sisters. It kinda comes with the territory. You know, I’d really like to see what you look like with these on...” he says, with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Yeah, I bet you would. But I can’t go into the lobby wearing dinner,” I protest.
In answer, he produces another large bag and pulls out an amazing black wool pea coat.
“This should cover you up nicely,” he says.
I run my fingers along the fabric. This has to be the finest coat I have ever held in my arms. “You want me to get wine and pasta all over a thousand dollar coat?”
“Sure.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“You bring it out in me.”
“Yeah, well I better not be bringing anything else out, if you know what I mean.”
“Wouldn’t think of it. Just trying to make up for the restaurant fiasco, that’s all.”
“Fine.”
I get out of my car and Silas immediately helps me into the coat. Now I just look like everybody else...except with wine and pasta in my hair. Damn, I forgot about my hair. Seeing my hesitation, Silas guesses my dilemma.
“Here,” he says, producing a baseball cap. He hands it to me and I do my best to tuck my hair under it. As we walk in, I feel like some kind of celebrity trying to sneak past the watchful eyes of the paparazzi. There actually are quite a few photographers hanging around the lobby and the bar. Something must be going on here tonight.
I follow Silas up to the top floor. He produces a key card to a suite that’s about three times the size of me and Gabby’s apartment. Impressive. It’s very modern, with several Lichtenstein lithographs and Picasso reproductions on the walls. Fringe must be paying their new guitar player very well. Silas escorts me to a bathroom that is the size of my own living room. I lock the door behind me and decide on a shower, rather than a Jacuzzi.
Broken Strings (A Rock Star Novel) Page 10
