I just about fall over backwards. As unlikely as it is, I know it’s Brand. There’s no mistaking his bedroom voice, even when he’s pissed.
“You calling to see if I got a lawyer yet?” I ask.
“No...I’m actually calling to tell you not to worry. You won’t need one. I’m not going to press charges, and if I’ve not been harmed through this misunderstanding, they’re not going to be very interested in pursuing it, if you know what I mean.”
“I do. I’m going to be forever in your debt for saving my ass, and the minute something happens and you get a little irritated then all bets are off, right?”
“You really have a low opinion of me, June. There’s no ulterior motive here. I just don’t want you to have to pay for a mistake made when you were trying to help someone...even if that someone wasn’t me.”
This is a strange turn of events. I wonder if now is the time to talk to Brand about the plan? I’m just about to spill it when a thought occurs to me. If I make a big show of Silas being able to play, and the band not faking playing, that’s gonna hurt Brand’s credibility. Here he sent a contest-winning article to Guitar Player and let them pick his entry as the winner when he knew full well that what he wrote was categorically wrong. No one will ever hire him or read anything he writes. This call is Brand trying to save a career that he loves.
“You don’t have to worry about a thing, June. No one will ever know that you tried to block the story or hacked my account. Your paramedic career is safe with me. I’ll never tell.”
This doesn’t feel right. This whole phone call, his benevolence...something’s not right here. Just a couple days ago he hated me and was surely going to help the police bust my ass, and now he’s promising to save me? Could it be that I misjudged Brand? Maybe he’s not the person I had believed he was…No. He is who I believed he was. I remember the backstage pass he gave me. He had legitimate offers for sex from hot women, yet he chose me because he knew how much it meant to me to be able to talk to my idols. A bad person does not do that.
“So you’re not going to say anything else to the magazine right?” he asks. “Just let it be. You know, let things die down a bit?”
“Yeah sure, die down.” I can’t think of anything else to say. I need him to come to the event, the story he’ll get will more than make up for the Guitar Player snafu.
Chapter Twenty-one
The Phone Call
I’m sitting on my couch two weeks later, toying with my new cell phone. I’m trying to get up the courage to call Stewart. With some fast talking, I may just be able to pull this off. After all, it is in the best interests of his nephew. I just have to make him see that.
Gabby has parked herself on the sofa to watch the proceedings. There’s nothing like humiliating yourself in front of someone you love. She’s in for a surprise. I haven’t had a chance to tell her about the big plan, so it will be interesting to see her reaction to the call I’m about to make.
“Nervous much?” she asks.
“Why would I be nervous about anything?”
“You tell me. You’ve been pacing around muttering to yourself for the last ten minutes. What, are you calling the president or something?”
“Close enough. I’m calling Stewart to...well, you’ll hear soon enough.”
“I sure hope so. We only have five more hours before we’re due at work, so you think maybe you can squeeze your phone call in that amount of time?”
“Very funny Gabbs, very funny. I’m going to call him right now, so hush.”
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely dial the right numbers.
“Who is this?” Stewart demands when he answers, “Identify yourself or I’m hanging up.”
“Sorry Stew, it’s June. I need to talk to you.”
“You’ve really got balls, calling here after everything you’ve done. What makes you even think I want to hear anything you have to say? And if you’re calling to apologize or ask for forgiveness, don’t waste your breath, you’re never gonna get it. What you did to my nephew and the band...un-fucking-forgivable!”
“Look Stewart, I won’t insult you by asking for forgiveness. I don’t expect it. I could say I’m sorry a million times but that won’t mean anything to you, I’m guessing.”
“So why call? Make it quick.”
“I understand. So, here it is. I have a plan that will restore the band’s reputation.”
“And how you gonna do that missy?”
“I’m going to get them on stage in front of the news media and they’re going to give a free impromptu concert for their fans and skeptics alike.”
“Really? You find a garage somewhere they can play in?”
“How about the Fillmore, or the Greek, or the Sleep Train Pavilion, or Shoreline Amphitheater?”
“What makes you think I can book any of those places? Even in the middle of their sold-out tour it wasn’t easy to book venues. There’s just so much competition that calendars of those places are booked well in advance. And now, no way can I get them anywhere but a dive bar in East Oakland. Sorry sister, but you're out of luck. So if that’s all the ideas you got I think I’ll go and make myself some dinner.”
“Walker Stephenson.”
There’s a long pause. “Excuse me? Did I hear you say Walker Stephenson?”
“You know you heard me right Stew.”
“So you’re going to just cold call the biggest promoter in the business and what, cry on his shoulder? You think you can beg him into helping you? Have you been drinking June? This really is a waste of time. Do not call here—”
“He’s a friend. And he’s already got the venue. The press will be there and so will Guitar Player and Rolling Stone Magazine.”
“Really? You don’t actually think I’m just going to take your word for this, do you? Your credibility with me is at an all-time low, so if you’re jerking my chain—”
“Why don’t you give him a call now and then call me back when you’re ready to hear the rest of my plan.”
The line goes dead. I’ll take that as a yes he’s going to call Walker, then call me back. That’s the second hardest phone call I have to make. After I talk to Stewart and make sure he’s on board, I’ll make the hardest call—to Silas. Actually, when he hears the venue and the fact that Stewart is in on it, the call should be pretty smooth sailing. I think.
“So is he gonna call your bluff?” Gabby asks. “What’s your plan when he finds out you don’t have a plan?”
“Oh but I do have a plan Gabbs. I just spent sixteen hours in a terminal and on a bus with Walker, and he’s already booked the venue. It’s gonna happen, Gabby. I just have to get Silas on board, but that should be relatively easy when he finds that their manager is down with the plan.”
“It sounds a little too good to be true, June. You really sure this Walker guy is helping you? I mean, why would a guy like that go out of his way to help?”
“He’ll help. We had a connection and—”
“More like a love connection I bet.”
“I wish. He bats for the other team. Anyway, trust me, this guy is going to help. Any minute Stewart’s going to call back with the confirmation. Then I get the unpleasant task of calling Silas and inviting him to the Fringe come-back concert.”
“Sounds like you got it all figured out.”
“Well, none of it is going to make any difference if I can’t get Stewart on board.”
We spend the next anxious ten minutes talking about my bus adventure with Walker when my phone starts ringing. It must be Stewart.
With my heart in my mouth I retrieve my phone from the couch. This whole thing hinges on me getting Stewart to agree and help get the rest of the band on board. If Stewart says go to hell, my little rescue project goes down the toilet.
I answer without bothering to see who is calling. “Hello?”
“I’m in. I’ll do what I can to get the other guys to the show, but Silas is on you.”
“No problem.”
“Oh, it’s going to be a problem. He’s three days into a thirty day stint at the John Forbes Clinic.”
“He’s in rehab?! Well...I’ll just go and get him.”
Stewart actually laughs. “Excuse me, but I thought I heard you say you’re going to just go and get him.”
“Yes, I did. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, but the clinic might have a problem with you breaking out one of their patients.”
“Wait a second. Wasn’t his going there voluntary? How could they have an issue if he changes his mind?”
“I’m not up on all the legal stuff, but once he commits himself to their clinic, he is committed there until they give him a clean bill of health and release him. That means that after his two month stay there, he’ll be on house arrest for another one to four months in a halfway house. He can only go out for meeting or to see a doctor.”
“Isn’t that a little harsh?”
“Well…Forbes is a last chance, last house of the block kind of a thing and they take their responsibilities seriously. Once you sign on the dotted line, they are committed to do everything in their power to rehabilitate you. You basically sign over your rights until you’re discharged.”
“What’s all this talk about last chances? I didn’t even think he was using drugs, or drinking for that matter.”
“He wasn’t. But he has a nasty history of drug abuse and alcoholism. I nearly lost my nephew five years ago and I’m not going to lose him again. The day the record label called, he got drunk and he stayed that way until the other day when I hog tied him and had him admitted.”
“Oh my god, I had no idea about his past. I knew he didn’t party after shows like Hammer and the guys did, but I didn’t know why. I just thought he was all into the healthy lifestyle thing. So if he’s an addict, then why are you helping? You must not want me to get him released right?”
“Oh no, I do want you to get him out. Sure, if he went through the 60 day program there, and completed his halfway house requirements, he’d be clean and sober, but that’s it. There’d be no spark of life, just an empty shell of a man.”
“So then what?”
“I believe the only way Silas can be saved is by breaking him out of that clinic and getting him to your venue to play again. As much as I don’t like you, or the fact that it has to be you to do this, I believe it’s his only chance to be whole again. Break him out, do your show, and if he still needs to rehab you can take him back to Forbes to do just that. Their world tour can wait a few months if need be.”
“I am so sorry Stewart, I had no idea how my actions—”
“If you’re truly sorry for what you have done, then you will find a way to get him to that show, and make sure he’s sober.”
“I thought you just said this would save him. Now you’re saying he’ll get drunk or—”
“After the show, after he redeems himself, he’ll be safe.”
“Alright, I get it. Do you have an address for this Forbes Clinic?”
“Yeah, you’re going to be heading back to LA.”
“I promise, I will make this right.”
“You’d better. Don’t call me again until you have my nephew with you. You understand?”
“Understood. So is this place like a jail? How am I supposed to break him out?”
“With a little ingenuity, you should be able to get him out. Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”
Before I can respond the line goes dead. How am I going to get him out? This is crazy.
"Are you freaking crazy June?” demands Gabby, “You’re gonna get yourself arrested and your career is gonna go down the toilet. You can’t do this, and I won’t let you!”
“What are you going to do, tie me to my bed?”
“I’m sorry you messed up, but throwing your career away is no way to save his. Silas can save himself. Pretty soon he’ll be out of treatment and he can resurrect his music career in his own way. People will respect that. Look, you’re not responsible for how he reacts to difficult times. Everybody has rough patches now and then.”
“I just can’t sit on the sidelines and watch.”
“I know. You’re a paramedic and you think you have to save everybody. Sometimes you just have to let people fall down and pick themselves up on their own...or not.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”
We fall into an uncomfortable silence until it’s time for me to go to work. If I suddenly became a billionaire, I would still work my nightshift at the ER. Not only am I saving myself, but it gives me purpose, and what’s a life with no purpose?
Chapter Twenty-two
Jail Break
The next couple weeks fly by. I have yet to formulate a plan for getting Silas out of Forbes, but I did hear by way of texts that he has been busted for sneaking in heroin. He is due to get out of lockdown and in general population soon. That means I need to bust him out either that night or the next day, and he’d better be sober. Hopefully he won’t still be detoxing from the heroin. No way can he do the show if he’s hallucinating and vomiting all over the place.
This morning, I decide it’s time to spring Silas from lock-down at the Forbes Clinic. I still have no concrete plan as to how I’m going to do it, but I’m hoping that during the drive I’ll have a brainstorm and won’t have to just wing it. One thing I’d like to know is, how committed are they to keeping Silas there? What’s their security like, if any? What are they willing to do to stop someone from getting out? I’d love to have the answers to these questions before I get to the facility. I finally decide to give my good friend Stewart a call.
“What is it June?” he asks when he answers his phone.
“I need you to get me on the visitation list.”
“Visitation list?”
“Yeah, all those treatment places have a list of who is allowed to visit and take part in the patients’ therapy. I’d like to be put on the list. Tell them I’m his long lost sister or something. That should work.”
“Fine, you’re his sister. I’m still not sure he’s allowed visitors. They never said anything to me about a list.”
“No doubt you’re at the top of it. Call me when I’m cleared. And Stew, it has to be today. I’m on my way down there as we speak and I want to see him tonight if possible. So find out visitation hours, days, things like that.”
“Yes ma’am,” he replies and hangs up.
My plan, such that it is, is to hang out with him, walk around getting the lay of the land. And then maybe I can form a real plan of action. Without seeing the place, it’s impossible to really make any kind of plan. I hope Stewart thinks to give Silas a heads up.
I arrive at my hotel and check in. I’m sitting in a parking lot across from the facility and doing binocular surveillance. Fortunately for me, there are no perimeter guards. In fact, people seem to be pretty free to come and go. They’re probably staff, but at the rate they do come and go, they must not be checking them very thoroughly. Maybe there’s not even anyone at the doors to check people at all.
My phone ringing makes me just about hit the roof of my car. “Stew?”
“You’re on the list but there’s a slight problem. I couldn’t get Silas on the phone so he has no idea you’ll be showing up. You guys better be damn good actors. I told them you’d be coming in tomorrow afternoon for a visitation lunch.”
“Tomorrow? Why not today? I’m sitting here in my car across the street watching the place. Why not tonight?”
“Because he won’t be released from his detox. He’ll be out in the general population tomorrow morning. Sorry, but that’s the best I can do on short notice. You’ll just have to make it work, June.”
“Fine, no problem. I’m getting him out one way or another.”
“That’s the spirit. Talk to you later, and good luck.”
Well I’m not going to accomplish anything by sitting here any longer. I’m about to start up my car when a sharp rapping on my widow makes me jump. �
�What the hell?”
There’s a shady looking guy in his early thirties standing outside my window. He’s wearing a black hoodie, faded jeans, and about a week’s growth on his face. Despite the darkening skies, he’s wearing shades. He motions for me to roll down my window.
“Who are you?” I yell through the glass.
“Are you Kate’s girl?”
“Kate’s...you mean girlfriend?” He nods and motions me to roll my window down again. I roll it down about two inches so we don’t have to yell at each other. “Can I sit down?” he asks, pointing to my empty passenger seat.
“Who’s Kate?” I ask, ignoring his request to come in my car.
“She’s a girl in there. I thought you were her girl. Sorry.”
“It’s cool. Hey, you ever been inside?”
“Yeah once. Then I got uninvited. Seems they don’t take kindly to outsiders sneaking in booze for their patients.”
I have to laugh. This guy looks just like the type that would do that. “Hey, does anyone sneak...other things in there?”
“You talking about candy bars and coffee...or something else?”
“Something else.”
“You a cop?” he asks.
“Nope.”
“Prove it.”
“How?” I’m curious. Maybe this guy can tell me how to get someone out of there.
For an answer he takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and pulls out a joint. He lights it, takes a long pull, then offers it to me. Not sure I really want to do this. I haven’t smoked pot since my college days. On the other hand, this guy knows the place. After a quick deliberation, I decide to roll the window down and prove I’m not the police. I take a long drag and burst out coughing. He laughs as I hand him back his joint.
“Well sister, you obviously haven’t partaken in a long time. You’re gonna like this. In a minute it’s gonna kick in,” he laughs again. “Judging by your eyes, it already has. Enjoy.”
He takes another hit and offers it again. This time I refuse. I’ve already proven my point and I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy. I still gotta drive back to the hotel. If I smoke any more there’s no telling where I might end up instead.
Broken Strings (A Rock Star Novel) Page 17
