by Clara Bayard
*
Joe paused and cocked his head to the side.
I'd been so engrossed in his story that I almost forgot I was supposed to be involved. "Why'd you stop?"
He smiled. "I was just remembering how crazy everything felt back then. We'd decided to really go for it, try to make the band into something, and it was amazing. Broke, always hungover, aching from sleeping in that stupid van most nights and lugging our own gear everywhere. Looking back, I usually remember the fun we had. Nostalgia, right? But it was stressful, too. Working constantly and playing for crowds that hated us or were indifferent, and we didn't even know what would come of it, if anything."
"And if nothing had? If you hadn't ended up hugely successful, would it have been worth it?"
Joe thought for a moment and then nodded. "Yeah. Absolutely. And in some ways, it would be easier. Still playing tiny clubs. Making enough to get by. I love where we are, but there's a whole other level of pressure I never imagined." He scratched his ear. "Did you know I have an assistant?"
"No," I said, unsure where this was going.
"Yeah. Like a person who works just for me. I pay his salary. A whole guy I support. I mean, I don't personally write the checks or whatever, but… yeah. It's really weird shit. He's a cool dude, really helps and I need him. But I still remember when having an actual manager felt like the coolest thing in the world. It was only a few years ago, and everything has changed so much."
"I'm sure. You must miss Ryan very much."
"I do. We all do. He was a real prick most of the time, but he made us. He taught us how to be a band rather than just a bunch of guys who play music together."
"That's great. Ready to move on?"
"Yeah." He shifted in his seat a little. "Ryan had this quirk, this weird thing he did. Always called everyone by their full first name, wouldn't use nicknames."
"Why?"
He grinned. "He claimed it was more professional, but I think he just liked annoying people sometimes, and this was a way to do it without getting called out. Well, usually."
"Sounds like there's a story there."
"Shit, yeah. They say there's an exception to every rule, and in this case, Dex was that exception."
I thought back through videos I'd watched, interviews I'd read. "What happened?"
Joe leaned back. "Before we officially hired Ryan, he came to a couple of shows to check us out, make sure it was a good fit. So, each time he'd wait after the show, come backstage, chat with us for a few minutes. And every time, it was the name thing. I was Joseph, always. The guy who booked bands at this one club, his name was Colgate, like the toothpaste. His actual name. So everyone called him Cole, for obvious reasons. But not Ryan. He called the man Colgate to his face, and no one said shit about it."
He sighed.
"It's just how he was, and everyone just took it. But this time he took us out to celebrate working together. Went to this hideous dive bar. Really revolting, but Rick knew the bartender and so we drank mostly for free, and grew to love it. Anyway, we're all getting wasted, it's like four in the morning and there's no end in sight. I can barely see, and we're at this table just shooting the shit, doing shots, whatever. Ryan goes to tell us a story, and he calls Dex ‘Dexter,' like usual. But – and fuck if I know why – this time Dex just isn't taking it. He leans over the table, points his finger in Ryan's face – almost touching his nose, that close – and says, ‘It's Dex, you wanker. Call me Dexter again and I'll clock you one.' Something like that. Pissed off and drunk he goes full Brit, you know?"
I laughed. "I've noticed."
"Yeah. So, he's all up in Ryan's face and the guy just smiles, doesn't say a word. We just sit there for a minute and then get back to partying. The next day we go sign the papers and Ryan's our manager, all official. At the end of the meeting he shakes each of our hands, talks about how he's looking forward to working with us, that kind of thing. When he gets to Dex, they shake hands, and Ryan goes, ‘I look forward to getting to know you better, Dexter,' and then moves on to Matthew. Dex waits a second, then grabs Ryan by the arm. Spins him around and just sucker punches him. Right in the face, full force. The man drops to his knees and we're frozen like statues. Then Matthew, cool as king of shit mountain, helps Ryan up. He turns to Dex and just shakes his head. He says, all calm, ‘That's messed up, man.' Totally cool about it. No anger, just disappointment."
I closed my eyes for a second, because I could picture it. It was a struggle to keep from sighing.
"So I'm standing there wondering if Ryan's gonna tear up our contract or strangle Dex or who knows what. But he just touches his nose for a second, takes a deep breath, and tells us he'll see us at the show that night. And the crazy thing is, as far as I know, he never said a word about it again to any of us. It's like it never happened. Except he never calls – never called – Dex Dexter again."
"Amazing. And hilarious."
Joe smiled. "Yeah. I'm not advocating violence or anything, but it was a great moment. And classic Matthew. He's always been more level-headed than the rest of us. Usually has a great perspective about whatever is going on." He paused and swallowed visibly. "It's weird. Weird as shit to be here without him. We've only done a handful of shows with someone missing."
"You have?" I didn't know that, and it made even more sense that Matthew knew what would happen if anyone found out he was still hurt.
"Yeah. Once, early on, Dex went on a little bender, we didn't see him for a couple of days. Called a guy we knew in to play bass. Two shows, I think. It went fine, but we were glad to have that asshole back when he finally rolled in. The other time I remember, it was two years ago. We were actually in the damn venue already, and Rick fell down the stairs. His big dumb ass just went right over. Not drunk, just stupid. Looked hilarious. But he broke his nose, and the hospital made him stay a couple hours for observation. Insurance shit."
"Who filled in that time?"
Joe chuckled under his breath. "This dude from the other band we were touring with. Skinnier than me, this tiny little guy. He looked like a toddler behind Rick's drum kit, but he played all right. That was just one show." He shrugged. "It's part of the job. The show must go on, as they say."
"Of course."
Joe looked down for a long moment before speaking again. "It's funny. Or strange, really. To think of the band as something separate from us. As a thing that could exist without us. I… shit, I'm not even sure what I mean. But it's like, Dream Defiled isn't just ours anymore. It belongs to the fans. To everyone who listens to the music. Even though it's the same four guys who spent all night puking on a tour bus once thanks to a cheap seafood buffet in a town whose name I won't mention. We're the band, and the band is us. But it's bigger than us, too." He chuckled and shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense."
I smiled reassuringly. "It does, in a way. Seems like you've done a lot of reflecting on this lately."
"Yeah, I guess. Losing Ryan and now worrying about Matthew. Getting engaged. I think a lot about a lot of things these days." His expression was hard to nail down. Some combination of sad and hopeful.
I was about to ask another question when my phone beeped. "Damn. Joe, it looks like we're out of time for today. Thanks for doing this."
"My pleasure."
He stood as I shut down the camera and turned off the lights.
"Hey," Joe said. "I think what you're doing is great. Whatever happens, I'm behind you. We all are."
"Thanks. I just hope it turns out okay."
We said goodbye and he left the room. I packed up everything, made a phone call and then went back to my room. I transferred the footage to my computer and scanned through it quickly. Everything looked good, but I realized there was going to be a lot of work to turn this and everything else I had planned into a finished product, and there was only one person I trusted to help me with it. So I shot off an email to Steven, asking him to call me later. I had a message from Becca that there was a crowd of girls holding some kin
d of vigil outside the hotel, so I called her as I grabbed my stuff and headed down to shoot it for work and my little side project that was growing every minute.
Downstairs I had to push my way through a line of security to get outside. There were at least fifty girls – mostly teenagers, and a few older women. A core of them were standing in a circle holding hands and singing Dream Defiled songs a capella. A few were weeping.
I started recording and moved around them, getting as many angles as possible. Watching a bunch of sad girls belting out rock songs in a parking lot was definitely high on the list of strangest things I'd even seen, and I knew my bosses would love it, and so would HSTV site visitors.
Once I had a few minutes of coverage, I went over to a small cluster of girls outside the circle and asked if I could talk to them on camera. They all agreed.
"Thanks. Can you tell me what's happening right now?"
One of the girls, cute with bouncy ginger ringlets and a well-worn Dream Defiled t-shirt, answered me. "We're having a spirit circle."
"And what is that?"
She rolled her eyes like I was the biggest moron who ever lived. "It's to give the power of our spirits to the band so they can be stronger."
"I see." I didn't. "Who planned this event?"
"The managers of the Facebook group." Another eyeroll.
"What group? Do you mean the fan page?"
"Ugh, no." She tossed her head. "The ‘Stronger Together' group."
"Okay," I said.
"It's really important," another girl added. She was tall and had a really cute pixie cut in a variety of colors. "We're dedicated to supporting the band through this difficult time. In any way we can."
I had no idea this kind of thing was going on, and I was intrigued. "Interesting. Can you tell me more about this group?"
"Sure. It's like, like a positive thinking thing. Or good vibes I guess. Sending them out to the guys so they knew we love them. To heal what's broken." She nodded sagely.
Part of me wanted to roll my eyes are the New Agey talk, but there was something in her words that struck me as real, and serious. I thought about what Joe had said, about the band being bigger than its members. These fans were participating in their own way. What it actually meant was unimportant. The intent was remarkable.
"All right," I told the girls. "Tell me more about your goals. What is broken that you want to help fix?"
The girl with the ringlets spoke up again. "The energy. All these bad things are happening because the energy field around the band is wrong. We're helping to make it right again."
"Why?"
She sighed, clearly exasperated with my ignorance. "Because they're the coolest band in the world and they need our help."
"Gotcha."
She frowned and stepped forward, pointing her finger in my face. "You and everyone else just want to take, take, and take from them. Get enjoyment from their music and then just abandon them when things get bad. We're not like that. We're giving back what we can. Anything we can. Tickets when there are shows, merchandise, buying the albums. And now, when they're in need, we give our strength. What are you doing to help them?"
Of course, I couldn't tell her, but the point was well made. My cynical side knew these fervent fans would be great for website traffic, but my heart was warmed by their actions, and part of me wanted to stay and see if there was something to this so-called spirit circle. But I had things to do, things I hoped would help too. Maybe these girls and I had more in common than I thought.
I thanked them and handed out releases for them to sign so I could put the footage on the HSTV site. While I waited, I scanned the crowd. It was growing in size and volume. Some were watching the circle. Others seemed to just be hanging out. I spotted a couple of paps and swore under my breath. Once I had all the releases back I ran back to my room to send the footage off, and write some copy for the site, hoping we'd be the first to get the scene online. Because it would matter to my bosses, but also to frame the spirit circle right. Not just as a joke about obsessed fans, but about humans caring for strangers they admire. It was a strange point-of-view for me to take, but it felt important, and I realized that Steven was right. I was more invested, and changed by this tour in ways I hadn't noticed, and still didn't fully understand.
Four
The next six weeks went by in a flash. Once the tour started up again, everything moved so quickly. New city, new hotel room, new fans, new footage. Late nights uploading and communicating with my office. Early mornings working on my side project. Checking in with Steven, who was being amazing. Editing footage and listening to my half-delirious ranting, he kept me focused and laughing.
I was working every waking minute, and dreaming about work as well. And in general, I was having a ball. As long as I didn't stop to think too long. Or let my mind wander enough to remember. Remember the way Matthew's hair smelled when it fell over his eye and I brushed it away. Remember how the rough pads of his fingers felt as they slid gently over my skin.
Working with the band so closely, I really began to think of them as my friends. Even when I accidentally walked in on Rick and Julia having sex on a hotel roof deck, it was just a thing we all laughed about. When Dex and Becca argued, she came to me and we spent hours creating revolting ice cream sundaes from everything available in a hotel gift shop.
In the back of my mind, though, there was always the calendar. Counting down days until Vegas. Every logistics update email. Every schedule outline. I'd find myself sitting, staring at the dates. A flight. Two free nights. Two back-to-back shows. And the reunion of Dream Defiled's official members. Matthew's return.
When we heard he was doing well enough to come back, everyone else was happy. Hell, I was happy. But I was nervous, too. Would he be able to look at me, let alone talk to me? Every time I felt myself obsessing, I went back to work on the project. But soon, that too just lead to more worrying. Would he like it? Think I was a stalker? Would it even come together? Would it mean anything to anyone but me? Had I wasted all this time for nothing? My brain nearly boiled from the tumultuous thinking in my rare free moments.
Three days before Vegas, I called Steven to check in. I had a full day coming, and wanted to make sure everything was on track, and catch him before he got busy with his freelance work.
"Hey, brat. What's up?"
"Stop calling me that," I said, slightly grumpy. My head hurt from lack of sleep.
"Never. What's up?"
"Not much. I've got a meeting with the band in a few minutes but I just wanted to make sure you got the files yesterday."
"Oh, yeah, I got them. Sorry I forgot to write back. I had, uh, a thing last night. Went kinda late."
"Is that code for a date?" I rolled my eyes. My brother went through women so fast I never bothered to even ask about them. By the time I could even get a name out of him, he'd moved on to the next one. He wasn't a womanizer, he was just always looking for something he could never seem to find.
He barked out a laugh and then cleared his throat. "It most definitely was not a date. Just a thing."
I narrowed my eyes. "Why are you being so secretive?"
"I'm not."
"You really are."
Steven groaned. "Sis, calm down. You're delirious."
"Oh my god," I said, actually getting upset now. "You are hiding something. Damn it, I thought we promised – no more secrets. One hundred percent honesty, from now on."
"We did. And I'm not hiding anything." His voice went soft. "El, really, I swear. Nothing is going on, I just went out for drinks."
"Okay." I rubbed my forehead. "Maybe I am delirious. I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it. You've been a pain in my ass for a long time, I'm used to it."
"Thanks a lot."
"Anytime." He laughed. "Look, get to work, okay? I'll send you some edited footage tonight. I think you're going to like it. The stuff you got, the old concert stuff? It really works."
"Yeah, thanks. I hope this t
hing comes together."
"It will." He paused. "It already has. No one will be able to watch it without seeing how brilliant we both are."
I grinned. "We'll see."
We said goodbye and hung up.
I went over to the closet and grabbed some clothes. I wasn't going to be on camera today so it didn't really matter what I wore. I pulled on a pair of old jeans that were as soft as my pajama pants and a black t-shirt, gave my hair a quick brush, shoved my feet into cute flats and left the room with time to spare.
The elevator was waiting for me, and I got up to the band's floor a few minutes before the meeting was scheduled to start. The security guard smiled at me and pointed at Becca's door, which was open a crack. I could hear voices inside, so I pushed it open quietly to avoid interrupting. What I saw made me freeze in place.
Becca was on a video conference call, projected via her computer to the large television on the wall. One part of the screen displayed a conference room somewhere, with a few people in suits. The other side was filled with Matthew's face.
He was beautiful. His soft, kind hazel eyes were full of joy as he pushed a lock of sandy hair out of his face, laughing. "Yeah, pretty good. Not that I had much of a choice," he said lightly. His voice was like a dagger to my heart. I'd avoided reading much about him since he left. I had to report on a few things to keep from making my boss suspicious, and I'd convinced myself that I was okay. That I was getting over him. But now, even though a video-link, seeing him again shattered that illusion and I struggled to stay on my feet.
The conference continued for a few minutes, but I didn't understand a word that anyone said. I couldn't look away from his face. His mouth that had kissed mine so tenderly, and then so hungrily. Seeing him smile and laugh and be… Matthew. I was so happy, and so sad at the same time.
His skin was a bit flushed, but in a healthy way. There was so sign of the pained pallor he'd worn when I last saw him. His hair was a bit longer, and lighter, probably from the sun. The room he sat in was bathed in a warm glow from the big window behind him. In that moment I realized I didn't even know where he was. In the Los Angeles area, but was it a hotel, his place, a secret sun-kissed bunker in the hills?
