Down Beat

by Max Henry

  “So tell him that,” she says softly. “Lay it out, black and white. Let him know you’re a person too, with your own goals that you could be chasing.”

  “I guess.”

  “Look at it this way.” She huffs. “If he was Joe Blow, just some shmuck you met on the street who wasn’t this uber-talented singer, what would be different?”

  “I see your point.” I’d be tougher on him. I probably would have run a mile when he begged me to help him.

  I wouldn’t have rushed headfirst into something so spontaneous.

  It’s Rey’s passion in his music that hooked me. The same intensity I got when he hit his low our first night back on the tour. The cliché always goes that the superstar chases the girl because she’s his muse. But what if he’s my muse? I look at him and I want to explore him: his feelings, his reactions, and his experiences. I want to draw from all those things that make Rey him and use the knowledge as fuel for my creativity.

  He’s an artwork, to me: complex and yet to be fully appreciated for all its intricacies. A ballad waiting to be written.

  “Thanks, babe.” I scoot up the seat, newly awakened. “This really helped.”

  “Hey. It’s what I’m here for. I just… I don’t want you to come home flat and run-down after he’s taken everything from you.”

  “I know. I don’t either.”

  I just hope by the time I do go home that at least one of us gets something out of this arrangement.

  Because right now, I struggle to see how that could be me.

  FORTY-THREE

  Rey

  “Life is Beautiful” – Sixx:A.M.

  The interview preshow was hilarious. The guy Kris and I got knew his stuff, but he didn’t give us the standard questions. He bantered with the two of us, cracking jokes and talking shit.

  It put me in a good mood for the start of the show, and by the end of the fourth song when I’m usually fantasizing about a stiff drink and a bed to hang out in for a week, I was charging.

  Fuck—I even remembered to say happy anniversary to Margot and Shelly. Shelly—ha. The crowd seemed to think I was grinning because I was happy for the couple, so I might have got away with that one. This time.

  But there was only one thing that kept the buzz post show, when I usually crash, and that was Tabby’s promise as I walked out the door.

  “I’ll be here.”

  It’s as though she knew that’s what made me stall. Is my fear of being abandoned that obvious?

  “You ready to get out of here?” Kris holds his pack out for me to steal a smoke.

  “Yeah.” I pull a stick and roll it between my forefinger and thumb. “The four of us came together good tonight, huh?”

  He nods, lips turned down as though he hadn’t really thought on it. “We’ve got issues with Toby, though.” Kris pockets the pack, and then picks up his backpack with fuck knows whatever in it.

  He takes the damn thing to every show, and after five years I still don’t know what he’s packing.

  “What kind of issues?”

  “He’s been talking with Wallace about your rehab once this is all over.”

  Fuck. “Yeah?” Thanks, brother.

  He nods, cigarette pinched between his lips as he ducks to the lighter.

  I take a look around at the staggered city skyline beyond the stadium fence. When it comes down to it, we’re all rats stuck in a race, all searching for that next crumb. Only I kind of feel like the lab techs have the walls all set out for me now; there’s no escape from this.

  I’m destined to follow the same old blueprint set out by generations of musos before me. Things carry on the way they are, and fuck, I might just tick all the boxes if I check out early too.

  “You think he’d really shaft me from the lineup if I refused to go?” I accept the light Kris offers, his hand shielding the flame.

  “Without a doubt.”

  “How can he though?” I bluff humor at the idea, but reality is the thought of having this all taken away before I’m ready for it to be leaves me terrified. “There is no Dark Tide without me.” There’s no me without Dark Tide either.

  There’s also no comeback for most musicians after they’ve been dropped from the band that made them.

  “Why not?” He doesn’t ask the question to be an ass. “Van Halen replaced David Lee Roth. AC/DC held strong without Bon Scott.”

  “I get the point,” I drone. I’m expendable. Fucking wonderful.

  “Look.” Kris jerks his head to indicate we should start walking. “I’m not trying to make you feel shit, man. I’m just pointing out that all the crap we’ve dealt with over the years, it never fully goes away. And I’m not only talking about you: all of us. We’ve all done shit to add stress to the brand. But thing is, we can say that we’ve wiped it all away and moved on, but after each issue there’s a speck of shit that remains. Residue.” He taps his smoke as we walk to shake off the ash. “After a while all that residue, all those specks, they make a mess of the mirror and we can’t even see who the fuck we are anymore.”

  Fuck me. Some days I forget how deep these guys are. “I never really noticed that.”

  “But you see it, right?”

  I nod, and then take a long drag of my smoke. I keep knocking us back. I know Kris said he was talking about the crap all of us have dealt over the years, but stick that shit on a pie chart, and which one of us assholes would have the largest slice? Me.

  “How the fuck do we fix this?”

  He shrugs. “Fucked if I know.”

  I slide the gate in the security fence open and let him through first, shutting it behind us. Kris gives one of the site staff a wave as we head for the road. The chauffeured vehicle Wallace hires while we’re on tour is occupied taking Toby and Emery to some bar they got recommended—not that the asshole would let me use it anyway—leaving Kris and me to cab it back to the hotel.

  I refused the chance to go out and live it up, eager to get back to kitty. But I’ve got no idea why Kris turned the offer down.

  Fuck—I heard there were strippers involved. God knows the guy could use some of that kind of release.

  “How come you aren’t going out with the other idiots?” I ask as we near where the cab will pick us up.

  He sniffs, working his jaw side to side. “Didn’t feel like it.”

  “Everything good with you?” I get pretty damn wrapped up in myself a lot of the time, so who knows what I’ve missed.

  Kris nods as he squints at the headlights that approach. “Not in the mood for people, man.” He drops his smoke and stubs it out as the cab pulls up. “Nothing to be worried about, though. Not like your shit.”

  I frown as he opens the door and slides in, leaving me to follow. “Fuck my issues, dude. Don’t keep quiet because of me.”

  Kris tells the driver where to go, and then sinks into the plush leather seat before he speaks again. “I can deal with my own shit, Rey. If I needed help, I’d let you know.”

  “Yeah, well make sure you do.” Because I’m pretty sure his skill isn’t expendable.

  He’s an uncut diamond when it comes to guitar players, and when he finds the right mentor to help smooth off those edges and hone his worth, fuck, he’ll be a legend.

  “An early night, a quiet room, and no fucking lights pointed at me is all I want,” Kris murmurs, closing his eyes and punching both hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

  “Yeah, I hear you.” Half the time that’s all I need to recharge too: the serenity of the dark.

  Except tonight I crave the touch of a woman I barely hold on to. She’s a precious keepsake, teetering on the tips of my fingers while I hold my breath, waiting to see if she’ll fall.

  Unlike me, I don’t think she’ll bounce if she hits the ground.

  Kris pops his earbuds in while we travel, leaving me to stew in my thoughts alone. Every grab of downtime I’ve had this afternoon I’ve mulled over what to say to Tabby to explain the bullshit she’s in for. I want to give the
woman fair warning, but I don’t want to scare her away. Yet I’ve more respect for her than to flat-out lie and leave her to be blindsided with my douchebag behavior when the mania hits.

  “How was the show tonight, brother?”

  I glance at our driver—an older black guy with more than a few grays in his hair. “Yeah. It was good, man. Thanks for asking.” His ID says his name is Robert. “You listen to us?” Most of our fans are younger, but there are still a few that take you by surprise.

  “No,” he says with a hint of humor. “My daughter. She found you guys last year. It really turned her around.” His gaze flicks to mine in the rearview every so often.

  “How so?” I swivel to face him, settling in to the conversation.

  Kris carries on with his music, eyes closed and oblivious.

  “We had some issues at school,” Robert says. “Bullies, that kind of thing that you get with teenagers.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Her mom and I were at a loss for what to do, man.” He shakes his head. “But we trusted that she’d come to us if she wanted us; we gave her the space she needed. She spent a lot of time in her room with music, and you were one of the bands she’d have on repeat.” He smiles in the mirror at me. “I swear by the time she came around I knew half the words to your songs, too.”

  I chuckle with him, yet my chest is heavy with what he’s obviously been through. “Well I’m glad she’s doing better.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He nods, returning the drive to silence.

  I spend the next five minutes or so catching glimpses of the guy, still a little disbelieving that we can have an impact in people’s lives like that. I guess Robert is the universe’s way of giving me a little nudge to say “Hey, you aren’t as much of a fuck up as you think you are.” He’s proof I have to be doing something right.

  Kris nods gently to his music as I reach over and slide his backpack from the floor. He carries on, unaware that I have his prized possession in hand; hopefully there’s some shit in here that I can leave with Robert for his daughter.

  My hand touches card, and hopeful I’ve found one of our promo shots, I pull it out. Yet what greets me as I bring it into the light leaves me wondering who the fuck this guy next to me is. A picture of a girl. Our age, I’m guessing. I should shove it back in his bag, pretend I didn’t see anything, yet curiosity gets the better of me and I glance over to make sure his eyes are still shut before I turn the picture over.

  You’re already a star to me. XX

  Holy fuck—this is from before we made it. How long has he been toting this thing around?

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Shit, shit, shit. I jam the picture back in his bag, and ferret around for what I’m after. “Have you got any swag shit in here, man?”

  Kris rips the canvas bag from my hands, buckling up the main compartment before tearing into a side pocket. He throws one of the picture postcards we had made at me, quickly followed by a pen.

  “Just ask next time.”

  “Yeah, okay. Sorry.” I scrawl a quick message on the blank side of the card. “Yo, Robert. What’s your daughter’s name?”

  “Becky.”

  I add her name to the top, and then shove it at Kris. “Sign this.”

  He reads what I wrote, and nods as he add his scrawl. “Cool.”

  I watch him, gaze flicking to the damn bag of secrets at his feet. “Who is she?”

  “None of your fucking business.” The card gets thrust my way while he stashes the pen.

  “You never talk about anyone from home.”

  “For a good fucking reason.” He closes his eyes again as he pops the buds back in, shrinking down into his hoodie.

  Fucking dark horse. I lean forward and tap Robert on the shoulder before I slide the postcard on the front seat beside him. “For Becky.”

  He glances down at it as we ease up outside the hotel, and then twists to look at me once stopped. “Hey, that’s.…” He sighs. “Ride is on me tonight.”

  “No, man. We’ll pay.” I nudge Kris to let him know we’re here.

  “No. No.” Robert waves a hand. “You’ve just made this old man’s night. I can’t wait to tell her who I had as a fare when I see her tomorrow. You two go on and enjoy yourselves.”

  “Thanks, man.” I lock hands with the guy and give it a squeeze.

  Kris pats him on the shoulder as I slide out. “Have a good night.”

  Fuck yeah. As I look up at the glass doors into the lobby, I know that’s what I’m about to get—a good night. Fucking lift can’t carry me up there fast enough.

  Look out, kitty, because here comes trouble.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Tabitha

  “(I Just) Died In Your Arms” – Cutting Crew

  I don’t hear a damn thing before Rey comes through the door. No forewarning that he’s back, no sound of guys talking in the hall before he slides the keycard in the lock… nothing.

  “Catch you in the morning, Kris.”

  No wonder. I’ve barely heard a complete sentence out of the guy in the days I’ve been travelling with the band.

  “Hey.”

  Rey’s head snaps around as he guides the door shut. “You’re awake.”

  “It’s still before midnight; I figured I’d wait up a bit longer.”

  He tosses his wallet and phone on the side table as he walks in. His hair has lost the edge he gave it before they left, the casualty of too much time sweating it out under the stage lights, I imagine. The lines around his eyes show how tired he is. Yet that smile….

  “Where’s Toby?” We’re sharing with him; Kris and Emery shacked up in the other two-bedroom suite.

  “Out for the night.” Rey slides onto his knees at my feet. “Just you and me, kitty.” His arms push around my waist, his hands connecting behind my back as he lays his head in my lap.

  I run my fingers through his hair, promptly wiping the waxy residue off on the back of his T-shirt. Maybe not the best idea. He chuckles when I change my tack to running my fingertips from his brow, down his temple, to his jaw.

  “How was it?” I ask.

  “Fucking awesome.”

  “How are you?”

  He hesitates, the silence unnerving me. I prepare for the worst. “Okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Rey rises; hands braced either side of my hips as he holds himself face-to-face with me. “I’ve been honest this far. I think you can rely on me to tell you the truth.”

  He has a point. Still.… “Okay.”

  “What have you been up to?” He looks at the seat around me, hands still tucked at my sides.

  I rest my palms on his arms and look to where he does, at the pile of pages torn from my notebook. “I forced it.” After I spent the hour they had pre-show messaging back and forth with Toby….

  “You don’t like it?” Rey leans over to check out the scrawled music.

  “It could be better.” As nice as the small talk is…. “I, um. I talked to your brother.”

  He drags his gaze away from the compositions and to mine, eyes narrowed. “When?”

  “During your dinner break before the show.”

  “So that’s who he was on the fucking phone with.” His nose twitches, his lips tight. “Why?”

  “To understand.”

  His arms withdraw as he rocks back to sit on his heels. “Understand what? Why do you have to ask him and not me?”

  I’ve caught the tripwire. I’m stuck between going back and pushing forward with this, knowing both options are equally as doomed. “I wanted to hear a different viewpoint.”

  “On me?” His eyebrow cocks. “You think I’m a liar?”

  “No.” I scoot forward. “Not at all.”

  He retreats, swallowing. “What did you ask him?”

  “About the band, how you started out, the challenges you had. You.”

  He stares me down, nostrils wide as he appears to breathe through his anger.

  “Rey.�
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  He looks away and shakes his head, the disgust written in the downturn of his lips. “I trusted you.”

  “You still can.”

  His gaze snaps back to mine with such intensity I physically reel. “What now, kitty? Going to write an opinion piece on me to sell for your next rent payment?”

  “That’s not fair—”

  “What’s not fair,” he rages as he stands, “is being treated like some goddamn case study. If you had questions, you should have asked me.”

  “And would you have known the answer?” I holler, standing also. “Because it seems to me that so far you don’t have a fucking clue what it is you want: from me, from your bandmates, from the tour, from anything.”

  “I want to be happy!” His face contorts with either anger or pain. At this stage I really can’t tell anymore. “I just want to wake up one day and know what it feels like to not have to give myself a pep talk to get out of bed. I want to know what it’s like,” he says, hands rubbing his neck as he walks away, “to look in the mirror and feel nothing. Not hate, not guilt, not regret. Nothing.”

  “What do I do, then?” I drop onto the sofa again, whispering the question. “Because from what I’ve seen, Rey, this is way beyond me.”

  “Ugh!” His hands tear through his hair as he marches to the darkened windows. “Why? Is it beyond you to love? Because that’s all I need.” His voice falls soft. “To be loved, no strings attached.”

  But it’s not.

  Talking with Toby opened my eyes to how imbedded he is in his ways. He’s had nothing but love for years. He’s had all the love and care in the world from his support network of family, friends, and colleagues. But he refuses to see it.

  Interventions. Counseling. Medication. Retreats.

  You name it, he’s had it. I honestly believed when Rey opened his heart to me that he’d been let down and neglected by the people who should care most. But the truth was, I only got half the story. I only got the parts his jaded mind chose to remember.

  He mentioned that somebody’s always there to catch him. But what he doesn’t see is that once they have, he has to hold on.