Patton walked off the stage. Music segued into the beginning of a short film that Martin Scorsese had put together chronicling Flame’s career. There were the obligatory childhood stories, his first breaks in the music business, and the meteoric rise to fame as a member of Hay Fever. Cheers from the crowd accompanied every milestone, especially when the timeline reached the days of Flame’s Heat.
When the film was over, David Bowie took the stage. He received a standing ovation, of course, and then spoke humbly into the mike with his distinctive British eloquence.
“Good evening. I first met Flame in 1974, which was a particularly chaotic time in my life,” the rock star said. “I had just come out of the Diamond Dogs tour, which was something of a financial disaster, and I was battling with the demons conjured up by that expensive white powder we all loved so much in those days.”
More cheers.
Bowie laughed and continued. “One night in Los Angeles, I happened to get together with Flame and John Lennon for a night of debauchery, for lack of a better word. We were pretty tanked up and out of our minds, but we ended up in a recording studio around midnight and started to lay down some tracks.”
Another response from the audience.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “The rumors are true! John and Flame had some songs they’d been working on and also wrote some songs on the spot—I think I was too out of it to contribute much—but the three of us, and Dave Bristol and Harry Nilsson, we slapped together an album’s worth of stuff that’s never seen the light of day. It was a fantastic nine hours of high-energy, drug-induced euphoria that I was happy to be a part of. At the time I thought it was some of the most brilliant music ever recorded. Of course we were so stoned you’ll have to take that statement with a grain of salt. I never heard the tapes after that night so I can’t be entirely too sure of the quality. At any rate, Flame and I ran into each other a few times over the years after that. I’m happy to say he was a friend, a man with unlimited talent and fortitude.” He went on to describe the man the public knew as an extroverted and innovative pioneer of rock ‘n’ roll. Bowie said he was particularly inspired by Flame and never lost his admiration for the man. He ended his short speech with, “You were the real rebel. Here’s to you, Flame.”
Suzanne whispered to Berenger, “Boy, I wish they’d release that album!”
Berenger nodded but his attention was focused on Carol Merryman, who was next to take the stage. She began by thanking Al Patton, Martin Scorsese, and Bowie, and then went into an overlong appreciation of her former husband. Even Berenger was beginning to get bored until she made intimations of what was going to happen with Flame Productions.
“I’m looking forward to handing the company over to my son Joshua, per Flame’s wishes,” she said. “In the meantime, I’ll be making some very important business decisions with regard to how we’re going to deal with past and future contracts, as well as what’s going to happen to some of those unreleased recordings that Flame had in his vault.”
More cheers.
The testimonials took up nearly an hour of time. Sir Paul McCartney gave an eloquent speech about how Flame’s music inspired even him, Eric Clapton put in his two cents’ worth, and Bonnie Raitt—who was once linked romantically to Flame—presented a heartfelt tribute to the man.
Finally, the all-star jam began. Blister Pack took the stage and Dave Bristol received a standing ovation. They launched into one of the better-known Flame’s Heat songs and the crowd went wild. David Bowie came on, picked up a microphone, and provided vocals in lieu of Flame. When it was time for the guitar solo, Eric Clapton appeared and did his best imitation of Flame’s chops.
Over the course of the next two hours, a non-stop progression of rock stars joined the growing supergroup on stage. McCartney played and sang a couple of tunes. The Who’s Pete Townshend showed up with his power-chords. Bonnie Raitt traded licks with none other than Jimmy Page. Ian Anderson, the front man from Jethro Tull, stood on one leg and blasted away on his instrument during two numbers. Berenger had completely forgotten that Anderson had supplied a flute riff on one of Flame’s solo albums in the days before Flame’s Heat.
During the show Berenger could see that Gina was crying. She dabbed her face with a handkerchief, especially when some of the earlier numbers were performed. He figured they must have struck a nerve since that was the time she had been married to Flame. Once again he squeezed her shoulder and Gina held his hand there. Berenger glanced at Suzanne and his partner gave him a nod of approval. He wondered how the other wife was taking it, so he scanned the crowd for a glimpse of Carol. He found her sitting with Joshua in one of the boxes high on the side of the theatre. She, too, appeared to be crying. Joshua, on the other hand, seemed curiously emotionless. He sat with his arms folded, eyes focused in his lap, unmoved by the music. For a fleeting moment, Berenger thought he was looking at the young man’s half-brother, Adrian.
Adrian Duncan. The son who wasn’t there. The man accused of killing the rock legend to whom they were paying tribute. Did Adrian regret not being there?
A thought suddenly popped into Berenger’s head. If Adrian wasn’t guilty of the heinous crime then it was quite conceivable the real killer was somewhere in the theatre at that very moment, listening to the sounds of Flame’s legacy.
If so, what could that person possibly be thinking?
19
Prove It All Night
(performed by Bruce Springsteen)
As the lucky and enlightened audience poured out of the Music Box, Suzanne told Berenger that he didn’t have to take her home. She had picked up on what wasn’t said between him and Gina Tipton and gracefully bowed out. “Take her for a drink,” she whispered to Berenger and left him on the street with Flame’s first wife.
“Where’s she going?” Gina asked.
“She, uhm, had another engagement. Say, listen, I’m meeting up with Charlie Potts in a little bit. You remember Charlie?”
“Sure! How is he?”
“He’s doing good. Anyway, we get together and jam every now and then at our office studio. Would you like to come and listen? We could have a drink or something before he shows.”
“I’d love to. Lord knows I won’t be invited to any of the after-parties.”
They walked to Eighth Avenue to catch a taxi going uptown and within fifteen minutes they were on the Upper East Side in front of Rockin’ Security. Berenger unlocked the door and held it open for Gina. They went upstairs to the recording studio and Berenger flicked on the lights. He went to the makeshift bar to inspect what they had in stock as he removed his tuxedo jacket and tie.
“Gina, what can I make you?”
“What have you got?”
“Some Scotch. Bourbon. Vodka. Whatever mixers you want. We have some beer and wine in the kitchen. I’ll have to go in there to get some ice anyway.”
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
“Jack Daniel’s and Coke all right?”
“Sure.”
Berenger went to fetch the Coke and ice and brought back two full glasses. They clinked the drinks together and said, “Cheers.” Gina sat on the sofa and crossed her legs. Her black dress was tight and slinky, showing off her well-toned figure. Berenger sat beside her and said, “Gina, how do you do it? You look like a million bucks.”
She grinned. “Thank you, sir. It’s nice to hear that when you get to be my age.”
“You mean our age.”
“I think you’re a little older than me, aren’t you, Spike?”
“A little. And I’m not as fit. I could stand to lose twenty-five pounds.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I try, believe me. See the Nautilus equipment over there? Suzanne and I are the only ones in the firm who use it. I work out religiously and I still can’t lose the pounds.”
“Maybe it’s what you’re eating.”
“I know it’s what I’m eating. Shoot, I just figure we’re on the earth for such a limited time, w
hy not enjoy it? We shouldn’t have to limit what we like to eat.”
“Famous last words.”
“Whatever.”
“Spike, you don’t look bad at all,” she said, moving a little closer. “You were always a big teddy bear. I like you that way.”
“Aw, shucks, ma’am,” he said as he put his arm around her. They were quiet for a few minutes as they sipped the drinks. Finally, he asked, “Gina, are you happy out there in California?”
“Sure am. You can make a lot of money in real estate in California.”
“I’ll bet you can. What about other things, though?”
“You mean men?”
He shrugged. “Just curious. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“There are men in California,” she said. “Last time I looked.”
“Okay, okay. I’m being nosy.”
“It’s all right. There was one man I saw for a few years but that ended about ten months ago. I’m not really looking for any kind of permanent relationship. What about you, Spike? What happened with your marriage?”
“Oh, you know. I wasn’t ready to grow up and be a husband.”
“But you were, what, in your thirties?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s old enough.”
“I guess. I just wasn’t ready. Linda and I are still friends, sort of. I see my kids as much as I can.”
“Where are they? Aren’t they twins?”
“Yeah. Michael goes to NYU and Pam’s in Albany. Their mother lives over on the West Side.”
Gina nodded and took Berenger’s hand. Softly, she asked, “Do you think Adrian has a chance?”
“Sure he does.”
“Do you believe he’s innocent?”
Berenger didn’t know how to answer that. He wanted to trust that her son was innocent but so far everything pointed to his guilt.
“Something’s not right about the case,” he said. “I haven’t got a handle on it yet. We’ve been on the job for just three days, you know. Give me some time.”
“Sure, Spike.” She looked up at him and the green eyes he once knew so well mesmerized him. Her lips were moist and they parted expectantly.
Keep your professionalism! he told himself… but he kissed her anyway. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and he was aware of a powerful desire that had eluded him for months.
When their mouths separated, she whispered, “You used to be able to go all night, Spike. Can you still do that?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s been a while since I’ve tried.” He chuckled. “I haven’t had to use Viagra yet, knock on wood. Er, no pun intended.”
“Prove to me you can still do it.” She kissed him again but the door buzzer interrupted them.
“That must be Charlie,” he said, breaking the embrace. He gently touched her cheek and she acknowledged his need to stand up. “I’ll be right back.”
Charlie Potts was the same age as Berenger. He had curly salt-and-pepper hair and wore glasses, and unlike Berenger, was thin and gaunt. He was dressed in a T-shirt and blue jeans and had a guitar gig bag over his shoulder.
“Geez, you guys,” Potts said, eyeing the others’ tux and gown. “I didn’t know this was a formal jam session.”
Gina laughed and stood. He gave her a hug as she said, “Charlie Potts, how are you? I haven’t seen you in years.”
“I’m okay. Gosh, Gina, you look fantastic!”
“We were at Flame’s memorial service and concert,” Berenger said. “I told you I was going.”
“I remember now. That explains the monkey suit. How was it?”
“Pretty incredible. A lot of big shots got on stage.”
“I’ll see the movie when it comes out. You got some more of whatever you’re drinking?”
“Sure. Have a seat.”
Potts and Gina caught up with each other while Berenger went for more ice and Coke. He returned with a full glass for himself and one for Potts. Gina was still working on hers.
They talked for ten minutes, reminiscing about old times, until Potts said, “Well, partner, are we going to make some music, or what?”
“Let’s do it.”
Potts opened his gig bag and removed a Gibson Les Paul / VG 88. It had been his pride and joy for over a decade.
Berenger opened the cases containing his prized possessions. The first was a walnut-colored Dean HardTail Professional electric guitar with an all mahogany body and neck, rosewood fingerboard, abalone and sterling silver 12th fret inlay, the original Dean V Profile neck, and satin nickel hardware. The second was a beige hollow-bodied Dean Stylist Deluxe, made of flame maple, a spruce top, rosewood fingerboard, block inlays, Grover tuners, and gold hardware. Finally, for a nice bottom sound, Berenger played a Dean Edge 04 Bartolini bass guitar, made with a quilt maple top, basswood body, bolt-on maple and walnut neck, rosewood fingerboard, and Bartolini pickups. Berenger liked Dean’s products ever since he had met the designer in Chicago several years ago. Dean Zelinsky made an impressive line of electric and acoustic guitars and basses that were sold across the United States in retail shops—but they were definitely upscale items. Among the rock stars that used Dean Guitars were Billy Gibbons, Sammy Hagar, Vince Neil, Pat Travers, and Michael Angelo Batio, among others. Berenger had used original V Standard and ML models when he was with the Fixers and he kept those classic guitars only for playing on special occasions.
They plugged into 50 watt Marshall stack amps, tuned up, and started. Berenger began on the bass, giving Potts a riff to work off of. Potts laid on an improvised melody that drew roots from the Cool Jazz of the fifties. Gina closed her eyes and allowed the music to take her away in a cloud of rapture. After ten minutes, Berenger switched to the Edge and worked with Cry Baby Wah-Wah and Fuzz Face pedals, complimenting Potts’ artistry on his Les Paul. It was obvious the two men were well attuned to each other. They traded licks like professionals and laughed like schoolboys when something surprised them.
Berenger switched on a drum machine that kept a steady beat and then the two men really let loose. Berenger picked up the HardTail and added effects from a Roland GP100 processor. The room was cooking and Gina got up to dance. She moved sensuously around the room, slowly swinging her hips to the beat and looking at Berenger the whole time. He thought about what was said earlier and wondered what the night held in store for him as he allowed the feeling to carry through in his playing. It was some of the most soulful music he had produced in months.
After nearly an hour, the two musicians launched into a couple of old Fixers tunes, including “Moonbeams on Mars,” which Berenger sang in his throaty, baritone voice. When he let loose vocally, people often told him he could do a mean Howlin’ Wolf or Captain Beefheart imitation. The session finally ended with a fire-breathing cover of Deep Purple’s “Highway Star.”
“Whooo!” Gina cried. “You guys are great! Why aren’t you playing Radio City Music Hall?”
“We’re too good for Radio City Music Hall,” Potts said as he gave Berenger a high five. Berenger stepped over to the deck and switched it off.
“You were recording?” Potts asked.
“I always record. Just in case something brilliant happens.”
“It was all brilliant,” Gina effused.
The three settled down for another drink and chatted for another half-hour. When Gina snuggled against Berenger and closed her eyes, Potts stood.
“I’ll, uhm, leave you two alone, I think,” he said.
Berenger didn’t protest. He gently moved Gina’s head and let her lie on the sofa as he got up. He walked Potts downstairs and promised they would get together again soon. Upon leaving, Potts winked at Berenger and said, “Be careful, Spike. You know you two have some history.”
“I know. It’s pretty ancient, though.”
Potts nodded and left. Berenger bounced back up the stairs and found Gina standing by the studio door.
“You want me to take you to your hotel?” he asked.
“I want you to take me to your place,” she said. “Unless you’ve got a bedroom here.”
He looked at her and smiled. “You sure?”
She put her arms around him and kissed him hard on the mouth. When she was done, she said, “Yeah. Are you okay with that?”
“I’m okay with that.”
“Then let’s go.”
Berenger opened his eyes to the sunlight streaming in from the slightly open blinds on his bedroom window. First he turned his head and made sure that Gina was still there. She was under the covers next to him, her warm, naked body pressed against his. She was sleeping soundly. Next he looked at the digital clock by the bed and saw that it was a little after 7:00. He had slept for about an hour and a half. He felt fine now but knew it would catch up to him later.
By the time he and Gina had got to his apartment it was nearly three in the morning. As soon as the door was closed they had hungrily pulled at each other’s clothing until they were rolling on his living room floor with nothing on. The lovemaking there had been desperate, as if achieving orgasms were the goals in a race for humanity’s salvation. When they were spent, they laughed and cuddled, had another drink, and moved to the bedroom. On Berenger’s bed they went slower, giving and taking so that the intensity of the sensations increased to an excruciating high. After a second, and then a third climax, they lay together as their bodies glistened in sweat. Berenger suggested taking a shower, so they both climbed into the small stall where they took turns soaping each other. When they were rinsed, Gina stooped to her knees and took him in her mouth. He was surprised to find that he could come a fourth time. When they had dried off, he carried her to the bed and they fell asleep within minutes. Berenger remembered the clock read close to 5:30 when he had shut his eyes.
The phone rang, jolting Berenger out of the dream-like euphoria. Gina stirred and groaned lightly. He grabbed the phone and said, “Berenger.”
“Spike! Did I wake you?” It was Rudy Bishop.
The Rock 'n Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - A Spike Berenger Anthology Page 17
