by Karina Bliss
The crowd howled their delight.
Temples pounding, sweat streaming down his body, Zander opened his mouth to sing the final verse, not knowing what might come out. He struck the first note, sweet and strong, and climbed through the song like a man clinging to a precipice, each note a handhold that could fail and plummet him into the abyss.
His voice held.
Moss joined in the chorus, climbing with him. Approaching the peak, Zander lost his nerve. Letting the lead guitarist take the song, he strutted down the stage finger. Here, he could see the arena and the sea of people, each reaching out to him. If all else fails…
Planting his legs wide, his stance the epitome of rock ‘n’ roll arrogance, he ripped his shirt off. The crowd loved it. As he tossed the remnants into the audience, Moss found the power note, supported by a crescendo of drums.
Zander took the last line, an echo of the first verse, a sweet, soft good-bye to a lost summer love. He was still holding the final whispered note as the spotlights faded.
Head bowed, he stood in the dark, buffeted by wave after wave of thundering applause.
Adored and absolutely terrified.
* * *
“Awesome concert last night, one of your best.” Robbie tossed newspapers onto the coffee table in Zander’s suite before settling on the couch. “Reviews are fantastic.”
Ignoring the tabloids, Zander looked at his manager’s bulging briefcase. “Did you bring those reports I asked for?”
Robbie presented them with the flourish of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. “Sold-out arenas, no budget blowouts, ticket vendors timely with payments. It’s all good according to the bean counters. By the end of this tour, you’ll be rolling in euros.”
Running his eyes over the figures, Zander made his own calculations, factoring in sums his manager was unaware of—interest on his extended mortgages, the penalty payments if he canceled now. Even lightheaded after a sleepless night, the bottom line was clear.
Forget profit, he needed eight more concerts to break even and safeguard his homes, his investments, everything he’d built up over twenty years. And he wasn’t the only one affected.
In his desperation to tour, he’d bought the minimum insurance because failure wasn’t in his vocabulary. The big guys—promoters, stadiums—were covered. But not the little guys—the truckers, the caterers, local sound tech crews. A whole lot of subcontractors would be screwed if he couldn’t meet his debts.
And Zander remembered how it felt to rely on coupons for groceries, to pray for another mile from an empty gas tank and to wear jackets to bed because you couldn’t afford heating.
“Jesus, Zee.” About to light the cigarette hanging from his mouth, Robbie paused. “You’d think I was a doctor showing you a terminal diagnosis, instead of the best damn news anyone could get.” He lit the cigarette and sucked deeply before blowing a playful smoke ring. “But if you want to make more, there’s still stadium availability for second concerts later this year.”
Zander flung down the report. “I said no. Get off my fucking back.”
His manager’s smile faded to hurt.
“I’m sorry.” He pressed his fingers to his throbbing temples. “I’m tired and cranky.” The band would be arriving for a debrief any minute and he needed allies, not enemies. “Let’s not get greedy. I need to conserve my vocals.”
“Shit yes.” Robbie waved his cigarette magnanimously. “You’re performing for the President of the US of fucking A in a week.” For a Brit, he was awfully proud of throwing that around.
Zander’s charity appearance for war vets had been decided months ago. The national anthem, stripped to its bare essentials—his voice and a mike—before the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces at the Rockefeller Center in New York.
As a tap on the door heralded the arrival of the rest of the band, he shelved his anxiety under next week’s problem. Rage had another concert tonight.
He’d sung this morning, coaxing his voice through its range with no repeat of last night’s failure. But Zander couldn’t kid himself anymore—he was on borrowed time.
As soon as the guys settled on chairs and couches, Zander got right to it. “I’m changing the set list to the way it was in London.”
He passed out copies and watched the frowns appear.
Moss spoke first. “I thought we’d agreed throwing a ballad between the power numbers didn’t work.”
Ty nodded. “It kills the momentum for the finale.”
“I think I’ve got more experience judging pace in stadium shows than you do.” Strung tight with nerves, his curtness sounded dismissive.
Looking at the resultant scowls, Zander knew he had to be smarter than this to avoid dissension in the ranks. Because he could not cope with another fucking thing. “My voice is playing up—nothing serious—and three screamers in a row puts too much strain on it.”
“Is that why you pulled me in on ‘Summer Daze’ last night?” Moss asked.
“Yeah, thanks for helping me out. You did an awesome job,” Zander glanced around the circle, “all of you.” Now he sounded like Kayla talking to her kids. Good job! He gestured to the newspapers Robbie had brought. “We had terrific reviews.”
“I’ve got an alternative.” Absently, Seth rubbed his morning stubble. Zander had never noticed how red it was before. It made him ache for Elizabeth. “Keep the set list as is and use instrumental solos as a bridge to give you a vocal breather.”
“Go on,” Zander invited. Thank God Doc wasn’t here to get embroiled in this mess.
“Moss could do a guitar solo between the second chorus and third verse of ‘Blow Hard.’ I’ve worked up a kick-ass drum solo that could create a break between ‘Speed Up’ and ‘Summer Daze.’ And if you need variety, Jared wrote a power number that he and Moss sing. It would slot in perfectly between any of those songs.”
Surprised, Zander looked at Jared. “You’ve been working on new material?”
The bassist’s dark eyes were wary, almost apologetic. “It’s not to your level—”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Zander tossed him his iPod. “Everybody, go put what you’ve got on this.”
He listened to it later in the gym, grunting through weights. Dimity came in to confirm his appointment with the Italian vocal coach.
“She’s insisting on the same fee even though she doesn’t have to travel.”
Zander finished his sequence of lat pulldowns with a grunt. “Give her whatever she wants.”
His PA hovered as he replaced his ear buds and knowing full well she’d been sent to assess his reaction to the music, he kept his expression neutral. “Tell Robbie and the guys I want them in my suite in forty minutes.”
After she left, Zander rested his forearms on his knees and simply listened. Damn, but he could pick talent. Recalling Elizabeth’s artless description of his bandmates as journeymen, he frowned. He’d dismissed her comment at the time because he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that Rage’s resurrection was all about him—his goals, his glory, his financial security.
Lifting his head, he stared at himself in the gym’s mirrored wall. What about theirs?
They’d entrusted months of their lives and all of their hopes to him. Jared’s marriage was in trouble because of the band. At the very least, he owed them a fighting chance.
“Green light on the instrumental solos,” he said when they’d gathered in his room. “And Jared, let’s throw in one of your original ballads. You sing it. Moss, I’ve got a song I wrote recently that will suit your voice with Seth on harmonies.”
They stared at him.
“What will you do?” Jared spoke first.
“Play tambourine.”
Unsure how to respond, they exchanged looks. Doc would have got the joke. “I’ll play electric acoustic,” he said patiently. He added with an attempt at nonchalance. “And there’s one more change to the set list. I’m dropping ‘Summer Daze’ for the next couple of shows until the vocal co
ach can tweak my technique.”
“Holy shit, Zee!” His manager found his voice first. “You can’t drop a fan favorite.” Robbie glanced around the band, who nodded agreement. “And yeah, I know you don’t want to hear it,” he added with increasing confidence, “but we should talk to the sound technician and set up syncing.”
The band immediately stopped nodding.
“I don’t lip-sync in live performances ever.” Zander spoke for all of them. His voice was the one pure thing about him and he wouldn’t hide behind auto-tuning or techno crutches. “It’s against my religion.”
“Damn right,” said Moss, relieved.
Seeing he’d lost the others’ support, Robbie focused on Zander. “But ‘Summer Daze’ is Rage’s signature,” he argued, stabbing out his cigarette in a floral display on the coffee table. “It’s like going to Springsteen and not hearing ‘Born to Run.’ No, don’t shake your head, listen. Your problem’s at the top of your range, right? So get the sound mixer to switch for the sticky bits. We’re talking no more than five percent of your performance. And if you think you don’t need it, you signal him.”
“No. That’s a line I won’t cross.”
“How about we keep doing what we did last night?” Moss leaned forward. “Let the crowd take over or signal me and I will. Then you’re not faking anything.”
Even the thought of singing ‘Summer Daze’ was enough to make Zander’s throat close in terror. But he nodded…faking it.
Chapter Twenty-two
“I’m so sorry I’m dragging you home,” Kayla said as she and Stormy stepped onto the escalator to Edinburgh Airport’s departure area.
“Stop apologizing.” Stormy slotted her boarding pass and passport into her bag. “You’ve given me a great reference, that’s better than I had six weeks ago. And who wouldn’t want to swap the UK’s summer rain for LA’s winter sun and warm beer for cold?” In truth, she’d loved both, but she wanted to ease at least one of Kayla’s worries.
More likely she’d be serving that cold beer this time next week in some LA bar or restaurant, but Stormy had a goal now, and enough confidence—and cash—to weather a few setbacks.
Ahead of them on the escalator, Jared carried Rocco. Holding her daddy’s hand, Maddie readied herself for the big jump onto solid ground.
Kayla watched them, her face strained.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Stormy reminded her gently. Her soon-to-be former employer had dark circles under her eyes, testifying to sleepless nights. And if she’d eaten in the past two days, Stormy hadn’t seen it. Jared looked equally haggard.
Kayla shook her head. “Time-out might be the best chance we have of saving our marriage.”
Serious time-out. Kayla was returning to her hometown to stay with her folks for the remainder of the tour. “Mom’s still hobbling and she and Dad are dying to see the kids.” Stormy wondered if she had any intention of returning to her new LA home.
Maddie made her jump and Jared detoured into a toyshop, delaying his good-bye as long as possible, Stormy suspected, suffering for them both. Heartbreak sucked.
Resolutely she turned her mind to her own future. A job would dictate where she rented and meanwhile she’d house-sit for Kayla. Zander had offered accommodation, but he’d done her enough favors. Lately, the few occasions their paths crossed he’d been distracted, even jumpy. He was pining for Elizabeth and it was time to let him go.
Dimity waited next to the departure gate. “What took you so long?”
“On commercial flights, there’s this thing called queues at check-in,” Stormy retorted. When you became friends with Dimity Prescott you quickly learned to give back as good as you got. But the PA had bent over backwards to help Kayla book flights without uttering a single sarcastic word.
“Kayla, you can stop feeling guilty about Stormy losing her job. I’ve found her a new one.”
Stormy gave her a warning frown. She’d asked Dimity if she had any hospitality contacts—the PA dealt with a lot of top restaurants and hotels—but she didn’t want Kayla feeling bad about her return to waitressing.
“Oh that’s fantastic!” Kayla produced her first real smile in twenty-four hours. “Who’s the family?”
“Lord and Lady Spencer-Fleming,” Dimity said not missing a beat. “He’s a British peer, she’s American, they split their year between the States and England and they have three kids under five.”
Stormy squirmed. Even distracted, Kayla would see through that wild story.
“One of their nannies got pregnant to the butler,” Dimity was clearly enjoying herself, “and they need a replacement.”
“And they’ll hire a stranger to look after their kids?” Kayla frowned.
“Oh, Stormy’s met them. He’s Philippa’s brother—that’s Zander’s English housekeeper. Stormy played with their kids one day when they visited and they thought she was charming.” She shrugged. “No accounting for taste.”
“Wait,” Stormy interrupted. “You’re actually serious.” She’d been kicking around the house, waiting for Zander to show when Philippa had invited her to join her visiting family for a casual lunch in the garden. “And Philippa’s aristocracy?”
“Eccentric, posh accent, can run an estate… It can’t be a total surprise. And here, Zander remembered your birthday.” Dimity produced an envelope from her bag.
“It’s your birthday today?” Kayla said dismayed. “Oh God, I feel bad all over again.”
“It’s no big deal,” Stormy said, embarrassed. She opened the envelope and found a receipt and a flyer. You are enrolled for this online course—Prepare for the GED test—Your first lesson will be posted on… Her vision blurred. The envelope also held six hour-long lessons with a tutor. “This is the best present I’ve ever had.”
“Thank you.” Dimity inclined her head graciously. “Zander remembered your birthday, but I buy all his presents. No, I don’t want a hug.” She tried to fend Stormy off. “You’ll crush me with those boobs.”
Ignoring her, Stormy caught her close. “Thank you, skinny bitch.”
“You’re welcome.”
Wearing sunglasses, Jared returned with the kids. “Dimity told us it’s your birthday,” he said and kissed her cheek. “Go ahead, Maddie.” The little girl gave her a bag. “It’s a tiara like mine,” she burst out before Stormy could open it. “So we’re both princ-i-esses.”
“Best present ever.” Blinking at the pink and diamanté glitz, Stormy crouched before the little girl. “Will you put it on for me?” Maddie jammed the tiara on like a crown of thorns, but it didn’t matter.
Dimity checked her watch. “You guys should go through now.”
Everyone avoided looking at Jared. “See you soon, buddy,” he said gruffly and kissed his son. Distracted by Stormy’s tiara, Rocco reached for it, and she accepted him from his daddy.
“And you, princess.” He knelt to hug his daughter. “We’ll Skype every day. Behave for Mommy.”
“He’s wearing his sunglasses inside because he’s famous,” Maddie confided over his shoulder.
Stormy smiled. “I guessed,” she said, but his voice gave him away. She glanced at Kayla’s frozen expression. “How about we walk to the gate and Mommy can catch us up?”
Panic entered Kayla’s eyes. “I’m sure Jared doesn’t—”
“Yeah,” he interrupted. “I do have something to say.”
“Jared,” she said brokenly.
“Please. I won’t ask you to change your mind.”
Stormy exchanged glances with Dimity and they took the kids away.
“It’s ’cause Daddy wants to show Mommy his tattoo,” Maddie confided. She scowled at her baby brother who was chewing on Stormy’s present. “Rocco, no!”
“What tattoo?” Dimity asked and Stormy paused from wrestling her present away from Rocco to give her a repressive look. “It’s really none of—”
“Stop being noble, you want to know as much as I do… Here.” Dimity gave Rocco
one of her bangles to chew. “Go ahead, Maddie.”
“It’s on Daddy’s shoulder and it says my name an’ Rocco’s name an’ Mommy’s name and he says it will never wash off. It stays on forever and ever… Why is Stormy crying?”
“Because she’s a wuss,” Dimity supplied, steering her away while Stormy tried to pull herself together, “not like you and me.”
“I’m gonna get a real tattoo too,” Maddie said, “soon as I’m growed.”
“Good for you! Here’s Mommy now.”
Oh God. Frantically rubbing her face against Rocco’s small shoulder, Stormy looked up with a watery smile. Now Kayla wore sunglasses. “You okay?” she murmured while Dimity distracted Madison with money.
“Yeah.” She smiled at Stormy, a wide and relieved grin, as she took her baby. “I think we’ll all be okay.”
* * *
“You okay?” Smothering a yawn, Elizabeth folded her legs under her in the chair. The lamp beside her cast a golden glow on her freckles. Her red curls were all over the place and she wore white flannel pajamas with black-spotted puppies on them. “It’s two a.m. in New Zealand.”
“Is it? I must have screwed up the time conversion.” A lie; he’d just desperately needed to see her, which was why he’d insisted they switch from cell to Skype. “But yeah, I’m fine.”
He’d got through another concert last night with a little help from his friends.
“Are you sure?” She peered at him. “Either you’re pale or the brightness needs adjusting.” Elizabeth started fiddling with the buttons at the bottom of her screen.
“This stage of a tour leg, you’re always wiped.” One down, seven to go and then he could cancel if he had to. He could do this.
“I’m resisting the urge to recommend vitamins and review your diet because I’ve seen your regimen and your self-discipline is way better than mine. You should have seen my helping of pavlova at dinner. Are you sleeping?”
“I’m missing your warm body in bed.”
“Zander, we rarely slept,” she reminded him. “And never spent a whole night together. I made you sneak out at dawn.”
