Chapter 24 - Setlist
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Setlist
Tristan stood in front of his open wardrobe, freshly showered and contemplating what to wear.
Just as he was about to make a decision, a knock interrupted his thoughts.
It had only been an hour since he returned.
He had spent the night at Leaf’s, hoping Leaf would return to bed with him.
Sleep had been elusive, and Tristan was already missing several hours of it.
Dressed only in black jeans, Tristan walked to the entrance and opened the apartment door. José stood outside, staring at the leaf-covered terrace. When he turned to Tristan, he raised his eyebrows and scrutinized him, his gaze lingering on Tristan’s forearm, wrapped in a fresh bandage.
The wound had healed well over the past three weeks, but the scar tissue was thin and sensitive to sunlight, prompting Tristan to keep the bandage on for a while longer.
“Hey!” José said cheerfully. “Are you ready?”
“Hi,” Tristan mumbled, shielding his eyes from the sun with his arm as its rays beamed directly into his face.
“We said two o’clock. Get dressed!” José reminded him.
Tristan left José standing and returned to the room.
From the wardrobe, he pulled out a slightly oversized black shirt—preferring the comfort of loose clothing over feeling constrained.
Leaving the top three buttons undone, he tucked the shirt into his pants and slipped on his shoes.
Grabbing his wallet and putting on his sunglasses, he left the apartment.
“Ready?” José asked, rising from one of the loungers.
Tristan grunted in agreement.
“Isn’t Leaf here?”
“I wouldn’t have called you otherwise, would I?” Tristan replied monotonously.
After Leaf failed to return home by eight in the morning, Tristan saw no other option but to call José. He used Milo’s phone, which had been in a box in the living room since his death, along with his wallet, car keys, and a few bracelets.
“You could have taken the Chevelle,” José suggested as they passed Milo’s car.
“I could have …”
But he wasn’t ready for that yet. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow morning, but not now. So he got into José’s car without any guilt and closed the door. Thanks to the air conditioning, it was already pleasantly cool.
“Can we make a quick stop at Valerie’s?”
Valerie’s was on the way and only five minutes from Tristan’s home. It was the place in the area for the best sandwiches.
“Sure,” José replied as he revered the car. “But you do realize we’re already running late.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Tristan countered with a smile. “You’re only showing up now.”
“You know the traffic in this city. And Iggy’s car is still in the shop. You could give him the Chevelle; it would save me a lot of driving time.”
Tristan didn’t respond to that. He would never give Milo’s car to anyone—and José knew that too well. Too many memories were attached to it. After all, they had come here from Vegas with this car.
José parked in front of Valerie’s, and they entered the store together.
They ordered sandwiches and waited at a small table in the air-conditioned dining area.
After picking up their to-go order, they headed to the Gaucho.
During the drive through traffic, Tristan rested his arm on the window, mentally reviewing the setlist. Eventually, he retrieved his black notebook and a small pen from his back pocket, jotting down notes.
“The setlist?” José asked.
“Yeah …”
“Why is it suddenly so important to you?”
“It has always been important to me,” he murmured, concentrating.
“You do realize that Andrej won’t just accept it like that?” José asked, amused.
“He’ll have to,” Tristan replied. “There’s no other option.”
There was silence for a while until José turned from Alvarado onto 7th Street.
“I really hope Leaf shows up. Andrej is already waiting for his next mistake.”
“He’ll come.”
“Like he showed up at the Standard yesterday?” José asked, giving him a quick glance. “I met Andrej later at the Gaucho. He told me what happened. Damn, Tris, why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because … it’s already too far in the past and I …”
“That Clint caught you off guard. Fuck … And Leaf knew?”
“Mhm …”
“That was nice of him to drop everything and come to your rescue.”
“Yeah.”
When José stopped in front of the Gaucho, Leaf’s car was nowhere in sight.
Still, Tristan hoped he had already arrived and parked a few streets away—which was nonsense.
The sound of thumping bass emanated from the rehearsal room.
Tristan carried the food, while José marched ahead and held the door open for him.
“Hey! Guys!” Andrej called out, abruptly stopping his playing.
Tristan attempted to smile, though it proved challenging.
Leaf’s absence felt like a setback after they had spent so many enjoyable hours together yesterday.
Despite this, Tristan’s appetite hadn’t waned.
Feeling hungry, he sat down on the couch and ate his sandwich. José joined him, doing the same.
“No! You went to Valerie’s?” Andrej said enviously.
José tore open the paper bag further and pulled out a sandwich for Andrej.
“What? You guys thought of me? Thanks!”
The three of them sat in the corner of the sofa, enjoying their sandwiches. There was one left for Leaf, and if he showed up, Tristan would make sure he ate it too.
“Tris,” Andrej said with a mouthful. “Why do I give you a phone if you’re only gonna leave it lying around? I already gave Carol the number so the lawyer can reach you.”
The phone was right in front of Tristan, so he picked it up and glanced briefly at the screen. Indeed, there were a few missed calls and a voicemail. Without saying a word, he placed the phone back down so he couldn’t see the screen.
“You can’t keep avoiding dealing with this,” Andrej said. “About yesterday … I’m not blaming you, but I could’ve had your back better if I had known.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Tristan said calmly. “Who would’ve thought Clint would just drop that story out of nowhere?”
“Well,” José interjected. “It’s Clint.”
“You should lay low on news and social media for a few days. They’re tearing the whole thing apart. But it’s on the list now. No reporter’s gonna touch it again.”
It hurt Tristan that such a list was even necessary.
All he wanted was to write songs and engage with people about music and poetry.
But instead, the world seemed to prioritize stories about blood-stained children who had endured hours beside their deceased parents, carrying the trauma of their experiences with them.
“Speaking of lists … I have a new setlist.”
“Oh, yeah? Let’s see it then?”
Tristan retrieved a blank sheet of paper from among a few song sheets and listed the songs one below the other with a thick black marker. He then handed the new list to Andrej and José, who studied it. Andrej reacted promptly by raising an eyebrow.
“Seriously?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“What’s wrong with it?” Andrej repeated.
Now Tristan lifted his eyebrows and peered at José, who was still focused on the list.
“Uh … let’s see,” Andrej said. “You want to start with our hit, our first single. And then you want to—how many are there?—bring four songs that aren’t even on the album?”
Tristan nodded, while José removed off his shoes, laughing as he sat down behind the drums.
“Are you okay with this?”
“Why not?” José replied.
“Come on!” Andrej exclaimed, turning back to Tristan. “You can see it’s totally illogical.”
“You don’t understand,” Tristan replied. “We’re telling stories, and they have certain connections. No one wants the ending at the beginning. This has a concept.”
“Why don’t we introduce more songs from the new album after the first one? It’s too risky otherwise.”
“This is our chance to stand out from all the entertainment noise.”
“Sorry to say this, but that's what we do,” Andrej said, leaning back. “We entertain! Do you think people will grasp this concept? Nobody cares.”
“I’m not concerned about the audience; it’s our mindset on stage that counts.”
Andrej’s expression changed. He bristled and walked toward him with eyes gleaming. “Are you implying that my mindset is wrong? Tristan, watch what you’re saying!”
Tristan was still sitting on the couch, holding Andrej’s gaze. He hadn’t implied anything. But maybe it wouldn’t hurt for the bassist to think about it for a moment.
“Hey!” José called out.
“I can’t believe it!” Andrej snapped. “I don’t need to listen to this!”
“Calm down,” José said, emerging from behind the drums.
“We can’t do it like this!”
Tristan remembered Andrej’s suggestion to replace Leaf—which hadn’t officially reached him yet. But at that moment, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know. So he stood up and stepped toward Andrej. With a serious expression, he faced the bassist, tilting his head slightly to the side.
“I’m sure I can find a bassist willing to play my setlist. Since Leaf and I were the ones who wrote all these songs, these—what do you call them again—masterpieces.”
Andrej stood motionless, staring at him. Tristan shrugged, while their glances clashed in a short silent battle.
“Fine. Whatever. Do what you want,” Andrej finally relented. “If that’s what you really want, fine. But if the audience doesn’t respond to it after three gigs at the latest, we’ll change the setlist again.”
Tristan nodded and fetched his guitar.
“Okay,” José said, sighing with relief. “Let’s play!”
“And where the hell is our guitarist?” Andrej asked, scowling.
“He’ll show up.” Tristan suppressed any doubts that arose from his words.