Chapter 27 - Thai Food
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Thai Food
Tristan flinched as the door slammed shut behind Leaf. He hadn’t expected the end of the band practice to be so abrupt. Eleven songs. A bit more than half of their set. Memories of the album release concert inevitably surfaced—at least the ones not lost in the dense fog of alcohol and grief.
There had to be a way to prevent the tour from turning out just as disastrously, but Tristan had no idea how to accomplish that. As the frontman, he considered it his duty to keep the band together. Yet, given the past four days, he couldn’t draw a particularly encouraging conclusion.
He wanted to return and show—no, prove—that Nightstalker was ready to present their new album to the world. The clock was ticking because he had given himself until Saturday. The concert at the Whisky would be the litmus test. But so far, he had nothing to show for it.
He felt blocked.
The interview with Clint had thrown him into a whirlpool, where he would have almost drowned if Leaf hadn’t saved him.
And if Leaf hadn’t come up with that absurd confession of guilt, he would have believed the crisis was over, that Leaf and he had reunited, and nothing stood in the way of the upcoming tour. But Leaf’s escape left him puzzled.
“Cono! What was that?” José slapped Andrej on the upper arm.
“What?” Andrej asked, rubbing his jaw. “Man! That guy packs a punch.” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and held it to his face.
“That’s not funny!”
“What?”
“What you said!”
Andrej sank into the couch, reclining back with a sigh. “Are you kidding me? I’m the victim here!”
“Not everyone had as sheltered an upbringing as you, Novak!”
“I’m not …”
“Were you beaten? Or did your father extinguish burning cigarettes on your arm? Where do you think all his scars come from?”
Andrej stared at him with wide eyes. “So, I had a sheltered upbringing. So what? What should I do? I screwed up. Fine. I couldn’t have known he would freak out like that. Should I apologize? Is that what you want? I can do that!”
“Forget it,” José grumbled, also sitting on the couch. “Just never bring it up again.”
“Oh! I can do that! No problem! Let’s do it like Leaf.” Andrej’s sarcasm dripped like venom as he turned his attention to Tristan. “We’ll just sweep it under the rug. Seems like the best solution to me.”
Tristan turned away from Andrej, refusing to engage. Even if he was completely aware that Andrej was right and the problems were piling up like crap, he lacked the energy for it.
Andrej placed the unopened beer on the table and packed his things. “Okay, whatever you guys want. I’m meeting Chris at the Whisky. See what equipment we need to bring.” Before he left with a raised hand, he added over his shoulder, “Since no one else seems to care.”
Tristan sighed, wondering how they had managed to remain conflict-free for so long.
And now, as if a single stone had set an entire cliff in motion, an avalanche was rolling over them.
Their luck seemed to have run out. One couldn’t even blame Andrej because, in everything he said, he was right.
Tristan unplugged the cable from the amp and coiled it around his elbow.
“Aren’t we rehearsing tomorrow anymore?” José asked, surprised.
Tristan paused. “I doubt Leaf will show up,” he said, placing the cable on the amplifier. “In that sense, this was merely a botched dress rehearsal.”
“So, Saturday should go smoothly then,” José joked. “It’s okay. I’m sure Andrej and I will be here tomorrow to go over the songs again. If you want to drop by …”
Tristan gaped at the chaos on the table.
“Let’s go get something to eat,” José suggested. “How about Thai?”
“Do I have a choice?” Tristan asked with a sly smile.
“Not as long as I’m driving you around.”
After packing their belongings, they left the rehearsal room.
Around six o’clock, they reached the restaurant and even got their favorite table by the window.
They had eaten here together after band practice—often with Milo, who had set himself the goal of trying out the entire menu.
As Tristan scanned the menu, he couldn’t help but wonder if he should continue Milo’s tradition and order Rad Nah.
The waitress greeted them with a warm smile and filled their glasses with refreshing cucumber water.
“Beer?” José asked.
Tristan nodded and continued to study the menu.
“Two Singha,” José said, diving back into the menu. “What are you having?”
“Rad Nah.”
“No curry?”
“Too hot for that.”
Leaf was the one who almost always opted for curry, ensuring there were never two identical dishes on the table.
Shortly after, the waitress returned with the beer, and they placed their order. Tristan didn’t even notice how lost in thought he was until José raised his glass to toast.
“Okay, what’s up? Tell me.”
“Probably too much,” Tristan murmured, taking a sip.
“Right now, everyone’s acting like we’ve released the album of the century, while it seems like the lights are going out for us.
Ultimately, music is just music. Whether it’s written by Lennon, Morrison, or Cobain.
Sure, I always wanted to create something unique, but with all the hype around the album, I’m starting to feel more and more like it’s just a copy of all the crap that already exists. But I love our songs.”
“Isn’t it about being able to distinguish all the crap? From where I stand, we’ve put out an awesome album—something unique. Let someone try to replicate that. It doesn’t matter what the media is saying about you right now; the quality of your music remains unchallenged.”
Tristan forced a smile and let his gaze wander around the small restaurant.
The faux stone wall, the red leather bench, the maroon wooden chairs, and the flickering candles on the black tables in the dimly lit room contributed to the cozy place.
But from the outside, it looked anything but inviting.
Had it not been for Leaf bringing him here, he would never have thought of stepping inside this place.
“We’ve written a masterpiece,” Tristan said thoughtfully. “I expose myself naked to the world, only to realize that the masses would rather buzz around the crap pile I tried to forget.”
“Not all people are like that.”
Tristan sighed and turned the beer bottle in his hands.
Since he woke up this morning, he had been carrying an eerie sadness.
It weighed more than he did. His heart felt like lead, and his limbs were heavy as rocks.
“I’m tired. There are way too many secrets swirling around us right now.
That Andrej hasn’t lost his shit yet is nothing short of a miracle.
Am I’m the mystery?” Tristan shook his head in disbelief.
“Leaf’s a whole pitch-dark cave full of booby traps and dead ends. ”
José’s lips curled into a weak smile.
“Tell me something about him,” Tristan urged him. “Something that makes me believe we’ll overcome this chaos.”
“We certainly will. And I’m sure—”
“No, don’t give me that,” Tristan interjected. “Yesterday, for a moment, I thought we could make it, but Leaf blames himself for Milo’s death. One step forward and three steps back.”
José sighed. “He just needs a little time. He loves you. I know that.”
Tristan ran a hand through his dark curls and drew a deep breath.
“I’m trying to understand him. But right now, it’s so damn hard for me.
How could he come up with such a crazy idea?
” He let out a resigned snort. “Maybe we came together for all the wrong reasons. Maybe it’s not enough for the past to remain a secret. ”
There was silence for a while. Tristan practiced patience, sensing from José’s expression that he was deep in thought about Leaf and getting more serious by the moment.
“I always thought the past didn’t matter,” José finally said. “But right now, I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know about Leaf’s father?”
“The asshole who beat his son black and blue?”
“My parents let us set up a rehearsal space in the garage. Leaf practically lived there, spending all his free time and even sleeping there sometimes. We didn’t realize it until one day, I found him hidden behind the amplifiers.
I offered him my room, but he refused. He was always quiet, sometimes to an extreme.
He thought he could hide the truth with silence, but I could see it in the way he moved.
He must have had bruises all over; he never wore short sleeves.
Music was his sanctuary. He escaped into guitar playing, idolizing musicians like Joe Pass and delving into jazz for a while.
Through my father, he discovered tango and mastered intricate pieces by fourteen.
Around fifteen, he started going to Chinatown more and more, though I didn’t know anyone in that area or how he got there. I heard rumors about opium smoking.”
José searched for his beer. “He was hooked on it. Kind of understandable,” he said, taking a big sip.
“Why didn’t anyone do anything about it when everyone knew?” Tristan asked, shaken.
“We did what we could.”
“But his father—”
“Was a cop. Believe me. We did what we could. The first time he ran away from home, he was fifteen. And it wasn’t the last time.
The police kept bringing him home. I couldn’t and didn’t want to imagine what awaited him there.
Then he would show up again a few days later.
Strangely, I never felt like he regretted running away. ”
Tristan took a sip of his beer. “That doesn’t exactly give me the assurance that we’ll overcome this chaos.”
“Sorry,” José replied, raising his eyebrows. “And what about you?”
“What about me?” Tristan leaned back. “I’m completely out of sorts.”
In a conspiratorial deep voice, José said, “We’re going to live mostly on a bus for the next few months. Tickets have been sold, and a lot of people are waiting to see us play. That’s a reason to be excited. There’s nothing better than that.”
“Maybe,” Tristan murmured. “I really don’t know anything anymore right now. And your confidence is kind of annoying.”
José pursed his lips and looked at him with an open gaze. “Can you do me a favor?”
“What?” Tristan asked, a note of suspicion in his tone.
“Before you freak out again, talk to us. I’m here. We’re all here. We’ve got your back. But please, don’t just run away again.”
Tristan felt guilty about it. “That was … not panic, but pure despair.”
José frowned at his candor, staring at him with a mix of disbelief and horror. It was difficult for Tristan to meet his gaze, so he fiddled with the napkin and gazed out the window.
“I went to my parents’ grave and brought back Milo’s pendant to them. I can’t remember anything that happened after that.”
“Tris …”
“I wanted to come back and remind myself how much music meant to me. Nightstalker. Leaf. But the day after tomorrow is already the concert and …”
“You can’t expect everything to go back to how it was within six days.”
“If we don’t make it by Saturday, I foresee dark clouds ahead for the tour.”
“You’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”
“I lost so much time in that clinic. I could have spent it better on …”
“Stop it, Tris!” José exclaimed. “You’re painting doomsday scenarios here. Do you think Dr. Snider would have let you go if he wasn’t convinced you could handle it? I heard you were apathetic in the first week after the accident.”
“I was probably in shock.”
“Redirecting the conversation to your brother was impossible.”
“It’s not like that’s changed much.”
“But it did. You’re sitting here with me, talking about how you were at your parents’ grave. I don’t need a degree in psychology for that. I’m sure even Snider would call it progress.”
Tristan rested his elbows on the table, his thoughts returning to Leaf. “We were so close yesterday. And then he disappears and … He’s not talking to me anymore.”
José understood and nodded. “Focus on what you can control, not on what you can’t.”
“That’s much easier said than done.”
“I know.”
When the waitress brought their food, Tristan pushed his beer and the candle to the edge of the table. José placed his rice bowl on the other side of his plate, and Tristan served himself some noodles.
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” José said with a spoon in his hand.
“I hope you’re right,” Tristan replied and began to eat.