September 1993 #2
If only theirs was a world where he could have them both and they’d all agree that it was best for everyone.
Then, instead of this simmering desire that tormented him everywhere he went, he’d be calm again.
He’d feel like he did in his prime, when he was younger and cockier and everything was so fucking easy.
Back when the band felt like a cohesive unit, with the guys blindly following his lead, trusting his intuition.
They used to be the lucky ones. People in the business marveled at them for staying in sync all these years.
Now they were just another fractured band with fragile egos and too much water under the bridge.
None of that was Claudia’s fault though.
Things were on the rocks before she showed up in their lives.
Only Zane knew the truth. She had saved them.
But his need to be with her was upsetting the delicate balance that kept the band going.
Mike could tell. He’d picked up on it all those months ago when he walked in on them singing together at the studio.
And he’d never trusted him fully again. It was insulting. It was unreasonable. It was accurate.
So, Zane promised himself he’d never cross the line.
Never betray his best friend. Never give in, no matter what happened between Claudia and Mike.
In his best moments, when things were good at home, Zane was happy for Mike, who had finally found a woman he wanted to be with for life.
In his worst moments, Zane was petty and jealous and furious that he had to hide his feelings.
After all, he was the one who saw something special in Claudia.
He should’ve gotten first dibs. He was the talent behind their success—the frontman, the face and voice of a band that repeatedly knocked the Stones and U2 off the charts.
Footage of him alone filled their music videos, and it was Zane’s poster hanging on bedroom walls of teenage girls around the world.
Not Mike’s. Without Zane, Mike would be back in Spokane working as a driver’s ed instructor or a plumber.
Mike should be eternally grateful. He should’ve known that Zane chose Claudia for himself, and that he needed her to keep it all going for the rest of them.
The moment they showed up at the stadium that day, Zane knew things were as bad as he feared.
Mike had made an excuse about Claudia running late so they wouldn’t be able to go in the limo with Zane, Rusty, and Steve.
The ride over was quiet, with both of his buddies avoiding eye contact with him.
He could’ve chosen to say something, but he didn’t.
Screw ‘em if they didn’t understand. When Mike walked onto the stage for rehearsal, Claudia was following several paces behind, like a commoner who’d married a king.
The sight of it made Zane’s hands ball up into tight fists.
Mike stalked past Zane over to his guitar, then picked it up and slung the strap over his shoulder without a word.
Zane glanced over at Steven in time to see him exchange a ‘here we go’ look with Rusty.
Claudia took her place at a microphone near the drum kit, where she stood for most of their songs, out of the way, there to support the band without shining too brightly.
It was late afternoon, and the sun beat down on the stage, causing a trickle of sweat to slide down Zane’s spine.
The heat and humidity suffocated him, which seemed like the perfect metaphor for his life right now.
A distant clap of thunder warned them the show might have to be canceled, while at the same time adding a spark to the already charged air.
The crew was still putting the final touches on the elaborate stage, finishing the last of the three small satellite stages that were connected to the main stage by long bridges.
On the stadium floor, a smattering of employees set up chairs as quietly as possible, all of whom were watching while hoping they didn’t look like that’s what they were doing.
A handful of reporters stood near the front, taking photos and notes, and chatting with the radio DJs that were lucky enough to get in for rehearsal.
Dean was backstage quietly going over instructions with the stage manager.
Mike and Rusty tuned their guitars. No one said hello to each other. No one smiled. No one joked about the stifling heat. That stupid article hung over them like a cloud, heavy with rain. When Dean finally walked out, it was a relief. He would calm things down. That’s what Dean did.
Only this time, he didn’t.
He held copies of the setlist in his hand. He gave one to Claudia first, then Rusty and Steven. “You’ll notice I’ve changed it a bit for tonight.”
Zane’s head snapped back. “And you think you can do that, why exactly?”
Dean handed the page to Mike, then brought it to Zane, glaring while he chewed his gum. “Because I’m the manager, and sometimes you guys need managing.”
Snatching the paper from Dean’s hand, he scanned it, only to see Claudia’s song had been removed, and in its place was ‘Faded Denim.’ He thrust the page back at him. “Nope. Not happening.”
“Dean’s right,” Mike said. “This is the call.”
“Like hell it is,” Zane told him. “And it’s not his call to make.”
“I vote we do it Dean’s way,” Rusty said.
“I second,” Steven put in.
Rage filled Zane’s blood, and he snorted like a bull about to charge. “I don’t recall this being a democracy.”
“Are you goddamn kidding me right now?” Mike asked. “Who are you even? Because I can’t seem to find my friend anywhere in there.”
“Who am I?” Zane retorted, his words louder than they should have been with reporters nearby. “Who AM I?”
“Yeah, you used to be my best friend, but now, I don’t know what the fuck you are. Just some raging asshole with a hard-on for my girlfriend.”
“Okay, that’s enough, Mike,” Dean snapped. “That’s not fair and it’s not true. Now, I know you’re upset about the article. That’s understandable. They dealt you a dirty blow this time around, but there’s no need to get crazy.”
“That’s right,” Zane said. “I didn’t do anything wrong, and neither did the woman you claim to love over there, who you treat like shit, by the way.” He glanced at Claudia. “You can do better. You know that, right?”
Her mouth dropped open. A second later, her eyes filled with fear and resentment, not the appreciation he assumed he’d get.
He turned back to Mike. “And if you’re going to believe some asshole journalist over the two of us, you can go fuck yourself.”
“You go fuck yourself,” Mike said. “Your wife certainly won’t do it after reading that shitty rag.”
“Aww, come on, Mike,” Rusty muttered. “You’re gonna make it worse.”
Zane saw their exchange and knew immediately that Rusty must have spoken to Kitty, who must have spoken to Sienna. “What don’t I know, Russ?”
Rusty shook his head. “Nothing man. Don’t worry about it.”
“Did Sienna call Kitty crying and accusing me of something I didn’t do?”
“She’s just embarrassed, you know? It’s understandable given the circumstances,” Rusty said. “We expect a lot from our wives, man. We gotta cut them some slack here and there.”
“What about Claudia? Can we possibly cut her some fucking slack too?” Zane shouted. “It seems to me that she’s the one who’s gonna get hurt the worst from this.” Turning to Mike, he yelled, “But I doubt you give a shit about that, do you? Because it’s not the Mike show and you can’t stand it.”
“No, Zane, it’s fine. I don’t want to cause more dam—” Claudia started, but it was too late. Mike was already rushing at Zane, his fists up, guitar hanging off-kilter across his torso.
“You wanna go?” Zane asked, laughing as if this was a great joke.
“Yeah, I wanna fucking go,” Mike spat out. “This is twenty years overdue.”
“Seriously? You think you can take me, you little shit?” Zane shouted, shoving Mike in the chest, and knocking him back.
Mike stumbled but didn’t fall. Instead, he caught himself and ran at Zane. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
“No! Do not fight, you two assholes!” Dean yelled, getting between them just in time to catch a right hook to the cheek.
Zane shoved Dean out of the way and let loose a barrage of punches, catching Mike’s left eye, then splitting his lip.
Within seconds, Steven and Dean managed to tackle the pair to the ground.
The audience had gone silent, except for the clicks of the cameras and the odd gasp.
The stadium staff had completely forgotten they were supposed to be pretending to mind their own business.
The thunder rolled again, closer this time.
Dean, who was on top of Zane, held his arms down, his cheek swelling up. “You done?”
Already ashamed, Zane said, “Yeah.”
“Are you done?!” Dean shouted at him.
“I already said I was,” Zane ground out. “Get the fuck off me.”
“Enough of this shit,” Dean told him, getting up. He pointed at Mike, who had stopped trying to fight Steven and was lying limp on the stage, his lip bleeding and his eye already turning purple. “Are you done?” Dean asked him.
Mike got up, then shoved Steven. “Let go of me.”
“I shouldn’t have had to do that,” Steven muttered. He glared back and forth between Mike and Zane. “You two assholes better get your shit together before you fuck everything up for the rest of us.” He glanced at Claudia and shook his head. “Over a girl? Fuckin’ hell.”
He stormed off the stage, while Zane and Mike stood, both panting and glaring at each other. It was anyone’s guess if they were about to go another round. Especially theirs.
“Jesus Christ,” Claudia said, turning and walking off the stage.
Dean touched his cheek. “Fucking idiots,” he hissed. “Get backstage.”
It was a relief to be in the green room and out of the late day sun. Zane stretched out his fingers, the pain in his knuckles adding to his remorse. He was too old to act like a schoolboy, and there was far too much at stake.