Chapter Eight
Malik
Mama Murthi glared at me over her cup of tea.
“What?” I had to feign ignorance. That might at least buy me some time. I was better off just leaving, but she’d said she wanted to talk to me. So I sat in her kitchen on a rainy afternoon, waiting for her message from on high.
“Creed showed me the concert footage.”
Of Grindstone.
At Rocktoberfest.
The quality hadn’t been great and, of course, the sound had been hard to hear. But I’d watched the footage dozens of times.
Mesmerized, I’d followed each song carefully—trying to figure out why they put each song in the order they had.
Trying to divine how they were so successful while Razor Made languished in near-obscurity.
Then they’d brought the house down with their new song, “In Another Life”.
At the end, their lead singer Axel, had looked out into the crowd.
Someone had shouted something at him, and he replied they were all taken.
Does that mean he’s with his teacher? Are they going to come out?
Axel and Ed, the bassist, had cultivated personas of men who liked women. They were certainly seen with enough of them. Now Ed was with documentary filmmaker Thornton, and Axel apparently was with his former high school teacher, Hugo.
In a way, that blew my mind. Otherwise, it simply confirmed someone could come out as gay and lose almost no fans. Since I’d always been out, I’d worried we might not get fans in the first place. We had some loyal ones, though.
Mama continued to stare at me.
I continued to sip my coffee. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“Big place. Lots of noise. Disreputable.”
Two years ago, a rocker had died of an OD. That had cast a pall over the event and, even though I hadn’t been there, I’d heard. “I’m not disreputable. Grindstone isn’t disreputable.”
“My friend Renee is best friends with Hugo Threadgold.”
I wracked my brains. “Axel’s former teacher? The one who’s back in his life? The guy from that kiss video?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Ah, so you do pay attention. Good to know. Yes, Axel and Hugo are…circling each other.”
“What does that even mean?”
“You need to find a nice boy and settle down. Renee said Ed and Thornton are married. It looks like Axel might get together with Hugo. Meg and Big Mac are together. Even Songbird might be with someone. But that’s hush-hush.”
My eyes widened. “How do you know all this?” I snapped my fingers. “Right, friend of a friend. I won’t ask how you know each other.”
“She’s a teacher. I represented one of her students in a court case. She gave testimony. Darn good stuff. Got the kid acquitted—which was good, because the girl hadn’t done what she was accused of.” She took another sip of her tea.
I tried to digest her news. I was single—as were Creed, Reese, and Freddie.
We took our music seriously, and that meant no permanent attachments.
Didn’t mean all of us didn’t have hookup apps on our phone.
Well, except Reese. I could never be certain where she found partners for her liaisons—her word, not mine.
She didn’t brag about her conquests, but she often smiled and said she was satisfied.
I took that to mean well-sated. “What are you saying?”
“You all need to find permanent partners. People who will support you in your music endeavor, but who will also keep your egos in check.”
My knee-jerk reaction was to argue. I didn’t need a partner.
I didn’t need a keeper. I certainly didn’t need a husband.
“I think you do a great job at keeping our egos in check.” I rose, pressed a kiss to her cheek, dumped the dregs of my coffee down the drain, put the mug in the dishwasher, and waved my farewell.
“You be a good boy.” She wagged her finger at me.
I pressed my hand to my chest, imitating being wounded. “I’m always a good boy.”
“Ha.” She barked out her laugh just as Papa Murthi shuffled into the kitchen.
The married couple were almost the same age.
Butt while Mama was spry, intense, and wicked smart, Papa had lost a step or two in the couple of years I’d known him.
He shuffled more, spoke less, and he wasn’t always coherent.
Mama and Creed didn’t appear ready to acknowledge the change. I couldn’t force them to face reality. Hopefully Papa was getting good medical care, and a doctor was following him closely.
I gave his arm a squeeze.
He met my gaze, frowned, then smiled. “You’re such a good boy.”
Mama barked out more laughter as I took my leave. I drove straight to Spencer’s office and presented myself to Bonnie with as little attitude as possible.
She gave me the once-over.
“I just want to talk to him.”
“I’m not certain he wants to talk to you.” She had her hand on her hip.
Brushing past her would be easy enough—but that likely meant laying hands on her and no way was I going to do that. “I promise to be good.”
She laughed.
“No, truly. I can be a good guy. I can behave.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Do you even understand what we’re fighting for?”
“For Indigenous tribes to have their ancestral lands recognized as their own and for the environment to be protected. Of course, I understand.”
“Do you also see that it’s mostly white folks fighting for this?”
“Are you saying I can’t join you because I’m not white? Because I’m Black?”
“No. You misunderstand. We welcome everyone. But we also ask them to abide by rules and use decorum.”
Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“Polite and decorous doesn’t always get the job done.” I gestured to the photo of the founder or the organization. Maude Ransom. “She wasn’t always polite and decorous.”
“And she never accomplished as much in life as she wanted. She changed some hearts and minds—but not all. Even she recognized her limitations. Her desire, when she passed, was that her legacy be carried on. That work be done in her name.”
“Okay.” I frowned. “But you need money, right?”
“We’re surviving. That said, additional funds are always a good thing—as long as they’re not the proceeds of crime or something.”
I waved my hand as if to wave off her suggestion I might do anything untoward. “I’m a saint.”
“You’re anything but.” Spencer’s dry tone had me pivoting to find him close behind me.
I didn’t even sense him. He must move stealthily.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Forestal? I’m really quite busy, and—”
“Razor Made wants to create an anthem for This Land is Ours. To use as you see fit. Maybe even to overlay a video you create that explains your mission. Or maybe you pull it out at your next rally. Or—”
He held up his hand. “I get the picture and am not interested, Mr. Forestal. Thank you for dropping by and please attempt not to get in trouble again—”
“Hey.” I frowned. “That thing you supported got approved.”
“No thanks to you.” He frowned right back. “Perhaps the project was always going to be green-lit. But your impassioned speech—”
I rolled my eyes.
“—didn’t make much sense and upset the mayor. And got attention from the local press.”
Ah. So that’s the problem—he’s jealous. “I’m sure if you contact the media that you can get your name in—”
“That’s not the point.”
“That’s always the point.” Bonnie stepped between the two of us as she said the words. “I’m going to make this clear.” She gazed at me. “You’re going to be rational, calm, and polite.”
Pretty much exactly what Mama Murthi was demanding of me.
Bonnie turned to Spencer. “And you’ve going to be rational, calm, and polite.”
I puffed out my chest. Ha. She saw him as highhanded and rude as well. Score one for me.
“I’m always polite and—” Spencer cut off as the petite woman glared at him. She was almost half-a-foot shorter than me, and I was a few good inches shorter than him. The difference between the two of them was almost a foot.
And yet, clearly, Bonnie considered herself in charge around here. I didn’t smile. Well, I didn’t smile too much. I liked watching her put her boss—the arrogant Spencer Wainright—in his place.
His green eyes flashed as his gaze traveled from Bonnie to me and back again. Finally, he shrugged. “I’ll listen to what he has to say. If I don’t like it, though, then I have the right to show him to the door.”
“Well, I suppose.” Bonnie pointed her finger at him. “But I think you need to listen to him. He’s worth paying attention to.”
Her words warmed me because compliments about me were rare.
Creed occasionally remembered. Reese was decent.
Freddie was useless, and Mama Murthi only praised me when I’d done a really good job.
So, despite Spencer’s vague acquiescence to allow me entry—for at least a few minutes—it was the beginning of either a thawing in our relationship or the entire demise.
I just couldn’t figure out which it was based on what had just happened.