Chapter 16
brODIE
THREE HOURS BEFORE SHOWTIME
“Where’s my guitar strap?” I asked, looking around the stage. “And the mic isn’t working again. What’s going on?”
All afternoon, it had been like this.
A few items we’d stored in the drafty dressing rooms went missing. The lights flickered on and off. Strange echoes filtered into the theater.
And, of course, the tech was twitchy at best.
I had to wonder if it was the state of the old building or one of our road crew playing Halloween tricks on us.
Or both.
But so far, everyone I’d asked was as mystified as I was about what was going on.
“Maybe it’s the ghost,” Holls yelled out.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked.
Holls walked over to me and lowered his voice.
“So, Tommy was talking to the maintenance guy, and apparently, there’s a ghost who lives in this building.
In 1975, the most popular local band in New Orleans played here on Halloween night.
The band started the concert by announcing their breakup, and at the end of the show, the singer collapsed and died.
Can you believe it? The guy was so distraught over the breakup of the band, his heart gave out.
And now his lonely spirit roams the building. ”
I rolled my eyes at Holls’s dramatic tale. “Maybe you should consider an acting career since you obviously enjoy make-believe.”
Holls gave me two middle fingers in response.
Ace came running out of the wings, handed me my strap, and then checked the mic.
“Sorry, guys. I went over the setup early this morning with Tommy. It was fine. Everything was in its place and working as it should be. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“It’s okay, Ace. Maybe the theater staff moved stuff around. It’ll all work out in the end,” I replied, giving him a reassuring nod while he checked the mic.
I didn’t know if it would, but it was always good to be confident.
Ace was the best at what he did, and he’d never let us down.
This was a one-off situation.
But the next time I did something like this, I’d hand over the venue selection to someone who knew about these things.
Apparently, this know-it-all didn’t, in fact, know it all.
At least I’d done the smart thing this morning and rested my voice. Tea with honey and no talking. To anyone.
Until now, of course.
I hadn’t sung since rehearsal (except one song at that private party), and I wanted to be prepared in case the mics did go out, and I had to sing with nothing to accompany me but the acoustics in the venue. It rarely happened, but I’d done it before.
Projecting your voice for that kind of performance was no easy feat.
I’d plan for the worst and hope for the best.
Speaking of best… I looked around the theater, but my favorite person was MIA.
I knew Van was working. I saw him downstairs, heading into one of the dressing rooms while talking on the phone.
At my request, Ace had placed one of my guitars in there for Van to use. Knowing him as I did, Van was probably already practicing for our duet.
Just thinking about being on stage with him had all the nerves in my belly lighting up like fireflies on a summer night.
I just knew that singing with, and to, my Van, was gonna be the most memorable performance of my life. Would the fans love it? I had no way of knowing. Would it be the most meaningful to me? Fuck, yeah.
We’d have to try the song together at least once before we hit the stage. But first, me and the guys tested out a few songs just to be sure the glitches were gone.
Ace stepped away, and I tried the mic again.
“Thank fuck!” I blurted out, and the clear sound echoed in the theater. “Let’s do ‘Filthy Pain.’”
Ronin opened the number with his distinctive bass line.
When the rest of us joined in, the sound was awesome.
Despite the mishaps, this place was made for music lovers, and I couldn’t deny I loved how the sound carried.
Twenty minutes later, guitar still in hand, I went in search of Van.
I found him downstairs in my dressing room, strumming away and singing in that low, husky voice of his that had goosebumps popping up all over my skin.
I wanted to stand and stare at him and soak in the moment, but too soon, he spotted me.
Then he smiled. Not his professional one but a genuine grin, dimple and all. My pulse kicked up, and my heart beat a wild rhythm.
I was so far gone for this man it was out of control.
“You ready to practice?” I asked as I shut the door behind me.
The door clanged with a resounding thud.
I grabbed a nearby stool and sat down across from him.
“I’ll sing; you rest your voice,” Van replied as he began to strum the song's opening notes.
Instead of replying, I nodded and joined in on my guitar.
Professional me flew out the window when I flubbed up a few times, my hands shaking. I was too entranced with the man across from me to concentrate.
It was a heady realization for someone who’d spent the past four years sliding out on stage in front of tens of thousands of people like it was as normal as breathing.
I didn’t know how the fuck I was gonna perform this duet tonight in front of an audience. Watching Van play my baby and sing lyrics that meant so much to him was wreaking havoc with my already tenuous control.
He hit the third verse, but we were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“It’s Ace. Your makeup and hair people have arrived.”
Van paused his playing. “Come on in!”
The doorknob rattled but the door stayed shut.
“Did you lock the door?” Ace yelled out.
“No,” Van replied and got up, turning the handle. The door didn’t budge.
He tried again, pulling hard.
Finally, on the third try, it opened.
The loud groan of the hinges was like something out of a horror movie soundtrack.
“Sorry about that.” Van stepped aside and motioned for them to come in. “I guess we need lubricant.”
“Never leave home without it,” I piped up.
“Smart man.”
The comment came from a sharp-dressed man in his forties, accompanied by an equally stunning woman of around the same age. They entered the dressing room, suitcases in tow.
“I’m Foster Jones, and this is my colleague, Sasha Decour. Hair and makeup to the rescue.”
“Nice to meet you,” Van greeted them. “Thanks for accommodating our last-minute booking. I’ll get the rest of the guys down here, but you can start with Brodie. Not that he needs any improvement since he’s stunning as is.”
Foster clutched his chest, and Sasha sighed.
My face heated as I let Van’s comment sink in. Who knew I was such a praise slut?
Van quickly stepped out of the room, and I set my guitar aside.
“Just let me change into my outfit first.”
“Of course, it’ll take us a few minutes to organize our tools,” Foster replied with a smile.
I headed into the adjoining room to search the clothes rack.
A movement in the corner of the room caught my eye, but when I turned, there was nothing there. A cold draft surrounded me, but I shrugged off the strange feeling.
Holls and that ridiculous story about the ghost circled in my head, but I dismissed it.
I selected my black leather kilt and corset vest since it would complement the Day of the Dead makeup look perfectly. I paired the outfit with my favorite combat boots and headed out to find the rest of the band sitting down, getting their makeup prepped.
Foster and Sasha spent the next hour creating intricate designs on our faces. And glancing at my reflection, it was worth it.
Everyone thought so, except for Faise, who was acting even more cranky than usual.
“I don’t like the smell of this stuff. And how much longer is it gonna take?”
“Sorry, Foster. Despite years on stage, Faise is still a makeup virgin. Just ignore him.”
I got a middle finger from our drummer in return.
I had to talk to him. Maybe he was just burnt out from the tour, and this gig pushed him over the edge.
I hoped to fuck he wasn’t using again. Whatever the issue was, his attitude the past few days hadn’t improved.
Not that I was one to talk, but when it was just us four, there were always jokes and laughter. And I didn’t like feeling this tension from him. It threw our dynamic off, and we couldn’t work like that.
“Could you excuse us for a moment?” I asked Foster and Sasha.
They nodded and left us alone in the dressing room.
“Seriously, Faise. What’s up your ass lately? You’ve been in a shitty mood since we left Nashville. Speak.”
He shook his head.
“Silence isn’t going to work anymore. I’m only going to ask once because I need to save my voice. Tell us what’s going on. Are you okay? Are you… using again?”
“Fuck no,” he snapped back. “The hardest thing I’m ingesting lately is tequila and pot.”
Faise sighed and ran a hand through his black hair. Then he leaned forward and hung his head.
“It’s my brother. Rae lost his job six months ago, and then Hannah left him.
Ever since, he’s been on a drug and alcohol binge.
I didn’t realize how bad it got until we came home from Europe two weeks ago.
Mom called me in a panic. She went by his place to see him and found Rae unconscious.
Turns out he’s addicted to heroin. He’s gone through his savings; the mortgage on his condo is in arrears.
I managed to get him into an addiction treatment center in California just before we headed down here. ”
Judging by their expressions—or what I could see beyond the makeup—Holls and Ronin were as shocked as I was.
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” I asked. “You know we always have your back. Rae is your family; he’s like our family, too.”
Faise stood up and paced. “I think I’m still in shock myself, you know?
He was the perfect one. Graduated top of his class from business school, married the right woman, and had a high-profile job.
Always the son my parents wanted me to emulate.
Part of me still can’t believe what’s happened.
He’s got a long road ahead of him. I know how hard it is. ”
“I’m so fucking sorry. I was worried it was you.”
We’d all had our share of drugs in the beginning when fame was new, and the pressure to perform hit us hard.
Faise most of all when it came to coke. His severe mood swings were the first thing we noticed.
My addiction to sleeping pills and sedatives was well known. The vicious cycle of crazy tour schedules, running at two hundred percent all the time, and always being on catches up to you. It took me a long time and a lot of therapy and support to finally wean myself off the pills.
I walked over to Faise and pulled him in for a hug. Holls and Ronin joined us.
“What can we do?” Ronin asked as he pulled back. “Anything you need, Rae needs, tell us.”
Faise stepped away and shook his head. “I’m good. But after this gig, I need to head home to see to Rae’s condo and his finances. I need time off before we head to the studio again to record. A month at least.”
“Of course, whatever you need,” I replied. “Do you want one of us to go with you?”
“I’ll go,” Ronin offered.
“We can all go,” Holls added.
Faise shook his head. “Thanks, but I think it’s better if I go alone. Or maybe just one of you. Dee, you know I love you, but if the media finds out—”
I nodded. “I get it.”
In the past few years, I’d been subjected to greater press scrutiny than the rest of the guys. I didn’t court it, but it was what it was.
The impact that had on my relationships, any kind of relationship, was starting to be seen and felt. How that would play out with Van had yet to be seen.
Faise turned to Ronin. “Could you come with me? You’re heading to Cali anyway to see your sister.”
“Of course,” Ronin replied and pulled Faise in for another hug.
“Okay, that’s enough emo bullshit.” Faise pulled back and wiped his eyes. “Fuck, I probably ruined my makeup.”
“It’s Halloween, no one will notice.”
“Thank fuck for that.”