3. Río
RíO
One of my fellow detainees asks, “How hard is it to play drums for three straight hours?”
Thank God these Europeans all speak English. “I’ve gotten used to it. I do work out for at least two or three hours everyday to stay in shape. Being the beating heart of UC comes at a price, you know.” Everyone laughs.
Retying this dammed scratchy blanket around my waist again, my attention is drawn to another detainee. “Do you all write the songs together? I saw the movie, and it’s what it said you do.”
“Yeah, we all take turns writing songs. Sometimes one person will come up with the entire lyrics, but more likely one band member has the verse and someone else adds in the chorus. As for the music, we all contribute much the same way.”
The same guy asks, “What song is mostly yours?”
“I think I had the biggest hand in our second number one, ‘Make Me Feel It.’ The lyrics came to me in the shower.”
“Nice,” another guy says. “Tell us, is Jenna Hardy as bad as the press make her out to be?”
My head shakes. “No. She’s a doll.” Given their disbelieving faces, I say, “She really is. Listen, I’ve known Jenna for a while. She’s really good at physical therapy, but more importantly, she has a big heart. And she loves our boy Bennett. They’re a great match.”
Even as the words leave my lips, I pull back from them. My life has taught me better than to believe in that kind of thing. I hope it works out for Bennett and Jenna, but it’s not for me.
Exhibit A: My Parents.
Mother and Pop fell in love. Got married. Had a baby—me.
Pop worked his way up the ladder, promotion after promotion, until he landed as Senior VP. Then he decided Mother needed to be traded in for a younger model.
They divorced. Mother moved somewhere in the middle of the country. I stayed behind with Pop.
He married the Stepwitch. Had another kid. The golden child they fawn all over.
All before I hit my teens.
No, thank you. Bennett and Jenna can have their marriage.
I’ll stick to single and carefree.
I realize my arm has moved when cold air rushes past my thigh. Enough of this. I stand and readjust this itchy blanket around my body so it looks more like a toga. When in Rome, and all that.
The men surrounding me begin chanting, “Toga! Toga!”
I raise my fist high over my head to their applause.
“Tranquillo!” A guard comes by my cell.
We all quiet, standing next to each other. The guard stops in front of me. “Are you with UC?”
He asked me a question, so it would be rude of me not to answer. “Yes. I’m their drummer.” I start to extend my hand but realize bars separate us.
“I went to your concert the other night. It was fantastico.” He blows a kiss on his fingers.
“Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
The guard reaches into his back pocket. “Would you mind if I took a photo of us? It is not like we get such big celebrities in here every day.”
A few of the guys around me push against my shoulders, and I lurch forward. Not as if I needed their encouragement—I never shy away from the spotlight. Ever.
“Of course.”
The guard tries to get a good angle of us, but the bars prevent him from succeeding. He snaps a couple of shots, but his lips turn downward. “Listen, if I let you out of the cell for a minute, would you go back when I click a photo?”
Schooling my face not to react to his funny translation, I repeat, “Of course.” It’s not as if I could make a jailbreak or anything. Even though my fellow detainees might offer some cover, a guy wearing a toga would be spotted pretty easily.
He opens the cell and I slip out and we take several more selfies. The guys detained with me photobomb the shots, but the guard doesn’t seem to mind.
“Hey,” one of the more vocal guys says something in Italian and the guard nods his head. Once I’m returned to the cell, the guard disappears for a moment, and returns with a pad of paper and a couple of pens. “Grazie,” the guy says.
I spend the next several minutes writing autographs for everyone in my cell, most of whom were put in here for drinking and/or urinating in public. Minor offenses, if you ask me. I hand out my last sheet. “Sorry I couldn’t take photos with you all.”
“This is cool. No one will believe I spent time in lockup with the Río Sullivan.”
Something tells me the media will make a big deal out of my being arrested, so their friends may not be so shocked. I keep this to myself.
The same guard who asked for my photo returns. “Happy day,” he says. “You’re being released. Follow me.”
I give my new friends hugs and high fives before leaving the cell and following the cop through the various hallways.
At least I was given slipper-like thingies for my bare feet.
I’m all for being au natural, but don’t have an affinity for catching whatever might be on these floors.
I used my one phone call to reach out to Coop for some clothes, who I’m sure will razz me for this latest escapade.
“Here you go,” the cop says as he opens the door to yet another room.
Luke and Hayden are inside. No Coop? Shit.
“Hey guys,” I stroll into the windowless conference room. Best defense is a good offense, right?
“Río,” UC’s manager begins. “Fancy meeting you here. Wearing a toga?” The tone of his voice raises on a question.
“You got that straight,” I reply, punching him on the shoulder. “How are you doing, Hayden?” I tip my chin.
“I was doing great until about an hour ago. Getting a call from the police in Rome wasn’t on my bingo card.”
“Yeah, well, they’re a tad picky. I was only playing around with my new friends.”
“Are these the friends for whom we had to pay fines for swimming in the Trevi Fountain?” Luke asks. “Or, are you talking about the ones who had the sense not to follow you into the water and left you to the tender mercies of the Roman police?”
Shit. He’s pissed. “I’m sure you don’t have the whole story, Luke.”
“Really? Why don’t you fill me in. As much as Hayden and I have been able to piece together, you went to the world-famous landmark, drew a crowd into a call-and-repeat, stripped naked, and jumped into the fountain.
Then the police came and arrested you plus several other idiots who, like lemmings, followed your stupidity.
” I open my mouth to reply, with what, I have no idea, when Luke adds, “I almost forgot the part where you agreed to pay everyone’s fines.
So, tell me, Mr. Drummer, what have I missed? ”
When he says it like that, it does sound bad.
The need to get him to see it my way bubbles to the surface like the beer I had before I took my admittedly—although I won’t say this out loud—ill-advised dip.
I clear my throat. “The crowd around the Trevi Fountain was cool, man. You should’ve heard the call-and-repeat.
I swear, it was better than when Bennett does it during our gigs. ”
Luke doesn’t seem impressed. “Noted.”
“I got swept up in the audience’s enthusiasm. I wanted to make a splash.”
For the first time, Hayden interjects, “So you took off all your clothes and jumped in?”
“I didn’t plan it or anything. I was caught up in the excitement.”
“You don’t get to be misunderstood if you never take responsibility.”
Hayden’s comment zings right through my heart.
I scowl.
“Hey, lady. You don’t know me. You’ve only been with UC for what—a hot minute? You don’t have any right to say shit like this to me.”
“I’ve been on UC’s PR team for almost a year now. I helped with the movie premiere and for your last single to reach number one. Not to mention the Grammys and upcoming Oscars. I’ve earned my right to call it like I see it.”
I cross my arms across my torso. This woman’s been with UC for merely one out of our decade-plus existence. I just met her in Europe, meaning she’s been working remotely all this time. Give me a break. “Due to all your vaunted experience with the band, have you ever had to help me out?”
“She’s had her hands full with Bennett and Jenna,” Luke breaks the building tension. “Which she, might I remind you, got resolved all to our lead singer’s benefit.”
No arguing with him about this. I shrug.
“Now that you two are well-acquainted, I want to thank you, Río for lightening the band’s bank account to the tune of one million dollars.”
Fuck. That’s a shit ton of money. “For what?”
“Let’s see,” our manager begins. “Your fines. Plus the fines of the other people who jumped into the Trevi Fountain with you. Violating the restriction barrier. Other assorted fees.” His gaze snags mine.
“The ‘voluntary offering’ we had to give to the police department so your sorry ass didn’t get charged and put into jail. ”
“I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong, Luke.
I was having some fun with a bunch of people who needed to let off steam.
So I got caught up a little bit and took a quick swim?
I didn’t realize things would go this far south.
” How can I make this right to the band?
“I can play at a charity concert somewhere in Italy. How’s that sound? ”
“Like a non-starter. The cops were thrilled to hear we’re leaving for Barcelona tomorrow. Even asked if we could push up our departure.”
Guess I should add Italy to my list of places I need to avoid for the next year or so. At least South Africa timed itself out last month. I clamp my mouth shut.
“I also had to promise the cops I’ll keep you under control.” Luke shakes his head. “How the hell do you propose I do that?”
I adjust my toga. “How about giving me to Coop’s tender care? He’ll keep me on the straight and narrow, like him.”
“Right. Like I’d turn your fucking sorry ass over to the guitarist? I don’t think so, Río. And another thing, how will this look for Darren’s scholarship? All your hard work sunk to the bottom of the Trevi Fountain. Did you think of that?”
“No way! We’ve worked too hard on the scholarship for it to all disappear. I’m sure a tiny bit of unfavorable publicity won’t affect it.” It can’t. Darren’s memory deserves to be preserved, and his legacy of helping other kids in their musical careers is worthy.
Hayden helpfully adds, “It looks bad coming so soon on the heels of Bennett’s baby allegation and his wife’s prostitution ring.”
Ignoring Hayden’s contribution to this part of our conversation, I direct my response to Luke. “I had nothing to do with Bennett’s shit, which is all cleared up now. What I did isn’t being charged by the cops, so it’s no big deal.”
“It was stupid,” Luke clarifies. “I told you the label threatened to reconsider the tour—or your place on it—if I didn’t get you under control, and look where you landed. Wearing a toga in the police station is the definition of stupid, don’t you think?”
Now Luke’s sounding like Pop. Telling me I’m stupid.
That what I did was reckless. “Well, fuck you. Tell me the last time you did something because it was fun? You and your prim-ass PR hack standing wouldn’t know fun if it slapped you upside the head.
” I motion with both of my hands, leaning into the Italian culture.
Hayden leans forward, her lips pursed in clear disapproval.
“Fun? I’ll let you know what’s fun,” Luke says in a low growl.
“Fun is working hard to set up a scholarship in Darren’s name that could help countless young musicians.
Fun is working side by side with you to find the correct language for the application so it gets approved by the government.
Fun is making sure our original keyboardist’s name is one that will shine through the ages.
” He leans against the metal folding chair.
What can I say to his tirade? “I didn’t do it to hurt the scholarship. I was only having a good time. Hell, the call-and-repeat was ‘Gelato’ and ‘Rocks.’ If I wanted to do something bad, I would’ve said something like, I don’t know, The Cat’s 9 Sucks.”
My mention of the band Luke used to manage before coming to us makes his cheek hollow. “Low blow, Río, even for you.”
The room falls silent.