BLACK to Reality (13 page)

“Well, if you say so,” Rick mumbled.

“Why? He was always straight up with me.”

“I don’t want to talk shit about anybody, you know?”

“No worries. I won’t tell a soul. What did he do?”

“Maybe nothing. Only, that afternoon before the show…we were at the hotel bar, and I was hanging out with Rooster and my bass player, knocking back a few – nothing heavy, just beer and whatnot. The next thing I knew it was show time, I was hammered, and smoking a joint that was frigging rocket fuel. I figured it would just mellow me out a little, and instead it put me into a full-blown tailspin. And the funny thing is I have no idea how I got it. I’m not a big smoker…”

“You don’t remember anything after the bar? Not leaving it or anything?”

“Nope. All I know was one minute I was chilling in the bar, and the next I was backstage, shit-faced. How I got there’s still a blank. But Rooster should have stopped me if I was boozing that much. I mean, come on, he knew the stakes. Peter, my bass player, should have, too. I’m not saying they’re to blame, but still…”

Black appraised him. “You don’t seem like a big drinker.”

“I’m really not. I’ll have a few before and after a show, but I don’t get blotto, you know? That was the first…and the last. Great timing, huh?” Rick spat, self-loathing obvious. “Needless to say, Rooster’s not on my list of favorite people. Neither’s Peter.”

“That’s heavy, dude. It doesn’t sound like you got much support from them. If I’d have been there…well, never mind. I never had anything like that happen with him, but that was years ago. He was a stand-up guy then. And a great guitar player.”

Rick’s eyes narrowed. “It’s funny. I’ve never seen you in here before. You’re obviously local…”

“No, I’m from Vegas – been living there for ten years. I’m just in town and thought I’d look at some gear, you know? Kill some time, maybe get a good buy on something.”

“Vegas, huh? What part?”

“Up by Red Rock,” Black said, remembering where Nina lived.

That seemed to satisfy Rick, and Black was glad he looked significantly different from on TV – especially with the baseball cap. He’d known there was a small risk of being recognized but had to chance it.

Black made his way to the exit, Rick’s attention returned to his soda and the jokes of his co-workers, the big spender having turned into a looky-loo. Black felt a sense of unease – if Rick was telling the truth, it was possible he’d been slipped a Mickey, either by Rooster or Peter, in the bar. That was how it sounded. In which case, it was also possible that Nina’s gut feeling was more than a vague doubt and somebody had arranged for Last Call to lose. The question was why either the team’s coach, or its bass player, would do that.

His mind turned to Alex. It had been an incredible stroke of luck that his rival had bombed in the finals. That didn’t prove anything, but it gave Black something to follow up on now that he’d spoken with Rick. Which left Black with more questions than answers and a nagging sense of unease as he walked down the block, dialing the taxi company as he rounded the corner.

The trip back took longer than he’d hoped, and by the time he made it to the house, the front doors were locked and most of the lights were off. Black cursed himself for not thinking about something as obvious as being locked out, and reconciled himself to having to make his way inside through the great room.

He pulled his baseball cap off and stashed it in the bushes as he crept around the side of the house. Music drifted from the pool area, and Black could hear splashing – which would make it more difficult to slip in without being detected. Three of the Love Jupiter singers were in the pool with SnM, and Black could smell the pungent odor of marijuana drifting from the darkened area. He spotted an ice chest and silently moved to it, extracting a beer and opening it before striding into the great room like he’d just come back from a walk.

It was obvious that his ruse wasn’t going to work when he found himself being stared down by Lou and Peter, who were sitting at the breakfast bar.

“Where were you?” Lou demanded, no trace of friendliness in his voice.

“What? I went for a walk. Why? Did Mugsy destroy something?”

“Where did you walk to?” Lou asked.

“Just around. I wanted to think.”

“Be specific. Did you leave the grounds?” Peter asked, his tone ugly.

“What’s it to you? Are you my mom?”

“You know the rules, Black,” Lou warned.

“Shit. I totally spaced on that.”

“We have you on the security cameras going down the street, and a taxi comes by a few minutes later. Last time, Black. Where were you?”

Black saw no choice but to tell the truth. If they contacted the taxi company, they’d know his destination by morning.

“I apologize. It’s just…I’ve been trying to fit in, get the band’s style right, but I feel like I’m not getting a lot of direction. So I figured I should talk to your old guitar player and see if he could help me out with any tips. I went into town to see him. Nice guy, by the way.”

“You what?” Peter sputtered. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Dude. It’s not like I went on a killing spree or to buy heroin. I need some help, so I went to find some. You don’t do anything but snarl at me, and Christina pretty much ignores me, and Ed’s a drummer…so that leaves me with either getting guidance from someone who knows, or continuing to struggle.” Black turned his focus to Lou. “I would have asked permission, but it was just building up inside of me…so I took action. I’m really sorry, but no harm done, am I right? And I did it for the show.”

Lou shook his head. “I don’t make that call. Sarah and Simon do. But if you ask me, it was pretty damned stupid.”

“Maybe it’s the break we’ve needed. They’ll boot you, and then we’ll get a real guitar player,” Peter said, his face tight.

“Yeah, because your last one did such a great job for you. Solid, right?”

Peter made to stand, and Lou put a hand the size of a ham on his arm. “Girls. Don’t make this any worse than it is. I’ll call Sarah and tell her what happened. The rest is up to management.”

“Thanks for the support, Peter. Nice to know you’ve got my back,” Black said. “Are we done?”

Lou nodded. “I’ll let you know about their decision.”

“Do that. In the meantime, I want to try to get another hour or two of practice in before I hit it.” Black took the stairs two at a time. When he got to his room, Ed was snoring, Mugsy cradled in his arms, and the atmosphere was redolent of beer and farts. Black retrieved his guitar and tiptoed back out and made for the rehearsal studio, hopeful that his explanation would be good enough to keep him on the show.

Chapter 14

The following morning at breakfast, Black took the opportunity to drill Peter about Rick’s story. Peter was sulking over an English muffin when Black came down the stairs. Christina rose and left without saying a word. Black got a cup of coffee and a scoop of eggs from the container by the stove and sat across from Peter.

“I know you don’t like me going to talk to Rick, but it’s over, and we have to make this work. So lighten up, will you? It’s not like I pissed in your Wheaties.”

“You endangered the band and our chances of winning. I’m supposed to be delighted about that?”

“I haven’t endangered anything, except maybe whether I stay on the show – and you’ve made your preference more than clear. Christina’s an awesome talent and the band rocks. If they shitcan me, you’ll get someone else. If not, I’m putting in the hours to do my best. So what’s your beef?”

“You’re just like Rick. Do whatever you feel like without thinking about how it affects us. I saw how that worked out.”

“Rick told me you were drinking with him that day. In the hotel. Is that true?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“I’m interested in how that went down. Rick seems like a stable guy. The official story doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah, I was there. We had a couple of beers. That’s it. Not like hammering them, more like time-killing beers to take the edge off. I was surprised as anyone when Rick showed up wasted.”

“And Rooster was with you?”

“That’s right. Neither of us had any idea that Rick would go berserk.”

“How long did you stay with him?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What’s with the interrogation? I had a few beers. I left. How the hell would I know how long I was there?”

“Was Rooster still there when you left?”

Peter thought about it. “I think so. But…I don’t know. Why?”

“I’m just curious, is all. Rick didn’t strike me as a drinker. And he seems as puzzled as anybody how he wound up wasted.”

“I have a clue: he drank too much and then compounded it by smoking weed.”

“He doesn’t remember where he got the joint.”

“I’m not surprised. You should have seen him after the show. I’m surprised he remembers anything from that day. He was out of it.”

“What about you? Seems like there are a lot of hazy memories at work here.”

Peter rose, shaking his head. “You’re way over the line. I don’t answer to you. You’re the hired talent, that’s it, nothing more. A pair of hands and a guitar. I don’t know why you’re doing the whole Inspector Clouseau thing. Maybe to divert attention from sneaking out. Whatever. But I don’t have to answer your questions. Am I clear?”

“Oh, crystal. You don’t want to talk about what role you had in Rick blowing your big chance. Did I miss anything?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Black offered a wan smile. “Like you said. Just a pair of hands.” He paused. “Rehearsal’s at one, remember?”

Peter stormed off, and Black wondered why he was so angry. It seemed completely out of proportion to Black’s transgression, so it had to be something else.

Black was finishing his eggs when Yoon Ji from Love Jupiter came down the stairs wearing her trademarked jean mini-skirt and bikini top. She giggled when she saw Black and approached after getting a cup of coffee.

“Where Mugsy?” she asked, eyebrows arched.

“In the room. Sleeping.” Black pantomimed sleeping, and she nodded.

“Love Jupiter…love Mugsy!” she proclaimed.

“Yes, well, there’s a lot of him to love, that’s for sure.”

“You come my room, yes?” Yoon Ji said.

Black did a double take. “Pardon?”

“You. Come my room. Now?” she said, pointing at him, then upstairs, lest he be too dim to grasp her words.

“I…I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” he tried, but she just tittered her infectious laugh and took his hand to lead him.

“Come.”

Black glanced around, hopeful nobody had seen the exchange. He saw Lavon reclining poolside, eyes fixed on Black, and wanted to disappear into the wall when the rapper leered at him and gave him a thumbs-up sign. Black tried a halfhearted smile as he was escorted to paradise. His mind darted to mundanities like condoms and statutory rape laws, and then they were at Yoon Ji’s door. She beamed at him and twisted the knob. “You come, yes?”

Black didn’t require further coaxing. He was trying to figure out how to lock the door when Yoon Ji moved across the room to a makeshift…altar. There was no other word for it. The top of the writing desk had flowers on it, and the corkboard above it was a collage of color printouts of photos of Mugsy – Mugsy being held by one of the group, Mugsy looking hungry, Mugsy looking sleepy, Mugsy asleep. Dozens of photographs, the area a place of worship to an obese feline with the temperament of a raptor.

“Nice, yes?” Yoon Ji said.

Black felt like a flasher caught outside a preschool. “Yes. Very nice,” he said, nodding approval.

“We write song. New song. You say if like?” she asked. A small, ugly part of him quivered, wondering whether this was some sort of exotic foreplay, but he banished the thought and nodded again.

“Sure. I mean, yes.”

She went to the closet, retrieved an acoustic guitar, and then sat on the edge of her bed and began plucking the strings, keeping time with her foot. The lyrics didn’t make sense to him since they were in Korean, but there was no mistaking the chorus, which featured Mugsy’s name every third word. When she finished her performance, he was speechless and could only grin like a buffoon as she set the guitar aside.

“You…like?” she asked, her eyes wide, the irises warm as molten chocolate.

“Yes, I do.”

“We love Mugsy.”

Me too
, he thought,
especially honey-roasted or barbecued.
But he held his tongue, not wanting to spoil Yoon Ji’s youthful exuberance.

Christina was coming out of her room when Yoon Ji and Black returned to the corridor, and the look of disgust she gave Black could have peeled paint. He considered trying to explain but thought better of it, knowing that anything he said would just dig him deeper.

Great. Now I’m an aging pervert in addition to a waste of guitar picks.
Yoon Ji’s voice rang in his head as they descended the stairs, her angelic melody following him like a powerful perfume as he trailed her out to the pool. The refrain would haunt him to his dying day.

Mugsy, oooh-oh-ooooh, Mugsy, MUGSY!

Chapter 15

The second-round competition was one of Black’s nightmare gigs – a scenario that every musician dreaded and which most viewed as the bottom of the entertainment barrel: the bands would perform one song each at a wedding in Bel Air. The prospect of playing a wedding made Black’s skin crawl. It was a throwback to his musician days, when if you couldn’t make ends meet in the club scene, you were reduced to playing covers at some spoiled couple’s nuptials.

The wedding party was assembled around three dozen circular white tables while the acts went through their motions. Each had been given a song five days before and instructed to interpret it in their own way. Last Call had gotten The Beatles’ “Twist and Shout”, which Rooster worked overtime on converting to the band’s sound, suggesting novel twists that resulted in a unique take on the standard.

BrandX was finishing up their hip-hop delivery of Michael Jackson’s “Billy Jean”, and when the song ended, the crowd went wild. Black had to admit the performance had been effective; the pair definitely had talent and their own style. The judges thought so too, and the scores were sevens and eights – more than enough to move them to the next round.