Opening Act (30 page)

And if that was true…if
that
was true…

His thoughts were interrupted by Pernita's return, still on the phone. “I don't care who gets in the way,” she was saying. “I've told you what I want, so stop being such a whining little cretin and make it happen.”

Shay felt the color drain from his face, and Pernita must have noticed it, too, because she lowered the phone and said, “Are you all right?”

“Man,” he said with a nervous laugh, “I never knew you ordered your dad around like that.”

“This isn't Daddy, it's Nancy Leboudreau.” Then she put the phone back to her ear and said, “Why are you still here, Nancy?
Chop bloody chop
.” There was a knock on the door and Pernita headed for it, saying, “Text me when it's settled. Thanks, you're an angel.
Mmmwaah.
”

And with that, she slipped her phone back into her pocket with one hand while opening the door with the other. “Daddy!” she squealed, and she flung herself into Halbert Hasque's arms. Shay grunted in distaste. You'd think she hadn't seen him in months, yet Shay knew from an e-mail he had received from her that they'd had lunch together that very afternoon.

Halbert, a solid, square-built man with a shock of peppery hair, patted the small of her back and kissed the top of her head. “Hello, little girl,” he said, pleased by her attention.
That
was how she controlled him, Shay knew well enough. It was only Halbert who hadn't twigged to the fact that his daughter played him like a violin. “Where's that young man of yours?”

Shay stepped into the vestibule and said, “Hello, Mr. Hasque,” and extended his arm.

“Pleasure to see you again, Shay,” he said, shaking his hand. Then he turned to survey the room and said, “Let's have a seat over there,” gesturing to a table and two chairs.

“I'll just go finish unpacking your things,” Pernita said with a look of triumph, and she instantly disappeared into the adjoining room.

Shay, feeling as stiff as if he'd been dipped in lacquer, waited for Halbert to choose one of the chairs, then sat in the other. Halbert looked him in the face and said, “I want to talk about the final night of the tour.”

Shay nodded. “At the Palladium.”

“The Hollywood Palladium, yes,” Halbert said. “I have to tell you I'm changing the opening act on the bill.”

Shay felt his vision momentarily blur, as if he were on the brink of losing consciousness. The Palladium was the biggest and most prestigious club on the whole tour, and LA by far and away the biggest city, and he'd been looking forward to that gig like he hadn't looked forward to anything in a long, long time.

“I'm bringing in a duo act,” Halbert said. “A kind of neoclassical dark-wave Sonny and Cher. Maybe you've heard of them: Jonah and the Wail? Out of Atlanta?”

“I…I think I might've,” Shay said, though he was having trouble making his voice actually work. “May I—” He stopped and cleared his throat, and when he spoke again it was with a hair more resonance. “May I ask why?”

“Because,” Halbert said, “I'm changing the headliner as well.”

Shay blinked. He looked into Halbert's big, broad, unreadable face and found himself completely unable to understand what he was talking about. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said,” he repeated, “I'm changing the opening act, because I'm changing the headliner as well.”

Shay blinked again. Twice. Unable to think of anything else to say, he asked, “Who?”

“A five-man ensemble. One I'm pretty sure you've heard of.” The corner of his lip curled into a barely perceptible smile. “Overlords of Loneliness.”

Shay now felt the floor drop away. Afraid he might faint, really honest-to-God
faint
, he clutched the arms of the chair tighter and held himself upright. “You're saying,” he said, “you're saying…we…”

“You're headlining at the Hollywood Palladium. Congratulations, son.”

“But…but Strafer Nation…”

He waved a hand in dismissal. “They never wanted that gig. They've already played that house any number of times, and Paul Di Santangelo is already bitching about how tired he is of touring, period. He wants to skip LA and go home to his girlfriend and kids, and he knows if he sets foot in LA he won't be able to leave until he's seen the eight hundred people who'd be mortally offended if he came to town without having breakfast-lunch-dinner-sex with him.”

“And—and the Palladium just lets you change their bill around like that?”

He chuckled. “They owe me several favors. Several
large
favors.”

“So…so you're booting Strafer, just like that?
Firing
them?”

Halbert shook his head and laughed. “This is not the reaction I'd expected. A word of advice, Shay: if you're going to get ahead in this business, you can't be worrying about your competition.
Screw
your competition. When the chance comes for you to get ahead,
steamroll
your competition. Whatever the hell it takes to get them out of your way.”

Shay shifted in his seat. “Thanks. But we've, I don't know.
Bonded.
On the road.”

Halbert nodded. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Look, if it makes you feel any better, I never intended for Strafer to be on the bill in LA. But I had a clause in their contract stipulating they'd play it if I asked
them to. Really, it was just a safety measure in case you Overlord boys flaked out on the road, or cracked up, or in some other way showed you weren't ready.”

“And you think we
are
ready?” Shay said, sitting up a little straighter.

“Oh, I think you're ready. And frankly, so do the Strafer guys. Paul in particular is very complimentary. Of course, as I just said, he really,
really
doesn't want to go to LA. He calls it ‘falling into the black hole.' ” He laughed. “But he's not stupid. He wouldn't tell me you were ready if you weren't. He knows the consequences.”

“Which are…what?”

Halbert made a low, rumbling noise in the back of his throat, and Shay decided maybe it was better not to inquire further.

And suddenly Shay realized with a sense of awkward stupidity that Paul Di Santangelo befriending him on the tour hadn't been entirely a matter of two like-minded dudes hanging out. Though Shay hoped it had been at least a
little
bit of that. But Paul's primary motive, he now understood, had been to keep Shay focused—keep his eye on the prize—and to hone his musicality and his performance skills in the process, so that he'd be tanned, fit, and ready for the Palladium. And of course Shay had drunk the Kool-Aid with gusto. Hell, he still would. He'd drink it and ask for seconds, please.

“But,” he continued, thinking of a new worry, “we're still a pretty young band. Do you really think we can draw a respectable crowd to the freakin'
Palladium
?”

“That
is
a gamble,” Halbert admitted, sitting back in the chair. “But I'm going with my gut. I think it's doable. And we haven't had much trouble selling you so far. All those radio interviews and reddit question-and-answer sessions and YouTube concert videos, they've done their job. And of course all the press you've gotten. You can thank my daughter for that. She's definitely your secret weapon, and she's far from being done with you.”

As if prompted, Pernita stuck her head around the corner. “You tell him yet?”

Halbert nodded. “I told him.”

She flew over to Shay, her arms flailing and a sort of sirenlike keening issuing from her lips. She threw herself into his lap and smothered his face with kisses. “Isn't it exciting? Isn't it the most exciting thing
ever
?” she said between smacks. “My God! We're going straight to the
top
! Oh yes, yes, yes, we are!” And more strangulation, and more kissing.

She didn't disentangle herself from him until another knock summoned her away. She bounded over to the door, opened it, and admitted a bellman who carried an ice bucket, a champagne bottle, and three flutes.

“Right there,” Pernita said, pointing to the table where Halbert and Shay sat.

Pernita hopped back into Shay's lap as the bellman worked at popping the cork. As he did so, Halbert leaned in a little and examined the label, then made a sour face. And when, after filling Pernita's and Shay's flutes, the bellman turned to Halbert's, he put his hand over its rim and shook his head.

Pernita clicked her tongue and said to Shay, “Daddy only drinks certain vintages.” Then she turned to her father and said, “I'm sorry, Daddy, the hotel doesn't have any Armand de Brignac. I did ask.”

“Very well, I suppose I can choke down one swallow,” he said, frowning. “For the sake of ceremony.”

He allowed the bellman to pour about two tablespoons into the flute before loudly stopping him. And when the bellman had gone—heavily tipped—Halbert raised his glass and said, “To Overlords of Loneliness, and the continued success of their first national tour.”

All three tapped their flutes together, which made a dull, clanking sound. Halbert winced, and Pernita preemptively said, “They don't send crystal up for room service. It's a policy,” and they all drank.

Halbert took his pocket square from his jacket pocket and daubed his lips, as though to remove excess residue of the offending vintage. Shay openly stared. He'd never seen anyone actually
use
a pocket square before. Was he going to refold it now, and place it back? No, he was stuffing it into his interior jacket pocket. Probably he had an assistant waiting by the elevator with a supply of replacements in designer patterns.

Then Halbert rose to his feet and said, “Well, kids, I've got to be going. I'll see you at the Park West tonight.”

“You'll be at the venue, too?” Shay said in astonishment.

“For a while. The first few numbers, at least. I've got a flight back to Manhattan.” He kissed the top of Pernita's head again and showed himself out.

Halbert's chair was now empty, but Pernita showed no inclination to get out of Shay's lap and take it. She remained curled around his torso like a cat, which made it difficult for him to hold his flute, not to mention caused his hips to feel stressed to the breaking point.

Finally, when she reached over to refill his drink, he gently put a hand on her arm and drew it aside. “I think that's enough for me,” he said. “Better have that nap you suggested earlier. Long night ahead.”

She kissed his forehead and jumped out of his lap. He almost groaned with relief and tried not to hobble as he walked away from the chair. If she saw him do that, she'd think he was making a joke about her being fat or something. She was like that, always quick to take offense. Being around her involved a lot of walking on eggshells. Shay felt his happy days of on-the-road freedom slipping through his fingers, like sand. Maybe sand was all they ever really were.

“I'm going to hit the shops,” she said, donning her Balenciaga hoodie. “I'll be quiet when I get back.” She grabbed her tiny little postage stamp of a purse and said, “What time do you want me to wake you?”

“You don't have to; I'll use the alarm clock on my phone.”

She sidled up next to him. “No, you misunderstand,” she said, running her hand down the back of his neck. “What time do you want me to
wake
you?”

In spite of himself, he felt the front of his pants spring to life. “Oh,” he said. “Um…whenever, really. Up to you.” He was still playing his pathetic game of making no show of any commitment to her at all. Despite her obviously owning him lock, stock, and gonads.

She bit his earlobe and whispered, “I'll surprise you. Meantime, sleep tight.” Then she headed for the front door.

He stretched his arms, yawned, and said, “Man, this has been one hell of a ride. I can't believe by this time tomorrow, it'll be half over, and I'll be on my way back to Haver City for some R-and-R.”

She had pulled open the door, but now she released it and turned back. “Oh! I forgot to tell you.”

He immediately went on alert again. “Tell me what?”

“We're not going back to Haver City.”

He blanched. “We're not?”

“Oh, I should say not!” She put a hand on her hip. “You're headlining the Hollywood Palladium in just a few short months, sport. We've got less than a month before the tour recommences, and we're going to use them to head west and do a seriously intensive PR push. Interviews, photo shoots, parties…”

His jaw dropped. “But…but we've been working so hard already. The guys were really looking forward to the break.”

She scoffed. “Oh, and they'll get one. They're going home. But not the front man. This is his job, honey! For Christ's sake. You want to be a superstar? You don't get there by loafing around for weeks at a time.” She waved a hand in the air. “Hell, Strafer Nation isn't! They're spending these two weeks shooting a video, recording a tune for a movie soundtrack,
and
performing at an anti-Monsanto benefit in Omaha.”