“I was just going to say, I got four deadbeat musicians two Grammy awards for playing classical music in a year where the video with the roundest, jiggliest ass was the most popular form of entertainment. Finding the address of an ex-employee is a lazy morning for me.” He gives me a half-smile and I know he’s just as worried as the rest of us.
“You are the king,” I tell him.
“Seriously, though. I don’t know what you’re going to do with this information. And to be honest, I spent a lot of time wondering if I was going to give it to you. Be careful. I’m serious, it’s not just about her…and the kid. But you, you need to be careful how you tread from here.”
“What do you think I should do?” If anyone would know the right thing to do, it would be Dennis.
“I don’t have a clue. I’m sorry it’s come to this. I like her. Hell, I even like the sticky little kid. You guys don’t deserve this. Whatever’s going on, why she left and why she’s working for him now? I don’t know. I just know it’s not right.”
“Well, I know why. Well, I can guess. And you’re correct on that-it’s not right. It’s not right at all.”
He pats me on the shoulder, and not for the first time, I wonder where any of us would be if it weren’t for Dennis.
“Thank you, D.”
“You bet.”
I reach over to try to give him a man-hug. He pulls way, looking terrified for a moment, before batting me with his tattered leather notebook and making a run for it.
***
It’s Sunday here, and you’ve been gone almost a week. I miss you more than I did yesterday. By tomorrow, who knows if I’ll even be able to bear. I’ve found Ben’s sock, the one with the toes all different colors? I know he loves it. Tell him I’ve got it, and I’ll get it back to him one day. Tell him I promise it.
The message sends, and I close my eyes, ready for another night of missing them.
Emily
I read the text message. By the time I get to the end it’s blurry and I have to wipe my eyes to make out the words. Just like with all the other messages. I can’t quite make myself delete it, and archive it in a folder with the rest of them. Hidden until halfway through the night when I can’t sleep, and I take them out to read, one by one again.
At least we’re back home.
After leaving Bra-…after leaving Liverpool, Silas was at least reasonable enough to let me go home instead of joining them on the road immediately. I thought he was being especially generous, only to find out that his band was going to be based in London for the next few weeks anyway, doing a round of live interviews and shows, and rehearsing to work out some of their kinks.
I wasn’t going to complain though. The last thing I really wanted was to jump head-first into another tour, with people I didn’t know.
Ben is back in school, which is the best thing for him at this point. Brad or no Brad, in hindsight, taking him on the road at such a young age and while he was injured probably wasn’t the best thing for him. They say routine is the best thing for a child, and the tour with the Rock Chamber Boys was anything but that.
That’s what I tell myself though, when the doubt seeps in, and I hear him calling for Brad.
I try to ignore that fact that it was the trauma of leaving, not of being on tour that did the most damage. Instead I try to focus on the knowledge that in the long run, this will be the best thing for him.
For me, maybe not, but for him. Which is really the same thing, I guess.
The phone rings, and I brace myself. Either it’s Brad or it’s Silas. One I want to answer but can’t. And one I don’t want to answer, but will.
I glance at the screen and sigh.
“Yes, Silas?”
“Don’t know if you know, but we’ve got a show booked for tonight.”
“Yeah, I have the schedule.”
“Do you need us to come pick you up?”
“No.”
“Um, okay then. I guess I’ll see you there at six.”
I hang up the phone, keen to get away from him as soon as possible. I throwing the phone onto the bed.
I tell myself the initial anger and loathing will subside soon, and then we can move on. And somewhere, deep inside me, I try to believe that it will happen.
***
The band comes running off the stage to the sound of enthusiastic applause. They’ve played an eight-song set, mostly their own songs, with two covers as an encore.
I sit at a table in the back, taking notes.
They have a tried and true rock sound, and their lyrics have some depth. But the performance leaves me cold. And it has nothing to do with the music. I know though, that my write-up will be as objective as it can be, because in the end, my feelings toward Silas, not the band, are purely personal. The other members have had nothing to do with my situation and from what I’ve seen of them, there’s no reason for me to think of them as just like any artists, trying to make it big in the world.
“Hey.” Silas comes over to me, shaking some hands as he moves through the crowd.
“Hey.” I don’t look up from my notebook. There’s no reason to look at him more than I have to.
“How was it?” he asks, high-voiced, still hyped from his set.
“Good.”
“Any notes?”
“Uh, nope.”
“Okay, do you know what you’re going to write yet?”
“You can read it when I’m done before I send it off.”
“Emily.”
I force myself to meet his gaze in response, raising an eyebrow.
“Is everything okay?”
“Just dandy.” I look away, knowing I’ll be unable to keep the loathing out of my voice if I have to keep my eyes locked on his.
“You sure?” he asks again.
“Uh-huh.” Each word is like torture.
“Because you don’t sound so happy.” He reaches out to touch me and I move out of reach, out of patience.
“You know what, Silas, you blackmail me into coming to work for you. Fine. I will be as professional as can be. You can count on me doing my job and doing it well. But let me remind you that on a personal level, I am here under duress.”
“You could be a little more friendly,” he says, shrugging like a sulky child.
“That’s not part of our deal. Which I’ve upheld to the letter otherwise.”