Broken Strings (A Rock Star Novel) (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

Welcome to the Grand Illusion

I’m sitting backstage at The Fillmore, waiting here in the
dressing room that has been designated as mine. I’m desperately wishing this is
not going to turn out to be a grand illusion. My whole life, Silas’s, the
band’s, Stewart’s, and Walker’s, are all riding on this show. Well, if it
doesn’t pan out ,Stew and Walker will no doubt be fine, but mine and Silas’s
legal troubles may very well have just begun.

I’m told Hammer, Marcus, and Lance have all just arrived,
and they’re an hour early. According to Stewart they’re all fine. No one is too
drunk or high to do a show tonight.

More importantly, Silas is in his dressing room psyching
himself up for the big reveal. The question on everybody’s mind, including my
own, is can he play, or can’t he? I have practically been glued to his side for
the past 72 hours, and still he refuses to tell me why he thinks he may not be
able to play. He says he’ll jinx the show, and knowing how superstitious guitar
players can be, I have finally let it go. I’m okay with that now.

It’s probably better I don’t know. Otherwise, instead of
concentrating on other important things, I’ll be obsessing on what’s wrong with
Silas. I’m in my own dressing room, my mind replaying all the crazy events that
led up to this evening. As the Grateful Dead once sang, “What a strange trip
it’s been...”

“June, you in there?”

“Come on in Stew.”

The band’s manager comes in and immediately know something’s
wrong. He’s totally stressed out and on the verge of coming undone. He’s
sweating, pacing around the room, and looks like a frightened rabbit.

“What’s wrong Stew? Is Hammer wasted? Did Silas get high?”

“No, they’re fine. I...there’s something you need to know.”

I think I better take a seat. “Okay.”

“Silas’s doctor finally emailed me. Better late than never I
guess.”

This cannot be good. “What is it Stew?”

“Silas. He can’t play.”

I jump up from my chair, knocking it over with a crash.
“What the hell are you talking about, Stewart?” I’m nearly screaming. This
cannot be happening to me, not now!

“I guess it’s time you know what happened. Silas crashed his
motorcycle a couple months ago and he’s got severe nerve and tendon damage to
his left hand. Do you know what that means? If it were his right hand we might
be able to like wrap it up and work something out, but his left hand? How can
he press the stings down to make chords? It’s not possible. Tell me you have a
plan B.”

Oh my god, this cannot be happening. I’ve come all this way,
done everything I possibly can to make this happen, and Stewart tells me Silas
can’t play? Stewart is still pacing the room muttering under his breath.

“What exactly did the doctor say? What did he say?” I’m
frantic myself. I jump up to my feet and begin pacing right along with Stewart.

“The nerve and tendon damage is so great that it would be
impossible for him to play with that hand!”

“Dammit Stew, you should have told me this weeks ago! Then I
might have been able to salvage something, but right before the show? This is
on you. You should have told me.”

“What? Are you kidding me? I told why I didn’t tell you and
you agreed with my reasoning, if I recall, so don’t go blaming me for this
disaster. You’ve only got yourself to blame.”

I slump down in my chair in defeat. “Just go!”

“So should I start telling everyone it’s off?”

“What? No, don’t say a word. Let me come up with a plan B.”

“So you’re going to find him a bionic hand, is that it?
There is no plan B. Let’s just send everyone home and start dealing with the
aftermath. We’re finished June, finished.”

“Okay look, we’ve got 90 minutes before Fringe is set to
take the stage. If we need to, we can push that back another half hour to
forty-five minutes. Give me an hour to come up with a plan B and come back
here. Then, if I don’t have a solid plan, we go with yours and start unwinding
the evening.”

Stewart lets out an explosive sigh. “Fine, you got your
hour, and for all our sakes, I hope you pull one hell of a big rabbit out of
your hat. Good luck, sister.”

I bury my head in my hands as he shuts the door behind him,
and the moment the door closes, the tears begin to come. I truly do not have a
plan B. There is no plan. This was the dumbest thing I have ever done. The
worst part about it all is, whatever the outcome is, I really won’t be hurt.
I’ll return to work tomorrow night and I’ll still be a damn good paramedic.
It’s everybody else I’m worried about. They’ll be crushed. I’m sure Walker will
live to fight another day. He is, after all, the most sought after promoter in
the business. But Silas and his band mates, they’re done, and that’s on me.

When my tears finally dry up I dare to look at the clock.
I’ve got 45 minutes to make a miracle happen. I get up and start making another
cup of coffee when a bolt of lightning strikes me. I just got plan B! I grab my
cell phone and call Stewart. He answers on the first ring.

“What’s up?”

“You said you wanted a miracle? Well, I got your miracle.”

“Talk to me.”

“Didn’t what’s his face from Slipknot fill in for some tour
dates after Myles died?”

“Yeah, Paul Gray did, why?”

“He’s left handed. I just looked it up.”

“So...”

“So, did he use his own guitars or did the band have some
left handed guitars for him to use?”

“You can’t be thinking what I think you’re thinking...are
you?”

“Look, you said yourself that Silas is ambidextrous, right?”

“Yeah sure, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he can play
guitar left handed.”

“But I think he can. I remember one time backstage he picked
up a guitar that was lying around and started to play on it. It was
left-handed, so it sounded strange. Then he switched hands and played a quick
tune, I saw it. He can play left handed Stew.”

“Oh man, I don’t know. Just because he played a simple tune
back stage on an acoustic guitar doesn’t mean he can play complex riffs.”

“It’s the best plan B we got. Can you get one of those left
handed guitars?”

“I got no idea where they are, June. I’ll look but I don’t
know. All their shit got dumped in storage, some here and some in LA.”

“Please. Look, it’s the only chance we got.”

“Alright, I’m going, but if you hatch a better plan B, call
me. This one’s a long shot.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

I think I better call Walker. This could go badly. He’s
bound to be pissed that he’s just now finding out how serious the problem is.
He answers on the second ring.

“June, what’s up?”

“Hey uh...do you have access to any left handed guitars?”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “So the
rumors are true then.” It was a statement not a question. He knows something,
and I wonder why he hasn’t called me.

“What have you heard?”

“Are we really going to play this game forty minutes till
show time?”

“Sorry Walker, it’s been a rough day. I just found out that
Silas has considerable tendon and nerve damage in his left hand. His doctor
says there’s no way he’ll be able to press the strings well enough to make any
chords. I know for a fact that he is ambidextrous and he can at least play a
simple tune on a left handed guitar; I saw him myself.”

“You know June, if you can’t pull this off, the band, Silas,
their manager, they’re finished. Before you hatched this plan, given time they
might make a comeback. But if they look like fools tonight, no way in hell with
they ever see a stage again as long as they live.”

“I’m aware of that. I sent Stewart to try to locate the
guitars that Paul Gray used when he subbed for Myles, but Stewart said they
could be anywhere.”

“Look, call Stewart and tell him to forget his wild goose
chase. I’ll provide the guitars. I know where there’s a studio with a bunch of
left handed guitars. I’ll have them back here in forty minutes. That means you
better prep everybody for a late start.”

“Got it.”

“Call you when I have them June.”

After hanging up I collapse back into my chair and call
Stewart.

“Talk to me June,” he says.

“Don’t worry about the guitars. I just talked to Walker who
promised he’d deliver.”

“That’s great news, because I’m stuck in traffic. Even if I
turn around right now, it’ll take me almost a half hour just to get back to
you.”

“Guess you’d better get turned around. Oh, and Walker says
to put the word out to delay the show thirty minutes.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

I can’t believe it. We might actually pull this off.  I’m
actually beginning to get excited. This is gonna be the rock-n-roll comeback of
the century. Flush with excitement, I begin pacing the room again. I should
call Gabby. She’s somewhere out there in the crowd and probably wondering if
her best friend is going to pull this off.

When she answers the phone I can hear the crowd behind her.
“What’s up?” She hollers into the phone.

“I did it. At least I’m pretty sure I did.”

“That’s great!” she shouts.

“Yeah, had to pull a rabbit out of the hat but—” a sudden
pounding on my door stops me mid-conversation. “Just a second Gabby,” I say as
I get the door.

The moment I open it Hammer and Marcus barge in. “Where is
he?” they ask, looking around the room.

“Where’s who?” I ask, with a sinking feeling in the pit of
my stomach.

“Your boyfriend of course. Said he was just gonna stretch
his legs but that was almost an hour ago,” replies Hammer, eyeing me
suspiciously.

“Don’t look at me. I haven’t seen him for a couple hours. He
was supposed to be getting ready with you guys.”

“Well you’d better find him quick. It won’t take him long to
score in this town.”

“Oh shit! I didn’t think of that.”

“Yeah, seems there’s a lot of things you didn’t think
about,” says Marcus.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“How about, how’s he gonna play with his hand being all
fucked up like it is. Ever think about that?” Marcus says through gritted
teeth.

“Maybe if someone would have had the balls to tell people
about his hand,” I reply, “Things would have gone differently. That night he tried
to play after his surgery, the night he nearly got caught for playing air
guitar, the press should have been told you were having to use recorded music
until he was healed. It would not have been any big deal. You guys screwed up
by trying to hide it. That’s all on you Hammer!”

“Shut up!” Marcus yells, “We just gotta find him.”

“You’re right. We’ll all go out and meet back here in thirty
minutes. Got that?”

“Got it,” they yell as they head out. I grab my keys and
follow shortly behind. Silas should have told me about his hand, and I should
have called him the second I had my brainstorm. He’s probably off somewhere
drinking and wondering how he’s going to play without the use of his left hand.
That’s on me.

I’m just about to get into my car when it hits me. He
doesn’t have a car with him and he won’t need a taxi either. There are tons of
bars within walking distance from here. He should be fairly close by. I glance
at my watch—thirty minutes to show time. I spend the next twenty minutes going
from one bar to the next without coming up with Silas. I even tried the various
eateries scattered around in a three block radius; still no Silas. I decide to
check one more restaurant before heading back to the Fillmore.

The moment I open the door I know I’m at the right place.
Someone is playing an acoustic guitar, and he’s doing a fine job of it. I knew
he could play! Either he found himself a left-handed guitar or he can still
play right-handed. I run into the restaurant ready to drag him out when I’m
stopped short. There’s about thirty people with varying Fringe shirts and
memorabilia and someone is sitting on a stool in the middle of the room and
playing an acoustic guitar. I can’t believe it. I was so damn sure I found him
and that he could play...This is it. I’m done!

“He’s pretty good isn’t he?”

I just about fall over in shock. I turn around and there
standing before me is Silas Mann.

“I suppose we should get back to the Fillmore, yes?”

“Wait,” I step up to him and look real close. The story is
in his eyes...he is high.

“Sorry,” he explains, “But no way in hell am I getting out
on that stage in full blown heroin withdrawal. But don’t worry, I got just
enough on board to get me through the show. I won’t be passing out on the
stage, I promise.”

I’m at a loss for words. I just nod my head and follow him
out. I can see from behind that he appears to be examining his hand. He’s
probably wondering if he can do it or not. I better tell him of plan B. I talk
fast as we head back to The Fillmore.     

When I finish he says, “Don’t know if I can do it. I’ve
plunked around on left handed guitars before, but not seriously.”

“Of course you can Silas. I have faith in you.”

“Yeah, I just wish I shared your faith.”

“Well, after tonight you will. Now let’s find the guys.

I glance at my watch. We were supposed to start in five
minutes, but we managed to move the time back until 8:45. That should give us
the time we need to get ready. Most importantly, it will give Silas some time
to get in some left-handed practice. I’m just sitting down to relax when my
phone starts ringing again. This time it’s Gabby.

“Hey Gabbs,” I answer with more cheeriness than I’m really
feeling at the moment.

“Is everything okay June? It sounded like something bad
happened while we were talking.”

“Minor crisis averted, that’s all.”

“So you’re really pulling this off, yes?”