Broken Strings (A Rock Star Novel) (21 page)

“Yeah...?”

“You’re not sounding too confident. What’s wrong now?”

“This could be one colossal disaster Gabby. And if it is,
it’ll all be my fault. There’ll be no one to blame but me.”

“Why wouldn’t it turn out okay?”

“We still don’t know if Silas can play a left handed
guitar.”

“But I thought you heard him play left handed at one of the
backstage parties?”

“Kinda, yeah. He picked up a left-handed acoustic guitar and
played a little tune, that’s all.”

“Seriously June? You’ve got an awful lot riding on this
hunch. What happens if he gets out there on stage and can’t play? Never mind,
don’t answer that. He’ll get lynched. The whole band will get lynched.”

“That’s why Silas is practicing with the left handed guitars
Walker brought over. He’s had them for ten minutes. I think I would have heard
by now if something’s wrong. Oops, hang on a second, someone’s knocking. Come
in!” I yell through the door.

I’m surprised to find Hammer and Marcus at my door. They
come in and shut the door behind them.

“Out with it, what’s the problem now?” I ask. I can tell by
their faces that there’s a problem.

“I don’t think he can play left handed. We gave him the
guitars and an amp, but he’s been in there with them for fifteen minutes and we
haven’t heard a thing yet.”

“Well that’s not good. I’ll go and talk to him. In the
meantime, you guys just make sure you’re ready.”

“We are. We’re just waiting on Silas.”

I hurry past them, down the hall and knock on Silas’s door.

“Who is it?” he calls. With great trepidation, I open the
door and walk in. Silas is perched on a stool but the guitars are spread out on
the couch.

“Oh, it’s you...”

“How’s the playing coming along?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Haven’t you tried yet?”

“Have you heard that guitarists are a superstitious bunch?”

“Yes...”

“I don’t want to jinx myself before going out on stage.”

“What? You mean you’re willing to step out on that stage
even if you don’t know if you can even play? That’s crazy!”

“It’s no less crazy than putting together this whole show
for the magazines and the news media when you know I probably won’t be able to
play. It’s not nearly as crazy as what you did the other night, smuggling drugs
into rehab, breaking me out, then letting me give myself a near fatal dose of
heroin. We’ll probably all be crucified, June. You gotta know that.”

“No, what I do know is sitting right in front of me—this
amazingly talented guitarist who is a total chicken. Now pick up the damn
guitar and get warmed up for the show.”

“...Yes ma’am.”

He picks up one of the guitars but makes no move to play it.
“Aren’t you going to play it?”

“Not until you leave. It’s kinda like not seeing the bride
in her dress before the wedding.”

I start to laugh then stop when I see from his expression
that he’s totally serious. “Fine, it makes no sense at all, but fine. I’m
leaving.”

I turn and shut the door behind me, then press my ear to the
door and wait for him to start playing. “Listening through the door counts June.
Now just go...please.”

“Fine.” I guess there’s no point in pushing this any
further. The sooner I get out of his hair the more likely he’ll try to play. I
hurry back to my room and collapse in my chair.

It’s now thirty minutes until show time. Now that I have
nothing to do but stress about Silas’s ability to play guitar, time seems to be
buried in molasses. I try to sit still but I can’t. I get back up from the
chair and resume my pacing. I can’t stand it. This waiting is killing me.

The past five hours have been one long maddening media
circus as reporters from Guitar Player, Rolling Stone do their level best to
get an interview from me. Walker’s people have done a pretty good job keeping
them at bay, but it hasn’t been easy. I just don’t want my face out there just
in case this is a disaster of epic proportions. After the show I’m sure it’ll
be ten times worse. If I’m a success and manage to pull this off, then all the
attention won’t be so bad. On the other hand, if Silas can’t play, I’ll be
crucified in public.

My phone rings again and I make a mad dash for my purse.
“Hello?”

“Good evening, my name is Fred Jones. I would like to offer
you a one-time gift of—”

Telemarketing, now, and at a time like this? I hang up
without bothering to speak. That should discourage him. The second my phone is
back in my purse it rings again. Again without even looking I press the button
and unleash my furry. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I got way too
much on my plate to listen to some sales pitch.”

“Then why don’t you take a bite?”

“What?”

“You said you got too much on your plate so I suggested you
take a bite. You know, clear your plate a bit...”

“Are you completely nuts?”

I hang up and turn on the TV. There’s a reporter talking to
Dan Donnigan from Disturbed. I wonder what that’s all about. I decide to listen
in.

Reporter: So I have to ask, you filled in for Myles Ketter
of Fringe when he overdosed in the middle of their sold out Straight jacket
tour, did you not?”

Dan: I did, and it was one helluva tour!

Reporter: So in your experience then, is Fringe the real
deal or are they just another Shadowspawn?”

Dan: Hell yeah they’re for real. Those guys can play. Who
knows, after they’re comeback gig tonight, we might be opening up for their
next tour, and I’d be proud to do it. Kick some ass tonight Silas!

Reporter: Well there you have it from Dan Donnigan, lead
guitarist for the metal band Disturbed. Now back to you Karl.

I decide to turn to another station. They’re showing footage
from the Channel 6 Eye in the Sky that’s hovering just over the tops of the
Trans America building. They’re focusing in on the crowd down in the streets of
San Francisco. There must be ten times as many people down there than will fit
in the venue. The line for the ticket holders has long since disappeared
inside. It’s like one big street party down there now. I don’t know what
they’re expecting, but they’re not going to be able to see anything.

“Holy crap!”

There’s been a huge screen set up just outside The Fillmore.
I guess they’re going to broadcast the show for everyone who couldn’t get
tickets. This is gonna be some party. Suddenly I feel icy cold all over. If
Silas and Fringe can’t pull this one off, I don’t dare show my face outside my
apartment ever again. I’m just about to change channel when I see another
building I recognize—my own. I flip on the volume again.

Channel 10 Voice over: Right now we’re showing you the home
of June Cho, the driving force behind Fringe’s come back show tonight. If not
for her, none of this would be happening.  So who is June Cho, and why did she
risk it all for her favorite band Fringe? To answer that you’d have to step
back through time to a date almost exactly ten years ago today and a terrifying
automobile crash that took the life of her younger sister, Camille.

I hit the mute button again just as they’re showing an old
photo of me and Camille in the summer before the crash. I turn the TV off, I
can’t watch any more. I didn’t expect to become a celebrity over this. I just
wanted to make things right and put those who deserve it, back in the
spotlight.

I collapse back on the couch. I didn’t even realize I had
gone back to pacing again. No sooner than I settle down than my cell phone
rings again. This time it’s Walker.

“Hi Walker, what’s up?”

“Hey June, you been catching any of these news broadcasts
tonight?”

“Yeah, I just caught part of the bit about my little sister
and the accident.”

“Sorry June, I saw that one too. It’s a shame they couldn’t
leave your personal life out of it.”

“Yeah I had no idea.”

“That you’d become an overnight celebrity?”

“I really don’t want anything to do with it. Tomorrow I just
want to go back to work and forget about it all.”

“Do you really think the world’s going to let you do that?”

“Guess not.”

“So how’s our young star, the other one?”

“He’s fine. I just sent him away to get warmed up a few
minutes ago. By the way, if you can do anything to keep him out of the
spotlight tonight, you should do it.”

“You mean if he can’t play and this whole thing is a bust?”

“No, I mean even if it’s not a bust.”

“Now why would I want to do that?”

“As a personal favor to me would you?”

“What’s going on June?”

“He’s gonna be high.”

“What? I thought he was in rehab? Shouldn’t he be clean
now?”

“In a perfect world, yes. But in Silas Mann’s screwed-up
one, not on your life. I had to get him high or he’d never even have the chance
to play. When I picked him up, he was approaching full blown heroin withdrawals
and there’s no way in hell he’d be able to perform for at least a good week to
two, provided he lived through the withdrawal symptoms.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you got heroin for him. So
what’s the plan, keep him high so he can play tonight, then what?”

“I take him back to Forbes Clinic to really clean up this
time and I beg forgiveness for breaking him out in the first place. Hopefully
they won’t connect the dots and realize I’m the one who gave him the drugs
inside the clinic.”

“June, if I may make a suggestion here, before you return to
the clinic?”

“Sure Walker, anything.”

“Don’t go there without a good lawyer. In fact, I’ll provide
one free of charge. You shouldn’t have to go to jail for all the good you are
doing for others tonight. But if you don’t have one, you’ll go.”

“I don’t know Walker. I really think I gotta do this my way,
on my own.”

“Well, if you change your mind you know how to reach me. See
you after the show.”

“Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Any time June, you’re good people, don’t you forget that.”

I’m back on my feet and I can barely breathe. I think I’m
having a panic attack. So much is riding on this, and I have no idea what the
outcome is going to be. Well, time for me to watch what I created.

I leave my room and head for the stage. There’s a special
booth where  important people can watch the show unobstructed and in complete
anonymity. When I walk in, I am greeted by several dozen or so happy faces, all
wanting to shake my hand or give me a warm hug. Then someone taps me on the
shoulder—it’s Gabby.

“Gabbs, I didn’t know you would be here tonight!”

“Walker invited me,” she leans in and whispers in my ear,
“Holy crap, he’s hot!”

I laugh, Gabby has just taken away all my nervous fear and
anxiety with a single comment.

“Hi June.” Shit! I know that voice. How’d he get in here?

“Hello Brand.”

“Looks like you pulled it off. But if Silas can’t
play...sucks to be you, Junie.”

He thinks Silas can’t play and he’s here to gloat. He wants
to watch me crawl away in shame. That slinking...

Suddenly a hand streaks out and slaps him across his
handsome face. I look over and Gabby is standing there rubbing her stinging
hand. She looks at me apologetically, then smiles.

“Thanks Gabbs, he deserved that.”

“Yes he did,” says Walker as he walks up and gives me a hug.
Then he whispers in my ear. “But let’s not have any more outbursts until we
know how things are going to play out here. Right now Guitar Player loves him
and Rolling Stone is courting him. If everything goes your way, and the tide of
favor turns against Brand, then feel free to gloat openly, he certainly is
deserving of it. But in light of your possible legal woes, you don’t want Brand
or two very powerful magazines stirring up trouble for you.”

Suddenly my face falls and my happy mood deflates.

Seeing the change in my demeanor he says, “But don’t worry,
I’m certain this is going to be your night of triumph.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Show Time

Every light in the building goes out and, in true Fringe
fashion, the entire audience either holds up a cell phone or a light stick.
Silence prevails. I suddenly notice Stewart standing next to me, and a thought
occurs to me.

“Hey Stew, how do we know they’re really playing their
instruments and this is not some elaborate hoax? How will we know that Silas is
really playing in five minutes and it’s not just some recording?”

“Because representatives from Rolling Stone, Guitar Player,
and a dozen different news agencies are here to make sure they don’t get
played, so to speak. If you hear music coming out of Silas’s flying V, you can
rest assured he really is playing that instrument.”

The lights come up on the stage. Silas stands in his
position, his favorite guitar strung around his neck, and he is wringing his
fingers.

~~~

“What’s wrong?” Lance hisses.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Silas replies.

“Do what?”

“Play. I don’t know if I can play yet.”

“You got a left handed guitar right there if your right hand
isn’t up to the task yet.”

“Do you know how long ago it was that I played with a left
handed guitar?”

“No,”

“Well...I don’t think the internet had been built yet.”

“What? I thought you knew! Haven’t you been practicing all
this time?”

“I don’t wanna jinx myself by playing right before show
time”

“But you’re willing to risk our careers by not getting
yourself ready to do the most important show of our lives? Is that it?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And you’re willing to risk the very freedom of the girl
you—”

A sudden, shrill cry pierces the darkness and suddenly the
crowd begins chanting.

“Silas! Silas! Silas! Silas!”

“Play already!” Shouts Lance.

Silas grips the neck of his flying V with his left hand and
rests a finger across the strings. He takes a deep breath then lets it out with
an explosive sigh then lets his hand fall from his guitar.

He shakes his head in defeat.

~~~

Back in the press box I turn to Stewart and yell over the
crowd’s chanting. “What’s going on? What’s Silas doing? He really can’t play,
can he?”

“No...it would appear that he can’t play after all. You got
a plan C?”

“Run?”

“Think you’d get very far?”

“No...”

As if things aren’t bad enough, Brand walks up to me. He’s
trying to keep his face neutral, but a gloating smile keeps threatening to
break out across his face.

“Looks like the information you gathered for me was spot on.
The guy appears to be a fraud, and so does his pathetic band.” His face breaks
out into a triumphant smile. “Looks like I win.”

I turn to face him, fists clenched in anger. “What kind of a
person are you anyway that you can take so much pleasure from another’s
misfortune?”

“Really? You’re going to get all high and mighty on me? It
was you who gathered the information, then it was you who hacked my account and
tried to discredit me, which by the way is synonymous with ruining my career,
so don’t you go telling me I can’t be happy about the current chain of events.”

I really thought this would work out in the end. I can’t
have gone to all this trouble to have it end this way. I look around me.
There’s an empty chair against the far wall. Suddenly my feet can’t hold me up
any longer. I stagger over to it and collapse, resting my head in my hands. All
around me I can hear the crowd getting more restless.

My whole world is collapsing around me and I don’t know what
to do. Not only did I stake my reputation on the success of this event, but my
very freedom is depending on it. Hot tears are streaming down my cheeks. The
pain I’m feeling right now isn’t just a physical thing, it’s a deep ache of the
soul, and it’s a familiar one as well. I felt this way the night my little
sister died. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around to find Walker
standing there. I can’t look him in the eye...I’ve screwed him over too.

“Mr. Stephenson, I—” I can’t finish. What is there to say?
There’s no way to undo the damage I have just caused so many people. And
tomorrow I have to go to work and forget this all happened? How is that even
possible?

“I’m going to have to shut it down June. It’s over.”

One more time I can feel hot tears streaming down my face. I
have failed.

“I’m s-sorry,” I begin. “I take full responsibility for
everything. I’m sure it cost a boatload to rent the venue and to set everything
up.”

“Are you freaking serious?” Gabby is outraged. “You have
gotta be kidding, making her pay for this when you have millions? What kind of
a animal are you anyway?”

“It’s okay Gabby,” I have to shout over her words. “I knew
this could happen and I knew I would be responsible if things turned out this
way. It’s my fault and I’ll fix it.”

“Hell no you won’t June, I’ll—”

“I am the kind of person who easily forgives and believes in
second chances,” Walker says, “And yes, I believe I do have millions as your
friend so eloquently points out, but that’s not the issue here. Of course your
friend doesn’t have to—”

“Shut up!” One of the guys from Rolling Stone shouts. “I am
trying to hear.”

“Hear what?” Walker and I ask in unison.

“The music, of course!”

Suddenly I hear it too. Someone is playing the acoustic
guitar. Whoever it is, he’s doing a masterful job of it. I look around trying
to identify the source. I follow the direction of everybody’s heads until I see
a lone figure on stage with a 12 string guitar. It’s...Silas. I am too stunned
for words. The whole Fillmore audience is so quiet you can hear a pin drop.
It’s beautiful. A hand reaches out and wipes my face. It’s Gabby. She grabs my
hand and we watch Silas delivering the performance of his life. I don’t
recognize the tune. I’m just about to ask Gabby which song he’s doing when a
voice rings out, delivering the vocals. I look back towards the stage. Silas is
singing as well. I look around, wondering if I’m the only one who’s enraptured by
what they are experiencing. I’m not alone. I look from one glistening face to
another—there’s scarcely a dry eye to be seen. Slowly, Silas draws the song to
a close. The next thing that happens just blows me away. Every single person in
the house is on their feet still swaying to the strains of music they’d just
heard. Just then a single light stick pops up. Then another and another,
followed by cell phones held high overhead. There’s no clapping, yelling, or
cheering. They are paying silent homage to Silas, their troubadour. There must
be a thousand lights swaying back and forth as stunned fans pay respect to
their band.

Noises coming from the stage draw my attention away from the
audience. Hammer is coming out and has picked up his guitar. Lance is on his
heels, followed by Marcus. Someone holds out a guitar to Silas and he trades
with his acoustic. The flying V he slips over his neck is a left handed guitar.
This time when Silas hits the first chord to Straightjacket, the crowd erupts
in a deafening roar of approval. The show is on!

Fringe plays for two more hours and all the while people
congratulate me and offer their thanks for what I have pulled off. I’m on cloud
nine the entire night. Finally, as the night is drawing to an end, Silas begins
to speak.

“I want to share a song I wrote about a young woman who
saved my life. I don’t know where she is, but I’m sure she’s out there
somewhere. June, I don’t have a title for this one yet, but it’s for you.”

The crowd grows silent as the music begins to fill the hall.
It’s both sad and beautiful, and I’m sure I will never forget it. As the music
fades, a wonderful feeling of contentment replaces the silence. From head to
toe I’m filled with such peace. I’m positive I have never experienced this
feeling before. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside and at the same time I feel a
light fluttering in my tummy. My heart is beating a little faster than it
should. I’m about to ask if Gabby feels it too when a thought strikes me.
Maybe, just maybe, this is what love feels like.