Rocked Forever (5 page)

She arrived, ponytail swinging, and put a hand on my shoulder. "Ellie, I'm so sorry. I should have warned you."

I could feel my chin quivering and bit down on my tongue to keep from wailing. The security guard was pretending not to pay attention, but I could feel his gaze on my back. Everyone was staring at me, they could see what a mess I was, and there was nothing I could do about it. But I wouldn't make it worse. I wouldn't dissolve into a puddle of desolate desperation.

My eyes shifted from person to person, trying to figure out how to escape. A look of understanding passed between Becca and Julia, and I wanted to vomit.

Rick had stopped and now came back to where we were standing. "What the fuck is this?" He looked at me for a long moment. "What's wrong with you?"

Julia strode over and slapped her hand over his mouth. Normally I would have laughed, but there was no hint of mirth left in me. She pulled his face close to hers before hissing, "Shut up," at him. "If you say one unkind word to this girl I swear on my life I'll skin you alive with my fingernails."

The shocked expression on his face was enough to actually distract me from my own misery for a second.

Becca stifled a laugh and squeezed my arm. "Come on, let's all go back to my room." She nodded at me reassuringly. "It'll be okay. We can just go sit down. Okay?"

There was no way to refuse without humiliating myself any worse, so I just shrugged and let her lead me. Julia and Rick trailed behind us, and I could hear them whispering to each other.

The room was silent as we entered, and I snuck a glance at the television, and breathed a sigh of relief that it was dark.

How did I get here? How did everything get so insane?

As the rest of us settled around the room, Becca was still working, typing something into her computer.

I perched on the edge of a chair, trying to figure out how to seem a little less pathetic to them. Fake breeziness seemed to be the best choice, even if I couldn't quite pull it off. "So, where's everyone else?"

Julia turned to the side on the sofa and rested her legs on Rick's lap. "Joe's in the little gym they have up here."

Becca nodded. "He'll be here. Dex is on his way, too. He had a radio interview earlier and it ran a little over, but he just texted that he's in the car."

"Great," I replied, hoping it didn't sound as lame as it felt.

"So, Ellie," Julia said. "How's the movie coming along? Wait, should I call it that? Or just secret project 42?"

I managed a semblance of a laugh. "I guess it's kind of a movie." Talking about the project was a nice distraction from how I'd embarrassed myself earlier. I'd avoided telling anyone too much, because at first I wasn't even sure what it would be. "It's going well."

"When do we get to see it?"

"Soon, I hope. We're working on a rough cut this week."

Rick grunted. "I don't see the point of all this extra work you're doing."

"You've mentioned that a few times. But, it's fun for me."

"Uh-huh."

I rolled my eyes at him. "It is. Look, as nice as it is to cover this tour, show what's happening every day, what really interests me is a larger story."

Becca smiled. "I agree."

"Thanks." I wasn't sure what I've ever done to deserve her support, but she's been amazing. "Not to bring up unhappy memories, but when I first wrote that article about you guys, the one after Ryan died, I got really interested. Not in just the inner workings of your band, but of how four really different guys came together to take over the world. How you changed, and how you didn't. What makes you better – aside from the music – from the other thousands of bands who haven't been able to get where you are."

"Raw sex appeal," a voice deadpanned from the doorway. Joe had arrived.

"In my case, at least," Rick replied.

Joe said, "Sure, keep telling yourself that, buddy." He came over and sat next to me. "What were you talking about?"

Julia, who'd shifted to sit completely on Rick's lap, answered. "Ellie was telling us the thesis of her secret project."

"I'm still unconvinced," Rick said. "For all we know it's some sketchy tell-all."

Joe snorted. "What's she gonna tell about you? The whole world knows you're just a giant asshole with some fair to middling drum skills."

"Keep running your mouth, pretty boy."

Joe arched an eyebrow. "Quit flirting with me. Your girlfriend is right there."

Julia giggled. "Don't think I haven't had that dream once or twice."

Rick's "Hey!" of indignation set everyone off and the room filled with laughter.

I joined in, starting to feel normal again. It was nice to see everyone getting along. Something had changed since Matthew's injury became common knowledge. There hadn't been any big arguments, nothing more than the normal sniping that goes along with spending months on end with the same people, and never staying in one place for more than a few days.

"Okay, okay, everyone calm down," Becca finally said. "We have a bunch of things to go over, and a lot of schedule changes for the next few days." She looked down at a printout. "Call times for today are the same, but we've got to leave right after the show, no after parties. The meet-and-greet is cancelled as well."

"Why?" Joe asked.

She shrugged. "It's a long story, but basically the plane needs a little maintenance before the flight to Vegas, and there's not time to get another one, so we're driving to the next city. Which means sleeping on the buses, and we'll be racing tomorrow's soundcheck. So, if anyone needs some good rest, I recommend trying to grab a nap after this meeting."

"Fantastic," Julia drawled.

"Sorry," Becca said. "Nothing to be done about it. At least we've got some free time in Vegas." She glanced at me and then down at her papers. "Speaking of which, I'll send everyone the final schedules later today, but so far everything is on track. We booked some rehearsal space for you to catch Matthew up before the big return show. There's a lot of press interest, of course, which the publicity folks are still trying to figure out, but expect a lot more cameras in your faces."

Just as I'd regained my composure, listening to her talk about Matthew coming back sent me reeling again. If I could barely cope with seeing his face on a video chat, how was I ever going to handle being around him in person?

The solution to my problem was pretty simple, as it was my only choice. I ignored it. There was plenty of work to do, plenty of tasks to distract myself with, and so that's what I did. Longer videos, more fan quotes, better questions, more notes.

By the time we made it through the next two shows, and boarded the plane to Vegas, I'd convinced myself I wouldn't even have time to think about Matthew. My capacity for stupidity is nearly endless, apparently. The trip was uncommonly quiet, everyone seemed to be exhausted, thoughtful, or both.

Instead of sleeping, I was bent over my computer trying to review the rough cut of my project. Steven did an incredible job, managing to distill my scattered notes into something cohesive. Watching it through, it seemed intentional, rather than rambling.

A last minute find online – a video from a high school student who interviewed Dream Defiled during their first big tour, might fit perfectly in a section I thought needed a little work. I plugged in my headphones and played it, trying to figure out how much to use.

*

The boy stood, fidgeting with the cord on his microphone, his eyes darting from the camera lens to the person standing next to him. His glasses were shoved crookedly into the pocket of his shirt, and his neck was blotchy below his pale face.

He cleared his throat and smiled, revealing a mouth full of shockingly white teeth. His voice cracked the tiniest bit throughout. "This is Cliff Campbell. I'm here outside the brand new Crave Club, whose opening week is bringing musical acts from across the country…" he paused dramatically. "And around the world."

The figure next to him, whose arm and shoulder were visible in the frame, snorted.

The boy's face reddened. "Please introduce yourself." He jerked his head to the side and flashed an annoyed look at the camera as it slowly panned left to reveal a tall, muscular man, dressed in black head-to-toe.

"I'm Dex Winters," he said, a playful expression on his face.

"And what do you do, Dex?" the boy asked.

"Party, mostly."

The boy laughed awkwardly. "I meant for a living."

"Play bass."

"And is this your first time in America?"

"No, I live here."

"Oh." There's a sound of papers shuffling, and a muttered curse. "Okay, well… all right. Can you tell us a little bit about your band?"

"Sure. We're Dream Defiled, and this is our first national tour. There are four of us. Myself, of course. Our front man, Joe Hawk. Rhythm guitarist Matthew Daniels, and our drummer, Rick Gregory."

"What kind of music do you play?"

"Rock music, mate."

"And are you excited to be part of the Crave Club's opening week?"

"Sure." Dex rolled his eyes, but kept the smile plastered on his face.

"As you may know, this club is a brand new experiment in Heartsville. It's open to all ages and doesn't serve alcohol at all. Following a number of bar closures in the area due to underage drinking, the mayor and the city council are hoping to show us and the whole country there's a better way to have fun."

Dex stared at him, horrified. "I can't imagine what the point of all that is. You lot have liquor stores. There's one right down the street."

The camera zoomed out to show both of them, and the boy look petrified, scanning down a sheet of paper in his hand. "We… uh… yes, of course."

"So what's the point?" Dex asked. "Just means everyone'll show up blinkered. Look, I'm all for finding something other than drinking to do occasionally." He paused, and his expression turned wistful for a moment. "But come on, it's a club. Booze and fun just go together. Don't you agree?"

The boy swallowed visibly. "Well, I'm too young to drink, and I… um… I don't think our viewers need to… er… well… so. Can you uh, tell me about some of the other cities you've visited?"

Dex gestured at someone outside of view and then turned to the boy. "Hang on. What's this interview for?"

The boy smiled weakly and looked into the camera. "Heartsville High School's official YouTube channel."

"Are you taking the piss?"

"I… I don't know what that means."

Dex groaned. "Fuck. I got up early for this?"

"I'm sorry," the boy squeaked.

Dex looked at him, rubbed his face, and sighed. "Fuck, I'm sorry man. Look, I'm shit at this stuff. Joe's the talker. The one people like. I'm just… I'm just the screw up trying to keep it together, okay?"

They stared at each other in silence for a second. Then the boy thrust his chest out and took a deep breath. "We're all screw ups trying to keep it together."

*

I chuckled under my breath. The new video clip really was perfect. I sent off a note to try and find out who owned the rights to it, and jotted down the timestamps for minor cutting. In between silly moments, the video revealed something that fit in perfectly with the rest of the movie. Each member of Dream Defiled needed something in their life, or excelled at something. The band gave each of them the opportunity to get, or at least strive for what mattered most. And in finding each other, and their places, they created musical, and personal magic. My plan to show Matthew that he was needed in his band had turned into something much larger, and more profound.

It inspired me. I typed a quick email, attached the latest version of the rough cut, and clicked send before I lost my nerve. Once it was sent, I took a moment to review what I'd said, to wonder how it would come across to him.

Matthew, I know you probably don't want to hear from me, but I think the attached file might help as you prepare to return to the tour. And, whatever happened between the two of us, you were the inspiration for what I think is my best work ever. So, thank you for that, and I hope you'll watch and enjoy it, even coming from me.

It was only a fraction of what I really wanted to say to him. But it was something. I turned off my computer to keep from staring at the screen to see if he replied, and reclined my seat. Feeling at least partially unburdened, I fell asleep, only waking when the pilot announced we were landing soon. As people woke and shifted in their seats around me, I looked out the window to see the Las Vegas skyline emerging from the desert as we descended through the clouds.

On the ground it was back to work. Quick shots of the madness as fans surrounded the cars trying to leave the airport for the hotel. A small army of paparazzi followed our convoy, and I said silent thanks for great drivers who got us there in one piece.

As we unloaded at the hotel's VIP entrance, I could hear screaming and celebration. The manager who came out to meet us apologized, and assured the band that the legions of excited fans out front wouldn't get inside. He led us up the private elevator to the penthouse suite, which was bigger than my whole apartment building back home.

I dumped my bag in the room I'd been assigned and wandered around, trying to get a feel for the space, and hoping I didn't seem like a total rube. Spending time on the road with Dream Defiled, I thought I'd somewhat gotten used to ridiculous luxury, but this place took it to a whole new level. On my floor of the suite, there were a dozen rooms set up like studio apartments. I had a bed, desk, sectional sofa and giant television, as well as a small kitchen and dining area. The bathroom was entirely black marble, with a shower that filled one entire wall, with a floor-to-ceiling window inside it that looked out over the Strip.

Out in the hallway there was a seating area, a bar, and a pool table by the glassed-in elevator. As I rode it up, I saw the other floors looked the same as mine. It was so over the top, and so cool. You couldn't even tell from here that this was part of a giant resort.

The top floor was reserved for the band, and it was the most open, and the most opulent. The elevator opened into a giant two-story living room. Roadies and hotel staff were piling up luggage in between the sumptuous leather and chrome furnishings. There was an eight-seater hot tub on a platform next to a wall of sliding doors, and a grand piano in front of it. Joe was sitting on the bench talking on the phone. I waved at him and he smiled back, gesturing for me to make myself at home.