Rush
The chanting of my name echoed in the cinder-block corridor after I left the stage.
“They want a second encore,” Bradley told me, as if I didn’t already know.
“They can’t always get what they want.” I snagged the white towel a stagehand offered me and swiped it across my brow.
Narrowing my eyes at my manager, I noticed the chicks we swept past vied for his attention as much as they did for mine. Blond, blue-eyed, barely older than me, Bradley was the master of the ten-million-dollar-a-year Rush machine. He was also catnip to the backstage pussy that went for his Armani brand of boring boardroom predictability.
“Life sucks and then you die, right?”
“Rush.” His tone was warning as he glanced up from his phone and the glow of platinum profits from tonight’s sold-out show. “Not here.” He lifted his chin to remind me of our audience. “Put a lid on the negativity.”
He might have a point about the crowd. My PR rep, the stylist, and the visiting record label VP had signed nondisclosure agreements, same as the groupies. While my staff was paid handsomely to keep their mouths shut whenever I shot off mine, I held no such sway with the ticket-holding masses.
“I’m not making apologies for how I am.”
Bradley frowned as we entered the dressing room. “You weren’t always this difficult.”
I brushed past him on the way to the bar. I poured a tumbler of whiskey, out of deference to my company. Alone? I would have chugged it straight from the bottle. I threw back the socially acceptable portion, but the fire the amber elixir ignited barely registered. Ditto for the lingering adrenaline rush from the roar of the Staples Center crowd.
Get a grip, I willed myself, staring at my own reflection. The guy within the rectangular frame of bulbs looked a little too needy and wrung out. His brown hair was plastered to his skull, and so saturated with sweat, it appeared black. The eyes were the real giveaway. Twin portals whirled with a vortex of negative emotions.
“No more drinking.” Bradley snatched the bottle of Jameson from my grasp. “You know what happened last time you got trashed.”
“I remember. No need to rub my nose in it.” Sales had gone in the shitter after someone posted a video of me going nuclear on an overly aggressive paparazzo.
I had zero regrets. Asswipe had it coming for shoving his camera in my mother’s face at the funeral. If my father had been the pillar of strength in our family, she was the pedestal. Only she had crumbled completely when they lowered his casket into the ground.
Remembering that day and all that had been lost, the ground rumbled at a Richter-scale magnitude beneath my feet. The betrayal of my ex-fiancée marrying my brother was a minor temblor in comparison.
It wasn’t only that my father was gone, or that Brenda had moved on, it was that so much had been left unresolved with each of them. I knew my failure as a man was the common factor with each.
As the specter of that truth rose within me, my mouth went dry and my hands twitched. I needed another drink. No, I wanted to drain that entire fucking bottle of whiskey dry. And I knew what that meant. The narrow line I’d been walking with my drinking had gone well beyond a casual thing.
I ripped my gaze away from my reflection and glared at Bradley. “You got my car washed and gassed up?”
I could see no other cure for what ailed me. I needed to get away before I did something ill-advised. Paparazzi were like a plague of locusts, ready to devour my mistakes, and talking heads were on standby to regurgitate the lurid stories for mass consumption.
He scowled at me. “Yeah, but do you really think you’re in any condition to drive the Porsche?”
“I need some fresh air.”
“Rush, you’ve got interviews and the VIP meet-and-greets.”
“You said we were through with all the bullshit after tonight.”
“After tonight’s obligations. It’s not all about you. Your fans are what keeps the Rush machine cranking out the cash, and you know it.”
“Yeah. All right. I get it.” I closed my fingers into tight fists, wishing they were gripping the leather-wrapped steering wheel of the Carrera instead. “They get an hour.”
I could do sixty more minutes for him and for my bandmates who worked as hard as I did. But that was it. I was as sick of myself and the arrogant rock-star act as everyone else was.
“After that, I’m gone.”
“Everyone out.” Bradley barked the order to the media reps that had followed us into the dressing room. “Rush needs a shower.” He cast his authoritative gaze around the throng within the claustrophobic ten-by-fourteen-foot space.
As usual, when he spoke, people listened. It was an innate ability he’d been honing since I met him in grade school and he convinced our headmaster that after-school suspensions were inhumane.
“Interviews will run according to the order on the sign-up sheet,” Bradley said, and the already rapidly emptying room cleared out even faster. Everyone hoped to be first in line.
When only my entourage remained, he addressed our small crew. “Thanks for all your hard work tonight. I’ll meet you in the green room. For now, I need you to give us some privacy.”
Murmuring acquiescence, they filed out.
As soon as the door shut behind them and we were alone, Bradley narrowed his gaze on me.
“Been on tour months without a fuckin’ break,” I said quickly, recognizing the impending lecture gleaming in his eyes. “I gotta go off the grid before I go completely insane, man.”
“I hear you.”
He studied me a long beat. Whatever he saw turned his light blue eyes storm-cloud dark.
“I got your back. You know I do. But you aren’t the only one who’s dead tired. If you go underground this time, I need you to stay underground, all right? I’ve been at the center of this whirlwind with you, and I’d like a breather from the chaos too. So, no aspiring actresses during the break. No models. And no more Rock Fuck Club chicks.”
“You expect me to be celibate?” I raised my brows.
“As a priest.”
“After the stunts we pulled in Catholic school, I don’t think they’d allow either of us to become men of the cloth.”
“Real wine swapped out for grape juice.” His flattened lips twitched.
“Frogs and garden snakes in the sisters’ lockers.” I grinned. “They were prophylactic measures. Our stunts served a purpose.”
“Kept those rulers off our knuckles after that, didn’t they?”
I nodded, missing those days when we’d not only had each other’s backs, but also confided everything to each other. Simpler days. Simpler lives.
Bradley’s expression turned serious again. “So, you headed to your condo in Santa Monica?”
“Yeah, after I drive around a bit. Clear my head.”
“You mean go to a bar, pick up a chick, and get laid again.”
“Probably.”
“Your standards are appallingly low.” He shook his head. “I’m going back home. I’ll be reachable on my personal number if you need me.”
“Bree giving you another chance?” I asked.
He’d been practically domesticated by her. Shit, I’d given up on that gig after my one and only failed attempt. Why settle for one woman when I could have however many I wanted each night?
“I hope she does.” Bradley’s brow creased, and suddenly, he seemed less like the confident business manager and more like my geeky grade-school friend. He knew my issues as well as I knew his. The past year had been tough on both of us. But this girl mattered to him.
Giving me a serious look, he said, “Make this break count, Rush. I plan to. Get your head together. We’ve got from Christmas through New Year’s off, then we’re back out on the road.”
Stuck at the stop light an hour later, I impatiently drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. The street sign seemed to mock me, probably because I’d seen it before. At least three times.
How the fuck did I end up circling back to the same corner on Wilshire?
I glared at my navigation display. Unreliable piece of shit. This wasn’t anywhere near the hotel where my next hookup was waiting.
I zoomed in on the map. Maybe I could take Hollywood Boulevard around and then just cut back in at . . . Fuck. That route for whatever reason was all red. A parking-lot standstill. And I didn’t know this part of town well enough to formulate an alternative.
My phone rang. The display switched off the map to reveal it was my mother calling.
My heart stuttered. Our communication was irregular, especially sparse since the funeral. Her phoning at this time of night led me to immediately anticipate a crisis.
“Hey, Mom,” I said. “Is everything okay?”
“No, not really.”
“Are you sick?” My vocal cords lowered to a strained rasp. An out-of-the-blue phone call similar to this one had broken the bad news about my father. A massive heart attack. Gone within a matter of hours, before I could even say good-bye.
Had I come to terms with it? Had she?
Hardly.
“No, Rush.” Her voice sounded a little strange, as if I’d caught her off guard. “I just had my yearly routine checkup.”
“Okay. Good.” Shaky, I steered the 911 to a nearby curb. Since I was using the Bluetooth connection, I hadn’t taken my hands off the wheel, but it was too distracting to drive while talking to her. “So, what’s up?”
A quick glance out the windows confirmed I wasn’t in the best part of town. Porn shop. A couple of skeezy-looking bars. A by-the-hour motel. I clicked the locks.
“I’m lonely. Sad. I rarely hear from you anymore. You’re my boy, and I miss you.”
Her voice hitched, and my stomach bottomed out as if it had been dropped from a height.
“Mom, I’m sorry. It’s just been crazy busy . . .” I trailed off, not knowing what the fuck to say. Even before the rift between us, I hadn’t been any good at the emotional stuff. It wasn’t the way I was raised.
Life had been rough growing up in the heartland. Dad had been a farmer and rancher, the family livelihood largely dependent on the Indiana weather. Our lives revolved around pragmatism and planning.
There wasn’t any thought of getting in touch with our feelings, no understanding for a son who preferred to express his creativity through music. And certainly no neutral ground for reconciliation after I left them and chased after my unlikely dreams.
And now the man who had modeled the values of strength and silent stoicism was gone. Far beyond my reach. The chance for us to explore those feelings was taken with him.
“It’s my first Christmas without your father,” she reminded me, and I suddenly couldn’t breathe. “The house is too quiet. Like a tomb with your brother and Brenda away on their honeymoon.”
Randy had never moved away from home. The ever-dutiful son, he’d taken over the management of the farm after Dad died. But with him out of town, it wasn’t surprising she had reached out to me.
I didn’t much like the idea of her being all alone in the big empty farmhouse, miles away from the nearest neighbor. Worry and guilt branded the center of my chest. I hadn’t been out to visit her since the funeral.
“I was going through my old scrapbooks after the Johnsons stopped by to check on me,” she said. “Do you remember the year Thunder climbed up the Christmas tree?”
“Yeah, Mom,” I whispered. I’d forgotten about that cat. “He was just a kitten. He was so small, he looked like one of the ornaments.”
“Yes, that was before he got fat and mean.”
“He slept in my room at night. But he used to bring you mice whenever he caught ’em. He left them on the front doorstep so you couldn’t miss them. I think he wanted your approval.”
The cat. Me. I got the ironic parallel, but did she? Would she ever see value in the choices I made?
“Yes, I think you’re right. He also used to lie in wait to pounce on anyone who walked by. Those claws of his were sharp.” She sighed, her breath heavy with remembrance. “You were so attached to him. You got attached to all the animals. Wanted to name them all. Hard to send them on to the slaughterhouse when you think of them as pets. I guess your father and I should have seen the writing on the wall.”
Was she trying to say she understood why I left? Why I went my own way? Maybe even that she was sorry? Or was I just wishfully reading between the lines?
“Why are you really calling, Mom?” I said, putting it out there. “I haven’t heard from you in months. I don’t understand. You’re going to have to tell me straight out what you need from me.”
She sighed, and the line fell silent for a moment. “Just that I don’t want there to be long stretches without us talking to each other anymore. That’s all.”