Chapter Five

The rehearsal went amazingly well from Roger’s point of view. He was able to pick up the bass line in the existing Valhalla song catalog fairly quickly, and when they improvised, he was able to fit almost seamlessly with the other members of the band. He was happy and certain that things would work out wonderfully.

Roger called Mickey, and they both headed to Luigi’s. Erik was going to call a cab, but Kyle offered to drive him instead.

Kyle’s car was surprisingly pedestrian for a rock and roll drummer. It was just a simple economy import, one of those little Japanese cars that run forever. Roger buckled his seat belt and held his guitar case between his knees.

“Thank you for driving me.”

Behind the wheel, Kyle smiled and said, “No trouble at all. Have to keep you from running down any other pedestrians.”

Roger blushed, embarrassed. “I didn’t do it on purpose, and I was going to ride a cab, anyway.”

The drummer laughed. “We know. We’re just gonna give you hell about it for the rest of your life.” He eased out into traffic. “So, biography. Spill it. Who are you, where are you from, what family do you have, where do you live?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me about yourself,” he countered, smiling.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He laughed. “Go.”

He took a deep breath. “Okay. My name is Roger Patrick Singh. I was born in Middlesex, but grew up in London. My mum is from Dublin and my dad was from Kolkata. I’ve got no siblings. I’m twenty-four years old.” He laughed. “And I’m 5’10”, weigh twelve stone, and wear a size seven shoe, which is size eight in the States.”

Kyle nodded. “Okay. I’ll try to remember all that. Married? Kids?”

“Single. Gay.”

The drummer glanced at him, then back at the road. “Gay? Really?”

“Yes.” His stomach tightened. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. I’m just surprised, that’s all. What are the odds?”

“The odds of what?”

“The odds of an entire rock band being made up of gay guys.” He shook his head. “Wow.”

Roger frowned in confusion. “But who’s the woman, then, if you’re all gay, too?”

“That’s Erik’s sister. She came down from upstate to take care of him when he got out of the hospital. Her name is Penny.”

“Huh.” He looked out the window at the passing buildings. “I would never have guessed.”

“Not much of a gaydar on ya, huh?”

He chuckled. “I suppose not.”

“Okay, my turn.” He cleared his throat. “My name is Kyle Andrews, no middle name. I’m twenty-three years old. I’m originally from Wichita, Kansas, but I moved here to New York as soon as I got out of high school and was lucky enough to meet Rich before I had to start selling my ass on the street for food money. I’ve got four siblings, and my dad is an evangelical preacher. Needless to say, I don’t go home much.” He glanced at Roger again. “Rich and I have been together as partners for five years, and we formed Valhalla three years ago when we met Erik.”

“Erik said he got that house in a divorce. Is that true?”

“Well, yeah. Why would he lie?”

“I just… I didn’t think gay marriage had been legal in the States long enough for a marriage and a divorce to already happen.”

Kyle laughed. “It has, but in Erik’s case, it was a proper rock star marriage. Lasted about three months.” He stopped for a red light. “He married a stock broker, who thought he was clever by drawing up a prenup that split his assets 20/80. Erik got him to agree to 50/50, though, and that’s how he got the house and the money we used to record the first three CDs.”

“Wow.”

“Rich is Richard Lewis Howell, originally from Detroit, and he’s twenty-eight years old. Robbin’ the cradle.”  He laughed as traffic started to move again. “He’s got a mom and a little sis back in Michigan, and we go to see them for the holidays.”

Roger smiled. “That’s wonderful. I’m glad they’re accepting.”

“Oh, they’re awesome.” He smiled. “Best sort-of in-laws a guy could have. And Erik is Erik Torsen, no middle name, born in Stockholm and raised in Nyack, New York. Parents are school teachers. Sister Penny, again no middle name, is a pretty constant feature around us, but she’s going to be going home – I think – as soon as his leg is patched up. Erik is our de facto leader, mostly because he’s a 6’5” monstrosity. The boys in the band call him the Viking.”

Roger laughed. “I think I should hold off on the nicknames until he gives me permission.”

“Suit yourself.” He turned a corner, then slowed down. “Okay, here it is. Luigi’s, home of the best chicken piccata in town. Have a good one.”

“Thanks, Kyle.” He got out of the car. “I really appreciate it. Thanks for telling me about yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks for letting me bully you into doing the same.” He laughed. “See you tomorrow, man.”

He closed the door and walked into the restaurant. Mickey was already there, seated at a booth halfway through the room. He stood up when he saw Roger, greeting him with a wide smile.

“Hey. How did it go?”

Roger put his guitar on the seat and slid in beside it. “Amazingly well. I really feel good about this gig.”

“That’s awesome!” He grinned and squeezed Roger’s hand just for a moment before he released him. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks. They’re great guys, really, and we fit so well… and get this… according to the drummer, who drove me here, they’re all gay. Can you believe it? I know we’re everywhere, but I didn’t expect that. And the girl who was hanging around isn’t a groupie like I thought she was. She’s Erik’s sister, Penny. That’s not a very Swedish name, is it? But I guess she’s from upstate New York, so maybe they’re American Swedish. I don’t know. But you should see the house where he lives. It’s absolutely gobsmacking!”

“Breathe,” Mickey told him, giggling.

“I’m so sorry. I’m prattling. I’m just so excited.”

“You have every reason to be. I just think you need to take a breath.” He laughed. “I’m super happy for you.”

“Thanks. Maybe you’d like to come and meet the guys sometime?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Sounds good. Do you really want me to? They might get the wrong idea.”

Roger frowned. “What wrong idea?”

“They might think we’re a couple.”

He laughed. Mickey didn’t seem to share the hilarity. “Nobody would think that, mate.”

“If you say so.” He looked up as the waiter approached. “I hope the kitchen’s fast. I’m starving.”

The waiter was friendly but businesslike, and they placed their orders. He walked away briskly, and Mickey turned back to Roger.

“I think this is going to be really good for you. You did call Dwight, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes, right after I called you.” He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. “No message back. I’m sure he’ll call soon. If not, I’ll try him again.”

The waiter returned with a basket of bread and a dish of butter, then retreated again. Mickey looked longingly at the carbs but left them alone. Roger dug in.

“Valhalla is a touring band,” his roommate said. “Are you ready to go out on the road with them?”

“Absolutely. It’ll be great. I’ve never toured before, so it will be amazing.” He slathered butter on the bread, and Mickey pouted. “I promise that I’ll set up automatic payment for my half of the rent.”

“You’re assuming I won’t just find someone to take your place.”

He hesitated, deeply disappointed. “It’s your right, of course. I rather wish you wouldn’t.”

Mickey laughed at him. “I’m not going to. I just wanted to see your reaction. See if you were leaving me behind, or what.”

“Never.” He looked into his roommate’s face. “You’re my best friend. I’m not going to give that up so easily.”

“I’m glad.” He took a sip of water, his cupid’s bow lips pink against the glass. “I don’t really want to be left behind.”

***

They took their time with dinner, chatting and eating more than either of them really should have. They took a cab back to their apartment in Midtown. When they got to the front door, there was an envelope attached to the knocker with cellophane tape.

“What’s this?” Roger asked.

Mickey was the first one to the door, so he pulled the envelope free. “It’s yours,” he said, handing it back over his shoulder.

Roger took the letter and pulled the paper out of the envelope, which had his name written across it. The paper itself was torn out of a small notebook and had words scrawled across it in sharp, angry writing.

‘You stood me up. Nobody stands me up.’

“Oh, shit.”

Dave.

“What is it?” Mickey asked.

“I was supposed to meet Dave tonight for dinner, and in all the excitement, I totally forgot.”

His roommate finally finished fumbling with his key and opened the door. Roger followed him inside and quickly shut the door, sliding the three chains into place.

Mickey, nonchalant, said, “Well, it’s good for him. It’ll teach him that he can’t always get his way, no matter how gorgeous he is.”

“I wasn’t intending to teach any sort of lesson,” Roger worried. “I should call and apologize.”

“Leave it. Just let him go.” He sat down on the couch and picked up the television remote. “He’s bad news anyway. I’ve been telling you.”

Roger frowned and took his phone into his bedroom. He sat on the bed and called Dave’s number. It went to voicemail, and he spoke nervously. “Hi, Dave. I’m so sorry… I had a really eventful day and it just slipped my mind that we were supposed to meet up. It wasn’t intentional, and it wasn’t personal. I’m just an idiot. I hope you can forgive me.” He took a deep breath, then added. “Again, I’m sorry. Good bye.”

He ended the call and put the phone aside. Something told him that he had just made a terrible mistake.

***

A few days later, Mickey had a day without a rehearsal, so he came to watch Valhalla work and to meet the boys. They took a cab, since Mickey’s car was still in the shop, and when they arrived at the mansion, Roger paid the fare. He turned back to his roommate, who was staring up at the house on its little hill, his green eyes big.

“This can’t be the right place.”

“It certainly is.” He punched in the code and stood aside when the gate opened. Mickey glided through, walking almost like a sleepwalker, fascinated by the house.

“Wow.”

“I know.”

The door opened, and Erik hobbled into view. “You’re late,” he said, his tone mild despite the scolding words. He looked at Mickey. “Hi. You are?”

“Mickey.” He jogged up the steps and offered his hand to the tall blond. Roger was surprised that he felt a twinge of jealousy at the way his roommate’s eyes shone as he looked at Erik. “Pleased to meet you. I’m a big fan.”

“He’s my roommate,” Roger said quickly, hoping that his new bandmate wouldn’t think he’d let just anyone onto the grounds of his gated home.

The Viking looked at Mickey, then at Roger. “Okay.” He turned back to the man who was still holding his hand. “Can I have that back?”

“Oh! Oh, geez. I’m sorry.” He released his grip. “I guess I’m a little star struck.”

“If I’m enough to get you star struck, you need to get out more.” He stepped aside. “Come on in.”

They went to the music room, and Roger went to get his instrument ready for practice. Mickey, not content to wait for proper introductions, marched up to Rich with his hand out.

“Hi. I’m Mickey, Roger’s roommate. You’re Rich Howell.”

The guitarist opened his eyes wide in false shock. “I am? Oh my God, when did that happen?”

Kyle snickered behind the drum kit. Rich shook Mickey’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Is Mickey your real name, seriously?”

“Well… it’s the Americanized version. I was born in the US, but my parents were Russian, so I have a more complicated name.”

“What is it?” Erik asked. He sat in his chair, and Penny brought him his guitar.

“Mikhail Valerievich Samsonov,” he admitted.

“I’ve seen you dance.”

Roger thought Mickey would fall over. “You have?”

Erik nodded. “My ex had season tickets to the ballet. We used to go. I saw you do the gold solo in Bailadero del Templo. You were really amazing.”

“I … I don’t know what to say.” He was as red as a cherry.

“Say ‘thank you,’” Kyle suggested. He had left his stool and come to Mickey’s side. He offered a hand. “Kyle Andrews.”

“Hi.” They shook hands, and then the drummer returned to his kit.

Penny spoke up. “You can sit over here with me while they play.”

Roger smiled at Mickey, who gave him a quick squeeze on the shoulder before he went to sit beside her. Erik silently watched the exchange between the two roommates, keeping his opinions to himself.

They started working on one of their better-known songs, “Resistance.” Roger was still playing from sheet music, but he was confident that he’d learn it fully in short order. The sound was good and the band was tight, keeping in rhythm and staying on key with the harmony vocals. It still surprised him that there was so much depth to the harmony lines, especially in a hard rock song, but he was glad. It indicated the level of musicianship in the band. He was happy to be with a group of guys who knew their craft.

They were working out some fine points when an alarm began to blare.

“That’s the proximity alarm,” Erik identified. “Someone’s trying to climb the gate.”

Penny leaped up and ran out of the room, Rich following close on her heels. Erik took off his guitar and grabbed his crutches to follow, but Roger put a hand on his arm.

“Don’t. If there’s a problem, you might get hurt worse by trying to fight in this condition.” He saw the frustration on his bandmate’s face, and he added, “Rich and Penny have this in hand. We can call the police from here.”

Roger went to the window and looked out. He could just see the gate. There were no people climbing over the top, no strangers hanging from the bars, and nothing he could see that would indicate an intrusion. Rich and Penny appeared in his line of sight, looking as confused as he felt. Penny picked something up from the ground and brought it back into the house.

When they came back into the room, Penny said, “There was nobody there, but I saw this on the ground.”

“How could someone have gotten away so fast?” Erik fretted. He held out his hand, and Penny put the object into his palm. He looked at it in confusion and offered it to Roger. It was a card from an Indian restaurant in the Village called House of Ganesh.

“Maybe they’re advertising,” he suggested. “I’m sure it’s perfectly harmless.” He turned the card over. Yesterday’s date was written on the back. “I’m sure that’s all it is.”

“There was a car going down the street,” Rich said. “They probably got back in there.”

“Well,” Erik said, shrugging, “I don’t spend a lot of time down in the Village, so if you guys want this, you can have it.”

Roger passed the card to Kyle, who looked it over. “This is actually a great place. Best chicken pakora I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Erik said.

The card made its way around the room. Everyone gave it a cursory glance, and then Penny put it aside along with a box of facial tissues and an empty water bottle.

Kyle continued, “Since Roger is partially of the Indian persuasion, maybe we should try that place out for lunch.”

“Are you buying?” Erik asked.

Rich answered for him. “No.” He grinned at their newest bandmate. “Roger is.”

He shrugged. “Sure. Might as well.” He hit a low, reverberating note on his bass. “Shall we?”