Authors: Alice Severin
Our tea came, and he waved Alina away when she tried to pour, following with his eyes the tight jean shorts disappearing into the curve of her ass at the tops of her thighs as she walked away. If he hadn’t had her yet, he was planning it. He waited until she had left the room, and turned his attention back to the tea. “Milk?”
“Yes please.” I didn’t really like milk in tea, but it would do. I didn’t want to waste time discussing preferences. Luckily he was efficient, and tea poured, sugar stirred, he took a long sip, then another and put down the cup. “Where were we? Ah yes, publishing. The package.”
“How long did it take you to decide?”
“Yes, there’s a question. Was it during the first chorus? I think so. I recognized instantly the light touch of a real genius. A songwriter of phenomenal talent. Rhythm, sex, and lyric. But I made myself wait until I’d heard all the songs, and even then I did nothing until the next day. But I knew right away. And the band—of course. The chemistry. Fantastic. And the photos. When I saw what they looked like, I saw all the pieces falling into place. But for the publishing, which is a big part of the business, and the money, as I am sure you know, I went on the songs alone. And that, like it or not, is Tristan, no one else.”
Had he actually just complimented me, assumed that I knew something? Between the pride I felt for his appraisal for Tristan’s talent, and for myself for making some headway, I nearly started to like him. Stockholm syndrome. This would never do. I gazed at him warily, and felt protected by my caution. “The publishing really is everything. The average person has no idea it even exists. So you recognized talent and smarts in Tristan. When did you first meet the band, face to face?”
“I flew Tristan out the next week. Just him. He wanted all the boys to come, so they could play for me, but I told him that as he’d had the balls to contact me and send me the music, he could have the balls to meet me one on one, without his gang.” Another sip of tea. “I remember him laughing. He knew I was right. In some ways, he was smarter then than he is now. Sharper. But success does that, it’s unavoidable. You see it in everyone. Things get fuzzy. At least he didn’t self-destruct, or should I say he stopped himself. Fantastic will power. But you don’t get to the top by being just a pretty face.”
I nodded. I really needed to record this. There was no way I was going to catch every inflection, every turn of phrase. And he was a fascinating speaker. I picked up my cup. “Wedgewood. Very old fashioned, old values. Craftsmanship.” He looked at me to see where I was going with this. I’d thrown him at least. That was something. “Trevor, I would consider it a huge personal favor to both myself and Tristan if you would allow me to record this. You’re very witty, you know—I’d like to be able to quote you verbatim and do credit to your descriptive powers.”
Trevor was silent, and looked away, then turned back towards me. “You and Tristan, hmm? Interesting.”
I started to protest and he raised his hand. “Don’t bother, Lily. I’m quite amused actually. Dave hinted that he had bagged you for himself. How pleasurable to see that his considerable ego has come unstuck.” He studied me for a long moment, pressing his fingertips together. “But it’s obvious there is more to it than that. He always was an inveterate liar. But he’s so rich. Why argue with success? Yes, go ahead Miss Taylor. Why not?” He leaned back, and pulled open a drawer in the desk. “We’ll make a deal. You record, and I’ll fill the room with smoke.” He then proceeded to chop the end of one of the largest cigars I’d ever seen, rolling it between his large thumb and forefinger, testing the moisture. “Havana. A beautiful place, which ships beautiful cigars. Have you been? Do you smoke?”
“No, never, sadly. But I’ve been known to indulge in the odd cigar.”
“Nothing odd about these.” He took an old fashioned ceramic match striker off the table and swiped a big wooden match down until it burst into flame. He lit the cigar slowly, carefully, warming the end and puffing out finally a large cloud of smoke, with a huge degree of satisfaction. Between his hawk-like nose, piercing eyes and now giant cigar, I almost felt as though he was a giant phallic symbol—all testosterone and repressed violence. It was sexy, I couldn’t help thinking so. He noticed my change of expression, and gazed at me evenly, blowing out another cloud of smoke. “Are you ready for me, Lily?”
I stared back at him, more curious than afraid. There were no depths in his eyes, partially hidden behind the glasses—only the hard dark stare of the shark in his element. Yet he looked mildly amused, and I found his blatant symbolic display fascinating. The personal physical power of those who become a success on their own terms. Always electric.
Chapter 14
Although Trevor would obviously make a strange and unusual story all by himself, I wanted his power in service to the story of Devised, his experiences with the band that changed his life and theirs. Their phenomenal instant success had made him for life, and allowed him to continue the record company that not that long ago, he had seemed in danger of losing or forfeiting to some big company’s control altogether. I tried to navigate carefully, hoping I could keep him talking.
“When did you finally meet the rest of the band?” Basic, but there were so many possible questions. I wanted to save the more contentious ones for closer to the end. Any wrong note could stop the interview, potentially. At the moment, that was the last thing I wanted.
“About a month later. It was the spring, April, as I recall. I had set up a few gigs for them, secret sort of show, although as hardly anyone had heard of them, they were fairly secret anyway.” He blew out more smoke. “They came over, all very young and innocent really. I think Tristan was quite protective of them, at that point. And at that point as well, it was fairly obviously they were in awe of him. Naturally, that changed. Love turning to resentment. AC was in love with him I think, quite literally. He didn’t mind, Tristan that is. I’d never met someone before who was so desperate to be loved, while being loved by almost everyone he met. Of course some people hated him on sight, and let him know it. Yet you usually see that kind of starved for love attitude in someone who no one likes. And everyone liked him. He was charming. But he worked like a demon. And he was terribly opinionated.”
“Was that part of the problem the band had? Were they unable to deal with his personality?”
“Well, they weren’t the first band to have problems dealing with success. They all do. Some of them get used to it—the sex and drugs on tap, the knowledge that pretty much anything you want, or anyone, is yours for the taking. Devised were no different. At first, they took—a lot. But Tristan insisted on the music. The stories of him throwing girls out at 3:00 a.m. to go wake up AC so he could play him an idea—well, it became legend. As did the naysayers who said Tristan couldn’t have sex with a girl unless he finished it off with AC.” Another few clouds of smoke followed this, as well as an awkward silence. “I probably shouldn’t be retelling these old stories. I don’t think they were true.”
“Did they have a sexual relationship?”
Trevor looked at me strangely. “If you want to know for yourself, personally, you should ask Tristan. If your personal interest has made you phrase that question oddly, when what you really meant to ask was ‘were they the keystone of the band,’ then the answer is that their musical closeness and understanding were frequently misconstrued by those of lesser minds around them. Did they use that to their advantage? Of course. It’s as old as the hills. Think of Jagger and Richards, Bowie and Ronson, Page and Plant. The ‘rock and roll dualism,’ I believe Bowie called it.”
I looked out the window for a moment, embarrassed. I would not be put off. I wasn’t sure what he expected me to say or do. I crossed my legs and made some notes on the pad sitting virtually untouched on my lap.
“So they recorded the first album right after the shows they played over here?”
“Yes. The reception they got was incredible. They were ready to record—it was almost like recording live, back in the day. Tristan was obsessive about it, eager to learn. As I said, incredible will power. So it was finished very quickly, and they hit the road almost instantly. Of course, that’s where the legend grew. They toured continually for nearly a year. By the end of it, everyone on the planet had heard of them. The sound bites, the pictures they’d pose for—they loved the attention...” Trevor became serious, suddenly, standing up, and walking to the window, and opening it slightly, releasing some of the smoke into the air. He turned back to me. “They were happy, on top of the world. It was a joy being anywhere near them.” He sat down again, and waved his cigar towards the window, sending a bit of ash to the floor. He stared at the ground, and looked up quickly, at me. “But, Lily, they were driven. Tristan managed, but only just, to keep himself in check. By the time he was writing songs for the second album, he had noticed that the egos in the band had grown at the same time as his own. But while he was determined to explore his talent, some of the others were equally determined to exploit theirs.”
“What happened next?” I didn’t need to ask, but I wanted to encourage him. He was almost angry now, and I wondered who he would blame for their break up.
“Tristan was struggling. He really was on the verge of being completely out of control. Some of it was that he wanted things a certain way, insisted upon it. He grew furious if the smallest thing went wrong. But he was trying not to take out his anger on his band mates, his friends.” More smoke. “That was what he should have done, however. They needed a kick up the ass. But they suddenly resented the one person who made them who they were. It was odd. And the more he got them to work, the worse it was. The trouble was, they were so good. Even when they all hated each other, they played together so well. It was almost as if they couldn’t help themselves.” Trevor paused, and sipped his tea, coughing slightly. “One of the best bands ever. A tragedy that they split up. But they all do, eventually.”
“So the rumors became more wild?”
“Well you had four very different individuals. Tristan could be very self-contained, as much as he loved the attention, loved the idolatry that followed him around. He seems to have understood that side of himself better in recent years, though. AC was a little bit of a lost soul. Organized, but potentially always one step away from disaster. Tristan looked after him. Yannick, a great drummer. Maybe a little more disinterested. Isolated almost. The last I heard he was recording indigenous tribal rhythms in Bolivia. Paul—well, Paul went hook, line and sinker for the cliché. Movie stars, the misguided attempt to write the soundtrack for a film—although it wasn’t terrible—but it did take him away from the band, right at that crucial third album. His access to the Hollywood gossip circuit meant he could trade information on the band for a mention on his own work. Sadly, he did that frequently.” Trevor paused here to suck on the cigar, reigniting the end with a red glow, finally letting out an enormous stream of smoke. He examined me, steadily, and began talking again. “And Tristan was more often than not the subject. When Paul introduced Tristan to Alixe, none of us could figure out why Tristan was so trusting about it. But he had, still has I imagine, a tendency to see the best in people.” Trevor glared at me. “Watching him going through disappointment is a terrible thing. I’d advise you not to go there, Miss Taylor.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s on the cards. But it’s good to know you look out for him.” I looked him in the eye. “But as you said, this isn’t about my personal life. Let’s get back to the band. So two albums, one platinum, one gold, and then the third album needed to be finished. What happened there?”
“Tristan and Alixe were married, much to everyone’s surprise. He started hanging out with Paul more in LA, doing the circuit. It was an endless party, and Tristan was falling into it. I think Alixe had hopes of being an actress, and every party she was seen at was a potential casting call.” Trevor ground out his cigar, angrily. “Married to one of the most talented men on the face of the planet, and she’s worried about her next role in some B film with explosions? Idiot. But Tristan encouraged her, helped her, coached her. Gave her money, lots of it. But the music—was getting further away. It got to the point where the big record company in the States was getting concerned about their investment. There had been rumors that the band was going to sue to be released from their contract. That they hadn’t been given enough time to put out the albums. That they were losing creative control.” Trevor pulled out the drawer containing the cigars. “Oh, one more I suppose. Why not?” He went through the ritual of cutting the end off and warming the tip again, before releasing more clouds of bittersweet smoke. “So they called me. Figured I had some influence with him. They wanted me to go out there, but I wanted him away. So I made him come here. I even bought the ticket, wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said I would help him get out of the contract if I could—but that doesn’t need to be in the article—capische?” I nodded. “Good. Anyway, he finally came over here, after many protesting calls. Alixe this, Paul that. AC was in France with some model. He was no help. And then Tristan got here. And do you know what I did when I saw him?” He looked at me, tense.
“No.”
“I got on the phone, cancelled his hotel, cancelled all my appointments for the next week, not an easy thing to do, I can tell you, and brought him home with me. And then we tried to talk. I cried. I cried in his arms like a baby.” He looked up. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it? I’m not the emotional type, or so it seems. But when I saw him, and started talking to him, it was so obvious that everything was wrong. Wrong as in he was going to die. I’ve seen that look before—and since.” Trevor looked away, clouds of smoke coming out at regular intervals. After a few minutes, he turned back to me. “They died.”