Authors: Alice Severin
Tristan punched him lightly on the arm. “Naturally. Money. Must be made.”
Trevor gave a choking laugh. “Money paid for this adorable little house.” He glanced
around, blinking. “Beautiful.” He raised the bottle. “And this champagne.” He smiled,
that somewhat thin movement of his lips that made him appear slightly less dissatisfied
than usual with his surroundings. “But. Tell me about the tour. And AC. How is it
all working out?”
Tristan bowed his head slightly, as if he were being called up before the headmaster.
Then he raised it, almost defiantly. “He’s a great guitarist.”
Trevor narrowed his eyes. “He is. Without question. And of course, your oldest and
dearest friend. Apart from me, that is.”
Tristan was alert now. “And Lily.”
Trevor’s voice was even. “Lily is somewhat more than a friend. But then again, so
is AC.”
Tristan was silent.
Trevor laughed. “You need to come back to the old country, my lad. Focus on your work,
not the shock value. Let’s be professional here. The bassist is gone, obviously. We
need to interview some new ones, but I think I might know someone in London who might
fit the bill. I’ll talk to him, then you can talk to him.” Trevor turned to me. “Lily.
How are you? You survived the tour, so good job. Made of tougher stuff, as I’d always
thought.” He waited a beat before carrying on. “So. Tristan. Are we using?”
Tristan remained stubbornly silent. Trevor tapped his foot. Tristan looked at him.
“Do we have to do this now? In front of Lily?”
Trevor’s face was immobile. Then he spoke, very slowly. “Yes. Yes, we absolutely do.
Because we are your friends and we need to know. We need to know how close we are
to trouble. It’s our business as well.” He placed his hand on Tristan’s shoulder.
“Lily loves you. As do I. And she knows it all. Or most of it. As do I. If you must
hide from us, at least let us have the luxury of knowing where you were the last time
we really saw you. Tristan.”
Tristan remained silent. Trevor waited. Every so often his foot would tap. “I do want
my pizza tonight. But there is another bottle of champagne. Shall I get it while we
wait?” Trevor stood up, and he was tall, taller than Tristan standing, much taller
than Tristan sitting, and his angular dark frame cast a shadow in the room.
“Fuck. Fine.”
Trevor sat back down, and pulled one leg up over the other, neatly arranging his trousers.
“Excellent. I believe you Yanks say ‘spill.’ So let’s have it then.”
Tristan looked uncomfortable. “A bit of coke, here and there. Other than that, nothing.
I was offered some smack. I turned it down.”
Trevor remained in the same position. “From AC?”
Tristan changed position in his chair. “I…yes. Just the coke. The smack was from a
roadie. But I did ask him, AC. For it.”
Trevor said nothing, but got up. He stopped next to Tristan, and put his hand on his
shoulder again. “Let me get the champagne. Thank you for being honest. It wasn’t that
bad, was it?”
Tristan looked relieved. “No. Not so bad.” He looked like he wanted to say something,
but he stopped himself.
Trevor watched him carefully. “That’s all right then. Just one more question. Which
would be easier to give up, AC or the blow?”
I looked over at Tristan. His eyes were wide with surprise. He clearly had not been
expecting that. “You’re not going to make me choose, are you?”
Trevor looked grim. “I might. I just might, at that.”
Tristan looked at me. Trevor saw his expression. “I think Lily just wants you to be
happy and well. She’s quite resilient, but as you know we all have our limits.”
Tristan rubbed his eyes. “You’re a bastard. The drugs. The coke. Of course. Fucking
hell, Trevor.”
Trevor’s face was lit up with a sort of menacing glee. If there had been a candle
held under his strong features, the effect could hardly have been less alarming. “Excellent!”
he exclaimed. “Correct answer, and I’m sure Lily will agree. Let’s toast to your ex-junkie’s
reclaimed heart.” He started walking off to get the champagne, and he turned back
after a few steps, and faced both of us. “And I am a bastard, like everyone else in
this fucking trade. However, I have a kind soul. Don’t bloody forget it.” Tristan
and I both laughed, nervously. “Children,” Trevor spat. “Now let me get this bottle
before it freezes.”
The rest of the night was relatively calm, and we sat together, rehashing the tour,
talking about the future, nibbling at the cold pizza, which did go more elegantly
than might be expected with the champagne. Finally, the air coming through the screens
started to cool off, the circles under Tristan’s eyes became darker, and Trevor finally
called for his car.
I watched them talk quietly at the door, Trevor’s arm around Tristan, Tristan gesturing
with his free hand, but the other firmly around Trevor’s suited back. I pretended
I was stacking dishes, but really I was watching them. Closely. Tristan looked like
he was listening intently to whatever Trevor was saying, then he shook his head furiously.
Then they both turned to look at me, and I looked down at the small stack of dishes
as though I’d been very involved in my task. When I looked up again, walking the dishes
over to the open-plan kitchen, they were deep in their conversation. If they had noticed
me watching, they wouldn’t say. But I would never be so foolish as to underestimate
either one of them. Together—they were immovable, unstoppable.
Then Trevor left, and Tristan stayed in the doorway, the slight breeze from outside
coming in the house, and blowing his hair back. Framed like that, the light from the
small outdoor lantern casting a yellow glow on his face, Tristan looked like he was
facing down a multitude of demons. He straightened his back, still looking out into
the darkness filled with curved roads and hills, and finally shut the door. He came
over to me, and pulled me up into his arms. My head was against his chest, and I could
feel his heartbeat, steady, slow, determined.
“Lily. Now I have a question for you.”
I mumbled my agreement into his chest.
“Is your love going to survive the reality? Or are you going to want me to keep things
under wraps? Keep the rock star mystique going?” Tristan gave one of his short barking
laughs. There was a bitter tone to his words.
I pulled myself away until I was standing at arm’s length. “Tristan. Two answers to
that.”
“Two?”
I gave him my own bitter smile. “At least. But yes. First off, it should be obvious
by now. I want you. Not a made-up version. Remember? Give it time. Give me time.”
He seemed to relax a little. “Yes. Just with Trevor and his interrogations…”
“He cares. I do too.” I paused. “And so does AC. We all do. We just want the chance
to keep doing it.”
Tristan closed his eyes for a minute, then reopened them. The usual half-smile had
reappeared. “Fair enough. And the second part of the answer?”
I kissed him. “There is a difference, you know, rock star, between mystique and lies.
A big difference.”
He gave a wry smile, shaking his head slightly from side to side. “True. True. So.
Mystery, not treachery?”
I kissed him. “Something like that.”
“Bed?” Tristan intertwined his fingers with mine.
“Bed.”
chapter twenty-three
L.A.
It turned out that the parts of the trip to L.A. that were supposed to be restful,
weren’t really. Trevor turned up the next morning, and they hit the ground running.
Tristan, after some argument, got on the phone to London and spoke not only to the
potential new bassist, but also to someone who Trevor thought might be a good replacement
road manager. Trevor had been quite insistent that Tristan at least consider getting
someone to do the day to day. “It’s not realistic, is it, thinking you’re going to
do everything. Especially out in Asia. You need someone to facilitate.” Trevor looked
exasperated. “And I know you want it to be me, but it’s too much for me now. Those
days are done. I’ll come out to watch and check up on everyone, but arguing with the
staff at 3 a.m. at each load-out, no.” His voice turned slightly more cajoling. “You
made it yourself with the ridiculous James, but it wasn’t a good situation. If you’re
going to do this, and you are, you need proper support. So try him out. Call it temporary.
I think he’ll do the job for you though.”
Tristan had nodded, and actually seemed to like the guy while he was on phone with
him. He handed the phone back to Trevor, who said he’d be in touch, but to get his
passport in order, it wouldn’t be an official work trip, so no visa, but he’d be paid.
Through the London office. He would call back. He then turned to Tristan. “All right?
A few days out here. Be good to trial him, especially if the video shoot goes ahead.”
We were waiting on the possibility of being able to shoot what would be Tristan’s
first video for the new album. With the publicity from the award nomination, and the
first part of the tour completed without too much mishap, the record company had decided
a video was going to be crucial to the next single’s success. Trevor had jumped on
the chance, and had been pushing everyone to make it happen. There was a fairly new
studio out here which had done some interesting, experimental videos, and they were
excited enough about the prospect of working with Tristan that they’d rearranged a
couple of dates. Now we just needed the permits to shoot on location, and a couple
of storyboard edits. The last set had been emailed to Trevor. He had flipped through
them on the screen, with Tristan looking on. When they got to the last board, showing
Tristan with a snake coiled around his shoulders, they both burst out laughing.
“What the fuck is it lately with the snake in the video thing out here? It keeps turning
up. Did you see the one where it crawls on that poor model? She actually twitches.
Sexy? Maybe if you’re into snakes.” Tristan did a little dance that was part snake
charmer, part struggle to hold up an imaginary boa constrictor around his shoulders.
Trevor grimaced. “I did see that. Whatever they paid her, it wasn’t enough, poor creature.
Perhaps it’s the end of days mentality.” He snapped his fingers. “We could have a
flood in your video. You could be stripped down, with a tool belt, building your ark
for the genetically gifted.”
Tristan laughed. “Hate hammers. Nearly broke my hand once trying to put up a shelf.
Besides, didn’t someone do that? Some metal band?”
Trevor looked thoughtful. “I think you’re right. And you can’t break your hands. We
need them. What about locusts? Hard to organize, though.”
“All that buzzing.”
“Fire and brimstone?”
“More permits.”
Trevor smirked. “Now you’re understanding my life. Well, perhaps we could throw some
leather and chains on you, and have you escaping from the prison of convention.”
Tristan gave a fake yawn. “Sounds fantastic. Are we going back to the 80s then, when
videos had a theme based around some ridiculous setting that had very little to do
with anything? Let’s find an empty swimming pool. How about a library?”
Trevor smiled. “Absolutely. Unless you’d rather pretend you’re a pimp surrounded by
dancers who are your stable of ‘hoes’. I hear that’s popular too.”
“Fuck no.” Tristan got up from the table. “I’m allergic. And to the whole 5, 6, 7,
8 crap. Useless really.” He looked at me. “Told you Lily. Can’t put up shelves, and
I can’t dance. Discredit to both sides.” He laughed and went to pour more coffee.
I took the opportunity his brief absence afforded to ask Trevor the question I wanted
to get out of the way. “And James? Where is he? Not out here, right?”
Trevor looked around, then lowered his voice. “I believe the New York City cops were
less than pleased with what they found in his apartment. Really, these anonymous tips
are so helpful to the boys in blue. 1-800-COPS? Something about theft? Grand larceny?
I’m so bad with all these legal terms. Did he manage bail? I forget now. Unlikely
he will be here though. Not to worry.” He turned to take the coffee from Tristan.
“Thank you. So are we go on new manager?”
Tristan frowned. “Why is he free?”
Trevor waved his hand in the air. “Your new manager? I know, the best should always
be taken, and it’s only any good if you steal them away. Generally. My understanding
is that he grew tired of his last band. Apparently they were better at getting into
fights and smuggling underage groupies on to the bus than actually playing. Always
one step ahead of a lawsuit, or worse. Writing on the wall, that sort of thing. He
won’t be available for long, but I hear he is loyal, so if you wait, you might not
be able to pull him away from his new home.”
“Fine. We’ll try him out. But just a trial. And Lily needs to like him. And AC.”
Trevor smiled. “Excellent. I will call him back. And I think you’re right about Lily.
We would have saved ourselves a lot of trouble if we’d recognized that her fierce
right hook was trying to eliminate a problem, way back in London.”
Tristan came over and hugged me. “That’s true. I’d forgotten about that. Lily, if
you want to punch him, let us know. So we can watch.” He laughed. “When is AC turning
up, anyway?”
Trevor’s answer was short. “He’s in Arizona. At a spa.” He looked at his watch. “He
will be with us tomorrow afternoon.”
Tristan ran his fingers through his hair. “You sent him to rehab?”
“More of a detox, really. Just to keep things from escalating. He’ll come back, bronzed
and fit.”
“I don’t think he needed it.”
Trevor was tapping away at an email. “No? Maybe not. My mother always told me an ounce
of prevention was worth a baggie of the wrong cure, or something along those lines.”
“You should have asked me first.”
Trevor looked up from his email. “Why? You’re not his keeper, and neither am I. But
he is my investment, and yours, if you’d stop to think about it.” He went back to
his email, then looked up again, this time at me. “Lily will back me up on this, with
her encyclopedic knowledge of the music industry. Lily, tell us. How many great bands
imploded due to drugs or vast quantities of alcohol or both?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know as well as I do. Almost all of them.”
Trevor had that tight smile again. “And how many recovered from the loss of one of
their band members, whether through breakdown or death?”
I thought for a moment. “Not many. I mean, the Stones, but they’re a special case.
There are a few, but a lot of people would argue whatever they did afterwards wasn’t
as good.”
Trevor smirked. “Hard to get up excited in the morning when you know you’re partially
responsible for the death or destruction of someone who you once spent all your time
with. But I’m just guessing here.”
Tristan rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Fine. I hear you. Both of you. My god.
It’d be easier to work with snakes.”
Trevor went back to typing. “You got that right, at least.”
* * *
AC did turn up at the bungalow the following afternoon, his first stop from the airport.
The bell rang and Tristan got up to let him in. I was sitting at the table by the
sliding doors. I watched as he dropped his bag, and Tristan wrapped him in a tight
embrace, then stepped back to examine him. He ran a hand through AC’s curls, and punched
him lightly on the arm.
“You look good,” Tristan finally said. “Maybe a bit more relaxed.”
AC shrugged. “Yeah, it wasn’t bad. Except the getting up early part. But I tried to
remember the last time I got up early, where I was and all.” A small smile played
around his lips. “That helped. But it was nice out there. Bit remote. Be a hell of
a walk to try and leave.”
Tristan drew his eyebrows together, an expression of concern wrinkling his forehead,
as he picked up AC’s bag and brought it in the living room, AC following close behind.
They were out of sight now, but I could still hear their voices. I waited. I knew
they’d come in here when they were ready. No point in pretending they didn’t need
a minute together.
“I tried to call you. But you didn’t pick up. Trevor just told me yesterday.”
“So it wasn’t your idea to put me in detox land?”
Tristan’s response was immediate. “Is that what he told you?”
AC laughed. “Oh, come on Tris. Trevor’s too sly for that. He just made it seem that
way.”
Tristan’s voice was dark. “I think he overstepped this time.”
I could almost hear AC shaking his head. “No, mate. Don’t be hard on him. He saved
your ass before. He cares. He really does.” There was a pause. “Look. I’m alive. Massaged,
juiced, exercised, ready for California. Or what life brings.”
Tristan’s voice was lower this time. “We can do this, you know.”
The smile in AC’s voice was crystal clear. “I think we can. The music is great. All
we need to do is stay upright and get it out there.”
“I didn’t just mean that.”
“I know what you meant. Now give me a proper hello, and let’s go see Lily before she
figures you’re running out on her.”
Tristan sounded surprised. “But. I’m not. Not at all. She’s amazing. I love her. You
know that. And she puts up with me.”
AC laughed. “Less of that last one I think, is the key to lasting happiness. I’m not
here to make you make her suffer. Don’t overthink it, Tris. You’ve got enough to give.
And to do. Come on.”
My ears felt like they were burning. I stared at the computer screen, and tried to
finish the sentence I’d been in the middle of typing. I deleted it and rewrote the
same exact thing three times, before I finally gave up, and went outside to sit in
the little garden. A plane flew past overhead. I looked up. The white jet trails were
solid, compact, then little by little, they started to spread out against the blue
of the sky. Somewhere up there, the air was clean. People were heading to new things.
The lure of the untried. The different. I closed my eyes, and leaned back against
the chaise lounge. The air smelled half of flowers, and half of exhaust, and heat
and dirt, and the racing, throbbing grit of people pushing their way through life.
Dusk to dawn. Dawn to dusk. I suddenly felt like I’d been on both sides of that division
for too long. The rumble of another jet overhead reminded me of beach holidays, long
ago, and the way sounds were different in the summer. I listened to the plane get
louder, then slowly fade out, becoming part of the background of all the other noises.
I thought about how they all worked together, like a symphony, like the keys on the
piano, one hand playing the bass, the rhythm, one hand playing the top melody, everything
changing when they moved past each other, or coincided. Chords that came apart and
found each other again. Notes that imitated each other, then slipped away.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew there were two shadows blocking
the sun. “Lily? Here you are. I wondered where you went.” Tristan’s voice sounded
soft, regretful.
I shaded my eyes. “I must have fallen asleep. I came out for some air.” I tried to
laugh, but my throat was dry. “Hey AC, you’re back.” I started to get up, and Tristan
instantly reached out a hand to help me up. “How was it?”
“Ok. I don’t like eating cactus, I discovered.”
I made a face. “Hate the stuff. Leave it in the desert, that’s what I say.” And then
Tristan had his arm around me, and AC did too, and the three of us stood there, bodies
touching, my head against both their shoulders. A hand was stroking my hair. It wasn’t
Tristan. I pulled them both a bit closer. I could feel Tristan’s lips softly kissing
my head. “I’m glad you’re back. And ok.”
“Me too,” AC murmured.
And we all held on, a little tighter.
* * *
“It’s really really hot and it’s really really boring.” The voice of our new do everything
organizer, pitch-in man, and road manager, Adrian, rang out in the hazy and hot L.A.
air. Across the street a group of fans watched his every move from their vantage point
directly across from the red awning of the hotel. The infamous Sunset Marquis. The
band had come together there to prep for the next part. Pete, the original drummer,
was still part of the group. He had been quizzed about whether he wanted to stay after
everything that had happened, and proved his worth by apologizing, saying he was sorry
that he hadn’t done more to stop what had happened. Before it happened. He had offered
to leave, but Tristan told him to forget it, and that he was glad to know he wasn’t
the only one who had been bothered by the whole thing.
So Pete was happy to stay on board and happy to meet the brand new bassist, John.
Considering he had just flown in from London, knew no one except Trevor, and had honestly
admitted to not being a diehard Devised fan, John had already impressed everyone with
his musicianship and wary, observant personality. “All bassists are named John, aren’t
they?” He had joked when he met us. “Unless they’re called Flea. I had no choice.”
The two of them were there along with the newly rehabbed AC for a couple of days,
bonding, rehearsing, teaching John all the parts, while Tristan did a round of photo
shoots and interviews. Then they all met up in the evening to talk about the day and
plan out the daily rehearsals, ironing out the final logistical details—plotting how
the rest of the tour, which had now become a worldwide event, would go. And Adrian,
the manager, equally new, but like the bassist fitting in remarkably well. There was
still a long road ahead, but so far it all seemed to be working out. Trevor popped
in and out, beaming at all of us in his slightly sinister way, to watch the proceedings
with an eagle eye.