BLACK to Reality (11 page)

“But they were at the hotel…”

“Yeah, but they did the final ceremony here. They wouldn’t talk to each other. I wasn’t surprised when I read that they’d broken up.”

“Did he strike you as having a drinking or drug problem?”

“Not really. Like I said, he was just a normal guy. Drank beer like pretty much everyone, wasn’t high that I could tell. It was a total surprise to everyone. Maybe he cracked under the pressure. Who knows?”

“I saw the footage of Alex. He was pretty damned good, too.”

“Yeah, he was. It was neck and neck. I’m sure Christina has nightmares about it. She totally believed she’d swept the contest.” Lou shook his head. “Tough break, but hey. She’s back this year, so you guys have another chance. And if you’re able to pull it off like last year…no contest. She’s world class.”

Black gazed through the pocket doors at where Christina was walking along the pool edge to take a dip and nodded thoughtfully.

“That she is, Lou.”

The following afternoon Sylvia pulled up to the mansion in Black’s Cadillac. She was getting out of the car when she froze – Black was standing outside the front door, a cameraman next to him, filming her arrival. Black waved to her, and she reluctantly moved to him. He hugged her, but she felt stiff, and the return hug was perfunctory.

“I didn’t realize we’d have company,” she said, staring into the big lens.

“Oh, that’s Stu. He follows us around. You get used to it.”

“Maybe you do. Come on. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be on TV.”

Black shrugged and took the keys from her. He slipped behind the wheel and dropped the convertible top, then held his hand up in the classic rock sign of the devil’s horns before wheeling around and pulling back down the drive. They spent the afternoon wandering on the beach, and Black realized how much he’d missed Sylvia. He told her so, but she seemed unimpressed. “I saw the first episode. Seems like you’re living in a party house with a bunch of whores.”

“They aren’t whores. They wear the swimsuits and skimpy outfits for the cameras.”

“Uh-huh. Well, it’s convenient that they all have incredible bodies. Black, this really isn’t what I’d imagined our life together being like.”

Dinner was more of the same, and Sylvia begged off getting a motel room for a few hours, citing a headache. When she dropped him off at the house with a peck on the cheek instead of their usual prolonged kiss, he knew he had a bigger problem on his hands than just a temporary speed bump. He watched her drive away, and when he entered the great room, where his band was hanging out at the dining table, playing cards with the members of Knife Edge, his expression showed his disappointment. Christina’s gaze lingered on his face as he went to the refrigerator and got himself a beer, and he felt a stirring again, undeniable, and completely inappropriate. Thankfully nobody asked him how his evening had gone, and he begged off boozing and gambling in favor of going to his room and taking his frustrations out on his guitar, as he had as a teenager before everything had gotten so crazy and he’d lost his way.

Chapter 12

A bus rolled up to the backstage gates of the Coachella Empire Polo Club and shuddered to a stop. Four members of the security team moved toward it as the door hissed open, and Sarah stepped down, followed by SnM and two members of Love Jupiter. Black blinked as he exited and waited for the rest of his band to get off, his guitar case in hand. He’d developed the habit of always keeping the Gretsch close to him back in his musician days and saw no reason to break the habit now. If the instrument was sitting next to him on the bus, there was no chance of it somehow getting damaged when it was loaded or unloaded, and now that he had it back in his possession, he had no intention of taking chances with it. Cameras recorded everyone’s arrival, and the Asian girls flashed mandatory peace signs as they descended and waited near the neatly trimmed grass of the polo field.

The first of the elimination rounds: each band would get to play one song, and the judges would score the performance from one to ten. The two lowest scoring acts would be disqualified, leaving six to go on to the next round. The backstage area was large, set up to accommodate not only the performers but also the film crews, who were shooting each group’s preparations as Holly and her male counterpart David worked the crowd in preparation for the first band.

The judges occupied thrones behind backlit podiums that glowed like UFOs in the twilight. Once all the acts had settled in, David introduced each of the judges to applause, and then the bands were herded onto the stage. Performance order was selected out of a hat, with each group’s designated representative choosing a number. Last Call got number five, which Christina seemed irritated about when she left the stage.

“I’d rather be first or last, not stuck in the middle,” she complained to Rooster, who nodded understandingly.

“Don’t you worry. Doesn’t matter what slot you get. None of these other poor clowns stands a chance,” he intoned with the conviction of a priest.

“I hope you’re right,” she said, clearly unconvinced.

First up was BrandX, the rappers. They delivered a spirited performance with all the obligatory strutting and posturing, and received middling marks from the judges, who each took sixty seconds to critique them before announcing their score. The next was a country rock band from the other mansion, Bend in the Creek, which gave an electrifying performance and got all nines and tens from the judges. Peter exchanged glances with his sister – this was the real competition. Next up was a trio of scantily clad women who called themselves Pieces of A**, who’d clearly modeled their act after Destiny’s Child. The crowd response was lukewarm, and the judges weren’t convinced. That performance was followed by a boy band that featured five smooth-skinned young men, each with a stereotypical look made obvious by their wardrobes. On Top was the brainchild of an obese fifty-something entrepreneur from Louisiana who minted a new boy band every six months, invariably following the same formula: every member could dance and sing, and each group had the lover, the bad boy, the brooding thinker, the nice guy, and the flashy showman. The performance was professional but uninspired, and the live audience’s applause was tepid.

Christina received shouts of encouragement and wolf whistles as she took the stage and bowed, a single spotlight on her as the band plugged in. She was clearly an audience favorite even before having sung a note, remembered fondly from the last season. Black felt a buzz of nervousness as he stood facing several thousand people, and then Ed counted off and Peter began with his pulsing bass line, accompanied by Ed’s high hat as Christina let loose a show-stopping wail. Black cranked his guitar volume and coaxed feedback out of it that seemed to blend perfectly with her sustained vocal note, and then they were in the song, Black bopping, all attitude and strut, with moves reminiscent of Page in the Yardbirds. Black’s solo was professional but plodding, his speed and fast vibrato still not fully returned, and while there was nothing wrong with the performance, Alex commented that the band seemed like three people and the new guy, and expressed hope that things would gel in future performances. Nina tried to be more upbeat, but Black couldn’t look her in the eye. BT Slim had nothing but compliments for Christina, but also echoed that he hoped future performances would be “better integrated”.

When all the acts had performed, the scores were tallied up, and two groups were asked to leave the show – Pieces of A** and Knife Edge, whose set had been as unlistenable and raw as a Sex Pistols foray. Last Chance was the third lowest, and the mood backstage was glum. Rooster joined them and tried to reassure Christina, but she wasn’t having it.

“I told you this wasn’t going to work.”

“What are you talking about? These first rounds are like going hunting with your buddies and being chased by a bear. You don’t need to be faster than the bear, just faster than your slowest friends.”

“We need a different guitar player, Rooster,” Christina said. “Next time it could be us getting the axe.”

“Not with another two weeks of rehearsal under your belts. This was the worst it’s ever going to be. Plus the crowd’s rooting for you. You’re now the underdog, with the new guy trying to come up to speed. It’s all good, Christina. Really,” Rooster assured her.

Black had heard enough. He was about to respond when he heard Roxie call his name from the backstage entrance. His better judgment told him to prioritize Roxie, so he left Rooster to do damage control and elbowed his way to where she was waiting, her path blocked by two burly bouncers.

“Hey, Roxie. You made it!” he smiled at her. “Fellas, this is my friend. Let her back for a few minutes. Don’t worry, she’s not dangerous.”

The larger of the two shrugged and unhooked the chain, allowing Roxie to slip by. She took in Black’s ensemble and hair and shook her head.

“This is horrifying.”

“Nice to see you, too. Glad you could make it.”

“What’s with the pants? Didn’t they have anything in your size?”

“It’s all part of the act. They dressed me like this.”

“You look…well, whatever.”

“How did you like the show?” Black asked, changing the subject from his appearance.

“Your singer can really belt it out. She’s a star. The rest was…it was rough, but hey, first show and all…”

“Yeah. I was a little nervous.”

“You couldn’t tell,” Roxie lied.

“Did you see Sylvia out there?”

“Not really. But there are a lot of people, and it’s dark…”

“Right. Stupid question.”

There was a commotion behind Black. Roxie’s eyes widened as Alex approached, trailed by Simon and BT Slim. Alex stopped dead when he saw Roxie. Simon muttered something to him about catching him later and continued on with BT, ignoring Black as he brushed past. Alex moved closer to Black and elbowed him.

“Congratulations on making this cut.”

“Thanks. It could have been better, I know…”

“Hey, it’s over, and you’re still in the mix, so all’s well. Who’s your friend?” Alex asked, his eyes never leaving Roxie’s.

“Oh, this is my assistant, Roxie. Roxie, Alex.”

Alex stepped forward and kissed Roxie’s hand. Black rolled his eyes, but Roxie’s full attention was on Alex.

“A pleasure. Did you enjoy yourself?” Alex asked, flashing a smile that was now famous across the country.

“It was interesting,” Roxie said, her voice sounding light and feminine – like nothing Black was familiar with.

“You work with Black here?”

“I used to. Kept him honest and cleaned up his messes. Which reminds me – I saw Mugsy on TV! How’s he doing? Did you bring him?”

“No, he was too busy wolfing down a twenty-pound box of chow.”

“Still bagging on the defenseless cat, I see,” Roxie said.

Black was going to continue but spotted Nina moving toward one of the trailers just outside the backstage barricades. “Will you excuse me for a second?” Black asked and, not waiting for an answer, jogged to the barricade and slid it aside just wide enough to fit through. Nina was closing the trailer door when he called out to her.

“Nina!”

The door remained open a crack, light seeping from the sides and bottom, and Black rushed to the trailer. He pulled the door open and heard heavy footsteps pounding on the ground behind him just as he saw Nina, a resigned smile on her face, standing by the small refrigerator.

“You. Freeze. Security. Back off – now,” a no-nonsense voice ordered from a few yards behind him. Black slowly turned, his hands raised to show they were empty.

“Relax, guys. I’m in one of the bands.”

“That’s not a band trailer.”

Nina appeared behind Black and waved them off. “It’s okay. He’s with me,” she said. The two brawny security men exchanged a hesitant look.

“Are you sure?” the older of the pair asked.

“Positive.” Nina focused on Black. “You going to come in or what?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The interior was as sumptuous as a trailer could be, and Black momentarily reflected on how different his life was than his ex’s. Climate-controlled, a large gift basket of imported snacks on the table, a dozen fresh roses in a vase near the window.

“Want a drink? They’ve given me everything you can imagine,” she asked with a wave of her hand.

“Diet soda, if you’ve got it.”

“Good for you. You’ll live to be a million at that rate,” she said and fished out two diet colas and handed him one. “Now why are you bellowing my name and scaring the locals?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“I got that. So talk.”

“Why are you a judge on this show?”

“Because I was a judge last year and they invited me back.”

Black hadn’t paid any attention to who was on the panel the prior year. His bad. He felt like a dolt.

“I…I didn’t realize.”

“No, you obviously didn’t. But that’s all right. You can’t know everything.” She studied his outfit and his hair. “Nice to see you back with a guitar, Black. It suits you.”

“Thanks. But after tonight’s show, I’m not so sure.”

“It wasn’t great, but it was good enough to beat out the losers. Next round, though, you’ve got your work cut out for you,” she warned. “How do you feel about being back in the life?”

“Like I said, I’m not sure. I mean, part of me is enjoying it, but the other…let’s just say there’s been a lot of water under that bridge. I thought I’d gotten all this out of my system.”

“You still have some good moves, Black. Shame to have them go to waste,” Nina observed dryly. She took a long sip of her soda and sat down. “What’s eating at you?”

“I’m on a case here. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” he asked, suspicion coloring his words. A light had gone on in his head.

Nina took her time. “What are you asking, Black?”

“Do you know anything about why I was hired to investigate the show?”

Her eyes met his. “Of course. I’m the one who suggested you.”

“Damn. I knew it. So this is your idea of charity, along with a chance to publicly embarrass me…”