“Well, shit,” Ash says out loud.
The room falls quiet and I’m the first up on my feet. “What is it?”
Ash looks up. “Brett wants to talk. He’s gonna call just before the statement goes out.”
“That’s good news,” Max says, and I can see the hope in his eyes. “Do you think he’s changed his mind? You know what, we’ve been on the road for over a year. Maybe he’s just burned out and wants some time.”
“This last tour burned everyone out. That’s why we’re taking a break for six months,” Ash responds.
“There’s got to be more to this,” Max says. He’s frustrated Brett didn’t call him first, and I can see he’s trying to make sense of the situation.
The atmosphere in the room becomes sombre, but all we can do is sit around and wait. As time goes on, I become restless. Whatever Brett is playing at, treating us like fucking mugs is not helping.
Finally, the intro for Metallica’sNothing Else Mattersplays from Ash’s phone. He uses our favourite songs as ringtones, and this one belongs to Brett. “Hey, man.”
We don’t hear the response, but Ash puts him on speaker, I guess at Brett’s request.
“What’s going on?” Ash asks.
Brett sighs. “You know what’s going on. I’m fucking done.”
Jesus, his voice is pensive and, suddenly, I feel guilty for being angry.
“Why? Explain it to us.”
“Well, for starters, Raye left me for good this time. She can’t take my shit.”
Brett’s on-off girlfriend, Raye Summers, is in the band Pink Shimmer. I’m not surprised it’s finally over. Brett was never fully committed or faithful.
“I’m sorry to hear that, man, but that was always on the cards.” Ash’s tone is deep and gritty. “Is that your excuse for leaving us in the shit?”
“I need time.”
“We have time. Six months of it. How much more do you need?”
Ash and I exchange eye contact. This could get nasty.
“I don’t mean time off, I mean time to do what I want, which is why I’m leaving. You and Max write most of the songs. Tom and I add to them now and then. I want more than that. I want to do my own thing.”
This is not strictly true. Yeah, Ash and Max write the bones of our songs, but as a band, we finish the writing process together. Is he making excuses?
“What the fuck? You always have a say, Brett. We all pitch in together, you know that,” Ash says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Max stands from his seat, raising his hand, and silently asks Ash to calm down.
“Brett, it’s Max.”
“Hey, man.”
“Don’t do this. If you want to write more, then write with us. There’s never been any hard or fast rules about how we put our songs together. We all have a choice, you know that.”
“No.”
The three of us look at each other. “Why not?” Max asks.
“I want to write for me, not anyone else. This is my time.”
His obnoxious attitude makes me question whether I want to fight for him. Brett has always thought he was the glue holding the band together. Now he’s showing his true colours.
