Six
“Where arewe going?” Henri stared out the window of the tiny Volkswagen Beetle, the car seeming much smaller for being filled with Sebastian’s broad shoulders.
“You’ll see.” Sebastian hummed to himself with the radio off. If he wasn’t speaking, he sang; if not speaking or singing, he hummed. Chances were, he sang in his sleep. Oh, that’d be interesting.
The trees, the mountains. How tranquil… until they merged onto I-70. Both hands gripping the steering wheel, Sebastian stared with single-minded determination through the windshield. His gentle humming took on an urgent quality. Was that the soundtrack to the big battle scene fromApocalypse Now? “I’d hold on if I were you,” he advised. He hit the gas, neatly inserting the car between two eighteen-wheelers.
They were so close to the rig in front of them that Henri could count the scratches on the bumper. A quick glance in the side mirror showed the truck behind them close enough to reach out and touch.
A sign appeared on the right: “Runaway truck ramp 2000 feet.” Runaway truck? Oh shit!
Seb veered again, hauling them out of the right lane and into the middle one. Henri glanced at the space they’d just left. Too fucking small. A quick turn had him grabbing the “oh shit” handle to keep from crashing into Seb.
He glanced at the speedometer. Eighty? Normally, on the bike, Henri loved speed, but…. “Could you fucking slow down?”
“Slow down out here at your own risk.” With a lot of glancing back and forth between his mirrors, Sebastian maneuvered them into the left lane with mostly passenger vehicles and a few trucks.
May this particular bug not wind up on anyone’s windshield.
Down and down they traveled, Seb’s knuckles turning white. And then….
“Oh dear God!” An eighteen-wheeler appeared over a rise in Henri’s side mirror, heading straight for them.
Sebastian stopped humming. “Is something wrong?”
Henri peered through his fingers while a bright red, two-ton missile rumbled by with what seemed inches to spare. The Beetle swayed in the passing breeze. He let out a sigh of relief.
And then another truck appeared.
“I’d recommend you close your eyes and trust me.” Did Sebastian have to sound so smug?
After three more of what appeared to be near misses, Henri took the man’s advice. The humming turned to chuckling. Asshole. Henri clutched his seat belt with both hands. Please, please, let them not get plowed by a Peterbilt.
The road hadn’t been this winding and steep when he’d driven up on his Harley, had it? The Hollywood Hills didn’t even come close to this asphalt nightmare.
He opened his eyes when they slowed and exited the road from Hell. Hallelujah! A stoplight!
“Are you all right?” Sebastian asked, darting a quick glance to Henri before the light changed to green.
“Sure, fine,” Henri lied. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
Sebastian entered a mall parking lot. Was he out of his mind? They couldn’t go in there. He’d be recognized. Seb drove around the mall and parked in front of a movie theater.
The car stopped! Finally! Would kissing the ground be overly dramatic? Henri peeled his fingers off the seat belt. “Isn’t it a bit early for a movie?”
“Movies don’t start until one. They allow me to use an empty theater to practice.”
Henri followed Sebastian in through a side door, trying to hide the tremor in his legs. How often had Sebastian driven the hellish road? And how much money would it take to keep him from doing it again with Henri in the car?
“Hey, Seb,” a smiling woman said. “You can have seven.” She pulled the door closed behind them.
Sebastian hummed his way down the hall and underneath a banner for an action-adventure film. Cool! Henri had been waiting for the show’s release. Must have happened while he’d been in rehab. Maybe they should stay and watch. A raised platform stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling screen. The room must serve double duty as an auditorium.
“You stand here.” Seb pointed to a spot dead center of the stage. “I want you to sing something that shows me both your upper and lower limit so we can work on your range. Breathing might be a bit harder than you’re used to because of the elevation, but not as bad as at the house.”
Yeah, his range. The weakness preventing Henri from performing some of the songs that sounded better in his brain than coming out of his mouth. He climbed up on stage. “Hey! Where’s the microphone?”
“What microphone?”
