Thirteen
“Henri, youhaven’t always been on the best of terms, but Giles Forrester is one of the best drummers in the business.” Lucas placed one hand on each of Henri’s shoulders and stooped, putting them eye to eye and effectively blocking Henri’s view of Tall, Dark, and Unreliable. Henri blinked hard to remove the image of Seb bending down for a kiss. An unseen force pressed against his heart. Seb.
Now was not the time. He had work to do. “And why exactly did my mother fire him?”
“Creative differences.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“Give the guy a chance, will ya?”
“Let him play” came out more growly than intended. Oh well. At one time Henri would have thrown up his hands and said, “Fine!” Not anymore. Time to make a stand.
He peered over Lucas’s broad shoulder. “From the top—‘Ticket to Nowhere.’” Henri grasped his manager’s arm and turned him to watch. This train wreck needed witnesses. And if Giles so much as sniffed once or made a single homophobic or racist comment….
Giles kept the beat, rat-a-tatting on the snare drum, adding a bit of cymbal for effect—with wooden, well-practiced precision. The guy could bang those drums in his sleep, or half wasted. He picked up the tempo, launching into the drum solo from their first hit song. With the other musicians backing him up, Giles had been adequate. Now all Henri heard was theBang! Bang! Bang!of his kid sister pounding on pot lids with a spoon back in her younger days. Hell, Jenni sounded better than this.
Wait? Pot lids? A smile spread across Henri’s face. Giles smiled back, probably believing he’d clinched the deal. No way in hell. From now on, Henri only stood with his back toward people who didn’t carry knives.
“Giles, what happened with you and the band? And don’t bullshit me.”
Giles glanced to Lucas and back. Margo had trained him well in who to answer to, with another band, a lifetime ago. Here and now, Henri called the shots. After several long moments Giles answered, “I didn’t get along with the new singer.”
Henri snorted. “Hell, you didn’t get along with me. That’s no reason.”
The knuckles of Giles’s fist turned white. Yeah, the man had a temper, and had taken it out on his bandmates far too often. Henri aimed to build a team, a family, as much as a band. There’d be no room for spoiled brats who couldn’t compromise. Weeks on a tour with hateful bigots took a toll on a man’s nerves.
Henri swaggered toward the drum kit, extending the half-full plastic cup in his hand. “Play this.”
Giles glanced at the cup and back to Henri’s face, mouth slack with disbelief. “What?”
A sudden swelling of pride in Henri’s chest assured him he’d done the right thing. “You heard me. Play this cup.”
Now Giles hazarded a quick “he’s still crazy, right?” inquisitive gaze at Lucas. Lucas better have Henri’s back, or it wouldn’t merely be a worthless piece of would-be drummer taking a hike today.
Lucas nodded. “You heard the man. If he wants you to play a cup, play the damn cup.”
Giles raised a drumstick. It hovered a moment, then came crashing down. The plastic fell to the floor in pieces, showering Henri and the drummer with water. Henri didn’t even flinch. Droplets clung to his lashes, showing a prism of drummers. “That will be all.” Henri carefully enunciated every syllable. Again Giles eyed the manager. Wrong move. “I’m the one with the money,” Henri reminded him. “Whatcha looking at him for?”
Lucas shrugged. Good. He still had a job. “We thank you for your time, but it’s quite obvious Henri doesn’t think you’ll be a good fit for his band.”
Henri didn’t bother to watch the asshole leave, nor did the door slam evoke a flinch. Only when they were alone did his manager say, “I hope you know what you’re doing. Where can you find a drummer on short notice?”
“Easy.” A confidence unlike anything Henri ever felt settled over him. “I don’t want a drummer. What we need is a percussionist.” He nodded toward the shattered cup on the floor. Let the man work the puzzle out.
* * *
“A garage?”Lucas’s brows reached for his receding hairline.
“Trust me.” Actually, Henri agreed the weathered garage didn’t appear to hide the gold they sought. His gut told him otherwise. Either way, he’d get a visit in with someone he’d come to accept as a friend.
A side door opened and out stepped a little girl in blue jeans, pigtails, and a cutoff T.
“Hey, is Te—” The words died on Henri’s tongue.
“Hey, Henri! Is this your friend?” The woman he’d seen banging on a box of Chinese takeout with chopsticks bounced up and down on the balls of her bare feet. “I can’t tell you how excited I am. When I offered you a private concert, I had no idea you’d take me up on it. Come on in.”
Tessa stepped aside, waving a hand toward the inside of the building. The scent of some kind of spicy incense greeted them at the entrance. At odds with the peeling exterior, inside everything seemed to have a place. A trio of weathered bucket seats that had likely come out of sports cars served as seating. “Can I get you something to drink?” Tessa crossed to a full-sized refrigerator and flung open the door to reveal bottled water, diet soda, and beer.
