Fifteen
Henri facedhis new band in his basement studio. He didn’t have the fancy equipment necessary for professional-quality recordings, but the former owner, an eighties era producer, had left the room relatively intact. The perfect place to rehearse. First, a little business. “I’m gonna tell you up front that I’m in recovery. I don’t do drugs, hell, I don’t even drink anymore, and having someone fire up a joint on one of my bad days might set me back about ten thousand dollars’ worth of therapy. Hookers and Cocaine gained a reputation for a drug band. That stops here. Anyone got a problem?”
Tessa chimed in first. “I’m drug tested on a regular basis. Not worth flushing four years of college down the tube. Besides, I’m on a natural high.” Her leg bounced up and down. Henri wanted to tell her to knock it off, but even if she did, it wouldn’t last.
Whirr, chik!She spun around in her chair.
And so it began. “Jake?” The bassist’s partying reputation once rivaled Henri’s own.
Whirr, chik!
Henri gritted his teeth.
“I’ve got six kids with four different ex-wives. I can’t afford drugs, man.”
Fair enough. “Colton?”
Whirr, chik!
Mental note: banish moveable chairs from the room.
“My body is a temple.” The keyboardist smacked his hands together and bowed. Someone really should tell the guy he wasn’t Bruce Lee.
“That leaves you, Michael.”
A muscle twitched in Michael’s jaw when Tessa whirled again. Ahh… it wasn’t only Henri’s nerves she trampled on.
“Dude, my family’s from rural Alabama, the land of ‘hold my beer and watch this.’ We don’t do drugs. Too Hollywood for us. We’d rather hang out at bars, get drunk, fight about football, puke behind bushes, and yell, ‘Roll Tide!’ at inappropriate moments. We do like our Crimson Tide football.”
Jake asked, “What about speed?”
All eyes roved to Tessa, spinning ’round and ’round in her chair. Oh, Tessa and speed? Not pretty at all. “Anybody who gives Tessa speed is dead.”
As one, they snapped, “Tessa! Stop that!”
She stopped turning. Her leg bounced. Here they went again.
“It’s only fair to tell you what happened with my last band. You have a right to know.” No telling what they’d heard. Time for Henri to clear the air.
“You don’t have to tell us, Henri.” Easy for Tessa to say. She’d already gotten a full history.
Jake, Colton, and Michael kept quiet. At least they gave him the courtesy of not asking. “After a concert a fan brought me a drink—laced with enough GHB to keep me out for days.” Or kill him, if not for a handy guard with first responder training.
A collective groan rose from the group.
“He tried to take me back to my room, where cops found rope, duct tape, and a video camera. No telling what he planned. He’s still out there, and may try again. Being around me may put you in danger.” Best to let them know the truth and be prepared.
Jake spoke up first, with his deep drawl. “Dude, I’ve played backwoods country bars in towns no one’s ever heard off. One deranged fan is nothing compared to a room full of rednecks who’ve had a few beers too many.”
“Why can’t they find the guy?” This from Michael. “Get Tessa to read your terror cards or something. Shake some crystals at you for protection.”
“Hey!” Tessa shouted. “They’re tarot cards, not ‘terror.’”
Colton assumed some kind of weird pose. Martial arts? Or vogueing? “My body is a weapon. I will protect you.”
First a temple, now a weapon? What was this guy, some sort of Kung Fu monk?
Tessa’s leg bounced faster.
