Fuck.
“Did somebody step on a cat?” Jake asked, an agonized grimace on his face.
“Dude, we can take it down a bit,” Michael offered. “How about this?” He improvised the chorus in a lower key.
Henri sighed. “No, I can do this. Take five.” He stalked out of the room and up the steps to his living room. “Loo, loo, loo, loo, loo, loo, loo, loo.” After pulling in a few deep breaths and exhaling slowly, he tried again. “Loo, loo, loo, loo, loo, loo, loo, loo.” One eye on his watch, he tried to recall all Sebastian had told him.
No one seemed to have moved out of place when he returned. “Try it again, from the top.” He gave Michael a pointed look. “The original notes.”
His heart sped when they reached the fateful chorus.
“There’s ice inside, there’s ice inside.”
Holy shit! Was that sound coming from him? Henri continued to exhale, gaze locked with Michael’s, which reflected Henri’s wide-eyed shock. He vaguely noticed the band’s silence. The note continued. Purer, sweeter, higher. Henri’s voice soared, filling the room even without the microphone he’d dropped to his side. At last his lungs emptied, but the note never wavered. The perfect C ended on his command.
Jake and Colton seemed unmoved, not being privy to Henri’s previous vocal limitations. Tessa and Michael stared with blank faces, jaws hanging open.
Tessa spoke first. “That was amazing!”
Michael brought reality crashing down. “But can you do it again?”
Henri’s throat didn’t burn as it had in the past when he’d overreached. “Only one way to find out.”
On the second go-round, he never said a word to his band, but Michael joined in, as he’d done years ago while with the band that would later be Hookers and Cocaine. His smooth tenor wrapped around Henri’s deeper tones, taking the edge off, and reminding Henri of singing with Sebastian. Hookers and Cocaine had never sounded this good.
At the precise moment Henri found perfection, perfection took wing and flew on the voice of an angel. Tessa’s sweet soprano wove in and out of the patchwork Michael and Henri created. On the final verse, deeper tones added to the mix, from bass guitar and bassist.
The song ended. Henri didn’t. Nodding to his band, directing with his hands, together they created a sound that blew away his wildest expectations. God, he needed Seb right now.
* * *
“A makeover?Why the hell do we need makeovers?” Henri glared at Tessa.
Tessa glared back. Her friend backed up a few steps away from Henri’s folded-arms indignation. There wasn’t one damned thing wrong with Henri’s appearance. Just because he’d made the worst-dressed list three years in a row didn’t mean jack shit but that nosey paparazzi always seemed to catch him while taking out the trash or working on his bike.
“No offense, Henri.” Tessa batted her eyes, reminding Henri of his sister, the non-made-up-to-look-forty version. “I’ve been to a few of your concerts, have some of your music, and check your website on a regular basis.” A natural blush overpowered her cosmetics. “And let’s say that, as much as I adored you and your music….”
In rehab she’d acted like she hadn’t recognized him prior to his first admission. “Go on.”
“Well….” She scraped her top teeth across her lower lip. “You kinda always looked… well… scruffy.”
“Scruffy? I look scruffy to you?” Henri spun to face his remaining band members. Granted, it being Friday, he hadn’t shaved the few scraggly whiskers on his chin, and he hadn’t bothered to control his air-dried hair—it poofed out in a fluffy mass. Then there was the whole “holey T-shirt” thing, and jeans nearly worn through in the seat. Dammit, comfort came before style, in his book. “Guys, do I lookscruffy?” He patted at his errant hair.
Colton turned away, guilt in his eyes. Jake puffed his cheeks and blew out his breath while slowly nodding. Michael, who’d known him since high school and who favored the same casual look while not teaching, declared, “Hey, you look fine to me.”
“It’s okay if you want to be adored by teenaged girls who want to terrify their parents by swearing they’re gonna marry you someday,” Tessa said. “Is that what you want, or do you want fans old enough to vote, and with enough sense not to elect candidates based on how cute they are?”
Uh-oh. Better stop before Tessa started in on politics. She made a good point, not that Henri would concede.
“Besides, you’ve complained about headaches. Your hair looks pretty heavy. Have you considered that maybe it’s the weight causing the problem?”
She might have a point. Not to mention getting wound up in his hair in his sleep, and having to force the mass underneath his helmet. Tangles, spending precious time trying to beat curls into submission. Cutting off pieces when his hair got caught in something.
His mother forbade him to cut his hair, saying he’d ruin his reputation.
To hell with his reputation.
Would Seb like his hair shorter? “Let’s see what you’ve got in mind. Tessa, you go first.”
