Twenty-Two
Henri woketo an empty bed and a confused manager knocking on the door. Fuck. No telling where Seb had taken off to. He needed protection from Charles. No easy thing to do if he wouldn’t stay put.
“Where is my son?” Lucas demanded.
“I couldn’t exactly keep him against his will.”
“I planned to tell him.” Lucas stopped and leaned against the doorway. The light fixture wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, yet he stared at it anyway.
Henri raised a hand and Lucas flinched. Maybe Lucas had the same reasons to recoil from a raised hand as Sebastian. He didn’t need any more shit. Henri placed his fingers gently on his manager’s shoulder and lowered his voice. “I know.”
Lucas slowly exhaled, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Why’d he leave?”
“Because he’s hardheaded and determined to make it on his own. Lucas, are you familiar with many people in the opera world?”
“A few, not many.”
“Do what you can to make sure he succeeds.”
“Of course.” Lucas pressed his hand over Henri’s. This man was Sebastian’s father. Right now he wasn’t a manager. In days to come Henri might be staring at him across a dining room table full of holiday trimmings.
If they managed to talk some sense into Seb.
One thing at a time. “Any word on the house?”
“It’s yours.”
“No, it’s Sebastian’s, if I can convince him to take it.” Too bad Henri couldn’t take a month off to focus solely on Sebastian’s problems. The Christmas holidays loomed, Thanksgiving having amounted to dinner with his band in a greasy-spoon diner while on the road. Would Sebastian accept the house as a Christmas gift? No, probably not.
“Once you get your script together forThe Phantom of the Parking Garageor whatever, I want you to call a press conference.” Henri turned away. Too much intimacy made him nervous these days, unless he counted Seb.
“Any particular reason? You just did one a few weeks ago.”
“Not for me. For Seb. If you can find him.”
* * *
What adisgrace. Dozens of reporters flocked to Henri’s press conferences—six measly newshounds showed up for Sebastian’s. The man deserved better.
“Mr. Unger, is it true that alcohol and drug-abuse problems led to your dismissal fromOthello?”
Henri glared daggers at the asshole who’d dare imply such a thing and pulled his cap down tighter on his head. Getting recognized wasn’t an option.The Sebastian Unger Showdidn’t need upstaging.
“Stress-induced illness led to mywithdrawalfrom the role,” Sebastian replied. He sat with his shoulders back. To those unfamiliar with him, he might seem confident. To Henri, he appeared a pale shadow of himself. Still, he hadn’t taken acting lessons for nothing. “You have my word, if there’d been any other way, I wouldn’t have given up the role of a lifetime.”
There! Take that! Only, Henri wished like hell Sebastian would tell the truth, how an abusive patron pushed him from the limelight he’d fought hard for. He searched Sebastian’s face and found no traces of bruising—likely the result of a skilled makeup artist.
The questions wound down, mainly of a harmless nature like, “What’s next?” to which Sebastian replied, “We’ll have to see. Il Divo made the break from opera to popular music. Maybe I’ll learn from them.”
Finally, the woman Lucas had once planted in Henri’s question-and-answer session raised her hand. “Mr. Unger, is there any truth to the rumor that rock musician Henri Lafontaine wants to collaborate with you on a musical based onPhantom of the Opera?”
Chaos reigned. Henri’s work here was done. On his way out he stopped and hugged Lucas, who waited in the wings to change Sebastian’s life. “Who’s the reporter?” he asked. He liked having a member of the press on their side.
“Her name’s Sharon Mulcahy.” Lucas let loose a grin. “If and when I finally get to be a father to my son, I plan to introduce them.”
Henri gave Lucas a sidewise glance.
Lucas’ grin grew wider. “In six months, she’s going to be his stepmother.”
