Henri stared at the latest edition ofAmerican Drummer. Oh, wow! Tessa had made the cover. Resplendent in her fingerless gloves and dressed entirely in lavender up to the tips of her glitter-frosted hair, she posed behind her drum kit, seemingly in motion even in a photo. The headline labeled her, “Little Drummer Girl.” About time the band members got their own accolades.
Lucas’s smile turned grim. “I’m glad you’re sitting down.” He tapped a few keys on his laptop, then turned the screen toward Henri. “A friend brought this to my attention.”
Had an offer fromRolling Stonecome through? “Henri Lafontaine’s Biggest Fan,” the website proclaimed. Images of Henri filled the page: shirtless and sweaty onstage with Hookers and Cocaine. Damn, Tessa was right. He had looked a bit ragged, with his flyaway hair and grungy jeans.
He focused on a post made the previous day, judging by the time stamp.
At first he didn’t find anything wrong with the beautiful landscapes portrayed. The mountains, hazy in the early morning. A walking trail. A log and stone two-story house, Seb standing on the porch. Oh shit! Where had those come from? More pictures, taken from a tour bus window… his old band. His new band. His sister’s last birthday party. His family.
Oh God! The air suddenly left the room. “The motherfucker got my cell phone. He’s been here!” And likely knew about Sebastian. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap. “I need to send this link to Arnulfo and Detective Shepard.”
“Already done.” Lucas studied Henri, face grim. “You be careful.”And look after my sonremained unsaid.
* * *
Sebastian ambledinto the room. Henri minimized the fan page he’d visited far too often since Lucas’s visit two days ago. Better not to cause needless alarm. Secure arms surrounded him. He could get used to this. “You’re coming to the concert tonight, aren’t you?” Taking on the world worked better with Sebastian at his side.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Good. Tonight, not only would the fans get one hell of a performance, if all went according to plan, they’d hear an exclusive new song. Henri melted into his lover’s arms, enjoying the calm before the storm. Sebastian hadn’t mentioned leaving, and he also didn’t “loo, loo,” throughout the day. Which would be worse, him leaving to pursue his career, or him giving up on his singing altogether? Singing was Sebastian’s world. Henri couldn’t imagine him without his opera.
Time enough to worry later; right now he had a band to shame and a psycho to evade.
* * *
Lucas chattedwith Margo. At an elbow nudge from Sebastian, Henri waved. So far his mother hadn’t blabbed to the press about his coming out, though the widening of her eyes and slight twitch of her lips when she regarded Henri standing so close to Sebastian equaled her adding one plus one and getting two gay musicians. Now wasn’t the time to let Sebastian in on the “I’m in love with a man” conversation he’d had with his family. Not talking about his folks meant not mentioning his parting shot. Margo fluttered her fingers and disappeared backstage, no doubt to hover over the dregs of Hookers and Cocaine. Two-to-one odds said her new lead singer wouldn’t show.
“Remember,” Lucas said, “no matter who gets star billing, the audience paid their money to see you.”
If only Henri could convince himself. He huddled backstage with his band to shouts of “Henri, Henri!”
“Tonight we kick ass and take names,” he said, considering them each in turn. “And Michael?”
“Yeah?”
“Tonight, fifth song? Slide in ‘A Matter of When.’”
“But we’ve never done that one in public before.”
Henri grinned. “It’s high fucking time, if you ask me.” Not only would the song blow his old band’s version out of the water, Henri’s secret weapon even now settled on the front row. Henri joined Tessa’s preconcert ritual, bouncing on the balls of his feet, adding a bit of “loo-, loo-ing” to the mix. Calm down and warm up at the same time. Win! And the best part? Henri didn’t need pills to get him out on the stage tonight. Tonight, thanks to Seb’s teaching, the band joined him in vocal warm-ups.
Tessa had clothed herself in peach lace and chiffon, bringing to mind Stevie Nicks back in the eighties. She rocked the style. Colton wore a silk dashiki over his jeans. At least he wasn’t channeling Bruce Lee. Henri and Jake both wore jeans and T-shirts. No fucking way would they wear leather and be mistaken for members of the headlining act. Michael’s button-down shirt and khaki pants had become “Starman’s” trademarks.
Tessa gave him an appraising glance and a wink.
Somewhere in the throng of chanting humanity sat Seb… and possibly a deranged lunatic psychopath. Had to take the good with the bad. Technicians hooked them into mics, making last-minute preparations.
Mismatched Delusions took to the stage, except for Michael, who hurried into a side room for his part of the show.
The crowd rose to their feet for “Ice Inside,” cheering Henri on when he hit and held the high C note. Damn. The lights, the music, the cameras, the fans. Seb. Life didn’t get any better than this. At this moment, the entire fucking world revolved around the stage.
Finally, the moment Henri had been waiting for. The lights faded down until only a lone spotlight shone on him. He strolled to the edge of the stage, where he’d been told Seb was sitting, and held out his hand. In the bright light he couldn’t make out his lover. He started singing, hand still extended.
“Where have you been?”
Nothing. Henri motioned for his band to repeat the line. He said aloud, “Again,” into his mic for Michael’s benefit.
“Where have you been?”
