Page 57 of Tumbling Hearts

“Well, I guess we should continue on with that song,” Ray says, giving Gene a sweet smile. “What do you think?”

“For sure. I think we really got something good here.”

Madison Square Garden welcomes the Dusty Brooms with a thunderous roar. They’ve been here once before, but somehow, the crowd is even bigger than last time. Ray is amazed—to think, not even six months have passed, and the Brooms have grown exponentially in popularity. This is the sort of audience Ray would expect for someone like the Rolling Stones. But no, they’re all here for the Brooms—shouting their names, waving their hands, even some daring enough to throw their underwear onto the stage. Ray gets a kick out of it. He claps his hands along with the crowd as Gene plays the opening riff of ‘Nothin’ Can Hold Me Down’, launching them into the song.

Fast paced and upbeat, Ray dances as he sings the verses, his glittery blouse shining under the stage lights. Santiago’s guitar fills the spaces in-between, while Stefan’s bass and Pat’s drums are the backbone, holding the song together. In the midst of it all is Gene’s rhythm. Damn, does he look gorgeous tonight—Gene has a long patterned scarf wrapped around his neck, his flowy cardigan open down the middle, showing his hairy chest, and tight leather pants hugging his sleek legs. Gene also has some dark kohl lining his eyes; it’s something new he’s been doing for shows. Ray tries not to stare too intensely. He shouldn’t make it obvious he’s lusting after his best friend in front of thousands of people. But a little glance won’t hurt. And it’s impossible not to look at him when he comes up to the mic, singing the chorus together with Ray in harmony:

“Don’t matter if I got no money,

if my friends aren’t hangin’ ’round.

I’ll shine my shoes on my own two feet⁠—

Nothin’ can hold me down.”

Every time, every single fucking time, the way Gene’s cheek nearly brushes against Ray’s sends flutters throughout his body. Does the same happen to Gene, too? Ray can’t get enough of it. He smiles at his best friend, feeling the groove. The crowd cheers, loud and frantic, mixing with the music from the speakers as if it’s one cohesive thing. It is, in a way, during these live shows. It wouldn’t be the same without the audience.

Santiago wails a solo during the bridge, becoming the star of the show. Ray takes a step back as Santi comes forward. Swaying his hips and standing near Gene, Ray watches as Santi’s hands glide over his guitar with ease. It’s a mesmerizing sight, one that the audience goes nuts for. There’s plenty more solos where that came from—as Santi has one almost every song. He might not be a ‘songwriter’, but he’s a master at improvising notes that fit with the melody on the fly.

Santi hands the guitar melody back to Gene, weaving it around and taking over the rhythm. Ray is never sure how they do it, but they’re an incredible team. If you weren’t watching them here on stage, you wouldn’t know where one guitar ends and the other begins. That’s the magic of the Dusty Brooms.

The magic continues all throughout the night as the show goes on. Song after song, the Brooms play their hearts out. During one number, Ray even grabs a guitar of his own and adds to the rhythm of ‘Truck Stop Blues’. Once all is said and done and the encore is over, Gene comes up to Ray’s side and grabs his hand—his and only his—and they bow gracefully as the lights dim to black.

After packing up their gear at the end of the show, the Brooms retire to their hotel, one they’d stayed at earlier in the year: the Chelsea Hotel. The rates were low and they were already familiar with it, so Dennis thought it was a good idea to book them here again. Ray is fine with it; he enjoyed the last time they were here, hanging out with everyone on the rooftop garden. That’s where everyone is congregating again, bringing bottles and drinks and who knows what else to come hang out here. Plants upon plants are littered over every surface, vines climbing and falling down the walls. The green of the leaves glows in the darkness, lit up by white Christmas lights strung all around. Not many others are up here at the moment, so the Brooms have the area mostly to themselves.

Ray finds a seat on a metal chair against the fencing—one that’s not taken up by a plant—Gene on one side of him and Carol on his other. Gene has been drinking this entire time, having a bottle of Jack Daniels in his lap, some of it he drank during the show. That’s Gene for you. He’s always been able to handle his alcohol very well, much better than Ray.

Santiago walks by them, looking for a seat as well⁠—

His hip bumps a potted plant. It falls; Santi panics, throwing his arms out and catching it just in the nick of time before the pot shatters all over the ground.

“Ah, shit!” Santi pants, lifting the plant up and setting it back down on the table where he found it. “That was a close one.”

“Gotta be more careful,” Ray says with a chuckle.

“Yeah. One wrong move and everything can come tumbling down.”

Ain’t that the truth. Ray looks over at Carol, her head in the clouds. Then he turns toward Gene—oh, his beautiful, handsome Gene—laughing and taking a swig of his whiskey. So much could be shattered in an instant due to their own tumbling hearts. Ray should be playing it safe, especially with his girlfriend next to him. But Gene brings out something deep within, beckoning him to be close.

“If you sit still, there’s less of a chance of you messing things up,” Gene says to Santi.

“You’re asking way too much of me.” Santi shakes his head, grabbing a chair across from them and sitting down. “I’ve got too much energy. The only time I’m still is when I’m asleep.”

“And even then, you move around in your sleep,” Gene says. “I know, I slept next to you during the last tour. And I share a room with you back home.”

“Okay, okay, fine. But I’ll do my best!” But as he says that, he throws an arm up, bumping into the leaves of another plant. It wobbles a little— “Fuck, wait, it’s okay. It’s not gonna fall.” He pats the leaves, making sure it’s secure in place.

Gene laughs, and so does Ray. Carol doesn’t seem to be paying attention, off in her own little world. Maybe she’s had more of those Quaaludes. If she did, Ray isn’t going to sweat it. Any time he brings it up, she reprimands him. Sometimes he worries the same of Gene, since he knows he snorts coke with Nicky sometimes, but Gene seems to be doing fine. The only time he’d really seemed ‘sick’ was when he was faking it. But Ray wants to still keep an eye on him; Nicky too.

Stefan finds a spot next to Gene on his other side, sitting down without making a sound—a perfect contrast to Santiago’s entrance.

“Hey Stefan,” Gene says.

“Hey guys,” Stefan replies. The blond bassist doesn’t have a chick with him today, which is a little surprising with them all being in such a big city like New York. But Ray supposes… maybe he actually wants to chat with us, for once?

Gene reaches into his pocket, pulling out an Altoids tin. Those tins never actually have Altoids in them, though—Gene opens it, whipping out a joint. “You want a hit, Stefan?” Gene offers, handing it over to the bassist.

Stefan accepts it, holding it between his index finger and thumb, looking at it with an expression that Ray can’t quite read. Gene gets his lighter out, ready to light it for him, but before he can⁠—