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“You heard it. So you know what it was about.”

“No, I don’t know what it was about.”

“Leaf had a relapse. Sooner or later, it’s going to tear us apart.”

Tristan glanced at Andrej. He had tucked his wheat-blond hair behind his ear and wore black sunglasses, which suited him well. Andrej was the typical California surfer boy, tanned and with a tribal tattoo on his right upper arm. And he was the perfect bassist for Nightstalker.

“You know, I appreciate your honesty,” Tristan said calmly. “That’s a good quality of yours. But sometimes you don’t think before you speak, especially when you panic. Your words can end up causing more harm than you may have intended.”

Andrej scoffed. “No, Tris. Don’t blame me for this. I’m definitely not the issue here, and you know it.”

“Have a little faith.”

Andrej frowned and shook his head. His silence even elicited a smile from Tristan. Andrej was reliable and a good guy who had always wanted the best for the band from the beginning. But that also included all his threats when something didn’t go as he wanted.

“Why just the two of us?” Tristan asked as they plunged into the canyons of downtown. Nowhere else did he feel like he was being swallowed by the city as much as here. The deeper they went, the stronger his urge to escape. Far away would have been best—back to the desert. Or at least to the Gaucho, which sat on the edge of downtown and had always been a kind of refuge for him.

“Nervous?” Andrej asked.

It was only then that Tristan noticed he was tapping his right foot. “Why would I be?”

Andrej chuckled. “You know I’ve got your back.”

That was also something Tristan could rely on with Andrej. Since the last tour, it had become a routine that they mostly did the interviews together. And every time the questions became too personal and Tristan was at a loss for words, it was Andrej who reprimanded the reporters with his big mouth. He didn’t hold back when it came to such matters and wasn’t afraid of conflict. With a keen sense of justice and politeness, he usually picked up on when journalists had crossed a line before anyone else noticed. That’s why they had also assigned him the task of compiling a blacklist of taboo questions for the next tour to make sure the reporters knew the limits.

Andrej turned onto Hope Street and drove the car straight to the parking lot of the Standard Hotel.

“The interview is happening here?” Tristan asked incredulously.

“Yep. They’re expecting us in the rooftop bar.”

Tristan reluctantly got out and followed Andrej inside. It was pleasantly cool in the lobby, and Tristan fanned himself with his shirt. Andrej did the same, pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, and led Tristan through the hall, past Philippe Starck chairs, Corbusier sofas, and red-lit walls. A stylized design world where Tristan felt foreign.

“Do you know your way around here?” he asked as they rode the escalator to the first floor.

“Worked here during college,” Andrej replied, the only one in the band with a university degree, in business administration and mathematics, nonetheless. “Room service. Mostly the night shift. You wouldn’t believe what I saw there,” he said with a sly grin.

As they got into the elevator, Andrej pressed the button to take them to the roof. “Clint won’t miss the chance to try and get you to open up,” he said, looking at Tristan with a serious expression.

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

“Just stay cool. No matter what happens.”

“I’m sure the guy’s just doing his job,” Tristan said, watching as the light on the display rose. “Did he get the list?”

“Yeah. Milo is off-limits.”

Tristan nodded and took one last deep breath. Then the elevator door opened, and a young Elvis Costello look-alike with a faded Gun Club shirt welcomed them with open arms.

“Hello! Welcome!” Clint had this exuberant way of covering up his own nervousness, because he wasn’t just a reporter, but also a bit of a fan. This had never stopped him from coming up with the most impossible questions, often shamelessly probing the boundaries between what was okay and what bordered on stalking. “Great to see you again! Follow me. We have a corner where it’s nice and cool. With a view of the pool.”

A small team of two men and a woman were in the middle of preparations to go live on time.

“Would you mind if we took a photo first?” Clint’s eyes sparkled like those of a child eager to reach into a bag full of candy—or to show off immediately on Instagram.

“Sure.” Tristan shrugged.

“Toni! Could you take a quick photo of us?” Clint handed his phone to the youngest member of the team, probably the intern, then positioned himself between Andrej and Tristan and grinned. Tristan took off his sunglasses and faced the young man with Clint’s phone.