Page 55 of Enjoying the Band in Lockdown

Devon closed me down with another laugh, “You don’t have to and none of us want to hear Xav put out that sort of mush. Hell, any of us can see what you guys have is fucked up, messed up, but it’s the craziest definition of love we’re ever gonna see. I’m just—a little jealous that it’s with Xav, but happy that I get, or at least got, to be part of it.”

“Devon, I really want to put this right.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if you can. But at least stick around and help us smash the concert.”

By the time Xavier emerged from one of the spare rooms, slamming against furniture, half empty spirit bottle still in hand, it came as no surprise to see he was still drunk. Functioning and coherent, but drunkenly holding onto his anger as tightly as the bottle. For once, it wasn’t solely directed at Jax but anyone in his line of sight, including and especially me.

“Mate, I could use your help.” Devon tried to distract Xav, give him something to focus on while I headed to the kitchen. Xav needed food. Greasy hamburgers with bacon, avocado, hash browns and a side of fried onions. It had taken a couple of spectacular failures, but Chase and I had finally got a batter that worked and then it all came down to heating up the fryer.

In the weeks since his accident, Devon had pushed his hand as much as possible, but it was still giving him grief. He’d decided to record a series of keyboard loops as a backup. I heard him encourage Xavier to focus on music. To offer advice on which ones could be used for the polished version of Dirty Blonde they wanted to launch right after the concert.

In that moment, Devon could have been the best friend either Xav or I could have hoped for, I only hoped it wasn’t too little and too late.

“Fuck me!” Trent could have been heard a street away. If it had been anyone else, we’d have ignored the cry as normal. But when we heard the slamming of the door, curiosity got too much.

“Leave it, mate,” Xavier’s voice cut through the other excited male cries. “My brother sent the equipment, I get to try it out.”

“You’re too wasted to realize what a fucked up idea that is,” Devon tried to reason while I finished plating Xavier’s fried eggs. Breakfast had never taken so long to cook.

“I’m fine.”

“But if you’re not, and you stuff up the video equipment, the concert is over. For us, it’s over.”

Somehow, Devon cut through and I heard him and Trent carry the equipment through to the recording space. The old restaurant now fully transformed to be the backdrop for the band. I’d moved furniture and curtains, even swapping out pictures of sponsored sports teams until every viewer would want this band to be playing at their venue.

After offering Xavier his breakfast to a grunted thanks, I returned to the kitchen to cook more. Trent had convinced everyone to eat before technology. Last night’s shitstorm seemed to be forgotten, at least for the moment. Forgotten, but not forgiven.

Xavier refused my touch or my eyes.

“Where do you think we should set up the cameras?” Devon asked three times before I realized he was talking to me.

“Are you still going to record on the phones?”

“Should we, or will they get in the way?”

“You’re a home grown band up against seasoned legends.” The guys had never seen me in professional mode before.

“Ouch,” Chase clutched at his chest.

“Do you want me to sugar coat it or suggest how you can exploit it as your advantage?” Professional Sydney could look at these men as clients, not fuck-buddies and definitely not look at Xavier as a man I loved more with every day.

“Exploit me, baby.” Devon flirted while Jax sneered and Xavier avoided looking away from his next drink.

“I thought so. We’ve styled the restaurant to be the perfect backdrop. By the end of the concert, there’ll be nothing more Australian than a band writing a new album in a pub. I’m even thinking we do a street concert. Once a week. Promote the pub, promote the band by giving back.”

“That doesn’t help with the video. Phones or no phones?” Xavier finally acknowledged me.

“Phones. I’ll mash the footage together and we’ll drip feed it to all the online forums. We’ll use it against the polished version of the songs once you get into the recording studio. It’ll be a cheap music video but true to your roots and how the album was made.”

“We?” Xavier spat? “You said we’ll use it.”

“I’ll hand you over all the raw footage and anything I create before I leave. It’s all yours.”

I didn’t wait for a reaction, returning to the kitchen. Refusing Trent and Chase’s offers of help. I’d got myself into this mess, and while my cooking was unlikely to get me out, patience might.

By lunch time, the equipment was set up and the guys were running through their normal set list to check sound and visual quality.

Last night might never have happened, except—

---