Page 27 of Syncopation
Chapter Eight
The first person Ray saw upon stepping off the bus at the venue outside Detroit was Carl, who led with an insincere greeting. “How you doing, Ray?”
Ray buried as much of his irritation as he could and managed a noncommittal grunt. Great. Just what he needed.
Carl’s smile was fake. “That good, huh? Well, I hope your attitude improves before tonight.”
Ray ignoredthe jibe and followed the crew into the arena. There’d be some kind of green room and dressing rooms. The crew would unpack the equipment and get it sorted and staged. They’d run through a rehearsal, then there’d be the show. Five Asylum had a whole VIP package thing going for their fans. Meet-and-greets, photo ops. Someday, maybe Twisted Wishes would do something similar, but for now they stuckwith signing autographs for whoever hung out after the show.
He made it as far as the green room before Carl’s voice sounded in his ear, way too close and far too loud. “Have you been drinking?”
Ray whirled around. “What the fuck do you think?” Only then did he notice the guy with the camera and the press pass standing in the room off to the side. Shit,shit. He took a breath and steppedback. “No, man. Just coffee, and not enough of that.” God, he needed to pay more attention to his surroundings. Fucking thing was, that was one of the first pieces of advice Carl had given him.
The fucker chuckled. “I’m sure.” He sounded like he didn’t believe a word Ray said, which was pretty normal. “You know the deal.”
He damn well did. “Do you need a blood test?” He held out his arm.“’Cause all you’re gonna find is caffeine and a shitty truck stop meatball hoagie.”
The press guy raised both his eyebrows and Carl looked taken aback. “No, no. Of course not.”
Zavier breezed in. “I’d be afraid to know what’s in those meatballs.”
“Says the man who ate the chili cheese dogs.” Domino was in most of his getup, since reporters like the one furiously typing into his phonecould be found everywhere behind the scenes at a place like this.
“Eh, cast-iron stomach.” Zavier flashed one of his perfect grins at Dom. “Product of my misspent youth.”
Mish grabbed a bottle of water. “Next time I’m buying stock in antacids.”
The best part of the whole tangent was the look on Carl’s face. Ray relaxed. Anything about his “drinking problem” would be buried under thecrappy eating habits of rock stars.
The journalist or whatever he was cleared his throat and nodded to Zavier. “You’re the new drummer, right?”
Zavier straightened, his movements careful. Calculated. “Yes, I am. And you are...?”
“Gabriel McGinness, from MusicNight Online.”
A nod. “I do like knowing who’s writing about me,” Zavier murmured, and fuck, was it sexy. How the hell didhe do that? It also raised quite a blush on the reporter—and that caused a bitter taste in Ray’s mouth.
The reporter recovered pretty fast, though the blush lingered. “How does a principal timpanist of a renowned symphony orchestra end up as a rock drummer?”
Less sex in Zavier’s voice now. “I answered a call for an audition.”
“After you were fired from Silverton?”
Zavier’s postureshifted in an instant. He didn’t tense up, per se. Ray couldn’t say what changed other than his grin dropping, but the temperature in the room fell about twenty degrees, or so it seemed. “I wasn’t fired. I resigned.”
Oh, there was a story there. Zavier’s voice was mild, but concrete—practically daring the reporter to refute him. For his part, Mr. Presspass McGinness or whatever stood his ground.“Dimitri Ferbran said—”
“Maestro Ferbran knows damn well I walked into HR and tenured my resignation before he had his little screaming fit at me.” Zavier’s smile was back, but unpleasant as hell. “I can give you the number of the Human Resources director, if you wish to corroborate my story.” He paused. “And I’m not the only musician to walk out on Ferbran.”
Presspass got a curious look.“Really?”
“Mmmhmm. Look it up sometime.” Zavier shrugged. “Now if you’ll excuse us...”
Carl ushered the press guy out the door. After that, he pulled a can from the fridge, then cracked it open. Of course it was a beer. Ray resisted the urge to look at his watch. He suspected the only reason Carl was drinking was to rub it in that Ray couldn’t. Or maybe Zavier’s little previous workplacehistory had been a surprise. Who knew? Interesting that Ray wasn’t the only one with a cloud hanging over him.
Once Carl had downed a few gulps, he smacked his lips, which meant the beer was about Ray and not Zavier. At least he was consistent. “So, Ray. Got a set list yet?”
Carl had never been interested in what they planned to play on tour before. “Of course I have. We worked it outlast night.” He gestured to the band.
