Page 42 of Syncopation
Mish was a shrewd, shrewd woman, and that one raised eyebrow told Ray she didn’t believe him.
“There’s nothing going on. I’m not even sure he likes me.”
She shook her head. “You’re not even sure helikesyou? Fucking hell, Ray.” She threw up her hands and rose from the chair. “I can’thelp you with what’s right under your nose.” With that, she left the dressing room.
Great. Zavier pissed. Mish pissed. Maybe he should hunt down Dom and make sure all of his bandmates were mad at him, just to keep things even. But before he could even push himself off the edge of the vanity, Carl stood in the doorway.
Great. Fuckingstellar.
“Do we need to have another discussion,Ray?”
Carl’s voice scraped along every last one of Ray’s nerves. “No.”
“Because I’m pretty sure you just told a reporter to go to hell.”
“Actually, I gave him the finger.” If Carl was going to scold him, he could at least get the details right. “He was a prick and piece of shit.”
“He’s going to roast you and the band alive.”
He’d had enough of Carl’s false concern. “Like yougive a fuck. Youwantme to be the drunken asshole singer. Am I not performing well enough for you?”
Carl stormed in, grabbed him by the shirt, and pulled him up. “I want you to be a goddamned professional, you little shit.”
Every inch of Ray wanted to punch him in the face. He was too close and reeked of crappy aftershave. It was a struggle not to fight, not to lash out. One thing Rayknew about bullies, though—you hit them, they’ll hit you back harder.
“Let me go.”
Carl shook him once, rattling Ray’s teeth, then let go and stepped back. “You damn well better give this show your all, or I’m pulling the plug.” He spun and stormed out.
Ray collapsed back on the vanity, then lowered himself into a nearby chair. They were fucked.
He was still sitting, staring atthe floor and trying to remember how to breathe when the rest of the band walked in. None of them said anything to him, just went about getting ready. He should do that too, so he did.
In the end, it was the rhythm and the murmur of preparing and dressing that finally shoved enough of the churning tumult from Ray’s head. If Carl wanted their best, they’d give it to them. He’d do it for thefans, since it might well be their last show.
* * *
They brought the house down, and Ray breathed a little easier. From opening with “Lightning” to their acoustical swing version of “Sprinkles on Top” to yet another ripping version of “White Hot Midnight” as their last encore, they’d whipped the crowd into a frenzy. Zavier had suggested they change how they finished the song, having theinstruments drop out until there was only Ray’s and the audience’s voices belting out the last verse. The screaming and the yelling and clapping kept going, even when the lights went up and the crews ran out to change the stage for Five Asylum. The line for autographs was huge, and they barely made it into the bus in time to have any hope of making it to their next destination when they needed tobe there.
Carl pulled Ray aside before he boarded, his grip painfully tight on Ray’s arm. “I don’t know how you did it.” His voice hissed in Ray’s ear. “But you did, so you get a reprieve. But one more slipup, and I’m not giving you a second chance. You’ll be done, do you understand?”
“Loud and clear.” He yanked himself free and climbed into the safety of the bus.
His bandmates werealready in their usual places on the front couches. “Maybe we should do one of those VIP experiences.” Mish lolled her head against the leather and clutched her half a glass of wine. “Because if we pull off a show like that again, we’re never gonna make the bus.” Her voice was giddy and higher than normal.
“How do you even book those?” Dom had his beer and had done a crappy job of taking offhis makeup, but his face was bright and youthful, a mix of Dominic and Domino. “I mean—” He waved his hand. “We’re not Five Asylum.”
They were better than Five Asylum. At least tonight.
Ray slipped past Zavier’s outstretched legs and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Zavier was lounging on his half of the couch with hot tea, and looked up expectantly at Ray. “You joining us?”
He should crawl into his bunk and sleep. Exhaustion gnawed at him, as well as his actions from earlier in the day, and Carl’s cloying aftershave. But he owed it to the band to be better than he’d been. “Yeah. For a little. I’m dead on my feet, though.”
He sat down next to Zavier and cracked open his water. “How can you drink something so fucking hot?” He did before concerts when his throatwas bothering him, because the heat loosened things up. But afterward? Nope. And Zavier didn’t even sing. He didn’t need tea.
Zavier’s lips twitched, but not in amusement. “My throat’s been bugging me.”
Ray shifted away. “You get me sick, Demos, and I’ll kill you.”
