by Elle Casey
I blink once and give him a bland smile. “Have a good night, Tarin. Try and stay out of trouble.” I say this knowing it will make him crazy. Maybe it isn’t the best approach, but something about him is making me act a little reckless. More reckless than I probably should be.
“Fuck that,” he says. He stares at me hard for several seconds, either waiting for me to respond or just trying to wrap his head around who I might be. Either way, he gives up when I say nothing and storms off.
The waiter comes over and looks at me nervously. “Are you all right, Miss Barnes?”
I nod. “I’m fine. All in a day’s work, right?”
“If you say so.” He picks up the tipped over glass on Mel’s side of the table and puts a fresh napkin down over the small amount of wine that stained the linen. “Will you be staying for dinner?”
“Yes. I’m just going to find myself another date. Bring me a shrimp cocktail while I wait, would you please?”
“Of course.” He walks away and leaves me to make a phone call.
“What’s up?” comes the voice on the other end of the line.
“Feel like eating filet mignon with bearnaise sauce?”
“Does the Pope eat pizza?”
I laugh. “I don’t know. Does he?”
“Fuck yeah, he does. The guy lives in Italy. I’ll be right over. Fifteen minutes max. Order for me.”
“You got it. See you.” I hang up and pour myself another glass of wine and smile to myself. Everything is going according to plan. Now all I have to do is convince a bunch of rock and roll stars and their best friends that Tarin Kilgour needs to be reined in and managed before disaster strikes. Piece of cake.
Chapter Six
I WAIT UNTIL THE LAST person has arrived before I signal Mel to start the show. We’re gathered at his private residence, a place most of these people have never seen. They know this is a big deal, all of them talking softly among themselves, probably speculating about why they’re here. Some are seated and some are standing, all together in the huge living room Mel uses to entertain. It’s much too big for a childless couple to use on a regular basis.
“Is this going to take long? Because we have a session in a couple hours.” I look for the source of the voice and recognize the rhythm guitarist standing off to the side, looking annoyed.
Mel is in front of the crowd, holding out his hands for silence. “It shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes unless you want it to take longer.” Mel lets his not-so-subtle hint sink in before continuing. “I’ve asked you here for Tarin. It’s that simple. The people in this room are his closest friends. We’re starting with you and then we’ll move on to the crew and the others.”
“Starting what?” asks the guitarist.
“The intervention. Of sorts.”
The guitarist shakes his head. “No way, man. Don’t even bother.”
A few of the other people look over at him. I see they’re neutral on the subject for now, but they could go either way, deciding it’s not worth the effort or that it’s definitely worth trying. It will depend on who does the better job of convincing them. Now I know who I’m up against. I narrow my focus on the guitarist, reading his body language and facial expressions, trying to gauge the best plan of attack.
I stand and walk over to be with Mel.
“This is Scarlett. Maybe some of you know her. They call her The Normalizer.”
Eyebrows go up around the room, but no one gives any indication that they’ve heard of me. They’re probably wondering what the hell he’s talking about.
“I’m going to let her talk to you now, but understand that she has the label’s support and mine. She has complete authority over Tarin’s business. Let there be no mistake about that.”
The whispering starts again, and several people don’t look happy.
“Hello, everyone.” I stand straight with my shoulders back, being sure to make eye contact with several people as I scan the room. “My name is Scarlett Barnes. I’ve been hired to get Tarin back under control, back on track, and back to doing what he does best: making music. Lately, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, making music has kind of taken a back seat to partying, drug use, womanizing, and general hell raising.” Several smiles bloom. “Not that there’s anything wrong with those things in moderation, but at this point, Tarin has long passed doing any one of those things in moderation. If he keeps going at this rate, he’ll be dead within the year.”
I’ve shocked several people, but there are a handful who don’t look as if they disagree. I count the bassist, the chauffeur, and the two bodyguards in that group. Good. Four down, three to go: Drummer, guitarist, manager.
“Wow, man, harsh,” says the drummer. His stringy hair and stained t-shirt makes him look almost homeless.
“You’re fresh out of the hospital for a heroin overdose, right?” I ask him.
The guy’s jaw drops but he doesn’t say anything. Several people snicker, but stop when he shoots them the evil eye.
“Who was with you when you were shooting up?”
He sets his jaw mutinously, but still doesn’t respond.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I know Tarin’s your friend. I know you don’t mean to cause him any harm. But right now, he’s on a one-way path to self-destruction. It’s not just having fun for him. He’s lost control. He’s off the rails. I need your help getting him back on.”
“Yeah, but who are you?” asks the bassist. He’s smiling, obviously not as bitter as the drummer. “Not to be rude or anything, but…” He shrugs.
The guitarist gives me a mean smirk as he’s nodding in agreement.
“Thanks for asking, Randy. Actually, I’m a consultant. I have thirty days to get his ass in gear. It’s not a lot of time so I need your help.”
“You a doctor or something?” Randy asks.
“No. But I do this for a living, and I’m good at what I do.”
“We just have to take your word for it?” says Stick, the rhythm guitarist. He’s obviously not as convinced. “Sorry, but we’re not that naive. People come after us for our money all the time.”
“I’ve vetted her credentials, and they’re impeccable,” said Mel, sounding offended. “And in case I wasn’t clear enough before, let me be more clear now … she has the label’s and my full support. Period. This is a done deal.”
I hold my hand out to calm him and the others down. “I’m not here to make anyone upset. I’m here to ask for your help. I assume you want Tarin healthy and happy …” I look around for confirmation, knowing full-well that anyone who disagrees with me right now is going to look like a complete ass. All the heads in the room either nod or just remain still.
“Good. That’s what I want. It’s what Mel wants, it’s what you want, it’s what your label wants … and believe me … it’s what Tarin wants.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” mumbles the drummer.
“Oh, I’m sure. And anyone who stands in the way of Tarin getting healthy and productive is gone.” I wait a few seconds for that to sink in.
“Come again?” says Stick, on the verge of losing his temper. The anger simmers beneath the surface of his cool exterior.
I repeat in a calm voice. “Anyone who interferes in this program to get Tarin back on track is gone. Crew, bodyguards, drivers, friends …” I look directly at him and finish, “…and even bandmates if necessary.”
The guitarist and drummer look at each other and then bust out laughing. They get themselves hysterical over it, so I wait for them to finish. I get the sense that the last bit of their mirth is forced, but that’s okay. If they don’t learn now, they’ll learn soon enough.
I smile indulgently as they look at me, now obviously feeling very full of themselves. Once I’m sure I have their attention, I continue. “I recommend that you check the terms of your contract with the label. Have your attorneys verify too, if you want. Specifically take a look at paragraphs forty-three subsection 2a and forty-four in its entirety.”
The smiles disappear from their faces and they exchange a worried look.
I gaze over the group, forcing my grin to stay away. This would be the wrong time to gloat. “The good news is that anyone on board with helping Tarin get his life back has nothing to fear from me. My only goal is to get rid of his problems and bring him back to his creative, happy place. I need your commitment today that you’re with me in this. Thirty days or less of absolute dedication to helping Tarin.”
“What are we going to have to do?” asks one of the bodyguards.
“We’ll have a strategy meeting where I’ll ask for your input. Then we’ll start right away. We’ll get rid of all the bad influences in his life, the drugs, the booze, the pills, the cigarettes. All of it. We’ll get him exercising, writing, singing … doing the things that will get him whole again. We’ll talk to him, remind him what he means to us, help him remember what’s important in life.”
“Isn’t that what rehab’s for?” asks the chauffeur.
“Rehab is for addicts. My information is that Tarin is not an addict.” I look pointedly at the drummer. He drops his gaze.
“He has no particular drug of choice, he takes whatever’s around. And he doesn’t do drugs all the time, just when he’s around certain people.” I don’t bother pointing anyone out. Everyone already knows who the culprit is in this room.
“Why don’t you do a package deal?” says the bassist, looking at his bandmate. “You can get two of them sober instead of just one.”
The guitarist holds the drummer back from punching the bassist in the face. I watched them work it out, waiting to speak until they’re done.
I would never say this to them, and it’s not that I’m a cold person, but I don’t do this work for drummers unless they’re the Phil Collins type. If the drummer for By Degrees suddenly becomes unavailable for whatever reason, they’ll find a replacement in less than a day. If Tarin disappears, By Degrees is over. Finished. No longer able to make music that changes people’s lives, lifts them up when they’re down, and allows them to connect in ways that they can’t without the songs. He’s the singer, songwriter, and face of the music. I don’t value one life over another or one career over another, but I can’t save everyone. I save the ones I do because of the one I didn’t.
“What’s good for Tarin will be good for everyone here,” I say, being as politically correct as I can.
The time has come for passionate advocacy, for me to show them exactly how and why we are going to do this. I take a deep breath and settle myself as much as possible, preparing my mind and my heart for what I’m about to say, preparing my soul for the ghosts I’m going to temporarily resurrect. I give these strangers everything I have, reaching down into the darkness and pulling out the piece of me that only sees the light of day once in the presence of strangers I will be working with: when I need them to know why I’m so dedicated to this task and how far I’ll go to succeed at it.
“Many years ago, I was in love with a musician. Maybe some of you knew him. His name was Austin Betzer.” I pause and see the shock on their faces as I continue. “We grew up together. We were in love for a long time, since we were in junior high, thirteen years old. I was with him when he picked up his first guitar at fourteen. I went to every show he played, from the garage parties to the arenas. I stood by his side for everything, from his rocket ship ride to superstardom to his descent into madness. I watched him slowly lose track of who he was, where he came from, and what he was all about.” Everyone in the room remains silent, many of them obviously shocked.
“First his relationships suffered. Then the music did, too. And then there was nothing left for him. He couldn’t stop the downward spiral and I didn’t step in and do it for him. No one did. I let him go, and in doing so, I had a hand in his death. I’ll never ever forgive myself for that. But what I can try to do is make sure it doesn’t happen to another great musician like him ever again.”
I look around at their expressions, seeing tears from several. I take a deep breath and give it my last bit of emotional strength. “I will fight for Tarin with everything I have, and I will personally kick the ever-loving shit out of anyone who gets in my way. But I can’t do this huge thing myself. I need your help. Tarin needs your help. Please tell me now if you’re in or if you’re out.”
The room is dead silent for about five seconds. And then the bassist speaks up. “I am so fucking in right now, you have no idea. Austin was my idol, man. I fucking died a little that night with him, you know?” He wiped a tear out of his eye. “Fuck, that was awful watching him go. We lost a fucking rock icon that night.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He’s absolutely right, but what he doesn’t know is that the world lost a gentle, loving soul that night too. There will only ever be one Austin Betzer.
“I’m in too,” says the driver, his voice rough with emotion. “All the way. You just tell me what you want me to do. I didn’t know Austin, but Tarin is my friend. One of my best friends. I’d do anything to help him find his way back.”
“Us too,” says one of the bodyguards, pointing to his colleague. “You won’t have to kick anyone’s ass. We’ll do it for you.”
My hearts soars with hope, but I just nod without smiling.
“Damn, Austin Betzer? You’re his girl? I heard about you but never saw a picture.” The band’s manager walks up and holds his hand out. “Whatever you need, I’m in.”
I shake it firmly, looking around at the rest of them.
The drummer takes a huge breath and lets it all out at once. Then he looks up. “I guess this is where I say, ‘My name’s Dave and I’m a drug addict,’ or whatever.”
I smile. “No need. Just tell me you’re in and I’ll see what I can do to get you whatever help you want.”
He nods. “Fine. I’m in. I don’t know about committing to anything else, but I can commit to Tarin. He’s my best friend.”
Stick is the last man standing. He’s conflicted, that’s clear. I can almost see the battle going on in his head. Everyone in the room is uncomfortable except me. I wait for his answer.
“Come on, man … you remember Austin,” says the bassist. “He was totally there for us. He got us that show where we met Mel.”
“Yeah, remember that?” says Dave, laughing while he travels down memory lane. “He snuck around and fucked up that band’s amps so they couldn’t go on. We got their slot and then bam. Mel saw us and that was the start of it all. Where would we be without Austin? Probably still in my parents’ garage.”
I try not to let my shock show on my face. It feels like someone just walked over my grave. I imagine Austin’s ghost whispering in my ear, telling me he was the one who set me on the path into Tarin’s life all those years ago. It’s a small world, babe. There are hidden connections everywhere.
I shake my head to get the specter out. There’s no such thing as destiny. Only memories, regrets, and the desire to do better next time. I will do better this time. I will save Tarin’s life.
“Fine.” The guitarist looks at me with a guarded expression. I know I haven’t won the entire war with him … just this one battle. “I’m in until I see shit going wrong. Then I’ll be out, and I won’t be going anywhere.” He glares at Mel. “No one can force me out of the band I helped put together.”
Mel raises an eyebrow but wisely says nothing. I do the same.
Once I see all the expressions relaxing around the room, I smile. “Excellent. Thank you for coming. Please put your contact information on that sheet over there. Be sure to fill in all the boxes. My assistant Scott will be in touch for our next meeting. He’s Austin’s little brother, so please be gentle and forgive him if he drops a load of f-bombs on you.” I pause to wait for the laughter to stop. “Please consider yourselves on-call for the next thirty days. If I call, I’ll expect you to answer and respond ASAP. Last, but not least, please do not say anything to Tarin or the crew or any of the other people who hang around. I’ll be discussin
g this situation with Tarin personally tomorrow and then all the rest of them after.” I pause to scan their faces. “Are we good?”
I get affirmative nods from everyone. Some of them are reluctant, but I’m okay with that. Acceptance will come slower for some, but I will get it. Failure is not an option.
“I’m meeting with the crew and other people who spend time with Tarin tomorrow. I’ll be getting rid of the ones who I deem to be counterproductive to our task. Just to be clear, anyone I dismiss is permanently gone, so if you have friends who are not here right now, who you know I’ll speak with, please wait until after I’ve talked to them to discuss it with them. I don’t mind if you try to get them on board, because we need all the help we can get, but just know that I don’t give second chances. Once they’re gone, they’re gone. Even after I’ve left. But I don’t want any of them speaking to Tarin until I do, so mum’s the word.” I put my finger to my lips for effect.
Eyebrows go up, but no one argues. I let out a long breath in relief as Mel walks up to me and the crowd filters over to the door where my contact sheet is waiting for their information.
“That went better than I expected,” he says quietly, standing very close so no one will hear as they leave.
“I was happy with it. I know you wanted to discuss our plan for tomorrow, but would you mind if I call into my office first?”
“Not a problem.”
“Do you have a quiet spot where I can do that?”
He walks me to his private office and waits until I’m seated to leave me alone. At the door he turns and faces me. “Thank you, Scarlett. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss. Austin was very special. Now I understand why you do what you do, and I respect it very much.”
I nod, unable to answer.
He seems to understand, leaving me to my thoughts.
As soon as he shuts the door, I drop my face into my hands and cry, unable to keep the memories at bay any longer.
Chapter Seven