“It’s been made abundantly clear to him.”
“Well June, just make sure he lives long enough to play, yes?”
“Yeah...that’s not gonna be so easy, actually.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that one. Now I gotta get going. I’m covering part of another nurse’s shift so I got an extra-long night ahead of me. See you Saturday.”
“You got off?”
“Hell yeah, you think I’d miss your big triumph?”
“Or my big downfall. Either way Gabbs, I feel much better knowing you’ll be there. Thanks. Oh, you haven’t forgotten he’s gonna be crashing on our couch for a couple nights right?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks Gabbs.”
“Hey, what are best friends for, right?”
It’s approaching midnight when we finally pull into our driveway. Silas has been asleep or passed out for the last five hours or so, but at least he’s still alive. Getting him from my car to our apartment proves to be harder than I thought. I didn’t think I was going to have to carry him to the door. When we finally get there, I barely make it to the couch before he passes out for real. I pull up a chair and try to make myself comfortable. Looks like I’m on guard duty tonight. No way am I going to let my future rest in the hands of a heroin addict. One, I might add, who is probably on the verge of dying from an overdose...one that I helped administer.
Soon enough, daylight brightens the room. Time to get Mr. Rock star ready for his big performance.
Chapter Twenty-four
Welcome to the Grand Illusion
I’m sitting backstage at The Fillmore, waiting here in the dressing room that has been designated as mine. I’m desperately wishing this is not going to turn out to be a grand illusion. My whole life, Silas’s, the band’s, Stewart’s, and Walker’s, are all riding on this show. Well, if it doesn’t pan out ,Stew and Walker will no doubt be fine, but mine and Silas’s legal troubles may very well have just begun.
I’m told Hammer, Marcus, and Lance have all just arrived, and they’re an hour early. According to Stewart they’re all fine. No one is too drunk or high to do a show tonight.
More importantly, Silas is in his dressing room psyching himself up for the big reveal. The question on everybody’s mind, including my own, is can he play, or can’t he? I have practically been glued to his side for the past 72 hours, and still he refuses to tell me why he thinks he may not be able to play. He says he’ll jinx the show, and knowing how superstitious guitar players can be, I have finally let it go. I’m okay with that now.
It’s probably better I don’t know. Otherwise, instead of concentrating on other important things, I’ll be obsessing on what’s wrong with Silas. I’m in my own dressing room, my mind replaying all the crazy events that led up to this evening. As the Grateful Dead once sang, “What a strange trip it’s been...”
“June, you in there?”
“Come on in Stew.”
The band’s manager comes in and immediately know something’s wrong. He’s totally stressed out and on the verge of coming undone. He’s sweating, pacing around the room, and looks like a frightened rabbit.
“What’s wrong Stew? Is Hammer wasted? Did Silas get high?”
“No, they’re fine. I...there’s something you need to know.”
I think I better take a seat. “Okay.”
“Silas’s doctor finally emailed me. Better late than never I guess.”
This cannot be good. “What is it Stew?”
“Silas. He can’t play.”
I jump up from my chair, knocking it over with a crash. “What the hell are you talking about, Stewart?” I’m nearly screaming. This cannot be happening to me, not now!
“I guess it’s time you know what happened. Silas crashed his motorcycle a couple months ago and he’s got severe nerve and tendon damage to his left hand. Do you know what that means? If it were his right hand we might be able to like wrap it up and work something out, but his left hand? How can he press the stings down to make chords? It’s not possible. Tell me you have a plan B.”
Oh my god, this cannot be happening. I’ve come all this way, done everything I possibly can to make this happen, and Stewart tells me Silas can’t play? Stewart is still pacing the room muttering under his breath.
“What exactly did the doctor say? What did he say?” I’m frantic myself. I jump up to my feet and begin pacing right along with Stewart.
“The nerve and tendon damage is so great that it would be impossible for him to play with that hand!”
“Dammit Stew, you should have told me this weeks ago! Then I might have been able to salvage something, but right before the show? This is on you. You should have told me.”
“What? Are you kidding me? I told why I didn’t tell you and you agreed with my reasoning, if I recall, so don’t go blaming me for this disaster. You’ve only got yourself to blame.”
I slump down in my chair in defeat. “Just go!”
“So should I start telling everyone it’s off?”
“What? No, don’t say a word. Let me come up with a plan B.”
“So you’re going to find him a bionic hand, is that it? There is no plan B. Let’s just send everyone home and start dealing with the aftermath. We’re finished June, finished.”
“Okay look, we’ve got 90 minutes before Fringe is set to take the stage. If we need to, we can push that back another half hour to forty-five minutes. Give me an hour to come up with a plan B and come back here. Then, if I don’t have a solid plan, we go with yours and start unwinding the evening.”
Stewart lets out an explosive sigh. “Fine, you got your hour, and for all our sakes, I hope you pull one hell of a big rabbit out of your hat. Good luck, sister.”
I bury my head in my hands as he shuts the door behind him, and the moment the door closes, the tears begin to come. I truly do not have a plan B. There is no plan. This was the dumbest thing I have ever done. The worst part about it all is, whatever the outcome is, I really won’t be hurt. I’ll return to work tomorrow night and I’ll still be a damn good paramedic. It’s everybody else I’m worried about. They’ll be crushed. I’m sure Walker will live to fight another day. He is, after all, the most sought after promoter in the business. But Silas and his band mates, they’re done, and that’s on me.
When my tears finally dry up I dare to look at the clock. I’ve got 45 minutes to make a miracle happen. I get up and start making another cup of coffee when a bolt of lightning strikes me. I just got plan B! I grab my cell phone and call Stewart. He answers on the first ring.
“What’s up?”
“You said you wanted a miracle? Well, I got your miracle.”
“Talk to me.”
“Didn’t what’s his face from Slipknot fill in for some tour dates after Myles died?”
“Yeah, Paul Gray did, why?”
“He’s left handed. I just looked it up.”
“So...”
“So, did he use his own guitars or did the band have some left handed guitars for him to use?”
“You can’t be thinking what I think you’re thinking...are you?”
“Look, you said yourself that Silas is ambidextrous, right?”
“Yeah sure, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he can play guitar left handed.”
“But I think he can. I remember one time backstage he picked up a guitar that was lying around and started to play on it. It was left-handed, so it sounded strange. Then he switched hands and played a quick tune, I saw it. He can play left handed Stew.”
“Oh man, I don’t know. Just because he played a simple tune back stage on an acoustic guitar doesn’t mean he can play complex riffs.”
“It’s the best plan B we got. Can you get one of those left handed guitars?”
“I got no idea where they are, June. I’ll look but I don’t know. All their shit got dumped in storage, some here and some in LA.”
“Please. Look, it’s the only chance we got.”
&nbs
p; “Alright, I’m going, but if you hatch a better plan B, call me. This one’s a long shot.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
I think I better call Walker. This could go badly. He’s bound to be pissed that he’s just now finding out how serious the problem is. He answers on the second ring.
“June, what’s up?”
“Hey uh...do you have access to any left handed guitars?”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “So the rumors are true then.” It was a statement not a question. He knows something, and I wonder why he hasn’t called me.
“What have you heard?”
“Are we really going to play this game forty minutes till show time?”
“Sorry Walker, it’s been a rough day. I just found out that Silas has considerable tendon and nerve damage in his left hand. His doctor says there’s no way he’ll be able to press the strings well enough to make any chords. I know for a fact that he is ambidextrous and he can at least play a simple tune on a left handed guitar; I saw him myself.”
“You know June, if you can’t pull this off, the band, Silas, their manager, they’re finished. Before you hatched this plan, given time they might make a comeback. But if they look like fools tonight, no way in hell with they ever see a stage again as long as they live.”
“I’m aware of that. I sent Stewart to try to locate the guitars that Paul Gray used when he subbed for Myles, but Stewart said they could be anywhere.”
“Look, call Stewart and tell him to forget his wild goose chase. I’ll provide the guitars. I know where there’s a studio with a bunch of left handed guitars. I’ll have them back here in forty minutes. That means you better prep everybody for a late start.”
“Got it.”
“Call you when I have them June.”
After hanging up I collapse back into my chair and call Stewart.
“Talk to me June,” he says.
“Don’t worry about the guitars. I just talked to Walker who promised he’d deliver.”
“That’s great news, because I’m stuck in traffic. Even if I turn around right now, it’ll take me almost a half hour just to get back to you.”
“Guess you’d better get turned around. Oh, and Walker says to put the word out to delay the show thirty minutes.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
I can’t believe it. We might actually pull this off. I’m actually beginning to get excited. This is gonna be the rock-n-roll comeback of the century. Flush with excitement, I begin pacing the room again. I should call Gabby. She’s somewhere out there in the crowd and probably wondering if her best friend is going to pull this off.
When she answers the phone I can hear the crowd behind her. “What’s up?” She hollers into the phone.
“I did it. At least I’m pretty sure I did.”
“That’s great!” she shouts.
“Yeah, had to pull a rabbit out of the hat but—” a sudden pounding on my door stops me mid-conversation. “Just a second Gabby,” I say as I get the door.
The moment I open it Hammer and Marcus barge in. “Where is he?” they ask, looking around the room.
“Where’s who?” I ask, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Your boyfriend of course. Said he was just gonna stretch his legs but that was almost an hour ago,” replies Hammer, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Don’t look at me. I haven’t seen him for a couple hours. He was supposed to be getting ready with you guys.”
“Well you’d better find him quick. It won’t take him long to score in this town.”
“Oh shit! I didn’t think of that.”
“Yeah, seems there’s a lot of things you didn’t think about,” says Marcus.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“How about, how’s he gonna play with his hand being all fucked up like it is. Ever think about that?” Marcus says through gritted teeth.
“Maybe if someone would have had the balls to tell people about his hand,” I reply, “Things would have gone differently. That night he tried to play after his surgery, the night he nearly got caught for playing air guitar, the press should have been told you were having to use recorded music until he was healed. It would not have been any big deal. You guys screwed up by trying to hide it. That’s all on you Hammer!”
“Shut up!” Marcus yells, “We just gotta find him.”
“You’re right. We’ll all go out and meet back here in thirty minutes. Got that?”
“Got it,” they yell as they head out. I grab my keys and follow shortly behind. Silas should have told me about his hand, and I should have called him the second I had my brainstorm. He’s probably off somewhere drinking and wondering how he’s going to play without the use of his left hand. That’s on me.
I’m just about to get into my car when it hits me. He doesn’t have a car with him and he won’t need a taxi either. There are tons of bars within walking distance from here. He should be fairly close by. I glance at my watch—thirty minutes to show time. I spend the next twenty minutes going from one bar to the next without coming up with Silas. I even tried the various eateries scattered around in a three block radius; still no Silas. I decide to check one more restaurant before heading back to the Fillmore.
The moment I open the door I know I’m at the right place. Someone is playing an acoustic guitar, and he’s doing a fine job of it. I knew he could play! Either he found himself a left-handed guitar or he can still play right-handed. I run into the restaurant ready to drag him out when I’m stopped short. There’s about thirty people with varying Fringe shirts and memorabilia and someone is sitting on a stool in the middle of the room and playing an acoustic guitar. I can’t believe it. I was so damn sure I found him and that he could play...This is it. I’m done!
“He’s pretty good isn’t he?”
I just about fall over in shock. I turn around and there standing before me is Silas Mann.
“I suppose we should get back to the Fillmore, yes?”
“Wait,” I step up to him and look real close. The story is in his eyes...he is high.
“Sorry,” he explains, “But no way in hell am I getting out on that stage in full blown heroin withdrawal. But don’t worry, I got just enough on board to get me through the show. I won’t be passing out on the stage, I promise.”
I’m at a loss for words. I just nod my head and follow him out. I can see from behind that he appears to be examining his hand. He’s probably wondering if he can do it or not. I better tell him of plan B. I talk fast as we head back to The Fillmore.
When I finish he says, “Don’t know if I can do it. I’ve plunked around on left handed guitars before, but not seriously.”
“Of course you can Silas. I have faith in you.”
“Yeah, I just wish I shared your faith.”
“Well, after tonight you will. Now let’s find the guys.
I glance at my watch. We were supposed to start in five minutes, but we managed to move the time back until 8:45. That should give us the time we need to get ready. Most importantly, it will give Silas some time to get in some left-handed practice. I’m just sitting down to relax when my phone starts ringing again. This time it’s Gabby.
“Hey Gabbs,” I answer with more cheeriness than I’m really feeling at the moment.
“Is everything okay June? It sounded like something bad happened while we were talking.”
“Minor crisis averted, that’s all.”
“So you’re really pulling this off, yes?”
“Yeah...?”
“You’re not sounding too confident. What’s wrong now?”
“This could be one colossal disaster Gabby. And if it is, it’ll all be my fault. There’ll be no one to blame but me.”
“Why wouldn’t it turn out okay?”
“We still don’t know if Silas can play a left handed guitar.”
“But I thought you heard him play left handed at one of the backstage parties
?”
“Kinda, yeah. He picked up a left-handed acoustic guitar and played a little tune, that’s all.”
“Seriously June? You’ve got an awful lot riding on this hunch. What happens if he gets out there on stage and can’t play? Never mind, don’t answer that. He’ll get lynched. The whole band will get lynched.”
“That’s why Silas is practicing with the left handed guitars Walker brought over. He’s had them for ten minutes. I think I would have heard by now if something’s wrong. Oops, hang on a second, someone’s knocking. Come in!” I yell through the door.
I’m surprised to find Hammer and Marcus at my door. They come in and shut the door behind them.
“Out with it, what’s the problem now?” I ask. I can tell by their faces that there’s a problem.
“I don’t think he can play left handed. We gave him the guitars and an amp, but he’s been in there with them for fifteen minutes and we haven’t heard a thing yet.”
“Well that’s not good. I’ll go and talk to him. In the meantime, you guys just make sure you’re ready.”
“We are. We’re just waiting on Silas.”
I hurry past them, down the hall and knock on Silas’s door.
“Who is it?” he calls. With great trepidation, I open the door and walk in. Silas is perched on a stool but the guitars are spread out on the couch.
“Oh, it’s you...”
“How’s the playing coming along?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Haven’t you tried yet?”
“Have you heard that guitarists are a superstitious bunch?”
“Yes...”
“I don’t want to jinx myself before going out on stage.”
“What? You mean you’re willing to step out on that stage even if you don’t know if you can even play? That’s crazy!”
“It’s no less crazy than putting together this whole show for the magazines and the news media when you know I probably won’t be able to play. It’s not nearly as crazy as what you did the other night, smuggling drugs into rehab, breaking me out, then letting me give myself a near fatal dose of heroin. We’ll probably all be crucified, June. You gotta know that.”
Broken Strings (A Rock Star Novel) Page 20