“And you can say what you will about me, Monique, but in all the years we’ve been married, I’ve never once brought my extra-curricular activities into our home. I don’t know what you think you’re getting me back for, but having that overpriced, color-blind fraud of a decorator staying here in my absence is way out of bounds.”
Far from having the desired effect of knocking Monique down a few notches, his tongue-lashing only made her gloat, as if he had somehow overlooked a key piece of information. She seemed absolutely tickled to death as she breezed past him and out of the kitchen.
Stumped and irked, he had no choice but to follow her. He had apparently missed a move and Monique was claiming checkmate. But she hadn’t won, had she? Before he could think of a volley that wouldn’t sound as though he was desperately trying to keep the play in motion, he was stopped in his tracks by the most ghastly transformation of what had once been his favorite room.
“Holy shit,” he gasped as his eyes swam in an effort to take it all in. His hands flew to his face of their own volition, clasping him on his checks with a mild pop. He squinted at the blue and lavender walls, the red-painted slate floor, the absurdly hairy white rugs, the screaming yellow leather sofas and chairs and the hideous paint-smeared canvases that passed for art. Monique could barely keep a straight face as she watched her husband assimilate the bold changes she and her designer had instigated.
“What have you done?” Tobias whimpered at length. He suddenly felt weak enough to sink onto one of the zebra-striped ottomans, but good taste prevented him from doing so. Monique smiled proudly, evidently enjoying her triumph.
“Isn’t it stunning?” she asked, turning a radiant face to his.
Tobias was beyond words. He shook his head wearily and made a move to leave. Disbelief caused him to turn around and regard the monstrosity his living room had become one more time.
The second look was more devastating than the first. He felt as if he was going to be sick. He turned away again, this time intent on the front door. He was no longer concerned about getting the things he’d gone there for. He’d just have to buy new clothes and equipment.
“Don’t forget to call Marvin,” Monique called out as Tobias reached for the doorknob. “He seems rather anxious about something or other. Money, I would imagine. I’m afraid this little renovation has been more costly than I had estimated.”
Tobias emitted something between a wheeze and a snort before passing out of his apartment. He was so devastated, he didn’t even pull the door closed behind him.
Once he had made it out of the building and into the fresh air, his head began to clear a bit. He had to laugh at himself for thinking his visit home would be an amusing skirmish at worst.
Something foul was definitely afoot. Monique’s behavior, as infuriating as it had been, had a curious tone to it. All that business about talking to Brody and Marvin. And Simone coming by his apartment. Boy, if that didn’t top it all.
Tobias climbed into the backseat of the town car before the driver could assist him. He gave the driver Brody’s address, but changed his mind. Since Brody’s co-op was only a few blocks away, and he needed time to sort out what had been going on behind his back, he told the driver to circle around the park first.
Revelations and grievances chased one another around Tobias’s head as his car glided smoothly down the avenue. He couldn’t decide what pissed him off the most: Brody and Monique with their heads together; Jackson Smythie eating Eggs Benedict in his kitchen; Simone sneaking into his building to pry his whereabouts out of his housekeeper; or the outrageously grotesque fate that had befallen his living room. It wasn’t even his home anymore. It had been Monique’d to death. She never did understand the first thing about decor.
Well, he’d buy himself a new apartment once their album came out, that’s what he’d do. Or then again, maybe he’d continue to live at the Amsterdam. It would certainly do for now.
But what was this talk of Brody wanting to drop him from his own comeback? He was the face of Absent Among Us. Everyone knew he contributed the bulk of the talent. It was ludicrous of Brody to even insinuate he had any kind of chance making it without him.
It had to be all bluster; he had only been venting to Monique, who no doubt had fueled his discontent. A few well-placed apologies and a little ego stroking and Brody would come around. They had been brothers in song far too long to let insignificant differences and meddlesome women break up their stellar partnership. The car pulled up in front of Brody’s building, but Tobias wasn’t ready to face him yet. “Once more around the park,” Tobias told the driver.
The problem was, Tobias no longer felt sufficiently enthusiastic about the numbers they had worked on up at Brody’s country hideaway. Some of the pieces he had initially thought were so promising now seemed pathetically amateurish, far below their former standards.
The fact that they had so openly embraced them seemed evidence of how difficult it was going to be to get their collective musical career back on track. If they were to come out with an album with songs of that caliber, they’d be washed up before they made the concert rounds. What their fans wanted was more of the same old stuff, only different—a tough act for any band, let alone one that had been away from the scene for so long.
His challenge would be to get back into Brody’s good graces and then convince him their efforts so far were below their standards. Nothing to it, Tobias thought sarcastically. He was beginning to regret having left the refuge of his hotel.
Now that he fully understood his next objective, he became too antsy to sit still any longer. He had the driver pull over and let him out on 5th Avenue at 81st. He walked through Central Park, taking a short cut to Brody’s building on Central Park West.
So focused was he on what had to be done, he had miscalculated the depth of Brody’s alienation. His first clue was in Roberta’s indifferent reception. She had him wait outside the door as if he were a stranger, like some huckster trying to sell magazine subscriptions.
While waiting impatiently for Brody’s appearance, he concluded that Simone had won Roberta’s sympathies in his absence. I should’ve never left her there, Tobias told himself just as Brody yanked open the door.
“It is you,” he said flatly.
“In the flesh,” Tobias answered, mildly amused that his behavior warranted such dramatic condemnation.
“What do you want?” Brody asked, as if bored by the intrusion.
“What do you mean, what do I want? We’re working on a new album, aren’t we?” Tobias said, making an effort to sidestep all the melodrama of wives and girlfriends.
“I thought you’d developed a case of amnesia in that regard,” Brody replied, arms folded across his chest in a censorious manner.
“Are we going to keep up this cute dialog in your hallway, or are we going to get some work done?” Tobias asked, making a move to enter the apartment. Brody remained unyielding.
“Look, Brody—we can waste valuable time with this father-son routine, where you act the disapproving parent and I the disobedient child, or we can leave our personal lives out of this and concentrate on the business of making music. For your information, the reason I’ve been avoiding Monique and Simone is because I’ve been locked away in a hotel, working my ass off for the last three days on some really promising stuff.”
“Don’t get huffy with me. I’m not the one who dragged your personal life and all its tawdry complexities into this. Credit for that is all yours, bro. All I wanted to do was bang out a few good tunes, get back into the concert scene, live the high life again for a while, make some nice dosh, be set for my old age.
“Instead, I feel like I’m running a hotline for all your disgruntled and brokenhearted women. Never mind the fact that you took a powder without any sort of heads up for where you were going or when you’d show up again. I haven’t gotten a decent day’s work in, what with all the “urgent” interruptions—first Simone, then Monique, Monique then Simone, back and forth,
on and on. Now Roberta’s all over my case for the despicable way you’ve trashed that young girl’s heart. I don’t need this crap, man. I’m a musician, not a therapist.”
“You’re right, man—you’re totally right. From now on, nothing but music. No women, no bullshit—”
“No disappearing acts,” Brody added. Tobias regarded him gravely.
“I’m committed to working. I’ll be here when I say I’ll be here,” he said. Brody seemed to be studying his face for clues to the contrary.
“All right, if you’re really committed to working like partners, then let’s get back to business,” he said, holding the door wide to let Tobias in. As soon as he was in the foyer, Tobias distinctly heard the sound of live music.
“Is someone here?” Tobias asked as they moved down the hall to the studio.
“Yeah. Trevor Dix and Lenny Haskell. And Ben Lemeux just got here. We’ve been working on some new stuff of mine. Joe Denny’s here, too.”
Tobias took the news with an almost imperceptible wince. Two of the industry’s top studio musicians and the manager for Absent Among Us, getting down to brass tacks in Brody’s studio without Tobias’s knowledge or consent. And Ben Lemeux—how about that? Ben was a remarkable jazz violinist, almost maniacally talented. Tobias always wanted to record with him. It pricked his ego a bit that Brody had thought of recruiting him.
So, what Monique said was true: Brody had been pursuing an alternative comeback plan. And what’s more, Brody was making no attempt to apologize. Quite to the contrary. He let the admission of what he was up to hang in the air, a forthright affirmation that he was going to make it big again, with or without the mighty Tobias Jordan. And by the looks of things, he wasn’t messing around.
Brody pushed open the studio door, unleashing a torrent of sound. It took a few seconds for the trio to observe the fact that Tobias was now in their presence. Once they did, Trevor and Lenny halted their tune abruptly, signaling to Joe Denny to cut the tape. Ben had been sitting this session out, listening to the others through headphones.
“Hey, man…been a long time,” said Lenny Haskell, possibly the best alto sax player on the East Coast, as he warmly extended his hand to Tobias.
“Too long, Lenny,” Tobias said, as the handshake turned into a hug.
“Tobias,” Trevor said in turn, his trumpet dangling from his left hand as he appraised Tobias affectionately. Both Lenny and Trevor had been more or less fixtures in their stable of musicians back in their touring days. It gave Tobias a small pang of jealously to see them jamming with Brody, as if it were perfectly natural to be doing so without the group’s undisputed leader.
“Ben Lemeux, the infamous Tobias Jordan,” Brody said, making the introduction. The fellow virtuosos exchanged heartfelt compliments.
“At long last,” Joe Denny said, rising to embrace Tobias. There was no one on the business end of the music industry who Tobias respected more than Joe Denny. He was nothing short of a visionary.
The rush of pure emotion at being assembled with these men for the purposes of creating music was only slightly diminished by the static passing between Brody and him. Brody had every right to be miffed, and it was only natural for Tobias to feel betrayed. But if they could get past these petty grievances, there should be nothing to hold them from their main objective.
“Why don’t you show us what you’ve come up with,” Brody suggested, keeping the reunion between Tobias and the others brief. Tobias had not anticipated being put on the spot in front of such a savvy audience. Truth be told, he hadn’t really worked out the finer points of his plan to get back into the collaborative mode. In any event, he was not prepared to perform anything.
“Later. Let me hear what you all have been working on,” he said, sliding into a seat next to Joe, displaying his eagerness to observe. It was Brody’s turn to stall.
“I think it’s time to break,” he said. “Who wants to run out for some coffee?” As if on cue, Roberta entered the room with a tray laden with enough caffeine to keep the six of them wide-awake for days.
“The woman’s a mind reader,” Joe exclaimed, rising to help Roberta with her load. “Well, this saves us from having to break the mood. Thank you, dear lady.” Roberta accepted the praise graciously, smiling shyly at everyone but Tobias. Brody seized the chance to lob the ball back into his partner’s court.
“Yeah, now we can hear what Tobias has been busting his chops over the last few days,” he said. Tobias said nothing while the others waited expectantly. “C’mon, Tobias—you’ve never been bashful before. Let’s hear what you’ve been up to,” Brody challenged again.
Tobias glanced from the earnest faces of his former team to the less than supportive visages of Brody and his girlfriend. There was no graceful way to duck the situation at this point, no legitimate way to play down his claims to Brody of having worked his ass off on some great new material.
The tension in the small studio had grown almost palpable when Tobias finally stood and made his way to Brody’s fancy state-of-the-art synthesizer. Several possible solutions passed through his mind on the short walk to the instrument, but there was really only one plausible course of action he could take.
Even though he didn’t have the music with him, he had played the new tune so many times the previous night, he already knew every note by heart. He took his time adjusting the settings, adding percussion and bass to his piano lead.
“Feel free to jump in anytime,” he said half-jokingly over his shoulder, as he tapped out the first bar. He played the first refrain through once, then replayed it as he sang the lyrics.
“Just when you think you’re immune…”
“What do you think?” Brody asked their manager after the fourth run-through of Tobias’s new song.
“Pure gold,” Joe Denny replied reverently. “It’s got a fresh feel to it, but at the same time, it’s got that unmistakable Absent Among Us sound.”
“The violin makes it,” Tobias said, impressed by the polish the song had acquired in the studio. The others agreed. Everyone was giddy from the sheer power of their collaboration, and a renewed sense of brotherhood had taken hold. Even Roberta was now gazing upon Tobias with her former awe.
He was a hero to everyone in the room, except himself. He was a cad, a fraud, but he was also a damn good musician. He should feel proud of the fact he had single-handedly put their comeback on the right track. But never in all his brilliant career had he stooped to plagiarizing someone else’s work. He had never needed to, and really, he shouldn’t have done it now, but…
“Good stuff,” Brody said casually.
“You think so?” Tobias asked. Brody laughed reluctantly.
“It’s fucking awesome, man,” he admitted. “I guess we tend to forget what you’re capable of when you get your head in the right place,” he added by way of an apology. “I think it’s time to quit while we’re ahead,” he announced to the assembly at large. “I think my man Tobias deserves some time off for good behavior,” he said with a playful slap to Tobias’s back.
“When and where should we hook up again?” Lenny asked as he stowed his instrument in its case.
“Say here, tomorrow?” Brody suggested with his eye on his partner. Tobias, still high from his success and still conflicted by his guilt, nodded agreeably.
“You got it.” Even he believed his intentions were good.
Twenty-Three
Priscilla awoke to the loud clang of the telephone. She had become so accustomed to living without one, the sound of it quite startled her. She had been jolted out of a dead sleep; her pillow was damp with drool and she was still clutching her pen in her right hand. She couldn’t guess what had become of the notepad. With effort, she pried her stiff fingers open and released her cheap ballpoint, limping out of bed to catch the phone on the forth ring.
“Hello?” she croaked.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Philip intoned happily.
“Oh, Phil. Good morning.” Priscilla forced
a second eye open and blinked both of them hard. It seemed impossibly sunny in her room, far too bright for that time of day. “What time is it?” she asked, not being able to focus properly on her watch.
“Nine-fifteen,” Philip replied. “I thought maybe you were sore at me for last night and skipped town without saying goodbye,” he said, only half in jest.
“Sore about what?” she asked before the previous night’s finale replayed itself across her mind’s eye. “Oh, that. No, I’m not sore, I guess. But it’s early—I might get sore about it later.” Philip laughed, a light, cheery response she had not expected.
“I take it I woke you up,” he said. Priscilla yawned unrestrainedly into the phone, making a reply unnecessary. “How long will it take you to get ready?”
“Ready for what?” she asked. Sleep wasn’t quite finished with her yet.
“Well, since you haven’t noticed yet, it’s an absolutely gorgeous day outside, the most perfect spring morning the island of Manhattan has ever seen. I thought it might be fun to pack a picnic lunch and rent a couple bikes and get lost in the park for a few hours.” Priscilla squinted in the direction of her window, but all she saw through the hazy sunlight was the building across the street.
“Bikes?” she asked belatedly.
“Yeah, doesn’t that sound like fun?” Philip asked. “You do know how to ride a bike, I presume.”
“Of course,” Priscilla replied, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember the last time she had done it.
“So, does that sound like a plan?”
“Sure. That’s fine,” she said, glancing around the room rather anxiously. Apparently, a bomb had gone off while she was asleep, making her room eligible for disaster relief. Who would have thought so few possessions could create such a mess?
“What time were you thinking?” she asked as she surveyed her own lamentable condition. She licked her finger and rubbed at the white residue of slobber that ran from the corner of her mouth to her right ear.
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