“When the tour began they had something similar but a lot smaller,” Ray said. “They started the world tour here, just under a year ago, although nobody knew then how big this would get. The venues grew bigger after the first single hit the top of the charts. They always featured in the rock charts but that single crossed over. And after, there was no stopping them.”
The music playing in the background changed to an electronic loop but not one she recognized. Not a Murder City Ravens number. “I’ve loved their music since Maxx Syccorraxx was the singer.”
“Matt Scott,” Ray corrected her. “So before Riku joined?”
She nodded then winced. Ray took the ice pack off her and dropped it in a plastic bag he’d brought with him as well as the cooler bag. He checked his watch. “Any better?”
She sucked in a deep breath. “Some.” The pain was easing a little.
“You might just have bruised ribs,” he said, “so it won’t last as long. Just while the bruising heals. Let’s hope for that.”
“Couldn’t you tell?”
“Trouble is if I probe too hard I could convert a crack to a fracture. Best to get it X-rayed. Promise me you’ll do it? Let me know what happens, won’t you?”
“Yes and thanks.” She felt bad that she hadn’t thanked him before but she’d been concentrating on breathing and then walking, which hadn’t felt as terrible as she’d imagined. She’d have to tell Riku later and visit the hospital in the morning. The last thing she wanted to do was spoil his final night on an exhausting tour. It should be triumphal.
The music changed and she did recognize it this time. Excitement rose in her throat and not from pain. Ray silently passed her another ice pack and she undid a button, pressed it into place and tucked it inside her shirt.
The lights dimmed and shadowy figures crossed the stage. The audience cheered. Cyn cheered in spirit, since she didn’t have her breathing together enough to join in. Then Riku’s unmistakable silhouette loped to his spot in front of a bank of assorted keyboards and electronics. He wore a guitar.
A discordant but unutterably thrilling clash of chords started the concert, the lights went up and Murder City Ravens was off and rolling.
They opened with the single, the first one with this lineup, Sex and Diamonds. Some bands took a couple of numbers to work their way into the set. Either this band had been playing for so long they just slipped into the groove or they knew each other and symbiosis went to work instantly.
Cyn was inclined to believe the latter, because this version of the song was more accomplished, deeper and more confident than the one they’d recorded last year. Because she was watching for them, she spotted the subtle signs when the band switched up or down a key, or upped or slowed the tempo. That was, when Zazz didn’t growl the instructions through the mic. Not subtle but effective.
Not that she took a great deal of notice, because Murder City Ravens swept her along as they did everyone in the Garden that night.
Chapter Nine
Zazz wore black and bright emerald green, a sweeping velvet coat that billowed behind him as he strode around the front of the stage, claiming his territory. He interacted with Riku on one side and Jace on the other, the interchanges not forced. Occasionally he evoked a grin but most of the numbers weren’t that funny.
The complexity made Cyn’s jaw drop sometimes. But at the heart of the music always lay a simple melody, unforgettable and often heartbreaking. It took the shortcut through to the soul. Halfway through the gig Cyn realized she was breathing normally and she hadn’t changed her ice pack for a while, because it squished when she touched it. So Ray had forgotten too. At the end of the song she nudged him and handed him the old pack.
They played her favorite, Salvation Song. She caught her breath, not in pain but at the sheer beauty of the construction, the way every instrument started at a different time with different tempos and then drew together as Zazz sang. His voice knitted everything into an unforgettable melody. The members of Murder City Ravens were clever, tricky and accomplished musicians but the audience didn’t need to know that. The band had the confidence and power to draw them in. They could rock out and then break hearts without losing stride.
During her training Cyn had practiced her arias over and over again and then some more, until she could sing them by rote. Only then did she begin to layer in the artistry and try to find the heart of the song. Only then did she have the strength to soar free, use the framework to create something new every time. She’d loved that part. Up to a point.
She’d wanted Mozart and they’d given her Wagner.
Now Riku gave her everything and like a spoiled child she wanted more. No way was he a failure or anything like it but he hung on the balance. Great musicians did that, dared to take risks, to go further and take chances others refused to. They wouldn’t make the leap, afraid of losing the money and the fame they’d won with such hard work.
Not this band. Not one member, from the beautiful V to the frankly bizarre-looking but majestic Zazz, and Riku would never take the easy way if it meant giving this up. She couldn’t blame them. This astonishing invention. They were introducing new tempos, playing with time signatures, dancing through the rules as if they didn’t exist.
During the last part of the concert Cyn forgot she was a musician. Before now that part of her came automatically. When she heard a piece of music her mind went into autopilot, analyzing it. For the first time in her adult life, that melted away before sheer enjoyment of what the band laid out for her pleasure. She gave herself to them and they returned her trust with beauty.
They finished with a raucous rock number and then added a coda, a gentle, contemplative song about love and loss. The audience listened in silence as Zazz’s voice soared to the heavens, supported by a pure note from Riku’s keyboard. It faded into silence, the lights dimmed and the band left the stage to roars of approval. Not hers. Not that she didn’t want to. She couldn’t.
Before the audience stopped cheering and applauding and began to move to the exits Cyn and Ray left their seats. Surrounded by the security men they found the small door to the backstage area. A man swiped a card through the slot and they slipped through, letting it slam behind them. The sound didn’t matter on the arena side. Roars and shrieks of appreciation from the auditorium followed them along the corridor to the room at the end, the first of the public rooms.
People were already waiting there and some pointed cameras in their direction, alerted by the security team. They were there to ensure nobody jostled Cyn and her sore ribs, not to protect her from the press. She wasn’t sure if she’d enjoy it but that fate would have been hers, had she taken her preordained path in life. Another reason to be glad she hadn’t done it.
They went straight through this room and into the next, where rows of seats ranged before a low dais, on which stood a long table covered in a white cloth. Six chairs stood behind it and a forest of mics bristled on the surface. Cyn and Ray took chairs at the end of the first row, near an exit door.
“You okay?” Again, she hadn’t heard Chick’s soft-footed approach but he stood behind them.
“Better,” she said. “I wouldn’t have missed that for the world. If I’d broken my leg I’d have coped somehow.” Hyperbole? She didn’t think so. Not for the reward she’d received, along with ten thousand or so other people.
“If you’re sure? I can get you out of here if you want.”
“With his family arriving?”
“Yeah. Here.” He slipped a piece of paper into her hand. “An appointment for tomorrow. Small private place. They’ll do your X-Ray.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t have time to thank Chick properly, as a small chime signaled his phone sending him a text.
He checked the screen. “They’re here. Do you want them with you?”
“I don’t know them. Maybe sit them close but not next to us. Let Riku introduce us if he wants to.”
Chick’s mobile mouth settled into a grim line. “Oh
, he’ll want to.”
Cyn wasn’t so sure. He never had before. Wanted to introduce her to his family, that was. She wasn’t sure she wanted to meet them if they were so difficult but she had to support Riku.
The band filed in, or rather sauntered in from different directions. She recognized the swagger Zazz put into his walk as typical Mancunian and recalled the story that had filled the music press and gossip blogs a few months ago about his father, a notable jazz musician and walking disaster.
She didn’t envy Laura, the woman she met backstage before, handling all that shit. Jimmy’s social worker, now Zazz’s wife. No wonder she’d given up her job. The paparazzi would have haunted her every step.
Unlike her. Cyn could push herself forward without speaking but she could also melt into the background if she wanted to.
Now they settled, Riku winking at her before he took the seat at the end of the table nearest to her. Zazz sat next to him, and the others grabbed chairs with no seeming order. Chick stood to one side holding an electronic tablet. He glanced down at it and got the conference underway.
If she’d chosen a different path in life this could have been her. Relief eased through her. Another reason not to do it, because she didn’t envy this torture. The band didn’t appear bothered though, all of them exuding cool. The first question went to V. “Do you feel like a real member of the band now?”
She lifted a brow. “For the last year I have been.”
Nicely fielded. Then for Zazz. “We heard you married recently. Isn’t that a bit unconventional for your image?” So somebody had blabbed.
He laughed. “I have an image?” He ran his hand through his short, emerald-green hair. “And yes, I’m married.”
Small commotion and a few voices raised until Chick indicated someone. “What happened, Zazz, get an attack of guilt? Or does social work do it for you?”
“When it’s Laura doing it, you bet.” Laughter ensued. “No guilt, only love.”
A small silence but only a tiny one. Zazz glanced at his wife, sitting on the other side of the room to Cyn and smiled. A special smile, an intimate one. Laura turned beet-red but she laughed too. A happy woman.
Cyn envied her. To have a man who loved her that much—her attention went to Riku but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at someone at the back of the room, someone Cyn couldn’t see but she didn’t need to look to guess who.
“You’re all attached now, apart from Riku. Does that mean he gets all the groupies?”
Cyn winced for him. Not a question anyone wanted to answer in front of his folks. He kept his face clear, not too difficult with the mask he’d painted on. Dark eyes hid a lot from most people. Not from her. She saw nothing, no embarrassment, no concern. “I did for a while.”
“Nice,” the man said. “I’ve seen you with some fine girls but only one recently. Is she a fixture?”
Someone else piped up without Chick indicating they should ask anything. Chick glared at the questioner but let the question slide through. “Isn’t she an old flame?”
Riku didn’t betray Cyn, didn’t look at her but met the questioner’s stare with one of his own. “She’s an old friend and yes, we’ve connected again. See this?” He flipped his necklace and the tiny gems she’d used to adorn the images of trash she’d carefully enameled sparkled. “She designed this.”
“I thought she was a singer like you?”
Another unauthorized query but Riku answered. “We met at the Creed Institute, yes. Drifted apart when I went to study in Paris.”
“So nothing serious? The groupies can breathe again?”
This time Riku glanced at Chick and didn’t answer. Chick read out a name and the questioning moved to Jace. “How about you? Are you married yet, Jace?”
“We have plans.” Jace sighed. “Look, we’re a band, we write and perform. If you don’t want to ask about our music I’m not staying.”
Chick nominated another questioner, who announced he was from a leading music paper and the topic turned to the performance, much to Cyn’s relief. She didn’t doubt Jace would have walked, or he’d have done it to help Riku, as well as himself. “We’re taking a break then meeting to start the new album,” Hunter said.
That turned them back to the concert and Cyn heard the astonishment she’d felt made real. Right here, in this room, a legend was forming. “Were you at the Garden when Murder City Ravens played?” She could hear people saying it in her mind.
“Why don’t you play the same set at every gig?” someone asked.
Riku took it. “We never do the same thing twice. We’re not dead yet and we don’t repeat ourselves. Wait and see what we do next.”
“Is your costume a comment on the press?”
He shrugged. “Take it any way you want. It’s your call.” He glanced at her then, exchanged a private smile but so quickly she nearly missed it. Her jewelry had had a good outing this evening. She should have put a bunch of business cards on the table, but they’d make it their business to find out.
“Do you favor a particular designer?”
This time Ray got the smile. “I love vintage stores but I commission pieces too. Like the staff we use. We’ve never believed in sponsors, even when we could have used the freebies in the early days. We shop for the best we can find.”
“Some people are calling Matt Scott the seventh member of Murder City Ravens. Do you think he’ll ever rejoin the band?”
“No.” This came from a tall, dark man standing at the back. Cyn couldn’t understand why she hadn’t noticed him before, unless he’d only just come in. This was the legendary producer who’d helped make Nightstar and was lined up to work with them on the next as yet untitled album.
He also used to be Maxx Syccorraxx, who’d taken every drug in the world and stayed alive, right up to the day he’d OD’d and checked himself into a facility. He sang like a rock star, not the edgy, emotional style Zazz used but straight-down-the-line rock. Nobody had heard him sing for a long time. He hardly had time now the world of music was beating a path to his door, eager for him to perform the magic with them.
Matt strolled forward, smiling, his eyes full of love for V. She didn’t hide her delight either. She stood, her willowy body in its gold sheath still fresh and elegant after two and a half hours oozing her soul’s secrets through her saxophone. Maxx curled one arm around her waist and pulled her close. He didn’t say, “Later,” but he didn’t have to.
He turned to face the press, totally assured. “Maxx Syccorraxx is dead, folks. Matt Scott is a producer and he has no intention of rejoining Murder City Ravens. Clear? Are we done here, so I can take my fiancée to dinner? She’s always hungry after a performance.”
Some people sniggered but Cyn kept her attention on V who, if she wasn’t mistaken, had trembled and not from passion. Was the gorgeous, deeply talented V scared? Cyn had seen that before, although it hadn’t affected her too much. Stage fright could be a bitch.
If she was right, Matt had seen it, with the eyes of a man deeply in love and come to rescue her without undermining her. Shit, she’d die for someone to do something similar to her. She’d never had that feeling before, never wanted anyone to get between her and her fears, preferred to confront them herself. But watching these two—she knew what she was missing. Just couldn’t put a name to it. Not yet.
She’d work on it.
With the conference at an end the band stood and left, the group members waiting for their partners. Laura, the talented musician and ex-social worker. Beverley, ex-chef, now Chick’s tour manager, who linked hands with Jace. Donovan’s lady, an editor or author or something, Cyn wasn’t sure. Oh yes, Allie. Hunter’s partner wasn’t here but maybe she preferred to skip the racket in this room.
Riku waited for her but he didn’t move toward her. He wanted her to make the decision. Maybe he needed confirmation she could put up with this. He’d asked her if she did and waited until she’d seen the circus his life had become. He was still Riku.
/> Only he wrote music now, music she couldn’t imagine him making before, so something had changed.
She walked forward and when she reached his side he smiled, his face relaxing and took her hand to lead her through to the next room. Only a few people were allowed through, bouncers on either side of the door checking wristbands. They even checked Cyn’s, though he watched the guy who did it balefully and with barely contained patience.
He didn’t look back, although his parents must be behind them and once through the door, headed for the table at the end, on which reposed refreshments. He grabbed two beers from an ice pail, twisted off the caps and gave one to her. “At least you got to see it. I’m tempted to drag you off right this minute.”
“You get hyped after a gig?”
“Sure.” He took a deep gulp, his throat working as he swallowed. “Not like I used to but I feel it still. I don’t do the things I used to.”
“The drugs and shit?”
“Yeah, the drugs and shit. Though mainly the shit.” He sighed. “The girls.”
“They were your drugs?”
He grimaced, his mouth flattening. “They were. You need to know that because people will tell you.”
She narrowed her eyes. She was on to something here. Why the defensive attitude, as if his behavior had something to do with her? “Are you telling me because of what the reporter said out there?”
“Partly. It made me realize your past never dies. It lurks in the shadows, ready to leap out and bite you.”
She shook her head. “If you let it. I know what you did. I saw it in the press.” She took a deep breath for courage, ignoring the shaft of pain from her injury.
She glanced away to see several smartly dressed people approaching them. So smart they stood out in this crowd, because they wore city-smart, opera-smart, though not first-night-opera-smart. That would have been low-cut gowns and diamonds, although the pearls around the older woman’s neck appeared real enough.
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