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“Like yesterday when he cut the interview short?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, folks! Tomorrow, we’re diving into José Martinez. And look at that, the week is moving along! Nightstalker’s gig at the Whisky on Saturday is almost here. Just two more days until showtime! And remember, we still have those three tickets up for grabs. Stay tuned, we’ll be right back.”
27
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Thai Food
Tristan flinched as the door slammed shut behind Leaf. He hadn’t expected the end of the band practice to be so abrupt. Eleven songs. A bit more than half of their set. Memories of the album release concert inevitably surfaced—at least the ones not lost in the dense fog of alcohol and grief.
There had to be a way to prevent the tour from turning out just as disastrously, but Tristan had no idea how to accomplish that. As the frontman, he considered it his duty to keep the band together. Yet, given the past four days, he couldn’t draw a particularly encouraging conclusion.
He wanted to return and show—no, prove—that Nightstalker was ready to present their new album to the world. The clock was ticking because he had given himself until Saturday. The concert at the Whisky would be the litmus test. But so far, he had nothing to show for it.
He felt blocked.
The interview with Clint had thrown him into a whirlpool, where he would have almost drowned if Leaf hadn’t saved him. And if Leaf hadn’t come up with that absurd confession of guilt, he would have believed the crisis was over, that Leaf and he had reunited, and nothing stood in the way of the upcoming tour. But Leaf’s escape left him puzzled.
“Coño! What was that?” José slapped Andrej on the upper arm.
“What?” Andrej asked, rubbing his jaw. “Man! That guy packs a punch.” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and held it to his face.
“That’s not funny!”
“What?”
“What you said!”
Andrej sank into the couch, reclining back with a sigh. “Are you kidding me? I’m the victim here!”
“Not everyone had as sheltered an upbringing as you, Novak!”
“I’m not …”
“Were you beaten? Or did your father extinguish burning cigarettes on your arm? Where do you think all his scars come from?”
Andrej stared at him with wide eyes. “So, I had a sheltered upbringing. So what? What should I do? I screwed up. Fine. I couldn’t have known he would freak out like that. Should I apologize? Is that what you want? I can do that!”
“Forget it,” José grumbled, also sitting on the couch. “Just never bring it up again.”
“Oh! I can do that! No problem! Let’s do it like Leaf.” Andrej’s sarcasm dripped like venom as he turned his attention to Tristan. “We’ll just sweep it under the rug. Seems like the best solution to me.”
Tristan turned away from Andrej, refusing to engage. Even if he was completely aware that Andrej was right and the problems were piling up like crap, he lacked the energy for it.
Andrej placed the unopened beer on the table and packed his things. “Okay, whatever you guys want. I’m meeting Chris at the Whisky. See what equipment we need to bring.” Before he left with a raised hand, he added over his shoulder, “Since no one else seems to care.”
Tristan sighed, wondering how they had managed to remain conflict-free for so long. And now, as if a single stone had set an entire cliff in motion, an avalanche was rolling over them. Their luck seemed to have run out. One couldn’t even blame Andrej because, in everything he said, he was right. Tristan unplugged the cable from the amp and coiled it around his elbow.
“Aren’t we rehearsing tomorrow anymore?” José asked, surprised.
Tristan paused. “I doubt Leaf will show up,” he said, placing the cable on the amplifier. “In that sense, this was merely a botched dress rehearsal.”
“So, Saturday should go smoothly then,” José joked. “It’s okay. I’m sure Andrej and I will be here tomorrow to go over the songs again. If you want to drop by …”
Tristan gaped at the chaos on the table.
