Page 51 of For Eva

Iwoke to the sound of raindrops pinging the hotel window and watched as water snaked down the glass from a gap on the side of the thick curtain that covered the length of the wall. Thunder from the mid-August storm rattled the walls, but it was the ring of the phone that startled me, and I reached carefully over Danny to pick up the receiver from the nightstand.

“Hello?” I whispered.

“Eva, it’s Keith. Come down to my room as soon as you can. We need to talk.”

“Yeah.” I wiped a strand of hair from my face and peered at the alarm clock by the phone. Eight a.m. I grimaced as the pit in my stomach from the night before was awakened. “I’ll be right there.”

I slipped from under the covers and pulled on yesterday’s clothes. After a quick check of my hair, I grabbed my tour binder and stepped into the hallway, my stomach churning as I headed for Keith’s room. I was certain he wanted to talk about last night’s show, but I didn’t know how bad the news would be. Hadthe press somehow managed to trash us already? What rumors had begun to spread overnight that we needed to squash?

He looked like hell when he opened the door, his hair tousled and his collared shirt rumpled. The rims of his eyes were red like he hadn’t slept, and the corners of his mouth were turned downward.

“Hey,” I said, stepping into the room.

“Have a seat.” He motioned to a set of chairs in the suite.

I nodded as Keith padded barefoot across the carpet behind me.

He flopped in the chair beside me and exhaled, running his hands down his face. “We need to talk about Eric.”

I sucked in a breath, my suspicion about why he’d called an 8 a.m. meeting confirmed. For the past month, Eric had been acting more and more erratically. Late for gigs, doing the outro with the wrong city names. But the night before, he’d barely made it through the show, forgetting half the lyrics, not following the set list, and hanging onto the microphone like it was the only thing holding him up.

It was no secret that Eric was drunk or high the majority of the time. But until recently, he’d always managed to get himself together to put on killer performances. When I really thought about it, it seemed things had gotten worse after that night on the rooftop when I’d given him the fax—the one that said someone had been trying to get in touch with him. I’d tried to talk to him about it, but he’d blown me off each time.

“It’s nothing, Eva,” he’d insisted after sound check in Tampa as he tapped out several lines of powder onto the table in front of him and snorted them. “Just some guy I used to know.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and pursed my lips. “But you’ve been off since I gave you that fax. You don’t look good, and I’m worried about—”

“I’m fine. So fucking drop it, okay?” He brought his head up, staring past me with vacant eyes.

Keith cleared his throat, and I shook the thought from my head. “Last night was a fucking disaster. I don’t even know if I can bring myself to read the goddamn reviews today. And the guys in Hott Blood aren’t happyat all.”

It had been more than a disaster. After the show, Danny had stormed off the stage and not said a word until we got back to the hotel room where he ranted about Eric’s performance while lighting one cigarette off the other. “Between the fucking fifth of Jack he drinks every day and all the shit he puts up his nose, I never know whether he’s gonna pass out on stage or swing from the fucking rafters.”

I sat forward, my eyes focused squarely on Keith. “What do we need to do?”

“What weneedto do is to lock him in a room and let him dry the fuck out. But that can’t happen right now. He’s gonna have to straighten up and finish out this tour, so I want you to tell Joe to be up his ass night and day. Get him to back off the booze and coke. Distract him somehow.” Keith waved his hand in the air, indicating he didn’t know what that would involve, but that was for me and Joe to figure out.

I hesitated before nodding, hoping our head of security was up to the task.

“Okay, I’ll take care of that, no problem,” I assured him, my voice sounding a hell of a lot more confident than I was.

Keith stood, and I followed him to the door, folding my arms around the binder.

“Anything else I can do?” I asked.

He breathed deeply as he placed his hand on the knob. “Yeah,” he said, opening the door for me. “You can tell Eric to shape the fuck up before his antics cost us this tour.”

“Are Hott Blood that pissed?”

Keith frowned. “Let’s just say I had to do a lot of ass-kissing last night.”

“Miss?”

I murmured a “huh?” before realizing there was a person standing over me and bolting upright in my seat.

“Sorry, miss,” the waitress apologized, holding out a silver carafe. “Just wanted to see if you needed more coffee?”

I smiled weakly and nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

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