Page 10 of Saving Mr. Bell

I let out a sigh. I’d hoped to avoid this conversation for longer, but that had probably been unrealistic. Of course, Rudolf wanted to know why he was here. Anyone would in his situation. I took a sip of my rapidly cooling coffee as a delaying tactic.

“Well?” Impatience lent the single word a sharpness that broadcasted Rudolf’s frayed patience.

“We got on well before, right? When we were making the documentary.”

Rudolf shrugged. “I suppose.”

Ouch! Tell me my fondness for you only went one way without telling me.“I thought we did.”

“Is this going to be a long story?”

“I’ve kind of kept tabs on you since.”

“Kind of?”

“Okay. I have.”

“So it is an obsessive fan thing?”

“I’m not a fan. I’m a… friend. At least I hope I am.”

“A friend who never calls… never writes… never said goodbye when you left.”

I winced. “Once your father pulled the plug on the documentary, he wanted us out of his house pronto and made it clear saying goodbye wouldn’t be welcomed.”

“Big surprise,” Rudolf said with an eye roll. “That’s how Jeremiah operates. He loves throwing his weight around.” He waved his hand in a “go on” motion.

“Lately, you’ve been spiraling.”

“Spiraling?”

Was there a better word I could have used? If there was, it was already too late. “You know what I’m talking about. Sex, drugs—”

“Rock ‘n’ Roll,” Rudolf added acerbically. “So this is supposed to be what? Rehab without the medical professionals and the white walls? I’m going to say it once more for the peanut gallery… I do not have a problem with drugs or alcohol.”

I leaned both my elbows on the table and studied him. “Yet, the first thing you did today was search this place for alcohol.”

“I wanted some. I didn’t need it. There’s a difference.”

“There is,” I agreed. “But it’s hardly a healthy, well-adjusted habit, is it?” I kept talking before he could interrupt. “If it helps, I don’t think you’re an alcoholic. But, I think you’re heading that way if you don’t make some changes. What happened at the Barenboim-Said Academy was painful to watch.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

I held my hands out in a placatory gesture. “Then, we don’t have to talk about it. But for someone with an immense talent like yours, it’s concerning.”

“I’m more than the music I play.”

“You are. No one’s saying you’re not. But whether you play should be a choice. Not something you find yourself unable to do because you’re too hungover, or still high, or you just can’t bring yourself to care anymore.”

Rudolf crossed his arms over his chest. “So let me check I’ve got this right. Your aim in bringing me here is to rescue me from myself. To hold me captive until I remember who I am again. What happened to the costume? Couldn’t you find one in your size?”

I frowned. “Costume?”

“The white knight costume. I guess you had to swap your trusty steed for a Volkswagen for practical reasons.”

“Something like that.”

“How long?” Rudolf asked.

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