Page 14 of Final Serenade

Ten minutes with Frankie Blade was more like ten seconds. He knew when to laugh and when to be serious. My heart had been beating like a war drum the entire interview.

I had other questions. I wanted to pick his brain about his hiatus, about Billy and Janet, about the lyrical content of “Ambivalent,” and about his disagreement with Dante that had caused the delay ofBreathe Crimson, but I knew all those things weren’t allowed and I didn’t want to risk it.

Corey hovered like a mother hen, standing next to Levi and staring at the camera with his arms crossed on his chest and a huge frown set above the bridge of his nose. Occasionally, he’d toss us a stifled smile. I didn’t know whether he was unhappy with the angles, the light, or me, but I tried not to pay attention to the noticeably tense look on his face.

His job wasn’t your typical run-of-the-mill management position. I could only imagine the stress. Or maybe I couldn’t.

Our time was up. Frankie rattled off a short message to the band’s fans and gave me a nod. “Thank you.” His gunmetal gaze held mine as he tried to rid himself of the microphone.

“Thankyou,” I said, taking the device. “We’re very happy to have you back.” My pants were stuck to the leather upholstery and a scotch-tape-type noise cut through the room when I tried to get up. I hated that sound. It never happened when I wore jeans, but I didn’t want to look like a hipster Barbie on camera next to the front man of Hall Affinity.

We all shook hands again. A few more words were exchanged. Mostly further instructions. Corey handed each of us his business card. Despite the air conditioning blasting full force, the room was even hotter than before the interview.

Once Levi packed up his gear, we were escorted out.

“Enjoy the show, guys,” Corey said before returning into the room.

“I think that was pretty good.” The words tumbled from my lips. I wasn’t sure how else to describe what had just transpired. I was still starstruck, my chest filled with raw excitement.

“You looked really good,” Levi agreed. The upturned expression on his face told me he wasn’t lying.

Radio static and heavy footsteps buzzed through the hallway. Blasts of music came and went somewhere beneath our feet. Soundcheck.

We returned to the lounge and took a small table in the corner to work on the draft. Robbie was still sitting in the same spot, sour-faced. The show wouldn’t start for another two hours and I didn’t want to waste them. Levi and I had mastered the art of working remotely years ago. Many times, when we weren’t sworn to the constraints of the confidentiality agreement, we had our articles up within a couple of hours. All we needed was a laptop and good Wi-Fi.

Not being able to run Frankie’s interview annoyed me a little, but I told myself to get over it.

“Will you keep an eye on my bag?” I asked Levi, closing my laptop. I needed a break. Words didn’t flow and I felt blocked. “I’m going to the restroom.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving the screen of his MacBook Pro.

I took a detour and went downstairs to see the soundcheck.

The stage was a hot mess of amps, cables, and microphones and didn’t look anywhere near ready for tonight’s show. A shiver of warmth rolled down my spine as I watched crew members arrange the VIP donor tables along the perimeter of the main floor. The Douglas & Krueger Benefit wasthecharity event of the season. The general admission tickets sold out in seconds. The concert featured some of the biggest names in the industry and last fall, Paul Krueger auctioned off his Corvette.

I stood next to the soundboard with my phone in my hand, my heart thumping out a wild staccato beat. Linda had been very clear about cells. Jay Brodie PR didn’t want any media personnel to take pictures anywhere backstage at any point. Only from the pit during the show. Only approved photographers. No close-ups of Frankie. Although I didn’t know how the organizers were going to stop concertgoers from doing that, unless phones would simply not be allowed inside, but there were lines and lines of rabid fans and telephoto-armed paps milling around the building. They were all here for Frankie and I knew the moment he took the stage, thousands of images and videos would begin to flood the net.

The music stopped. Javier emerged from behind the curtain. There was a brief exchange with Dante’s guitar tech, which looked a lot like an argument. I watched them silently from my spot, wondering how hard it must be to work for someone who’d been number ten on the list of Best Modern Guitarists in the World. Dante wasn’t merely sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll. He was also insanely talented. And that talent played a huge role in making Hall Affinity one of the most successful rock bands of the twenty-first century.

My gaze dropped to my phone and I pulled up Jax’s contact info. Starting a conversation with a man who wasn’t an interviewee or Levi felt beyond weird.

I’m loving my new ink,I typed. Awkward way to begin. I knew it.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Dante. He strapped on his guitar and plucked at the strings, his face tense. The stage crew was busy with their tasks.

My phone pinged with the text message alert.

Jax: I’m glad to hear it.

How are you?

Jax: I’m great. How are you?

I’m great too.

Jax: I didn’t think you’d text.

A playful guitar riff pierced the room. I tore my eyes from the phone and surveyed the stage. Dante was messing around with his Fender. There was a hint of seductive charm in the way he played. Raw and powerful. Every note was a work of art. I’d forgotten what I was going to text Jax. Clouds of musical bliss filled my head.

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