Page 10 of Final Serenade

“What do you think?” Jax was cleaning his area and I stood in front of the wall mirror in my bra and cargo pants with my neck twisted and staring at my new tattoo. Even through the plastic, I could tell the butterfly was exquisitely detailed. My skin beneath the ink stung pleasantly.

“I love it. Thank you.” I adjusted the strap of my bra to ensure it didn’t touch the tat and slipped my top on.

We moved to the counter with the credit card machine and Jax gave me the total.

I handed him my Visa. “I’m sorry I held you up.”

“It’s not a big deal. We get a lot of late-night clients. Hazard of the job.”

I signed the copy of the receipt he gave me along with my card, then returned it to him. “I can understand why.”

“You know how to take care of it, right?” Jax grabbed a small brochure from the plastic holder and topped it off with the customer copy of the receipt and his business card, which had something written on it. “Feel free to call me if you have any questions.”

He walked me to the door and watched me get in my car. I slid behind the wheel and glanced at the stack of papers in my hand, curious what his business card said.

When I pulled it out and sawCelland a phone number scribbled on it, a rush of excitement rolled through my stomach.

Chapter Two

The interview confirmation came the morning of the fundraiser.

Waiting for it was like waiting for hell to freeze over. Jay Brodie PR hadn’t returned either one of our follow-up emails. Linda’s response to my text had been a very dry,haven’t heard back yet from management. She’d even refrained from using emojis, which was so unlike her and could only mean one thing. There was a lot going on behind closed doors and mere mortals weren’t privy to the info.

Meanwhile, more photos of Frankie Blade flooded the net. He’d been spotted in Beverly Hills a few times in the company of his bodyguards and his bandmates.Rolling Stonehad teased the public with a Hall Affinity exclusive in their upcoming issue. Frankie’s ex-wife had spoken toCosmopolitanabout her short-lived marriage to the golden boy of hard rock. The entire planet was holding their breath. The man had returned from the dead. The question was, had his voice returned with him?

The night before our credentials were confirmed, I contemplated whether showing up at the Regency without an invitation would make the Jay Brodie folks scratch us off their preferred outlets list. Despite knowing a number of influential people in the industry, Levi and I had agreed to never lower to the paparazzi’s level.Rewiredproduced fresh and original content. We were one of those rare magazines that stayed away from speculative articles. We only showed up where we were officially invited. We worked fast and efficient, and every promoter, bouncer, and artist relation rep in L.A. knew who we were and treated us with respect. There’d been just one case years back when we’d crashed an event. Our credentials hadn’t come through due to some stupid administrative mistake. We’d rolled up to the venue, armed with our gear and smiles, and hit up the press table. Ten minutes later, we were backstage interviewing the bass guitarist of the band whose single later that fall would hit number one on every rock station in the US, UK, Australia, and a handful of other countries.

The PR firm that had set up the interview and then dropped the ball wasn’t Jay Brodie. Jay Brodie would normally toy with us for a while but would always give their final answer, no matter if it was a yes or a no.

Levi picked me up at two. This wasn’t our usual routine, but we’d been swamped with the quarterly issue prep and hadn’t had a chance to discuss the interview questions and our course of action. Doing it during the commute made the most sense under the circumstances. To make matters even worse, Kevin, one of our contributors from Orange County, hadn’t come through with his “best of” list.

Basically, Levi and I were two stress balls who’d discovered how to compensate the lack of sleep with too many energy drinks and coffee.

The Regency was a flamboyant art deco landmark in the heart of L.A. It sat on a busy, nightlife-filled stretch of Wilshire Boulevard between K-Town and Beverly Hills, and from what I could gather from social media as we battled the Saturday traffic on our way there, the line of Hall Affinity fans had begun to form in front of the venue at dawn.

Levi was rocking the extra hipster look today. Doc Martens, skinny jeans, faded T-shirt with a #hashtag slogan on the front. He hadn’t shaved in days and was on his second Red Bull when we finally got off the freeway.

“It’s not like he’s the president,” Levi bickered over the fact we hadn’t been informed whether the interview would be on camera. We’d packed our entire gear arsenal—both tripods, both mics, both audio recorders, cameras, LEDs, and an extra pack of batteries, but according to Linda’s courtesy text, the chance that Frankie’s manager would agree to video was slim.

“Dude’s a glorified version of Chad Kroeger,” Levi went on, sipping on his drink.

“Oh no, you didn’t!” I had nothing against the front man of the Canadian powerhouse, but Frankie Blade was a player of an entirely different league. Comparing him to Kroeger was a blasphemy, and I seriously wanted to kick Levi for even thinking such nonsense.

“I’m just saying. What’s wrong with telling us beforehand?” he muttered, his gaze never leaving the road.

“You know how it is.” I shrugged, reaching for his phone sitting in the cupholder to change the playlist.

T-shirts with the signature Hall Affinity merch colors, black and orange, swarmed on the sidewalk as we circled the block near The Regency in search of parking. The streets buzzed. Invisible energy charged the warm September air.

“I think we should stick to Ubering from now on,” Levi grumbled as the car in front of us came to a stop.

It took us another twenty minutes to get into a lot, park, and make it to the back entrance of the venue, where our bags were thoroughly searched by security before we were ushered toward a media tent on the opposite side of the barricade. The group was small. I recognized Darren fromAPand Robbie, the owner ofPulse Nation. Linda and a couple of girls from Jay Brodie were handing out passes.

We made it in time for the press briefing.

The instructions were very specific.

No questions about the seven-year hiatus. No questions about Frankie's ex-wife. Who cared anyway? They’d been married for two and a half minutes. No questions about his health. No questions about KBC. No questions about motorcycles or any other kinds of extreme sport or adrenaline related activities. Basically, no questions about anything but the upcoming album.

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