Page 9 of Bassist With Benefits
Jeremy chuckled. They had been teasing Brandon about his pre-show regimen, and the way he babied his voice, since before they had signed with the record label. Jeremy turned to his right to share the teasing remark with Alan, but Alan wasn’t looking at the journalist or laughing at the way Brandon was monopolizing the interview. His head was down, his eyes were shifting rapidly from side to side, and his hands were stuffed between his thighs. The guy was ready to blow.
The journalist presented her microphone to Alan. “What’s it like watching your bandmates and the audience from behind the drums at the back of the stage?”
“What?”
“How do you perceive the show from the back of the stage? You get to see everything from a different perspective. What captures your attention the most?”
Alan acted as if he didn’t understand the question. He blinked several times and scrunched his eyebrows together.
“He’s usually watching one of the hot sound guys,” Derek joked. “I keep telling him they’re straight, but he doesn’t listen.”
That made Jeremy’s head snap toward Alan. “Which sound guy?” Oh, fuck. The first bit of conversation between them in front of the camera made him sound like he was jealous.
“I’m not looking at anybody.” Alan was super defensive. “I look at my drum kit. That’s it.”
The journalist pulled her microphone away from Alan, clearly taken aback by his abrupt answer. She returned to questioning Brandon about his pre-show warm up, since he was the one who couldn’t stop talking.
Jeremy needed to say something to Alan. He knew this wasn’t the place or the time, but he couldn’t sit there and watch his friend have a nervous breakdown and do nothing about it. He leaned closer to Alan. “You OK?”
Alan flinched and backed up from the close proximity of their faces. “Fine.” He held up his hand, his palm facing Jeremy. “Stay in your chair.”
“I’m in my fucking chair.”
Brandon was still going on about his special Throat Coat tea and the lemon and honey mixture he used to bathe his throat, but everyone else was staring at Jeremy and Alan, including the journalist. As soon as Brandon took a breath, she pulled the mic away from him.
“You’re known for how famously you all get along. There’s never been any drama between bandmates. No swelled egos. No rivalry for attention. Is that true?” She shoved her microphone in Alan’s face, ready to expose some dirt or discontent. “Is the tension of the tour getting to you? Are you getting on each other’s nerves?” She was grilling Alan, and the guy was about to break. Jeremy could see the sweat beading on his friend’s forehead and Alan’s chest rising and falling.
“We don’t get on each other’s nerves,” Jeremy answered, while staring directly at Alan. “We’ve been best friends since we were in junior high. We’re like brothers. If we have a problem, we talk about it. We don’t clam up.”
Alan glared back at him, unblinking.
There was a weird, awkward silence in the room, and Jeremy knew the next question was going to be more intrusive. Normally he would have elbowed Alan and made a wisecrack to lighten things up, but he knew better than to get in his friend’s personal space right now.
Derek came to the rescue and slung his arm over Jeremy’s neck in a playful headlock. “Or we just kick the shit out of each other if we have a problem. Then it’s all good.” He let go of Jeremy with a friendly shove and smiled at the journalist. “That’s what I do, anyway.”
She knew there was an unspoken story lurking under the surface, though, and wasn’t falling for the distraction. She shifted the mic back to Alan. “You seem agitated. Are you working too hard? Or partying too hard? The band isn’t exactly known for its sobriety.”
“I’m not fucking hung over,” he snapped at her. “Can you get that thing out of my face?”
Felix stepped forward, his eyes blaring at Alan, but he maintained his usual level of professionalism. “Perhaps Brandon would like to talk about some of the band’s all-night writing marathons. Once these four sit down to create music, they don’t stop until they’ve put together the next hit song. They have incredible stamina.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Brandon’s voice didn’t have the charismatic, buttery tone it usually had when he was in front of the camera, and he was looking at Alan, not the journalist. “When we set out to writeAK-47we spent 14 hours in the studio. I was in the booth tweaking the lyrics and experimenting with different ways to sing it.” Brandon got more excited and the light returned to his face as he recounted the making of the band’s most recent platinum single. “When I came out of the booth, Alan had put a heavier beat to it and Jeremy blew up the rhythm with this sick undertone on the bass.”
Jeremy reminisced about that day. It had been grueling. He had been tired, he was restless, and his fingers were stiff. The moment Alan had added some extra beats with his double bass, it rejuvenated Jeremy. His hands had automatically plucked some low, grungy notes that accentuated the new rhythm that inflated the song. He hadn’t needed to think about them beforehand. The beats that Alan had created inspired him – just like they always had. Alan was the force that always drove Jeremy to work harder and perform better.
When they were young and first started writing music, Alan had pushed Jeremy’s creativity. “Don’t think about the notes. Just feel them. Let the music write itself,” he had said. Jeremy looked over at his friend and mentor. The guy was twitching like a ticking time bomb. Guilt immediately flooded Jeremy’s chest. This was all his fault, and he wondered, if on some level, he had known what he was doing in the dark. They had all been in the same bed – Alan, Jeremy, and three guys. Hands, arms, legs, and body parts had been everywhere. Maybe it was one drink to many, or one sexfest too many, or continually transferring his desires onto the other men in the bed that made his subconscious act out. One thing he knew for sure – it wasn’t a conscious decision. And he sure as hell didn’t know it was Alan. He didn’t purposely take advantage of his best friend.
Derek’s hand on Jeremy’s upper arm interrupted his thoughts. “What are you doing?” Derek asked. “We’re taking photos. Unless you want this to be a three-piece band, get your ass up. Or do you need a moment to fix your hair like Fabio over here?” Derek pointed his thumb at Brandon, who was bent over at the waist and shaking his hair out.
“Wasn’t paying attention.” Jeremy slid off the chair.
“No shit.” Derek slung his arm over Jeremy’s shoulder and held the other one open for Brandon. “Any day now,” he said to Brandon, who was now smoothing down his T-shirt.
Brandon flashed his killer smile. “Just wanna make sure the band’s logo is clearly visible.”
The three huddled together for a hug, but apprehension breached the space between Jeremy and Alan. Neither of them made a move to extend a brotherly arm around the other, and the foot of space between them may as well have been a mile wide.
Felix waved his hand in front of them. “What is this? Do you want to be in this photo, Alan? Or do you want your own private shoot?” He motioned for Alan to move toward Jeremy. “Get closer.”
