Page 35 of Concerted Chaos

ten

“I’mnotgoing,”Powell says as soon as I open the door to his basement recording studio. He doesn’t bother to turn around and look at me. All of his attention is on Allison, his favorite sound engineer, as they hunch over the sound board together. She moves toggles up and down, and he holds his headphones over his ears, listening intently.

“I like this take the best,” Allison tells Powell, without acknowledging my presence at all.

“Powell,” I protest. I know, he’s doing this for me. He’s kindly recording If You Were Here by the late great Jace. But still, he could take a break to do a different favor for me.

“Too much bass,” my brother ignores me completely. “What if we try this...” He moves some other toggles. I’m not entirely sure what any of those things do, but they both sit back with tilted heads and quizzical expressions.

“POWELL!” Now I shout. He looks over his shoulder in annoyance.

“I said I’m not going.”

“You’re the one who agreed we’d go out for dinner with Xander tonight. Please don’t make me suffer alone.” I still don’t know what Xander wants to talk to us about. A big and important announcement, he said, and it must be if he flew all the way out to Scottsdale and offered to spring for an expensive meal. He enjoys bragging about his wealth, but he also likes to hoard it by making others pay for things for him.

“Take someone else. We’re onto something here.” Then he and Allison start talking again, throwing around words like ‘reverb’ and ‘bus compression.’ This is not an area of the business I pay much attention to—I like the finished songs, not so much the process to create them. And I’m not a fan of being dismissed so easily, especially since that means having to deal with the most annoying man I’ve ever met without a buffer.

But I can think of someone to call.

“Am I underdressed for this?” Tanner belatedly tucks in his long sleeve T-shirt and attempts to smooth his thick mop of hair. Cafe Mariposa, while having a casual-sounding name, is an iconic restaurant known for its elegance and exclusivity. They are reservation only and always fully booked months in advance. I don’t know exactly how Xander managed to secure a table for three on a Friday night, but I assume name-dropping was involved. Most likely Powell’s.

“Yes. But we’re eating with Xander, so your outfit doesn’t matter. People bend over backwards for celebrities, even if their hangers-on look like they just wandered in off the street.”

Tanner isn’t offended by my teasing.

“Don’t you mean just rolled out of a van?” he asks with a wink, while still doing something ineffectual to his unmanageable hair. “Anyway, I doubt Xander is still considered a celebrity.” He has a point. Xander is the only one of the Last Barons to still be capitalizing on old fame rather than trying to make a new name. That’s why the others (with one tragic exception) are doing so much better than him these days.

“To be fair, he probably promised them my brother would be here.” That wouldn’t surprise me. Everybody loves Powell. Xander is an ass. For one thing, he’s one of those C-list celebs that believes his autograph is a sufficient tip. That’s the reason I have a wallet full of cash in my purse right now. I won’t let him get away with that kind of crap if he does follow through with his offer to pay. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ‘forgot’ his wallet though. To counter that possibility, I also brought my black card. Well, technically, it’s my brother’s. But my name is on it, so that counts.

Xander is already at a table waiting, and his reaction to seeing us is one of surprise. I had told Powell to text him and tell him I was bringing someone else, but I’m assuming that didn’t happen. When my brother is in his studio his head is in a different world, one in which mundane tasks and common courtesies don’t exist.

“Where’s Powell?” he asks as we approach. “And who’s this guy?”

“Xander, I believe you’ve met Tanner before,” I say, but Xander’s eyes skim over him without a hint of recognition. He’s an asshole.

“I don’t think so.” He rises to his feet and there is a brief awkward scuffle as both men try to pull my chair out for me. Tanner steps back and lets Xander have the honor, and I scowl at him.

“I work at her gym,” Tanner explains, which, albeit sort of true, is a rather odd introduction. I guess he doesn’t want to remind Xander of their prior meeting and out himself as a pap. Xander only pays attention to the cameras, not the people operating them.

“I see.” Xander frowns. He has no interest in associating with anyone who has to do actual work for a living. “I thought Powell was coming.”

“Something came up. He’s busy with Allison...” I bite my tongue. I’m not sure he knows who Allison is, but he has always been prickly about the rest of them continuing to succeed in the music (or, in Mason’s case, Bollywood) business.

“That’s alright, as long as you’re here,” Xander places his hand on mine possessively, and I pull it back. Perhaps I should keep both hands in my lap at all times.

“Cassidy invited me, saying it would be a shame to waste the reservation,” Tanner interjects smoothly, reminding Xander of his presence. “This place looks amazing.”

“I live in LA; this is nothing.” Xander dismisses the restaurant rather prematurely, as one does when one is a complete snob with few redeeming qualities. “I’ve ordered the tasting menu for us. Don’t worry, Cassidy, yours is vegetarian. But Chandler, if you like, I can ask if they have a children’s menu instead.”

“It’s Tanner. And why would I need that?” Tanner is more amused than annoyed at Xander’s attempt to antagonize him.

“In case a fine dining restaurant like this is too much for you. Maybe you need a burger or mac and cheese.” I don’t know why he’s being a pretentious prick. Well, yes I do, he always is, but there’s no reason to insult Tanner, especially in such a childish manner.

“You’re the one who puts ketchup on everything. Remember when we were in Japan?” I smile as I make the subtle dig, referencing Xander’s request for American condiments at a sushi restaurant while on a world tour. Admittedly, he had no experience with raw fish before, but making a big scene about how they should accommodate him—because he was a star, damnit!—and then demanding they fry the sashimi before he would try any was a cultural disaster. There was a mocking write up in the Japanese press and some rather humorous news reports back home.

“People change, Deedee.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap at him. My nickname is personal and the right to use it must be earned. Xander has earned nothing and never will. Tanner raises one of his bushy caterpillar eyebrows at me. He’s probably not heard that name before, but I’m not going to explain it.

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