“A little birdie told me Frankie-boy took another dive last night,” he said. He took a long drag and his chest rose and expanded as he held the smoke in his lungs.
I headed his way and stopped in front of him. Our gazes locked and his red-rimmed eyes roamed my face.
“Are you cutting the set again tonight?” I asked.
He shook his head and turned away to release the smoke. “No. We can’t. The fans will destroy us. Do you know how many people asked for refunds already? We’ll just rearrange everything. Yesterday was shit. We should have started with Hollow Heart Dream material.”
“Why would people ask for refunds? You played for almost an hour.”
“Yeah? Do you remember how long every single set lasted during Guns N’ Roses’ reunion show? Two hours at least.”
“Well, people waited for their reunion double the time. Hence double the time on the sets,” I joked.
Dante laughed and turned back to me. “People are assholes.” His lips stretched and the smile lines near the corners of his eyes deepened. “You know better than me, darlin’. You’re the fucking reporter.”
“There’s press and there’s shitty press, Dante,” I countered. “Shitty press like to pull their headlines out of their asses to get traffic. I deliver real news and facts. There’s a big difference.”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, little lady.” He laughed. “I know you’re one of the good ones. I actually fucking admire your drive. You roped Frankie-boy into this little charity project of yours. He hasn’t been this excited about doing some good in years.”
“Are you just going to hold out? No comments?” I didn’t remember seeing any Jay Brodie PR emails come in today. The band seemed reluctant to debunk rumors floating around online about Frank’s well-being.
“Corey thinks it’s best we keep our mouths shut for now.”
“So you’re not even going to respond?”
“What do we say? I’m sorry the set was short. Our singer is a fucking cripple and can’t pull through the entire show without passing out, and we’re not sure if he can deliver tonight, but hey, we have paramedics on standby and we still want your money, come what may.”
Dante’s words were harsh, but they were an accurate representation of what was going on right now. Frank was a ticking time bomb.
“Well, when you put it like that…” I rolled my eyes nonetheless.
A veil of smoke swirled around Dante. He finished his cigarette in silence while I stared at the ocean.
“I’ll keep an eye on him, Cass.” I felt his hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t inappropriate. It was more of a friendly pat. Same type he’d give Frank or any other guy in the band.
“Are we friends now?” I looked at him.
“We’ve always been friends.”
“Are you going to apologize?”
“Are you still pissed about the demos?”
“I need you to apologize, Dante.” I stood my ground.
He tossed his head back and covered his eyes with the heels of his hands. His T-shirt stretched across his lean torso.
“I’m serious. You were wrong and I deserve an apology. From both you and Corey.”
“I’m not responsible for the dude. You can ask him for an apology yourself,” Dante growled, dropping his face to look me in the eye. “Here’s mine. I’m sorry, Cassy.” His cigarette breath grazed my cheeks. “Are you happy now?”
“Apology accepted,” I mumbled.
“Okay, good. Now make sure Frankie-boy is happy too. He needs it.”
I didn’t fully understand what he meant by that and he didn’t expand on his statement before walking off. All I knew was that something dark had lingered in the air all morning and my gut told me this was the part where the rollercoaster reached the top and I needed to get ready for a massive, once-in-a-lifetime drop.
Chapter Two
Contrary to popular belief, the controversial reviews of the first Hall Affinity night at the Forum didn’t deter the ticket holders from attending the second show. On the way to the venue, I carefully checked social media to get a better idea of what the fallout was like. The refund crisis Dante had referred to earlier wasn’t as bad as he’d described it. The man was overdramatic.
Apparently, a lot of people simply wanted to see the band perform because they were scared the upcoming tour would get canceled due to Frankie’s health. Even if there had been any refunds, they’d most likely turned into crazy-priced resales, because there wasn’t an empty seat when we arrived. I had a chance to get a glimpse of the audience when Roman led us upstairs, and the floor was jam-packed. The security in the pit was doubled. Eager fans trampled over each other to get to the barricade.
Further proof bad publicity wasn’t that bad after all.
Ashton had begged me to get him a pass for tonight, but I’d decided to be a mean sister and told him he had to skip tonight to prepare for the second round of SATs and look for a part-time job because helping Levi with the documentary wasn’t going to pay any bills. Bottom line, my little brother needed a reality check since his eighteenth birthday was approaching fast, and he couldn’t just occupy my apartment indefinitely.
I didn’t plan on being a total bitch, though. I was going to get him a pass for tomorrow. I’d also asked my mother if she wanted a ticket, but she wasn’t a fan of rock ’n’ roll. She’d politely declined my offer in favor of a movie night with her co-worker.
The air backstage was static with anticipation. We sat in the dressing room and I watched the stylist work on Frank’s hair. Everyone was fixed on some task. No small talk took place. At some point, Janet and Billy stepped out, and then it was only me, Corey, Brooklyn, and Frank’s physician. The drone of the blow dryer mixed with a Muse tune pouring from the
