Brian inserted his curated fantasy of success into his mind and ordered the scenario to stay there, but it refused to drop down and fill his heart.
A watery, impressionistic image of Helen’s face trespassed into his boardroom dream, mingling with the vision of his future in a welcoming way that didn’t make sense. Because nothing about her, about them, made sense.
But that didn’t mean he could forget her. How she made him laugh for the first time in months, with her charming and unpretentious humor. Helen made him see the artist, the creative man with whom he’d lost touch.
How had he made her feel? He knew how he’d like to make her feel, if he got her alone on this bed. The sound of his name, moaned in orgasmic delight in her voice, charged through his bloodstream like lighter fluid. His prick stiffened to full size. Speaking of size, did Helen care about length and girth? If so, she’d be in luck. The stubborn thing got even harder.
Enough thoughts of sex. No more daydreaming of a woman who would make his life more stressful, who would complicate him. Brian palmed his mobile off of the end table and rang Joe, thoughts of the man’s doughy face killing his hard-on right and proper.
The manager answered after many rings, right as Brian anticipated the click to voice mail. Odd. Joe was always so eager to talk, made a habit of being at Brian’s command like a good little Hollywood arse-kisser.
“Hey, man, great to hear from you. I was just about to call. Got, eh, tied up in a meeting.” Joe gasped out his words in a struggle for breath. Rhythmic sounds, like choral music, hummed in the background.
Brian cocked his head. “Is that chanting I hear?”
Joe laughed, so loud and forced, Brian had to hold the phone away from his ear. “Yeah, man. I’m stepping out of a screener for this insane—and I mean fucking bananas—horror movie. Good news for you, though. Producers might want Fyre to supply the music.”
“At first you said you were in a meeting.”
“Right, yeah, they screened the film during the meeting. Like I said, doing the sound would be a great opportunity for Fyre.”
Skepticism coiled around Brian’s heart. “Sounds like the score’s already been produced.”
On Joe’s end, a door closed. “They’re gonna redo the sound. But you let me take care of minutiae and stupid details, man.”
“Ready to head to the gathering?” Once he got this party over with, he could assure himself that he’d leveraged the final leg of the tour to take proactive steps on behalf of his future.
“Uh huh. I’ll be there in ten.” Joe’s voice came out greedy and soured him with the sound of unchecked zeal. What an obsequious runt of a man.
Brian hung up and channel surfed, stupefying his brain in lieu of thinking about the upcoming party.
Sparse city lights faded to blackness. Rural scenery draped the sleek white Lexus as the car coasted down endless stretches of lost highway. A deer crossing sign riddled with bullet holes flew past, giving way to a wasteland of nothing. At the horizon’s edge, an abyss of dark swallowed the headlights of the vehicle chauffeuring Brian and Joe to the party.
Brian stuck a finger in the basin of his collar and pulled, the new car’s chemical odor sickening him. “If I bought a second or third home, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick one all the way out here.”
“The name of the game is discretion.” Joe glanced at his phone, then looked out the window. He wouldn’t make eye contact. Brian could smell the manager’s sweat, reeking like onion soup mixed with musky deodorant, from the neighboring back seat.
“I thought the name of the game was self-promotion. Why else would they give their event such a horrendously pretentious title?”
Bronze Phase. Good grief. Worse, the series of three parties counted upward to gold, like Olympic medals. Sometimes Brian could not suffer the industry. Perhaps he could fake his own death and fall off the grid with nothing but his voice and an acoustic guitar, see if a truly radical move unlocked his inspiration and got the music flowing with consistency.
“Let me handle this, okay?” Joe spoke in a clipped tone.
The car hung a sharp right and bumped over an unpaved road. Seatbelt locking with straightjacket tightness, Brian clutched the bar above his door. In every direction, the staggering and utter absence of light closed in on their vehicle. The driver switched on his high beams, but twin halogen columns illuminated nothing but lumpy dirt.
“What’s there to handle about a party? It’s work the room and promote what I can do for the Aries brand in a managerial role, not brain surgery.”
Joe teethed on a cuticle. “Gonna level with you. You’re on thin ice. Aries is concerned with your behavior.”
Brian scoffed. By musician standards, he was a monk. How in the world had he managed to ping some Aries Records executive’s naughty boy radar? “I think they have the wrong man in mind.”
“Quit being glib and willfully obtuse,” Joe snapped, a hardness in his gaze as he met Brian’s stare. “It was that fucking interview where you rambled about a side project. Aries doesn’t want to see you spread thin. They want to know that you’re one hundred percent invested in the project, not acting out your midlife crisis with solo shit.”
Brian narrowed his eyes at his manager, turbulence jostling him. “What do you mean the project? I wasn’t aware that there was a specific plan in mind beyond currying favor with the hotshots.”
“You’re off the rails and off message. For your information, I talked Aries out of cutting you loose and managed to salvage your invitation to this party.”
Brian’s guts hardened. Foul tastes filled his mouth. A flailing sensation, like
