“You signed the contract,” Clay grunted. “Priest sang you a lullaby and you fucking babies fell right to sleep.”
“We wouldn’t have”—Fiasco’s snakeskin boots shuffled on the roof gravel; he looked amused, almost amused—“without Savy’s consent. Your girl was the one who insisted we sign before you got here. Do you honestly think she’s going to give up The Life for a singer who can’t even show up on time?”
Clay pressed both palms to his forehead, as if to hold in what little was left of his sanity. Stay on your feet, he begged himself. Just stay on your feet.
His weary fidgeting delighted Fiasco Joe.
“Think you can cut me out?” Clay told him, and he hadn’t meant to shout the words. He seemed to be laughing now too, shouting and laughing and jerking around. “You can’t play as a three-piece, you fucking idiot. Who’s going to sing?”
And for a moment, Clay feared Fiasco would yell, Why Gar Basserman, of course! But what he told me was “Savy did fine before she forced you on us.”
Except that was a total lie and they both knew it. Savy had the voice for it, yes, that fiery angst that would have all her fans humping their speakers. But she’d never wanted to front a band. Her vocal desires extended only as far as harmonies—and how many times had they heard her say so? “She wants to be a guitar god,” Clay shot back. “She’s Jimmy Page, not Amy Lee, and that’s the law of her whole fucking existence.”
“Well, see? It just shows how little you know her,” Fiasco said.
“What songs are you going to release? Most of the demo is mine.”
“Is that true? I always kind of looked at those tracks as a group effort.” And clearly Fiasco was high, Snoop Dog-high, his eyes shiny and his grin too natural to understand how close he was to choking on his teeth.
“They weren’t copyrighted,” Spider said, staring down the neck of his Tequila Cabeza. And hearing the mild-mannered drummer say so, hearing the weight of guilt in his words, convinced Clay of this terrible reality more than anything. “Mr. Priest had all the paperwork to file them. I wish you were here on time, Clay.”
“On time?” Clay shouted back. “Do you have any fucking idea where I was?”
Spider dropped his eyes. Fiasco laughed. “We know what you were doing to the Generator, you psycho. We don’t trust a damn word you’re saying.”
In desperation, Clay spun around—to leave the roof, to rip down the giant R over top of him, to search for an ax to put through Fiasco’s skull—and he found Savy standing right behind him. Still in her domestic hotel uni, standing there in the California sun as if the last 24 hours had never happened. “Hey,” she said. “Let’s talk.”
“Tell me it isn’t true. You didn’t sign. You, of all people…”
Savy led him across the roof. For a moment all she could do was brush at her makeup-less face, at tears that weren’t there. “This morning I raced down to where Mo scores. There’s a turnover rate on those corners, but I recognized some of the dealers. No one had seen him. No one had a clue. So I went home and… he was sitting on my couch.”
“Your brother?”
“Priest. Priest was there with my abuelita. And Mo was there too—safe and sound in bed. Priest had heard about ‘my problem’ and made calls. He traced Mo to a party in Silver Lake and collected him. By the time I got home, my grandmother was cooking breakfast for Priest. And he’d told her about the money. I thought she’d see through him like she sees through everything. But I never saw her happier. She couldn’t get over that someone would pay me money to play guitar—that I could save my brothers with music. What was I supposed to do?”
“Thank Priest for getting Mo, then face him another time. When we were together.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing at noon,” Savy countered. “I waited for you. Believe me, I held off as long as I could.”
“You had to know it was them keeping me away.”
Savy hesitated, offered the faintest of nods. “Tell me one thing. Priest said he dug into our pasts. He knew stuff, like Spider’s real name.” Her stare skittered off, but he saw the accusation rise on her face. “He told us you were an addict. That true?”
Clay looked back at her; he hadn’t seen that particular curveball coming, but wasn’t the least surprised now that it was in front of him. That was the thing about secrets. They waited there in the dark with all their teeth barred; one wrong move and they lashed out and ruined everything. “Yes,” Clay sighed. “I used in high school. To impress a girl. My mother was strong—she sent me to rehab and I haven’t touched as much as a joint since I’ve been in L.A. I’m not a junkie, Sav. I’m not like…” He stopped short of saying it. They both knew what he meant anyway. …not like your brother.
“You lied when I asked you. Knowing I wouldn’t have let you in the band—”
Clay grabbed Savy’s arms above the elbows and squeezed her, so hard that fear sprang onto her face. “I met him, Sav. The Hailmaker. He was wearing a different face than in the video, and that’s only the beginning of his powers. Don’t you know what’ll happen if you mess up even a little?”
Savy didn’t fight his grip, just hung there, leaning her weight into his thumbs. “It doesn’t matter what happens to me. Mo needs full-time attention. Mickey needs to grow up
