Justin thanked me, then tucked the instrument against his chest and began the arduous process of tuning it again. He had a good ear, but he was painfully slow. I pulled my cell from my pocket so I wouldn’t be tempted to do it for him.
“You’re probably right. Seems like everyone bonded at that party the other night. Well…the ones who didn’t drink too much of that pink shit. My head pounded for twenty-four fucking hours,” he lamented.
“Poor baby.”
“Hmph. So…what happened with you and Dec?”
Fuck.
It was a good thing his head was bent over the guitar. I bet I looked guilty as hell.
“What do you mean?” I bluffed, scrolling through messages I read two days ago.
“What happened at the party after my drunken departure? Did you talk to Petra?”
“I spilled a drink on her, then left.”
Justin flattened his hand over his strings and hooted. “Really? What did she ask you? It had to be something juicy or—”
“No, it was an accident. Nothing really happened,” I lied before shamelessly changing the topic. “Hey, I’m going to head out early to visit my mom. Do you want to run through that new song first?”
He looked up from his guitar and gave me a curious look. I expected him to ask what I was hiding any second now. “Um, sure. How is she?”
“She’s nauseous, tired all the time, and she lost her hair. Other than that, she’s doing pretty well.”
“That’s rough. She’s gonna be fine, though. You know that,” he said vehemently.
“Yeah.” I twisted my mouth into a passable version of a smile and kept scrolling until a new message from Charlie lit my screen.
I need to see you in my office STAT.
STAT?
Yes. Hurry. My dad has ten minutes to spare.
I stared at the screen in confusion, then stood abruptly. Maybe the text was meant for someone else.
“Everything okay?” Justin asked.
“Um, yeah. I’ll be back soon.” I slipped my cell into my pocket and moved to the door.
“Since you’re up, will you tell Johnny and Ky to get their asses in here, por favor?”
“Sure.”
I surveyed the lounge area. Everyone was gathered around the coffee table, playing a classic Zeppelin tune. Bobby J and Johnny dueled on guitar, Ky and Gill on bass, and Dec on lead vocals. He kept rhythm on his old beater of a guitar. His longish hair fell over his forehead, covering his eyes. I knew he was smiling, though. He loved Zep, and I knew this was one of his favorite songs. He’d told me so years ago.
“ ‘Going to California’ easily makes my top five. Simple and sweet. That’s the way I like it.”
He’d asked for my top five too. And that was very Dec. He never asked what your favorite might be. He always left room for multiple choices. I didn’t agree with that philosophy. I knew what I liked, and I was loyal to a fault. To silly things too…like Zep songs and ice cream flavors.
Dammit. Snap out of it, Monroe.
“Yo, Zero, report to the studio,” I called out as I headed for the office area.
I knocked on Charlie’s open door and held up my phone. “You texted me. Was that meant for someone else?”
“No, come in. Take a seat.” He jumped from his chair and motioned for me to enter. “Dec should be here any second and—oh, hello!”
“Hey, Char. What’s going—?”
“There’s no time for pleasantries. We have to work fast. Sit,” Charlie commanded, craning his neck out the door to address his secretary. “Send my dad in right away, please. Don’t let him engage in small talk about the weather or his twink du jour. I need every second he can spare. Thank you.”
Dec and I shared a bemused look when he raced back into the office and eyed us like an exasperated parent with his hands on his hips.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, perching on one of the black leather chairs in front of his desk.
“You! I cannot believe you didn’t tell me you grew up together. You told a reporter…a reporter before you told me.” His golden curls bounced as he shook his head incredulously. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”
Dec shot a bewildered sideways glance my way. “Uh…no. What’s the big deal?”
“You’ve given Petra an unauthorized story.”
“I told you so,” I huffed.
Dec frowned. “Oh, come on. T went to high school with Ky too. What difference does it make?”
Charlie smacked his palm against his forehead and slumped into his chair theatrically. “She’s looking for an angle for a story to tie your bands together. She’s a fan, and she genuinely likes your music. But she also wants people to read her articles, so she wants to sex it up. Get it?”
“No,” we replied in unison.
“Let me break it down for you. You’ve given Petra an angle to make an old story interesting again.”
Dec furrowed his brow. “How?”