“I feel ya. It happened fast for us, but at the time, it seemed so slow. We lived in all these downright gnarly places in the beginning.” He pulls a pouty face and glances around his living room. “Soon as we all had cash, we got our big, expensive houses and never saw each other anymore.”
Can’t imagine why.
“I mean Vinnie and I hang all the time. Kyle and Boner, I never see those dudes unless we’re in the studio or on the road.”
Jesus, is he going to cry on me? That might be worse than the night I spent listening to him explain in excruciating detail every single position he’s ever fucked his girlfriend.
“Just, like, hang onto these early moments. You’re all young and hungry now. Living in the gutter. Everything’s exciting. Soon, Kickstart’s gonna explode. I feel it in my bones.”
Fuck, he makes it hard to hate him when he’s always complimenting the band and offering advice or help. “Thanks.”
“But, you’ll wake up and miss how it used to be. Trust and believe, brother.”
Suuuuure.
“Appreciate you saying that, Andrew.”
“Mallory seems cool too. Like, she never gets pissed when you’re jamming late and stuff?”
“No,” I answer carefully, in case he thinks I’m giving him the green light to dig for more information. That I refuse to share intimate details about Mallory continues to vex him.
“You don’t care if she lands a part where she has to kiss some dude?”
Well, fuck me. I honestly never thought about that. Not that I don’t think Mallory’s talented and will probably find success before I do, but shit. After Jacob made out with her in the “Candy Jar” video, how did that never occur to me?
“Guess it depends on the role. I trust her judgment.”
“Aw, dude. What if she, like, has to fuck some director to get a part or something?”
“That she wouldn’t do. And I already beat the fuck out of the last couple of pervs who tried.”
“Whoa.” His eyes bug out. “Really? That’s hardcore.”
“No, it’s what needed to be done.” Surprised Andrew hadn’t heard about the Revolver situation since I’m learning the music business runs in incestuous circles with the latest gossip everyone’s favorite topic.
“Pammy would totally fuck for a part.” He scratches his head. “I’m pretty sure she blew the guy for the lifeguard gig. Like, it’s business, though, so it’s cool.”
“You think it’s ‘cool’ and ‘just business’ to let some asshole degrade the woman you supposedly care about? That’s fucked up.”
“Sex is currency.” He shrugs. “She doesn’t give me shit about what happens on the road.”
Not really comfortable being placed in this strange lecturing role I seem to find myself in, I shake my head. “Whatever works for you two.”
“You’d really be mad if Mallory…” He waves his hand instead of continuing the question.
“I don’t have to worry about it, because that’s not the way she wants to succeed.”
“Bro, I think you’re in for a heartbreak. Every woman is the same.” He slaps my arm. “How’d you two meet, anyway?”
“On our video for ‘Candy Jar.’”
He closes his eyes and bounces up and down, rocking the piano bench from side to side. “Oh fuck! She was so hot in that tiny wet tank top!”
I grit my teeth.
“That song’s awesome by the way.”
Situation avoided. For a second, I thought I was going to have to punch him after all. “Thanks.”
“I mean it’s totally cheese-anthem-pop-metal that I bet the suits made you write because it had commercial appeal, but you guys fucking rocked it.”
Not at all insulted by his honest interpretation, I bust out laughing. “Nailed it. And thanks.”
A few hours later, Andrew’s used up every ounce of my goodwill. I’m exhausted and dying to crawl into bed. Hell, I’d crawl in the gutter right now, as long as Andrew’s not there.
“You’re falling asleep on me!” he shouts in my face.
I blink and stare at him.
He pushes a mirror with three small precision-cut lines of coke on it under my nose. “This’ll help.”
“I’m good.”
“Bro, come on. We still have a few hours.”
A few more hours of this?
Well-aware of all the ingredients suppliers sometimes add to stretch their product, I stare at the powder. “What’s it cut with?”
“It’s pure. I swear.”
It’s not like I haven’t experimented in the past. On long runs in my prospecting days, a few lines made all the difference between getting there on time and getting an ass-kicking.
It wasn’t a big deal then and it won’t be now.
“That’s my boy!” Andrew slaps my shoulder as I snort the first line.
Fuck, that’s unpleasant. Wherever he obtained this batch, it’s a speedy, lightning bolt to the brain.
Fired up and flying high, we’re back to work in no time. Unfortunately, coke messes with my rhythm, and I can’t seem to play a note. Embarrassing and inconvenient but Andrew doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, we lob ideas back and forth for the next few hours.