Resurgence (9 page)
“But that was before—”
“Yeh, it was, before I was ready to speak up. But Rayce had faith. He knew right off that you were destined to be more than my official biographer.”
“Oh lord, you have to bring
that
up.”
“Every chance I get. Did you know there was talk of having a T-shirt made? And Gemma offered to embroider a cushion with the legend. Done lovingly, you understand.”
“I understand, and I hope you understand that designation was never a sham. I’ll admit I was hiding behind it toward the end of my resistance, but I always intended to see the job through. And now that I think of it, that may be one of the things Amanda wants to discuss with us. How to finish the book now that I’m a hopelessly biased participant.”
“Hopelessly biased. I rather like the sound of that.”
“I thought you might.”
When traffic does come to a complete stop they’re in a seedy residential area. Colin stares out at the madly contrasting facades of tumbledown attached houses with derelict cars parked in front gardens and spilt-over dustbins dotting the remainder of the landscape. Not quite the setting he had in mind for covering her face with kisses.
“I love you, Laurel Grace Chandler, and I’m happier than I have any right to be at the moment,” he says without darting as much as a glance at her or he’ll choke up.
She could be in the same predicament because she doesn’t say anything till they’re under way again, nearly to the river crossing, where she responds in kind, then brings up a subject no one’s dared approach before now.
“How will I ever forgive myself for missing Rayce’s concert at the Garden? I—”
“Laurel . . . Do not go there.”
“I can’t help it. I cared about him too, you know. I may not have known him very long, but he meant a lot to me and now I’m cheated out of ever knowing him better, and I’ve cheated myself out of ever seeing him in concert because I was so goddammed stubborn and so cruel to you and—”
“Leave off! I don’t want to hear it. You did what you had to do. It’s done with. Now look at the fucking scenery. That’s the dome of St. Paul’s over there, and in the other direction’s Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament.”
To get past the bad patch, he calls out landmarks like a frenzied tour guide till they near Curzon Street and the converted Mayfair mansion housing the London offices of Clark, Sebastian & Associates. They’re almost there when he realizes Laurel hasn’t interrupted him because she’s been holding her breath for great shuddering intervals.
When they arrive, Amanda is in the vestibule to greet them. She’s done up in a smart business suit and high-heeled shoes that lessen her girlishness. Her natural exuberance is in check when she says how sorry she is for their loss and embraces them each in turn. “I only wish I could think of an appropriate way to say how—”
“Save it, sweet pea,” Colin says. “We know what you mean. We were havin’ the same struggle on the way here, feelin’ guilty about being happy in midst of a shit storm.”
Laurel concurs and lights up a little when Amanda goggles at the engagement ring and works a saucy “I told you so” into the exchange.
“We’re in the back conference room,” Amanda says and leads them along a corridor where a steady buzz of activity emits from the offices along its length. When she opens the double doors of a chamber he vaguely recalls from some long-ago gathering, he’s ready for almost anything but what he sees.
If there were more than two people in the room he’d be making comparisons to the otherwise disastrous New York meeting that yielded him Laurel. But even though there are only two here to contend with, he can’t shake the feeling he’s vastly outnumbered.
For several ticks he just stares at them, at his former bandmates, Lane and Jesse. They’re each done up like chartered accountants in pinstripes, fine worsteds, and pricey cravats; wolves in sheep’s clothing, they are, because their studied rock star nonchalance is very much in evidence and giving nothing away.
“Dude,” Lane says, getting to his feet. “Been too long, it has.”
They exchange an awkward embrace and retreat as though to neutral corners.
“Lookin’ good, lookin’ good,” Jesse says, rising from his chair to offer an abbreviated handshake and clumsy clap on the back.
“Your other component couldn’t be here today,” Amanda says. “Chris Thorne’s away for the Easter weekend, but I’m authorized to let you know he’s on board if the rest of you agree. Please, everyone, make yourselves comfortable and I’ll fill you in as quickly as possible.”
After they’re settled at a large round table, she gives them each a bound presentation. “This is a proposal for an all-star concert to memorialize Rayce Vaughn. I’ve prepared a summary of progress to date and you’ll see that the Hammersmith Odeon and Royal Albert Hall are the venues currently under consideration and the list of possible participants is growing as we speak. Once we’ve locked in a date and secured the necessary clearances, more and better decisions can be made regarding the actual implementation.”
Colin glances first at Laurel, who’s got on her unreadable face, then at Amanda, who’s ingenuousness in action, and finally at the pages listing the major draws of the music world who have volunteered to perform, schedules permitting. He reads that three high-ranking record labels are willing to lend their clout, and Britain’s premiere concert promoters are already vying for the job. Absolute top drawer, the lot, with all of them having in common a former relationship with the recently deceased—with all of them owing something to the recently deceased.
He rethinks his criticism of Laurel’s tradeoff of hiccoughs for tears as his throat closes before he can make any sort of comment.
Amanda takes advantage of the lull to introduce Laurel to Lane and Jesse—something he should have done straightaway—then brings up one of the finer points of the proposal.
“I believe it goes without saying that if you’re willing to take part as Verge reunited, there can be no greater honor to Rayce Vaughn’s memory and his immeasurable contribution to contemporary music.”
Amanda natters on about the likelihood of steamrolling bad publicity with good, and the possibility of turning the event into a fundraiser; she brings up television rights, marketing potential, subsidiary this and residual that, and she needn’t continue.
Railroaded or not, lingering bitterness or not, he can’t refuse. Not when amazing little Amanda’s spot-on with all her assumptions, especially the one related to the chances of him not showing up if he’d known in advance what the meeting was about. A “Nate” touch, that; one that could raise suspicions if Laurel hadn’t warned him off thinking of Amanda as a puppet—anybody’s puppet.
“Question.” Colin finds his voice and flips shut the glossy presentation folder. “When you were recruiting all these stellar people and organizations, did you just happen to mention that a Verge reunion could be in the offing?”
Amanda wavers for a tick, on the brink of reverting to her former blushing and fluttery self, then clears her throat. “I may have,” she says, “but not in so many words.”
Lane and Jesse are back to looking too cool for any space they occupy, and Laurel’s still giving no clue to her feelings on the matter. Amanda only appears expectant, not impatient, and before he can ask for it she suggests the three former band members take some time alone to mull over the idea.
“Laurel and I have a few things to take care of, so you needn’t feel rushed,” Amanda says and spirits Laurel away as smoothly as she’s stage-managed everything else.
“Proper pimped, we are,” Lane says once the women have left the room.
“I was thinkin’ railroaded, but your description’s better,” Colin says.
“Whatever you’re callin’ it, what’re we gonna do about it?” Jesse says.
Although his mind’s already made up, Colin keeps them guessing whilst reflecting on the last time they were together in one room—a time when they couldn’t be sure he knew they were there, when their presence couldn’t be seen as other than perfunctory damage assessment. Then he reflects on the last time they shared a stage—a time when they no longer spoke to one another unless absolutely necessary. That puts him in touch with something said to Laurel not even two weeks ago when he stated unequivocally that Verge would never again perform as a band. But two weeks ago, who knew that Rayce Vaughn would be found dead on his bathroom floor and his friends and admirers left in great need of a means to express their loss?
“What the fuck,” Colin mutters, “I say we do it.”
“Fuckin’ A!” Lane immediately responds.
Jesse chimes in with similar and they all start talking at once, with the first order of business their mutual desire to hear direct from Chris Thorne’s mouth that he truly is on board. But that will have to wait till Amanda provides them with a number where Chris can be reached, and a glance into the corridor shows no signs of where the women took themselves off to.
“How much time’ll we have to get back up to speed?” Lane says, voicing another concern they all share. And again they’ll have to wait for Amanda’s return, because nothing in the printed presentation mentions a specific performance date. All then that’s left to discuss is where they’ll refamiliarize themselves with the Verge vibe. The obvious choice is Terra Firma, an easy enough commute from Lane’s farm near Guildford and not all that far from Jesse’s place in Farnham.
That’s just been agreed to when the women return. Amanda, attempts to read their decision, darts glances from one countenance to another; Laurel asks flat-out what it is.
“Subject to hearing direct from Chris, what I recently told you would never happen is apparently gonna happen,” Colin answers.
“Oh thank
god
, because that means my next proposal’s got a chance,” Amanda says and goes a bit round-eyed with excitement as she spells out a plan that would see Verge fulfilling the twenty-three date European tour Rayce was set to embark on in a month’s time.
“Bloody hell, Amanda, where
are
you gettin’ these big ideas?” Colin says.
“That’d be my thought,” Jesse says. “Where is Nate, anyway? He must be lurkin’ round here someplace.”
“If you mean Nate Isaacs, I can assure you he has nothing whatsoever to do with these proposals.” To everyone’s surprise, it’s Laurel who answers Jesse, and by the look on her face it would be easy to believe that Amanda engaged her as counsel whilst they were out of the room. “Perhaps no one’s told you and Lane that Nate Isaacs no longer serves as Colin’s manager. Or advisor,” Laurel goes on. “And I think you all should be made aware that while Amanda Hobbs
is
acquainted with the gentleman in question and
has
consulted with him on the practical aspects of her assignment here in London, her ideas are entirely her own and are being exercised independently.”
“What do you mean independently? Are you sayin’ not even David’s in on any of this?” Colin says.
“That’s correct,” Amanda says. “Although I’m working under his auspices and expecting his full endorsement of these projects, I see no point in adding anything else to his already overflowing plate until I’m confident I have something positive to offer. Now, if I may continue, I’d like to present my second proposal—”
“I dunno,” Jesse says. “A onetime-only reunion for a good cause is one thing but a twenty-three date tour’s another. Got my doubts. Serious ones, they are.”
“At least hear her out,” Lane says.
Colin concurs and motions Amanda to get on with it.
She then gives a breathless account of David’s present whereabouts and his activities that include refining refund arrangements for Rayce’s cancelled tour. “Those refunds don’t have to happen and those thousands of fans don’t have to be disappointed if we act quickly to retain those dates and venues,” she concludes.
“If you’re sayin’ you want us to be some sort of Rayce Vaughn tribute band, I’ll have no part of it,” Jesse says. “And I can’t imagine Colin’s willing to front any outfit covering someone else’s greatest hits. Even if they are Rayce’s.”
“That was the reasoning of the now defunct band Rayce would have been fronting. Bringing in another lead singer was never a consideration because that automatically categorized them as what you describe—as nothing more than a cover band.”
Amanda pauses for breath and resumes: “But that’s not the role you’re being asked to take on. You’re being asked to celebrate Rayce Vaughn’s life and give his fans something to cheer about by being yourselves. No true fan of either Rayce Vaughn or Verge is unaware of the influence he had on you as a group, or of the inspiration you provided him, both as a group and as individuals. You could almost look on this as taking up the torch dropped when Rayce was so tragically struck down.”
With that, Amanda gets absolute pindrop silence; no one is breathing very deeply or moving a muscle beyond the occasional blink when she goes on.
“Given enough time and resources, I dare say we could fill Wembly Stadium for a memorial concert and thousands would still be left out. Those thousands have the same need as you. They need to pay homage and reconcile themselves to the loss. By giving them what they need—at twenty-three concerts throughout Europe—you’ll be accomplishing the same for yourselves. You’ll be getting back everything you give them.”
Jesse, who has scowled throughout her pitch, brings out a butane lighter that he ignites and holds aloft in traditional fan manner—in traditional torch manner.
Lane grimaces a bit and gives a strong nod.
Colin checks Laurel for signals. None are forthcoming. He’s on his own. “Have you got a number for Chris?” he asks Amanda. “And after that I’ll want a word with David.”
