Page 24 of Down Beat
Driven.
Some of the words journalists used to describe the self-made musician who packed up everything he owned at age nineteen and moved halfway across the country with nothing but his like-minded brother and a dream. His attitude makes you think he’s been gifted everything on a silver platter, but reading his biography shows his history has been anything but easy.
Seeing the sad reflection in his eyes as he traces the fold of my bedding with his finger is proof enough that something dark lurks beneath the surface.
“I think I have everything I need.”
He nods, snapping out of his trance to look at me. “Cool.”
“Why did you do this? Really?”
He frowns, and then stands to move to my bedroom window before he answers. “It seemed like the best I could do after Rick fucked you over.” He keeps his gaze trained on the street below, but I don’t need to see his eyes to know. I recognize a lie when I hear one. “They’re back out the front again.”
“I’m good to go.” I snatch up the handle and wait for him to exit first.
Like hell I’m leaving him alone in my bedroom where he could pry through things. For all I know he’s one of those celebrities who feel they’re entitled to anything they want, that boundaries don’t apply.
He walks ahead of me, hands in his pockets as though the stance is his fail-safe, as we head for the door. “Do you really think you’d be no good as an opener?”
Isn’t it obvious? “Rock fans don’t usually dig classical music.”
“So sell it to them.” His eyes are hard and full of challenge as he waits for me to do the usual once over of the apartment before I lock up. “You must be okay if you can sell a hundred tickets on your own.”
“Gee, thanks,” I sass as I shoo him out the door.
He shrugs. “Just stating facts.”
Could I do it, though? Could I sell his audience something so vastly different to what they like?
“What else?” I frown a little as he continues to stare at me while I check the door’s locked.
“Nothing you need to know right now.” He grins, leaning his shoulders against the wall, head turned to look at me. “You ready to practice?”
“To an empty auditorium? Sure. To you? No.”
He huffs a laugh, taking my violin from me. “And there you go again, doubting yourself.”
“You’re asking me to basically audition before you, Rey. I think nerves are a natural response to that.”
“And playing for me would be an issue because …?” He gestures for me to go first down the stairs.
“You’re like, super successful compared to me. What I think is good is probably shit to you.”
“And yet I’m a nobody compared to the likes of Metallica or The Rolling Stones.” He sighs behind me as I start the last flight. “We’re all somebody and nobody all at once, Tabby.”
I might have only known this guy twenty-four hours, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out the Rey the world knows and the Rey his bandmates are privy to are two entirely different people. Something tells me that the more time I spend with him, the more I’ll get to know the real Rey.
A part of me worries that I might like it.
“You’ve got an answer for everything, huh?”
“When it’s not about me, yeah.” He reaches up to slip his shades on before we exit into the sunshine. “Come on, kitty. Your entourage waits.”
I chuckle as I follow Rey into the street, the vehicles parked obnoxiously in the traffic again. He passes my violin to Pete, who holds the door for us, and then climbs into the SUV.
Just play the concert, Tab. It’s one night. By next week, Rey will be back on the road, and I’ll be a fading memory of some girl he met along the way.
I don’t have to like the guy. He doesn’t have to like me.
Don’t overthink things.
For all I care Rey could cross-dress in his spare time and sing nursery rhymes to an array of teddy bears. All I need to know is regardless of the fact my music style couldn’t be further from his, he’s more than quadrupled my audience tomorrow night.
And for that, I guess I could be a little less whiney and a little more grateful.