[center][b]SEVEN YEARS PRIOR[/b][/center] [i]“Rob…Rob? HEY!”[/i] Rob jerked up on his seat—a velvet drummer’s throne which matched the rest of MAE’s aesthetic. Caleb—[i]or was it Calvin?[/i]—was bleating in his IEM. Mae’s lapdog and tour manager. [i]”Start the fuckin song,”[/i] he spat out. Rob could’ve sworn he felt it spray on him even through the earpiece. Shrugging, he bent down to the iPad built into his kit and pressed the button marked ‘Faux Saints.’ Over the massive, four-story tours, the first few moments of the song began to play. In his ear, Rob could hear the metronome click-clacking away, counting in the guitarist and pianist about forty feet ahead of him. And ahead of them, he could faintly see Mae’s silhouette. She was giving him a glare before turning back to the audience to raucous applause, cooing out the first few lines of the hit song. As she began to sing, the stage lights plunged everyone into darkness except for Mae. She stood in a single, small spotlight–bathed in navy. Most of the song would play out this way, so Rob had about three and a half minutes before anyone could see him. All of that in mind, he bent down and popped the valium he had been saving for this moment. He could hear the radio click on in his headset, but soon click off. He knew Calvin wouldn’t call him out on it. He sold it to him. *** After the set, Rob retreated silently into his dressing room. He had a separate one from Mae–mostly because Mae’s herself had two of her own. One which was used and the other which was designed to be filmed in. Mae had given her full self into social media—making sure to plaster her name and image from anything from Maybelline ads to phone-in appearances with Fallon. She was having her moment, definitely. From the start of the tour, the crowd only grew more feverous, and the paparazzi more violent. A few days ago, they had to arrange additional security for her, the guitarist, and the pianist. Not for Rob, though. Rob was the problem child during this tour. Rob “broke the illusion,” as the tour manager would say. Mae looked, dressed, and acted single. So having Rob–a run-of-the-mill California kid with a side band that looked comparatively tiny—hanging around Mae when she was in MAE mode hurt sales. To her credit, Mae hadn’t ever really been mean about it. In fact, Rob had no doubts Mae was faithful to him and mostly in love with him. To be fair to her, it was hard to find time to cheat when you’re every waking moment is broadcasted and discussed by the various press teams that surrounded Rob every day. Tonight, however, he heard a knock on his dressing room door, and saw a familiar brunette head pop in through the doorframe. [i]“You too busy?”[/i] Rob looked angrily to the uninvited guest for a few moments, before the two of them burst out into simultaneous laughter. “Fuck off and come in, K.” Rob shot back. Kate was part-time assistant to Mae and part-time press manager for Rob. Most of the time, she was part-time assistant to Mae, because–let’s face it–Rob hadn’t even really needed a manager. It was a call made by Mae at the behest of the accounting firm they used, which specified that it ‘helped with the year-end yield.’ Not that Rob minded. Kate was a tiny bundle of fire, and damn fun to be around. He handed her a beer as he cracked another one open. “Are you old enough…?” he mocked, pointing to the beverage. Kate was quick to roll her eyes and start drinking. After a sip, she continued on as if the comment never happened. “I’ve got an interview for you. 15 minutes max. They want to talk life on the road, dating a pop star, and catch up on In Bloom.” “I thought I told you I don’t do In Bloom interviews.” “You did,” she said, pausing to drink, then continue: “So I told them not to ask you about In Bloom. But [i]I’m[/i] asking [i]you[/i] to start talking In Bloom with him.” “And why would I do that?” Kate laughed. “You need to cover for her, dude.” Rob blinked hard, twice, in a futile effort to regain a bit of sobriety. “What did she—” “Do you want to know?” Rob thought for a moment. “…can I get the short version?” Kate sighed. “Well, the headline they told he they wanted to run was called ‘Jane’s Addiction,’ so if that tells you anything—” “—I get it,” Rob shot back. “We’ll do a few questions at the end. Nothing on her. Only on the legacy and the big hits.” Kate nodded, and tapped out a multi-paragraph text message in the blink of an eye. “You got it, boss.” If Jane was here right now, he didn’t know if he’d punch her in the throat. Or kiss her. But what he did know is–despite the seething anger that would swell in him when someone mentioned her to him–he’d do what he could from a distance. He didn’t want details. Details hurt. But when Kate mentioned Jane was ‘in the news,’ Rob would come out and mention In Bloom again. And thanks to the power of Mae and his proximity to her, it would always dominate the airwaves for long enough to provide that cover. Every time he did so, he’d tell himself he’d never do it again. And every time Kate mentioned her, he’d fold like a paper tiger. “This is the last time,” Rob said, with a feigned sense of finality in his voice. “Yeah, boss,” Kate replied, eyes still on her phone, texting his interviewee. She barely hid the sarcasm from her tone. “The last time.” [center][b]PRESENT DAY[/b][/center] A pounding noise at the door broke Rob from a weak sleep into a typical morning hangover. Rob’s eyes cracked upon after he rubbed at his forehead for a moment. A familiar blonde form entered his room. “Mmmma—” Rob started, before recognizing the form as Jane. And [b]not[/b] his ex-wife. “Mmm?” he uttered as quick as he could; raising his tone a bit and blinking himself awake. [i]”Nice save, dipshit,”[/i] he thought to himself. But thankfully, Jane didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy…asking him to dinner? Wait. [i]What?[/i] Before he could reply, Jane was quick to duck her small form back out of the room. He could hear her pattering footsteps enter her room. Then a faint, but slightly audible, muffled scream. Rob then fell back into bed. He would deal with this shit when he was actually awake. -- Around 11:30, Rob made a beeline for the basement, and finding the studio empty, immediately began to practice. Was he avoiding Jane? Probably. But he wasn’t going to admit that anytime soon. Instead, Rob flew through his set of songs that kept him too pre-occupied to think. [url=https://youtu.be/AyzxNSAXNEU?t=49]TRACK 1R by ’68[/url] blasted through his headphones as he beat out the noisy fills. Once that got old, he turned to a metalcore song with some [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keYP-L13d2c]aggressive drum fills[/url] to keep warmed up. Realistically, he doubted any of this would be relevant for whatever Jane had been cooking up. But then again, after so long…what [i]had[/i] she been thinking of bringing to the table? Their old songwriting process used to be so simple. Someone (usually Jane, sometimes Sam) would come with a melody, and Austin and Rob would fiddle around with it. Eventually, the magic happened, and a song was born. But now? He wasn’t even sure. He had been so engrossed in his song that he nearly dropped his sticks when he heard a crude, distorted bass rip through his monitors, playing along with his beat. He pulled out his monitors and looked up to see Austin. He looked almost pissed. “Don’t stop, asshole,” Austin yelled out over the ringing cymbals. His glare was so sharp even Rob couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. “I had something.” “It wasn’t my beat,” Rob replied, but Austin simply shook his head. “Then change it a little. Keep going.” Rob thought for a moment, before turning back to his kit. He turned off the song in his monitors, leaving him only with him and Austin in the feed. He counted off in his head and opened with a simpler version of the same drum beat. Immediately, Austin came back in with his new melody. Usually, Rob had known Austin to stick with the usual stuff—nothing fancy, but nothing easy either. Stuff that would usually develop out an idea Sam fiddled with before using his usual power cords. This was different. Austin’s bass snarled and hissed under tearing stress of the aggressive chain Austin had set up. He played with Rob, usually, but would accentuate all the ‘wrong’ beats. In short? It was primal, syncopated, and very different than anything Rob was used to. So he improvised. Rob pulled out a few aggressive fills before setting on something filled with ghost notes and accentuated beats. He would deliberate bend time around Austin’s notes—sometimes changing his accents to almost through Austin off. The effect sounded more like a fight than a song, with Austin and Rob each moving the song ahead of the other person. It was somehow frightening without being too heavy, and the two continued to bounce it back and forth, back and forth, until a guitar joined the mix as well. Looking up from his kit, Rob could see Sam, back in action, looking the least aged of all of them, trying out tones above the fray Austin and Sam were creating. And past them, he could see J—seated where she had last been just a day ago, which she had apologized. Except now, in the midst of all of the noise they were creating, and with the four of them in the same room for the first time in ages, Rob couldn’t help but crack a smile as he looked to her. He ducked his head down, and they continued to jam out the idea for another few minutes before slowly grinding to a halt. Reverb and feedback roared through the room as amps were slowly powered off. Rob reached down and pulled out a towel, wiping his head and ripping off the hat he had on. “Well then,” Sam replied, “I guess that’s the warmup” Jane slipped into the main room after that, and suddenly the work began. -- Hours later, Rob tossed his sticks aside and rose from his seat. It had been a long, grueling session. A mix of old material, some played well, some played terribly, and new ideas jammed out and sorted. No real song had come of the day’s session, and he wasn’t sure how the others felt, but as for Rob, the experience had been a challenge. Some people may see getting back together and returning to an old bike, but for Rob, he felt very much out of practice. The music In Bloom often made wasn’t anything like what he had been playing for almost ten years since the end of the band. As he looked up during the session to Austin and Sam specifically, he saw a confidence he only wished he had. As for Jane? Unreadable, as always. Partially because he kept himself hidden from behind the kit, and partially because he tried hard not to think about her proposition. Yet, when it was all said and done, and the session ended Austin seemed to pull Sam aside, leaving both him and Jane in each other’s line of sight. Rob felt like a teenager again—self-conscious about the piles of sweat soaking his shirt and face. Still, as he caught his breath, he figured it was now or never. “So,” Rob said between breaths, looking to J. “Dinner?” He felt as if he should have regretted the words as soon as he said them, but in fact, he wasn’t sure how to feel. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?