Chapter 4

Three days had passed since Charlie first came to the hospital. Slowly he started to remember the circumstances surrounding his arrival. He could remember the fights, the drinks, and reaching the hotel garage. Past that, the only other memory was vomiting on to the hospital floor and then the room turning to black. The nurses and doctors had told him the highlights – bus crash, hitting the pavement, broken leg, mild concussion, messed up shoulder, scraped face – but he wasn’t allowed to look in a mirror, and had only recently started taking walks around the hospital with a physical therapist.

The pain from the walking was fairly intense, and they told Charlie that feeling the pain was a good sign that things were working, nerve-wise. He had enough experience under his belt to tell him that it was only going to get harder and more painful
before he would be finished, healed, and back to some semblance of normal.

One day in the therapy gym, Charlie was using an arm-cranking type of machine, to limber-up his healthy arm. While using this equipment, an elderly man was assisted into the gym by a young male nurse. He walked with the help of a cane, and seemed to be physically capable of guiding himself into the room – Charlie didn’t know why a nurse needed to assist him, but figured it was hospital policy. The old man was eased into a stationary bike next to Charlie, and the nurse told him “Bob, this is Charlie. I want you to use the bike for about five minutes, ok?” Bob nodded at Charlie, then waved his hand to the nurse. “I’ll be right back, Bob. Five minutes,” and the nurse walked into a neighboring office.

The first few moments were silent as Bob worked up speed on his bike. Charlie was rotating the device with his hand and looking at his arm, when Bob spoke up. “What happened to you?”

“Oh,” Charlie was caught spacing out, and took a second to comprehend the question.

“Well, I was in a car accident. My arm is a mess, among other things.”

“That’s a common thing to happen in car accidents, becoming a mess,” Bob offered. “I’m here for my hip. Second time, got it replaced with titanium now.”

“Oh, how did you break your hip?” Charlie asked.

“You know,” Bob slapped his hand on his head. “Being blind ain’t a good thing when you get to be my age. Tripping and falling ain’t so harmless anymore, you know?”

Charlie nodded, then realized that Bob couldn’t see this gesture. “I see,” he said, feeling meek at the unfortunate pun. “I mean, I understand.”

Bob laughed. “How old are you?” Bob asked.

“I’m 42,” Charlie paused. “I guess I have to ask how old you are now.”

“You don’t have to, but it’d be fair,” Bob said with a grin. “I’m 78, going on 79 next month.”

“Do you remember how you tripped, Bob?”

“Well, Charlie – right? Charlie, this cane usually keeps me from tripping and making a klutz out of myself. But one day, I thought I could just make a trip to the can without it. I mean, as many times as I use the can I figured I should know how to make it there and back without the cane. I didn’t figure on the cat being in my way, damned animal.”

Charlie again nodded, but remembered to hum in agreement this time.

“So, with the cat there, I stepped right on her tail. She goes off in one direction, and boom I hit the floor. I knew right there, ‘there goes my hip,’ I said.”

“Is it painful?” Charlie asked. He could see how stilted Bob’s movement were on the bike; as he pedaled his leg went three-quarters of a rotation, then Bob had to push to make it all the way around.

“Oh, yes. I wouldn’t ask for this kind of pain. I’m just glad I don’t have any breathing problems. You know, it’s one thing to get into an accident like this, but when you have other problems that get, um,” Bob paused in thought, “exacerbated by these stupid accidents, well – that’s where the real problems start.”

Charlie meditated on this for a moment. “You mean, like other illnesses?”

“Like pneumonia, or diabetes. That’s how us old folks die. Not because our hips fracture or our knees go out. Nope. That’s just the beginning. You get laid up in bed for weeks or months at a time, your lungs get week and you die from a flu. Or your blood starts to clot, and you have a blood vessel break in your head. Sorry, son, too much for ya?”

Charlie was thrown back that Bob could pick up on the fact that these details were a little too harsh for him to hear this early in the morning. “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, your arm slowed down a bit there,” Bob answered. Bob’s nurse came out from the back office now and walked up to their bikes.

“How’s it going, Bob? Get your joints loosened up? Ready to try some work on the rubber bands now?” he asked.

“Hell, what else have I got to do? Right Charlie?”

“Yeah, you said it Bob,” Charlie replied.

The nurse rolled his eyes while he looked at a chart he was holding. “Ok, Bob, let’s go now.” He held his arm out for Bob to grab on to, and Bob raised himself up from the bike with some difficulty, using his cane for another source of leverage.

“See ya later, Charlie. Nice talking to you.”

“You too Bob. Don’t let these nurses bore you too much,” he said to Bob as he walked away. “Fucking bastards,” Charlie thought. “Just give the old man a swim in a nice warm pool and let him be. Stupid chimps with clipboards.” Charlie imagined Chad walking in from the gym office, with his clipboard, and telling Charlie to get ready to go work on his strength training. He scoffed at the idea.

After his work in the gym, Charlie was met in his room by Sheila. She had heard about the band’s decision to go on without Charlie, indefinitely. However, she and Frank had decided that the stress that Terry caused Charlie in the beginning of this ordeal was enough for now, that it would be better to let Charlie know about his decision after his release. What she couldn’t count on was Charlie’s reaction, and the fear of him being devastated again was something she couldn’t bear.

Instead, she had decided to work on building up Charlie’s confidence as much as possible before he found out, selling him on the idea of building a solo career for himself. “You’re still pretty young, you know,” she would tell him. “You’re still a draw out there for the crowds, people love you and your personality on stage. Maybe you should think about touring with your own band, not Accelerator. Switch it up.
Being off the radar screen for the time being, you can emerge and do something completely different if you wanted to.”

These conversations weren’t long lasting, as Charlie would flip on the television, or tell Sheila that he had to pee, or that he was hungry. He didn’t want to think about work, the stage, touring, getting back on a crappy bus for months and months. Today, she new, he would know why she was feeding him these thoughts. He was going home to complete his recovery.

“I have a surprise for you, Charlie!” she said as he walked into the room, using the crutch she had fitted with a fuzzy pad for his armpit. “Here, set down the fuzzy crutch and let’s talk.”

“You’re not going to tell me you’re pregnant, are you? Cause I don’t think I could handle another big scare right now.” Charlie’s humor, though dark, was an offering to Sheila, in appreciation of her good humor and mood.

“No, I’m not pregnant, my god,” she said.

“Oh, well, I’m not pregnant, am I?” Charlie retorted.

“Well, looking at the belly you’ve got under that robe, you could have fooled me.” The joke was getting on Sheila’s nerves, so she jumped into her announcement. “You are going home today, you old goat.”

Charlie did not have the reaction she had imagined. He leaned over from his bed to the nightstand and grabbed the television remote control. He turned on the set, and laid back into the bed. “Great,” he finally said, “what time do we leave?”

She crossed her arms and looked at her feet. “Well, don’t jump up and down. You’ve only been in this place for the three days - I guess you don’t want to come home? Want to spend some more time eating the great hospital food, do you?”

“Oh, don’t be a drama queen, alright?” Charlie said. “I want to go home, but how am I gonna do my exercises?”

“We’re getting the arm crank, and some strength training machines installed at the house right now. You’ll recover at home.”

Charlie turned off the set, and looked at Sheila. “Who is going to help me? I can’t just figure out what I’m doing on my own, She.”

“Charlie, we’ve got your physical therapist to recommend someone in the area who will do house visits for you. This isn’t a big deal, darling. I’ve got it all figured out, ok?”

“What time do we leave?”

“Any time you want,” she deadpanned back to him. Sheila picked up her purse and walked to the door. “I’m going to see the doctor to tell her we’ll leave in an hour, alright?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, and left the room with the door opened, something Charlie couldn’t stand.

Sitting in the bed, with the sounds of the busy hospital coming into his room, Charlie suddenly felt ready to bolt out of there. He sat up, looked at his mangled clothes on his weakened and stitched up body, and headed to the bathroom. Standing at the sink, he stared at the wall in front of him. He could feel the bristles of a beard starting to form on his face. He touched his hair and could feel the bandages taped to his forehead and wanted to see what was under them. “This is ridiculous,” he said out loud to himself. He pushed the call button next to the toilet for the nurse. Several moments later, the nurse entered his room.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Clark?”

“Get me a mirror, please. And do I need to shave?”

“Hang on a sec, ok?” she said, and turned to go to the central nurses station. Charlie followed her to the door and watched as she walked up to a senior looking nurse, said some words, and saw as they both looked back at him. The senior nurse handed the other a hand mirror from some cart, and the nurse headed back into the room.

“Here you go, Mr. Clark,” she said as she handed the mirror to him.

“Am I some sort of freak? What’s the big deal about giving me a mirror?” he asked exasperatedly.

“Oh no, Mr. Clark, it’s nothing like that,” she immediately answered back. “I’m sorry if you got that impression. You have some large scrapes on your face. Your family was worried that you may feel discouraged about the healing process if you saw them, and the stitches on your face, so we didn’t want to offer you a mirror.”

Charlie held the mirror to his face and adjusted it so he could take in the whole visage at once. He looked ruddy and pale, as he had imagined. He slowly lifted the tape off of his cheek and peeled it off his skin. “Is it ok to do this?” he asked the nurse.

“Oh, that’s fine – I have to change your bandage today, anyways. Need some help?” She leaned over his face and slowly worked to remove the rest of the tape and gauze. She stood back and said, “There you go.”

Charlie took a breath and brought the mirror up to his face again. There was a large, dark scab on the left side of his face, and several stitches near his left eye.
“There, nothing terrible at all, like I said” the nurse offered to him as he examined his face. “You should heal up very nicely, Mr. Clark. Dr. Heter had a facial surgeon do your stitches, and the scab will probably be gone in a month or so.”

“Thanks,” Charlie said. He was distracted by his image in the mirror, and couldn’t imagine a scab the size of a dollar bill healing up in just four or five weeks. “It’s been how long? Just a couple of days, right?” The nurse nodded in agreement. “I barely recognize myself.”

It wasn’t true, but he thought she needed to hear it so she would leave him alone with himself. She walked out and closed the door.

Charlie walked back into the restroom and stood over the sink, underneath the light bulb, to better examine his face. He traced the lines of age around his eyes and his mouth, getting reacquainted with the marks and smudges. He touched the stitches, giving his skin a pull and a tug with one finger. He expected it to hurt, since he hadn’t touched it before, but there was no special feeling to it at all. Smiling and making faces at himself, he noticed the poor sight of his hair. He touched his head and messed his hair up with his fingers. This motion sent a pang of pain down his shoulder and into his hand. “Shit,” he said as he winced and dropped his arm. It was the shoulder that was injured in the accident, and for the moment he had forgotten about his injuries and lifted up his arm. Suddenly he felt angry at Sheila for keeping mirrors away from him.

What was the point of sheltering him from himself? Why shouldn’t he be able to see the scabs, the stitches? He wasn’t going to go ballistic and damage his face anymore than it already was. Now he was acting like some sheltered, wild person who had never seen their reflection in a mirror. He felt humiliated at the idea of being fascinated with his reflection, and upset that his hair and face should be so unkempt. He tossed the mirror on to the bed, and called the nurse in again. He told her that he wanted a hair cut before he left, and asked her to use the clippers to shave it all off.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Definitely,” he answered. “And do it before my wife comes back, hurry!”

The nurse obliged, and after she stepped out to retrieve some clippers and a comb, she returned and set to work. In a matter of seconds half of his head was shaved like a peach’s skin. “You have a nice shape to your skull, sir,” she commented. “No big bumps or strange marks, you know?” Charlie sat silently through the process. This was a re-birth to him, coming out of the cocoon of the hospital and emerging back into the real world, free of the history that had followed him into this place.

“There,” the nurse finally said, “all gone – I mean, all done!” She handed him the same mirror from before, and he took a look at her work.

“Nice job, ma’am,” he said to her. “I usually get some frou-frou guy in a leather jacket to cut my hair, but you do a nice job too!”

She smiled and left the room, returning with a brush to sweep the hair off of his shirt, and another nurse came in to sweep the floor. She said, “I could sell this hair on the street to some of your fans, you know!”

“Oh, yeah? What would the going rate be nowadays?” he asked.

“Well, since your all finished with Accelerator now,” she said, “I would assume quite a bit, right? For the nostalgia factor.”

Charlie was silent. “Finished with what? What did you say?”

“Oh, you know, when they announced you were quitting Accelerator, everybody went nuts – buying up all the albums and posters and stuff. It was crazy. It was all over the news, but you probably new that.”

“Oh, yeah,” was all he could say. “Yeah.”

The nurses left, and Charlie sat in the chair beside his bed. He sat, and waited for Sheila to reappear. He ran through his thoughts, thinking about the nurse. Could she be trusted? Perhaps she misunderstood what had happened – sure, the tour was probably canceled and the new album talk that had been circulating was probably cut off completely. But, leaving Accelerator? The idea of it happening without his knowledge was ludicrous. He wanted to give doubt to the nurse’s story, and yet he couldn’t help but think it was probably true. Why would she say something like that if it wasn’t true? Would Sheila really keep this a secret, too?

Sheila walked in to see Charlie standing up from the chair. “Oh my god, your hair! What happened? Are they giving you chemo now?” She was smiling, but ingenuinely. He knew the drastic change was probably hitting her like a brick.

“No, not chemo. They gave me a mirror and I could see what a mess my hair was. I looked like a homeless bum. I can’t believe you let me look like that.”

“Oh, you did not look like a bum,” she said. “It was more of a rugged look, sure. But not terrible.” She walked up to him to touch his shorn head.

“I see they took your bandages off, too?”

“Yeah – are you surprised?”

“No, not unless you did it yourself – they said it was ok, right?”

“The nurse said they needed to be changed anyways, so she did it for me so I could see what was going on under there,” he pointed to his cheek. He paused and stared at her, waiting for her to say something, almost wishing she would just come out with the truth instead of making him have to ask her about the rumors he’d just heard. But she didn’t say a word. Instead, she started to pack up his things and made small talk.

“I got a prescription for some ointment, you know – for your face? And we’ll have to stock up on some pain medicine for your leg and shoulder,” she was folding up some of his clothes. “Chad’s been making arrangements for your therapy at home to continue, and I think they’re giving us a wheelchair to use for you at home so you don’t put too much pressure on your leg.”

Charlie was too blown away from the odd news the nurse delivered to him, and too wiped out from the pain of his shoulder and leg, to start in with a line of questions for Sheila. He thought, “I’ll wait and see how long she’ll keep this from me. What is it going to take for her to level with me?”

As they left the hospital, Charlie wore his fresh bandages and sunglasses, but covered his head with a hooded sweatshirt. Sheila walked next to him as Chad wheeled Charlie around the hospital corridors and to their waiting car. Nurses waved goodbye, and his doctor gave Sheila some notes about his care. No fanfare waited for them outside, and the ride home was quiet enough for Charlie to nap all the way there.

Two days had come and gone since Charlie learned the truth behind Sheila’s pep talks surrounding a solo career. No mention of the truth came from Sheila’s mouth, and Charlie was tired of waiting. After finishing his breakfast in the dining room of their home, he turned to her. She was seated next to him at the table, reading a romance novel that she picked up in the hospital gift shop. He cleared his throat to grab her attention, but it didn’t work. He sighed, and she finally looked up.

“What’s the matter? Didn’t like the omelet?” She asked.

“It’s was delicious, but that isn’t what has my stomach upset.” She put the book down and stared at his face.

“Are you feeling ill? What’s the matter?”

“Oh, stop it,” he said, and threw his napkin off his lap and on to the table. “You know what’s the matter, you liar.”

Her mouth opened a little, and the color rushed from her face. “What are you talking about, Charles?”

“And don’t start taking that tone with me, ‘Charles,’ I won’t have it anymore.” He stood up, grabbing the table for support, and she stood up to try and help him. “Don’t you touch me! How long were you going to wait, Shelia? A month? Were you thinking you could just fix me up only to hit me with it when I started feeling better?”

“Honestly, Charlie – what are you talking about?”

“God, you can’t even act dumb. Stop it! I’m talking about the band!”

She froze, and found her way back to her chair. “Charlie.”

“The nurse said to me that day I left that I had decided to quit Accelerator. She even made a joke about how she could sell off my hair because of it.”

Sheila grabbed the edge of the table, as if she had let go she would start spinning into orbit around the room. “I’m sorry, Charlie,” she said meekly.

“Sorry? Is that all? What, did you think it would make me heal faster if I went on thinking that being a solo act was my idea? If I didn’t know that I was pushed out of the band for being in an accident it would make it easier to swallow? How was I supposed to learn about this? Over tea with Frank and the boys?”

“I don’t know how you were supposed to learn about it, Charlie,” she looked up to his face and tears started to flow down her cheeks. “I didn’t think about telling you, I just,” she swallowed hard, “I just wanted to get you home and to keep you from thinking about it. We’ve fought so much over the band, how they treat you, mistreated you, I thought it was best to not get into this with you until you were back on your feet.”

“Right – doing this for my benefit. I see.” He was still raving mad, face bright red, standing behind his chair holding on to it’s back to remain stable. “You’re a piece of work, Sheila. I should have known this was going on from the start! Whose idea was it then, to pull me out of the band? Was it you?”

“Charlie,” she started to say that it was the band’s decision, but couldn’t think of how he would react to that news. She continued, saying “I think it was a decision that your doctor said would be best for you. You shouldn’t be on the road after a concussion, and everything else!” She felt relieved, thinking that it was all over. Doctor’s orders, and that’s final. He would surely go for that.

“Are you kidding me? Sheila, the money-hungry manager of all time, letting a doctor tell her that her meal ticket doesn’t have a job anymore because of a minor accident? Bullshit, Sheila – more bullshit.”

He started to hobble away from the table, and Sheila jumped out of her chair and ran to stand in front of him. It was pointless, she decided, and now he needed to hear everything.

“You want to know the truth? You stupid bastard, you want to know what I couldn’t tell you? Fine, here it is! And you can call Frank, Terry, all those assholes up to confirm it since you don’t believe a word I say anymore.”

She stopped, stood in front of him breathing hard. “Well, go on! Say it!” He shouted this while leaning in to her face.

“They didn’t want you anymore!” She was sobbing, stilting the words as they came out of her mouth. “They didn’t want me, and that meant they didn’t want you anymore either. Terry said you were causing all sorts of problems by keeping me around, and got everyone to figure that ditching you and finishing up the tour would keep them paid and keep me out of their pockets!”

Charlie shook his head, “Unbelievable, Sheila. That’s not true. Frank wouldn’t agree to keep the band going without me.”

Sheila just nodded her head at Charlie, while her mascara began to stream down her face again. “It’s true,” she repeated, “it’s true.” Charlie tried to push her out of the way from the door, and she hollered at him “You think I would make up a story about how I got you out of the band? You think I would make this up, shame myself like this in front of you?” Charlie stopped in his tracks. He turned to face her again.

“Think about it Charlie – I’m the other crutch in your life now.”

He walked out of the dining room and locked himself in the library.

Chapter 3

Sheila was talking loudly on her cell phone in the lobby, waiting for the doctors to report back to her about Charlie’s condition. The other families, also waiting on baited breath from their doctors and nurses tried their best to ignore her volatile conversations with various concert promoters.

“I told you, god damn it, when the doctors tell me how he’s doing I’ll let you know! He got his by a bus, for Christ’s sake! What do you think he’s going to be able to do? Two shows back to back from his fucking hospital bed?”

She abruptly hung the phone up as Chad approached with two cups of coffee and a list of people to call and things to cancel or rearrange on his clipboard.

“She, drink this, it’ll help you get through the morning a little better,” he said as he handed her a cup.

“Thanks – shit, what time is it anyways?”

“Um,” he looked down at his watch and in the process spilled some of the coffee in his cup. “Crap! Ugh, it’s 7:30.”

“Wow,” she took a sip. “This is really hot coffee, Chad.”

“I’m sorry, do you want some ice?”

“No, no! It’s good, you know, it’s waking me up. I haven’t been up this early in a long while, at least before this tour. And certainly not in a hospital waiting room.” She paused, not expecting Chad to respond but instead to fight back tears. It wasn’t working.

“Oh, She, I’m so sorry,” Chad offered. He put down his cup and took hers from her.

She crumbled into his shoulders. “Shit, Chad, I don’t know what’s going to happen. What if he’s totally destroyed, you know, body cast for months or something?” Chad handed her a tissue from a nearby table. “Thanks,” she said, then glanced around the room. “They keep these things in good stock in here, don’t they,” she said as she looked at the five boxes of tissues strewn about the room in various places.

“Well, if there’s one place where you’re likely to get emotional, this is it,” he said.

“Sheila, don’t worry, ok? This is the best hospital. It’s a University hospital, you know? They’ll have three doctors working on him. And knowing Charlie, he’ll pull through. He’s probably got a nurse’s phone number by now!”

The joke cracked a smile on Sheila’s face, allowing her to trade sobs for some giggles. “Thanks, Chad. Well, it doesn’t help to have these bastards calling me every five minutes asking me if the show is going to happen, if Charlie can hold up his end of the bargain. Fucking vampires!” A nearby mother whose little boy was playing in the same room shot Sheila a dirty look. “Sorry,” Sheila offered her, “I’m sorry.”

Chad handed her back the cup of coffee and took his cell phone out. “Just let me deal with them now, ok? Where’s your phone?”

“No, no Chad. I’ve got to talk to them personally. It’s the only thing I can really do now. Thanks, though.”

“Ok. Well, I’m gonna see if I can get us some food, alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Chad left the room, Sheila sitting in the same spot, her head turned towards a large window that displayed the city outside. The sky was a drab grey, the sun barely noticeable through the overcast clouds. All the buildings, no matter if they were brick, concrete, or shingled, took on this grey veneer from the sky. Appropriately somber, Sheila thought, for the occasion.

Frank walked in just then, looking completely wiped out. His hair, normally combed back from his forehead and pulled into a tiny ponytail at the back of his head, was now wildly loose and stringy, framing his chubby face which was looking as grey as the city.

“Hey, Sheila, how are you holding up? Any word?” he asked as he sat down next to her.

“Frank – nothing. I am going mad here just waiting. They keep saying ‘another ten minutes Mrs. Clark,’ ‘another hour Mrs. Clark.’ I can’t stand it.”

“I know what you mean,” Frank patted her shoulder. He held his cell phone up to her, saying “I’ve got twenty five voicemails from various news stations, and another thirty three from our promoters asking about him. It’s sick, but this is the kind of attention that bands pray for. To get it this way…disgusting, you know?” They both shook their heads.

A person cleared their throat and Frank and Sheila looked up to see a white coated woman, with a bun of red hair and thick black glasses hanging from a chain around her neck, standing beside their sofa. Sheila and Frank simultaneously stood up.

“I’m Dr. Heter, Mr. Clark’s doctor. Are you Sheila?”

“Yes. Mrs. Clark,” she answered. “This is Frank Pepper, Charlie’s band manager.” Frank shook hands with the doctor, and they sat back down, the doctor sitting on the coffee table in front of them.

“Would you like to talk here, or in my office?” Dr. Heter asked.

“Oh, please, just tell us now – I don’t know if I could even get back up let alone walk someplace right now,” Sheila said.

“Alright, well,” she cleared her throat, “Charlie has suffered a great trauma to the right side of his body. Since the bus hit him like a wall, the impact hit him in the shoulder, hip, and his upper legs. Thankfully, the bus was going at a slow rate of speed, and was stopping before the impact occurred. However, he has broken bones and there was internal bleeding, which we were able to control.”

While she spoke, Sheila’s head slowly dropped to her chest. Frank noticed this, and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him for physical support.

Inside, he was thinking that he wish he could crumble with her into a little ball on the floor. Outside, he was offering nods and raising his eyebrows at the doctor’s words, trying to appear cognizant of what she was saying.

Dr. Heter continued, saying “We expect him to make a full recovery. However, he isn’t going to be able to walk out of here tonight. There is a long road of rehabilitation that must be crossed before Charlie can get back to normal. And, this is very important,” she paused to catch eye contact with Sheila, “please do not be shocked at his appearance, he’s quite scraped up. It might be a good idea to keep him away from a mirror while his face is still,” another pause, “raw. I’m sorry, I don’t want to frighten you. He’s well bandaged and we’re giving him the best care here. He did black out after the crash, and his blood alcohol level was high. So we’re giving him fluids and watching his brain activity. His concussion was very small, though.”

Sheila interrupted, bursting out with a whimper, and whispering out “Concussion? Oh my lord! Charlie!” Her sobs were muffled in Frank’s corduroy jacket.

“There, there She. It’s gonna be alright. Can we go see him now, doctor?”

“Yes, let me show you to the room.”

The doctor opened the door to a private room, light with a solitary fluorescent light at the foot of Charlie’s bed. He was propped up slightly, his face wrapped in gauze that covered the left side of his scalp and down to his chin. “I thought he was hit from the right side – why is the other side of his face bandaged up?” Frank whispered to Dr. Heter.

“That’s where he hit the pavement, sir. It scratched him up pretty well. He’ll probably have bruises on the right side of his face, but there were no broken facial bones, thankfully.”

A moan emitted from Charlie’s mouth. Sheila and Frank rushed up to both sides of his bed. “We’re here now, Charlie. Me and Sheila,” Frank said.

“That’s right baby,” Sheila said, chocking back her sobs. “It’s gonna be ok now, darling.” She reached up to his head and brushed a little tuft of his brown and grey hair with her fingertips.

“Charlie, how are you doing now? Are you thirsty?” the doctor asked. He nodded slightly, and she brought Sheila a pink pitcher of water with a straw in it. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” Sheila said. “Here baby, let’s take a sip.”

Charlie’s head ached horribly, but the pain in the rest of his body had subsided enough from the various drugs and restraining bandages that the thought of a headache seemed almost pleasant. To him, it meant that he must be feeling better, to be able to feel his head let alone know that it ached. He wanted to tell Sheila to turn off the light in the room, to leave him alone and to have the hospital keep things quiet.

He wanted silence so he could think about how he ended up in this bed, why he was having trouble talking, why Sheila was crying and why Frank looked like the blood had rushed out of his face. He took a breath, heard a beep coming from beside him, and exhaled slowly. He swallowed sharply, and felt how dry his throat was. He leaned over to the pitcher Sheila was holding and tried to line his mouth up with the straw.
She guided it into his lips, and he took several quick sips. He felt a sharp pain in his side and winced away from the straw.

“Charlie, do you know what happened?” Dr. Heter asked. “Do you know where you are?”

His half-open eyes looked at the red head standing before him, and he wondered who she was and why she was wearing those terrible glasses. His staring indicated to the doctor that, indeed, he didn’t know what had happened, what was happening.

“You were in an accident. You were hit by a bus at the hotel’s parking lot. Do you remember?”

Still staring.

“Charlie, you were hit but you’re ok now. You are in the UCSF intensive care unit. This is your wife, and, uh,” she looked at Frank for help.

“It’s me, love, Frank,” he said, leaning into Charlie’s face. Charlie answered him with a sigh.

“I’m going to leave you with him for now, but just so you know you’ll need to leave him in about 20 minutes. He needs to sleep and visiting hours don’t really start until 9 am.” The doctor left the room.

Charlie closed his eyes, while he tried to take some deep breaths. The beeping continued to coincide with his breaths. He opened his eyes and tried to see where the sound was coming from.

“Baby, it’s alright. It’s just a machine. It’s probably there to make sure that you are still breathing. It’s alright, Charlie,” Sheila said.

“I’m gonna let you two be alone for a while,” Frank said. “I’m gonna go tell the boys about you, Charlie, and let them know you’re doing alright, ok buddy?” Sheila waved at Frank as he left the room.

She turned back to Charlie and reached for his hands. “I’m so sorry we had that stupid fight last night, darling. It’s so stupid now, to think about it. I can’t even remember why we fought in the first place. I just want you to be ok. I don’t want anything bad to ever happen to you.”

Charlie heard this and tried to laugh. He had a joke in mind, and wanted to tell her that it was too late for that, the bad stuff already happened, but he couldn’t get a sound out of his throat.

“What’s that, babe? Are you trying to tell me something?” She asked him.

He continued to try to eek out a sound, any kind of noise, but nothing would happen. He kept trying, but all he could hear was beeps and pumping sounds. He started to panic, thinking about never being able to speak, or to sing, again. His eyes got big, and his breathing started to get very rapid. Sheila looked at him, scared at what was happening. She stood up and started to shout. “Somebody – ANYBODY! Get in here! Please! HELP!”

A nurse nearby came running in, looked at the machines and at Charlie, pushed some buttons to stop the beeping, and asked Sheila what happened.

“I think he was trying to say something, but he couldn’t and then he started to breath really fast,” she was speaking very quickly and breathing hard herself.

“Oh, it’s ok. Sit down please,” the nurse could see the panic spreading in Sheila’s face now. “He’s got a very dry throat and probably won’t be able to talk for a few hours, probably not until he’s gotten some more sleep and has some more water in him. Here you go, take some more sips out of the pitcher, dear.” She offered Sheila the pink water pitcher again to give to Charlie, which she did. He took some quick sips.

“Now, you’re gonna have to get some more water in you than that!” the nurse said. Charlie laid back in the bed again. The nurse lowered the head of the bed down all the way. “I think it’s time our guy here got some sleep.”

“Really? Ok, yes, I think so too,” Sheila envied the control and composure that the nurse was exhibiting, when she thought for sure Charlie was going through a heart attack. She wanted to show the same fortitude to Charlie, so she said, “You heard the boss, mister. I had better go now.” She felt her throat get sore with a huge lump, and her eyes started to feel swollen with tears. “I’ll be in the cafeteria or something, it’s past my breakfast time.” She peered down at him, but he was already asleep. She looked up at the nurse, who was reading some chart or print out with numbers and lines, and leaned in to give Charlie a kiss on his lips. The nurse was still reading when Sheila left the room.

Terry, Aaron and Twig were sitting in a private waiting room several floors below Charlie’s hospital room. Frank had found Tim near a pay phone, and Tim led Frank to the other guys. As he walked in, their faces immediately turned to his.

“Well, I saw our man just now,” Frank announced.

“What’s the story? Is he still in one piece?” Terry asked.

“Yeah, how is he? What happened?” Twig said.

“I’m gonna kill that fucking driver,” Aaron offered.

“Alright, let’s sit down now. Come on you guys, take a seat.” Frank sat down on the coffee table, partly imitating Dr. Heter’s position earlier in their waiting room upstairs. “You too, Tim. Sit in and hear this.”

After everyone found their seats and got adjusted to listen, Frank told them the run down of the injuries. He then told them that Charlie was awake in the room, and was able to sit up and drink some water. “The doctor says he’ll need some rehabilitation to get back to normal. He’s scratched up on the entire right side of his face, from the pavement the doctor said. And he’s got his arm in a sling, and his leg is in a total cast from the hip on to his toes. Poor fellow.”

Aaron and Twig both meditated on the pictures they had of Charlie in their heads, sitting in a white room immobilized and helpless. Then they turned their attention to Terry, who was uncharacteristically silent.

“Terry, you alright?” Tim asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what, might I ask?” said Aaron. “About how you were a total asshole to Charlie and how you pushed him to drink himself into a stupor and walk in front of a bus?”
Aaron stared defiantly into Terry’s eyes. Terry was frozen.

“You’re blaming me?” He said. “Is that how you feel Twig? How about you Frank? Tim?” He looked at their faces one by one. “I’m the Judas, then?”

“I don’t think so greatly of you, Terry,” Twig said. “You’re no disciple in my eyes, good or bad.”

“You jerks, knock it off!” Frank interrupted. “Your buddy for the last two decades and more is upstairs in a bed unable to fucking scratch his own chin, and you’re down here pointing fingers? Is that all you can do to help him out?”

“No, I can think of something else to do to help him,” Terry said. He leaned in to Frank’s face and whispered, “Let’s keep going and replace him.”

Aaron and Twig looked confused. Terry repeated his comment a little louder, “Replace Charlie.”

“What? Are you crazy? Replace Charlie, the lead singer of Accelerator since – ever?” Frank was scoffing.

“Well, Frank,” said Tim, “it might not be such a terrible idea.” Frank stared open-mouthed at Tim. “I mean, it’ll get us rid of Sheila, and Charlie doesn’t seem to be able to cope with things as they are now.”

Aaron stood up from his chair and walked over to a window. “Aaron, what do you think about this scheme?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know, Frank. Charlie, all banged up like he is, I don’t think we could do the tour, at least not for a few weeks, right?”

“The promoters have been calling Sheila nonstop, Frank,” Tim included. “They are pressuring us to keep up the contract, and if we loose out on the tour cash, well, you know we’ll be in a tremendous hole.”

Frank turned to Twig and asked “Twig, are you going to say anything?”

“I don’t know, it’s Charlie – you know? He’s like a brother to me. But, then again,”

Twig looked over to Terry, “you have a point about getting Sheila out of our hair. It’s a mean way to do it, but…”

Terry cut him off, “But nothing, man! Sheila’s a waste of my time, and a waste of yours. If it wasn’t for them being married and all, I would be trying to get Charlie to dump her and go on with the tour when he’s all healed up. But let’s face facts, she isn’t going anywhere.” Terry threw his arms up, “I tried to convince him that she was messing with his head earlier. He even tried to get her to leave him after the show tonight, and look where we’re at now.”

Frank walked over to the window, standing next to Aaron. “Is he right, Aaron? Would we be better off leaving him out for the tour?”

Aaron turned his head to Terry and said, “Is this your solution? Is the problem really Charlie?”

“Like I said,” Terry answered him, “it’s not Charlie – it’s Sheila. She’s the leech here. And Charlie’s never going to give her up.”

After a cigarette break and a trip to the coffee vending machines, the band was in agreement. Accelerator would continue without Charlie, and would finish the tour without him. No replacement would fit, but Terry would fill in the vocals, and Frank would hire back-up singers to round out the sound.

Frank looked into Charlie’s eyes. Charlie looked at Shelia’s face. She was staring at the floor. Tim was sitting, expressionless, at the dressing table – didn’t move a muscle in the last twenty minutes or so as Charlie had told them about Sheila’s plans to make millions for him and herself, of course, while the other band members made a fraction of that same amount. Frank was, surprisingly, calm through the whole telling.

Charlie couldn’t understand it. “Frank, aren’t you pissed?”

“What? Pissed, Charlie?” Frank took a deep breath. “I know all about this. I know about the plans Sheila made, and I know about how you were supposed to get the bulk of the royalties and, shit, the bulk of everything. Hell, I even know how much Sheila makes off of you and you don’t even know that!” Frank was smiling, but he was disgusted and felt like puking. He turned to look at Tim and said, “Tim, I wanted you to hear that because now I won’t be the only one defending Charlie to the rest of the band.” Tim nodded, blinked, and stared back at Charlie.

Charlie’s eyes were bloodshot, his lips were stretched thinly shut, and his arms were crossed at his chest. He leaned his head back to rest on the sofa, and let out a sigh. “I know you knew everything Frank, but I mean, aren’t you pissed off about it all? How could you let this happen to the band?”

“Let this happen?” Frank walked over to the table and grabbed candy and a bottle of champagne. “Charlie, I helped it happen. I know you’ve got the goods, and if I let you go like Sheila threatened to do if we didn’t swing the books your way, then Accelerator would be nothing more than a hotel band playing in Vegas every Sunday night for tips! I knew, it, and Sheila knew it. What could I do?” He knocked back some M&Ms and swallowed them with champagne like they were pills meant to cure his aching head.

Sheila stood up and tugged at her shirt, straightening the hem and making sure that her outfit was in order. She wanted to be sure that she looked perfect for what she was about to say. Turning around to face the room filled with men who knew all her machinations and motivations, she said “That’s it then. I’m out. I’m leaving and I’m not coming back and you, Charlie, are all on your own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, She?” Charlie stood up from his spot on the couch and walked towards her. Shelia extended her hand and looked away from Charlie, saying “No, no, it’s gone way too far. You don’t want me anymore, and you and Frank and Tim all think I’m shit anyways so what good can I do you here?”

Frank glanced at Tim, as they both could so clearly see what was happening. They inwardly had the same hope, that Charlie would for once see right through it all. The best they could wish for was that he would at least make her stop this self-flagellation so that they could hit the road without this drama over their heads.

Charlie froze in his steps, and looked over to Frank and Tim, watching them for a response. “Do you – do you guys think she’s shit?”

Frank shook his head immediately, knowing that at best it would help speed this scene along. Tim took his cues from Frank and followed with his own head shaking. Charlie was satisfied, knowing that the guys were doing their best in this situation. “Love, they don’t care about all this! You’re my wife, I love you! You can’t leave!”

“Oh, baby, I love you too,” Sheila walked towards Charlie with her arms extended, embraced him and kissed his face. “You know I just wanted the best for you, and for me of course, cause we’re in this together, we’ve got to take care of each other baby.” She was whispering in his ear, speaking so fast that he couldn’t pick out what she was saying, but he could hear the loving tones of her voice. “I got so mad too, but now that it’s all clear we can go on. Come on darling, let’s get our stuff outta here. You got a big show tomorrow. The Fillmore! It’ll be spectacular.”

“Yeah, that’s right Charlie boy, you gotta hit the road now,” Tim said, finally speaking up. “Let me get your stuff together and make sure everyone’s all fixed up and ready to move, right Frank?”

“Yeah, thanks Tim. Charlie, you all right now?”
Frank looked worried and a little nauseated.

“I’m ok now, thanks Frank. You look a little green though, you want some help?” Charlie saw Franks cheeks bulge a bit, and worried about what might be happening was happy to hear a bit of gas come out of him. “Feel better?” Frank nodded.

Tim left the room and Frank went with him. Charlie went to the bathroom to wash up a bit, while Sheila got on her phone and rang Chad up with some orders. She put her arm around Charlie and walked him out the back door to the tour bus, still telling Chad which person to call in San Francisco about their arrangements, what restaurant needs to be reserved for her and Charlie, etcetera.


Back on the bus, Charlie and Sheila moved to the far end, into the suite set up for them again with Sheila’s great taste. Satin sheets on a queen sized bed, walnut veneered paneling on the walls, a mini bar above the bed, television set at the foot of the bed, intercom speakers and a radio nearby so they could communicate with the driver without getting out of the sack. Shelia plopped Charlie on the bed and started to undress him, kissing him shoulders and neck, while her hands worked to remove her blouse and bra. She took his pants off, and rubbed the soft skin of his back. They made love slowly, letting the movements of the bus take part in the affair, laughing when they went over an unexpected bump, or when a passing car recognized the bus and let off some honks. Just as Shelia rolled off of Charlie, the bus stopped. “Here already?” he asked.

Sheila leaned over and grabbed the radio, “Harold, are we in San Francisco?”

“Yeah, right I wish She. Nah, we’re stopped in San Mateo for now. We’ve got another hour to go but everybody was hungry so I pulled off.”

“Oh, for fucks sake, I’ve got reservations at Aqua!” She waited for a callback from Harold, but there was silence. She reached for her phone to tell Chad to change the plans. Charlie was already out the door, ready to eat. “I’m staying here!” she shouted after him.

The bus had stopped at a diner, and the entire band and crew were descending upon the frightened staff of the little restaurant. This was a part of touring that always made the band laugh – frightening the hell out of waiters and restaurant managers with the massive amounts of starving people contained in their caravan.

Inside the diner, the cook, four waitresses and one waiter, and the manager came out to take the orders from the group. “All hands on deck!” shouted on member of the crew, which was answered with all sounds of laughter. Charlie and Terry sat down at a table with Twig, Frank and Aaron. Aaron was telling Frank about the new rhythm section he and Twig were laying out for a new song, temporarily named Fight and Fury.

“It starts out with me slapping the string G, and Twig is just tapping the high-hat keeping the same beat, tsh-tsh-tsh-tsh, tsh-tsh-tsh-tsh. We want to start it out slow and quiet, you know? Letting the pressure build up, and then Terry can come swinging in, shredding the hell out of his guitar.”

“Sounds, um, furious Aaron,” Terry said, hoping the pun wouldn’t go unnoticed. Twig responded by throwing a toothpick at Terry’s head. “Though you’d like that one.”

“Genius, Terry,” Aaron said. “So, speaking of fury, Charlie, is everything square with you and the missus?”

“Yeah,” Charlie was staring out the window, watching car after car of people pull up, and seeing the packed restaurant, turning away. “It’s all figured out now. It was just, you know, one of those fights.”

“Well, that’s why I ain’t married,” said Terry, “so I don’t have to have ‘one of those fights’ with a woman. I can just play my guitar and have fun and that’s it. None of this other monkey business.”

Charlie turned to look at Terry, but Terry was planting his face in a menu. “What is that supposed to mean, huh?” Terry wasn’t budging from his menu, and just shrugged his shoulders. “You want to make a comment like that to my face or are you just gonna hide behind your menu then?”

Frank sensed the escalation, and waved his hand in front of Charlie’s face, saying “Cool it! Cool it, both of you! Let’s just eat, you’re just both hungry that’s all. Damn, I feel like I’m on a freaking talk show tonight with all the drama you’ve got me dealing with! Enough already – where’s the waiter!”

The guys ordered their food, chased it down with beers and milkshakes. Frank proudly stood up to the crowd and shouted “Don’t worry ladies, I’ll pick up the tab – but you know I expect something for this! Tits or ass - don’t leave me empty handed again!” The crowd of rowdy men laughed and cheered, and the restaurant’s staff stood like beaten and exhausted soldiers, watching as the group filed out of the restaurant in another swarm. The manager handed Frank the bill, being sure to point out their policy that gratuities are included in groups over 15.

Back on the bus, Harold was sitting at the helm, getting ready for the word that everyone was in and ready to head out. Terry headed for a spot at the table, and Charlie grabbed a seat sitting opposite to him. Frank walked by and sat on a nearby bunk, opened up the tour schedule book and made some notes to himself. Twig and Aaron plopped into their own bunks, Aaron still tweaking his ideas for his “Fight the Fury” song, and Twig watching television.

“So, Terry, what’s your problem with Sheila?” Charlie started right into it. The bus lurched forward and started off, and Charlie and Terry both swayed with the movement.

“You know, man, she’s not my problem, she’s your problem,” Terry answered him in a more than accusatory tone. “You’ve got your hands full with that one, so maybe you should be talking to her and not to me right now.”

“We’ve got our shit figured out, man,” Terry leaned in to make his point heard without shouting it across the entire bus. “But it seems to me that you think you know better than we do. So here’s your chance.” Terry eased into the seat and opened his arms up, saying “Let it all out, let’s get this over with.”

“You really want it to happen now, do you?”

“I’m asking for it, aren’t I?”

“You’ve got it,” Terry replied. He looked around the bus making sure that Sheila was at least out of earshot – he was picking one fight and didn’t need another one to spring up unannounced. Assured that the coast was clear, he started in on Charlie.

“She’s got you by the balls my friend. We all know what’s up, and believe me you aren’t getting nearly what you think you are from her. Sure, she’s milking this cow for all it’s worth, skimming royalties for you, getting endorsement deals from companies you’ve never even heard of. Did you know you’re in an ad for a Japanese beer?” Terry’s eyes widened at Charlie, but Charlie just sat there, still as a rock. He was telling himself “This is Terry’s problem, and he needs to get it off his chest. Frank would do this, make him spill his guts to clear the tension from the air. This is going to help us all, letting Terry get it out. I’m just gonna ignore him, but act like I’m listening.”

His strategy was only one-sided, however. He was ignoring Terry, acting like he was interested in what he was saying, but Terry could read it on Charlie’s face. He knew he wasn’t responding appropriately. Maybe he needed to be shocked?

“Charlie, you’re a pawn in her game. She’s got houses you ain’t never seen, man. I bet she’s screwing that little note-taker Chad right now, in your own bus!”

Nothing from Charlie told Terry that he was making a dent. But as stubborn as Charlie could be to the truth, Terry could keep throwing curve balls at him.

“I know she’s your wifey and all that, but you have got to realize that when she’s done screwing me, Twig, Aaron and Frank over, you’re next. She’s gonna hang you out to dry. She doesn’t love you.”

Charlie twitched.

“She doesn’t even care about you. She was gonna peg you as a murderer tonight! She would hang you in a second if it meant that she’d get a royalty check from the spectacle.”

Charlie looked away, staring out the window at the passing cars’ headlights.

“It’s always ‘Charlie, darling,’ when things are going smoothly, but any sign of trouble and you know what we all get ready to hear? ‘Charles! Charles!’ You’re a fucking puppet!”

“That’s it!” Charlie stood up, almost falling into the table before he grabbed on to a side rail. “You’re so fucking jealous of Sheila and me you can’t stand it! You and your nasty whores that you hook up with at every show! I wonder how many trips to the clinic you’ve made? How many nurses have the same story – they got to give Terry from Accelerator a shot in the ass for this disease, or that disease! You’re a freaking Petri dish!”

Terry stood up, grabbed the same rail and leaned into Charlie’s face. “There you go, defending her and your goddamned relationship again. Don’t you see it? That’s all you’ve got now!”

With this, Frank finally took notice and stood up, made his way to the table, and slapped the side of Aaron and Twig’s bunks. They also poked their heads out, Aaron swung his legs out the side of his bunk, and Twig climbing down to get a better look at the situation.

Frank spoke up, “What is wrong with you two now?” Charlie and Terry ignored his interruption. Things were rolling and they weren’t about to stop.

Terry continued, “You are a washed up, two-bit relic from the old days. People come to our shows not to hear Charlie Clark sing, but to see how he can still sing after all these years!”

Charlie retorted, “There you go again, trying to shift the focus away from your crap string work onto my vocals! Well if you’re so wonderful, what the fuck happened with Combustion tonight, huh? Who started us out in the wrong key, and then switched rhythms right in the middle of the second verse? That wasn’t me, you fucking rat, and you know it.”

“Maybe someone told me to make it a little easier on someone’s old vocal cords, cause they’re so worn out he can’t reach the E that Combustion is written in?” Terry continued to stare into Charlie’s eyes, and saw him glance over to Frank’s face.

“That’s right, you bastard. We’re all trying to work around your washed up talent, because we if we don’t keep pulling in the crowds, keep selling the tickets, then we don’t get a vacation home! We don’t get race cars, designer sheets on the tour bus bed. We don’t get a reason to sleep with the washed up singer that feeds us and clothes us. Get it?”

Charlie was turning pale and sat down again. Frank walked up to him, saying “No man, take it easy alright? It isn’t like he’s saying. Terry, shut the hell up you bastard!”

Terry wouldn’t hear it. “She’s got you by the balls, and you don’t want to face it. If her mockingbird don’t sing no more, then she’s gonna head home. So you’d better believe that she’s gonna get us all to work together to make something out of what you’ve got. What you’ve got left, that is.”

“What the fuck do you care if I perish out there then?” Charlie wasn’t shouting, not because he didn’t want to, but because the wind had been knocked out of him at this revelation. “Why do you need to help me out if you’re so fucking perfect, right?”

“Because you’re the draw, like I said. We’ve got to keep this circus up for as long as it’ll go. No one’s getting any younger, and you’ve always been the poster child for Accelerator. What, we’re going to tour with someone else at the lead? Yeah, right. See if that’ll get us in the Fillmore, or on the Grammy’s. Or even on a fucking PBS pledge drive!”

Aaron and Twig were standing with their fists at their side, but Frank had wedged himself in between the two groups. He turned around to them and said “Tell Harold to step on it, I want us in a hotel in no less than 20 minutes.” Aaron and Twig looked at each other and decided to give in to Frank’s request.

When Frank was satisfied that the two were gone and out of the sphere of this angry fight, he stepped up to Terry and pushed him into a chair. “You son of a bitch! Why don’t you just go get drunk and pass out already! Who do you think you are, talking to Charlie like that?”

Charlie slammed his hand on the table and said, “Well at least someone here has the courtesy to tell me that I can’t hack it anymore, Frank! What were you gonna do, make us go on until we can’t play live anymore, and then stick wax figures up on stage and play a tape for us?” Charlie stood up and headed to his room.

Frank called after him, but didn’t follow him into the suite. He didn’t want to be there when Sheila heard about what went down. He focused his attention back to Terry.

“Why the hell did you say that shit to him? Do you feel better about yourself now, because I could give you the same speech about how we’re all working around your faults too, you know?”

“I’ve had it, Frank! I can’t take him, and that bitch, and her stupid dog-boy Chad anymore! They suck the life out of us – you, me, and everybody here! And for what? So they can take money from me? From Aaron’s mother? I don’t need it anymore! I can go play in any club in this country, in this world for that matter. Anyplace would take me in, and I could make a mighty fine living off of my own talents. I don’t need you or her skimming off of them.”

“Then go off, Terry!” Frank was fed up, settling two fights in one night was more than he needed at his age, and something he’d hoped the years would take out of these guys. “I don’t need to chase around women at clubs, offering them free drinks to let you stick your tongue down their throats, you know?”

Terry laughed this off, and noticed Aaron and Twig making their way back to Frank. They looked surprised to see Charlie gone.

“Where’d he go?” asked Aaron.

“Out the window for all I care,” Terry replied.

“What about the hotel, what did Harold say?” Frank asked Twig.

“Oh, well he says no more than five minutes and we’re there,” Twig answered. “No traffic this late.”

“Well, at least something’s going smoothly tonight!” Frank threw his arms in the air and went to go check with Harold, to make sure that they were headed for the correct hotel, and to call the hotel to announce their arrival.

Twig asked Terry, “What the fuck did you tell Charlie that shit for, Terry?” Twig sat across the table from Terry, as Aaron stood next to Terry’s seat and looked down at him waiting for his answer.

“You guys are so full of it, too, you know. You would have told him the same things if you had half the balls to do it. He needs to wean himself off the tit, you know?”

Aaron smacked Terry across the back of his head, causing Terry to spill his glass of gin and tonic on the table. Twig stood up and said, “Thank god we don’t have to sleep in this fucking bus with your ass tonight.” Terry sat there staring at the spill, not moving for fear of instigating a fight with two more people than he could take down.

Harold stopped the bus at the hotel’s garage, jumped out of the seat and headed to the side of the bus. He was met by the hotel’s fleet of bellhops, and Frank followed him out of the bus and met up with the concierge, Tammy.

“So nice to have you all here with us tonight,” Tammy said to Frank. “I hope the trip went smoothly for you from – where were you?”

“We were playing a gig in San Jose. It was smooth, the trip wasn’t so much. But oh well, we’re here now. So tell me, Tammy, what do you have here for us tonight and tomorrow night?”

“That’s right, two nights. And I have three suites that sleep four for your crew, and also six presidential suites for the band and management, correct?”

Frank continued to do business with Tammy, while Harold tossed the band’s luggage off to the bellhops and their luggage carts. Once those were full and the carts were being rolled up the rooms, he let Frank know. Frank asked Tammy for the room keys and headed back on to the bus.

“Alright everybody, I’ve got your room keys,” he announced to the bus. He started with Aaron, offered him a choice among the six keys, and continued on to Twig, then Terry, and finally reached the door to Charlie and Sheila’s suite. He knocked three times, and said, “She, Charlie, I’ve got your room key.”

Sheila poked her head out, gave Frank a look, and snatched a key from his hands. He paused, then turned away and got back off the bus. He started shouting for Tim to come and choose among the last of the keys.

Sheila watched him leave, turned back to Charlie and said, “I’m going up to the room now. It’s number,” she looked at the key, “1654, ok?” Charlie said nothing, and was laying face down into the pillows on their bed. “I’ll see you up there and we can just go to bed and figure out what to do tomorrow. I love you, Charlie.” With that, she left the bus and got into the service elevator to go to their room. She rode up with Frank and Tim, and the elevator ride through all 16 floors was silent.

Meanwhile, Charlie had decided to start to make his way up to the room before the bus got taken into some underground, locked garage for the remainder of the night. He took a deep breath and pulled himself out of the bed. His head started to make the room spin, and his head tilted sharply to the right as he tried to follow the room with his eyes. He put his head between his legs, and looked down at the small, empty bottles of whiskey he had just polished off before they reached the hotel.

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, wait, I lost track,” he said, as he tried to tally up his consumption. “That’s 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…11. What the hell? How do you even buy 11 little bottles of whiskey? Shit. You’d kill a smurf-village with that. Ha!” His joke made him feel a little giddy, and he stumbled his way out of the room and through the bus corridor. He was looking to see who was outside the bus that could help him to his room, but no one was around. He yelled out for Harold, Frank, but there was no answer. He put his sunglasses on to keep from wincing at the bright fluorescent lights in the garage.

He stepped off the bus and started to walk towards the hotel. He closed his eyes and took a huge yawn, giving off a loud moan. Which is why he didn’t hear the blaring horn from the crew’s bus, right before it crashed into him.

Chapter 1

Charlie walked off the stage and headed towards his dressing room. The performance was obligingly given a huge send-off from the crowds; whistling from men, women flashing their various body parts, and cheering from everyone. He grabbed a bottle of water and a bottle of Bailey’s from a waiting assistant, and stormed into his dressing room. The door to the room had a sign written in red ink, stating “PRIVATE – STAY OUT!!” which was written in a fury after a show in Toledo five years ago, when Mitch walked in after that show to find three women partying with a roadie. The roadie was fired, the women stuck around long enough for Charlie to grab and squeeze to his heart’s content. That is, until his wife –and manager – walked in. Sheila wrote the sign, and instructed her assistant to use it at every gig, for the rest of their lives, or perish.

The dressing room was set up according to Sheila’s tastes for Charlie. It was not a band room, by any means. There was one love seat for Sheila and perhaps the band manager to sit on while they talked to Charlie, as he was prepped for the shows. He would sit on the barber’s chair or stool – whatever the venue provided – to get his hair done, to watch his clothes be picked out, and to look at other people in the mirror as they walked in to give him their best wishes. There was a moveable rack of clothing at the side of the room, a table set with flowers (nothing too fragrant to set off Sheila’s allergies) to offer a homey feeling, and an assortment of refreshments and beverages to quell his stomach before the show. This assortment was replaced with water, alcohol, liqueurs, and candy when the show was over. “Keeps the performance ‘real’,” as Sheila had said.

Charlie walked in and automatically headed for the table. Sheila followed him into the room immediately, along with her assistant Chad, who clutched with white knuckles a clipboard close to his heart. Sheila stood at the dressing table, staring at her face in the mirror. She adjusted her earring, rubbed some mascara off her eyelid, and looked squarely at the back of Charlie’s head in the mirror.

“What the fuck was that, Charles?” she demanded.
“I don’t fucking know, why don’t you ask Terry the same question?” he retorted. “He was the one who fucked up the intro to Combustion, and then Twig went off and tried to reign him in, and I got completely muddled and lost it! Alright? That’s what fucking happened!”

She could see the veins popping out of the back of his arms in the reflection. She glanced over to Chad, without turning her head, and gave him a wink. Chad immediately turned around, walked out the door, and quietly shut it behind him.

“Now, baby, you need to relax, I know it wasn’t your fault that the set got totally shredded to shit. I just wanted to hear what you had to say about it.”

“Really? Is that what you want to hear? What I have to say?”

“Yes. And stop repeating me for Christ sakes.” She could sense her face turning red, and glanced back to her reflection.

“Well, She, I’ve got to tell you, then – I’m fucking over this shit!” His eyes were flooded and red, and he refused to look at her, to show her his emotions. She knew how vulnerable he felt at the end of a show, and she knew how to play on his emotions to get what she wanted out of him. He wasn’t going to let that happen tonight. He took a quick swig of Bailey’s, chased it with some whiskey, grabbed a handful of M&Ms, and belched.

Sheila pulled out two tissues from the dressing table and walked over to Charlie. She knew he was chocking down tears, and she wanted him to know that she knew. He looked over his shoulder at the tissues, scoffed and walked into the bathroom, quickly shutting the door behind him.
Through the door he shouted out, “Stop pitting me against these guys, you got it? I see how they look at me now, they know I make a shit-load more than they do and I don’t even write most of these songs! So if you don’t start making some good shit happen for a change, to get me in good with them, then I’m out!” His voice was getting louder, uncontrollably more irate with every breath. “YOU HEAR ME! I’M FUCKING OUT!” He kicked the door with this last word, and Shelia actually flinched.

She was so accustomed to rants and tantrums, having been in the music business for a good twenty years, but had never seen Charlie injure anyone, let alone a stationary object. It was rare for a lead singer in a hit rock band to be so non-physically ‘expressive.’ Violence was all the rage among young, upstart hit makers. That’s why she liked Charlie; he wasn’t the typical star. He was fresh, and had his moments, but on the whole he was likeable and mellow, and seemed to thrive under her management. Seven hit singles since she started to watch his career.

When she informed him that she wouldn’t be able to help him professionally anymore, since they’d become romantically entangled and furthermore found out by the band’s manager, Charlie appropriately took the hint and proposed marriage to Sheila. Frank, Accelerator’s manager, was properly fearful when Sheila came into Charlie’s life, and even more frightened when they got married. But the band had hit the big time with Frank, and even stuck with him when things got rocky, so he figured he’d be in for life with the band even if Sheila was going to be the one speaking for Charlie at band meetings.

“O.k., Charlie, I’ll just tell Frank that, and the guys can figure it out from there.” Her comment was met with silence.

“Alright, Charlie?”

Nothing.

“Charles…”

He recognized the maternal, authoritative voice behind her words. Especially when she called him Charles. It infuriated him for all these years. He swallowed his pride, let her have her dominance over him – she seemed to know best what to do, so why bother picking a fight over something like his name? But now, standing over the toilet in the tiny bathroom he felt his anger fill the room to capacity, and couldn’t stop the bursting rage inside of him.

“Charles!” she finally shouted.

His head, arms, and fists shook as he let out a primal scream. The roar could be heard beyond the dressing room walls, out into the backstage halls, and into the band’s sitting room where they sat and drank and made out with groupies. Frank’s head lifted up from a pile of travel documents he was reviewing for their trip to San Francisco. He looked over to Chad and asked, “Who the hell is that coming from?” Chad shrugged his shoulders, looking innocently ignorant, as Sheila had trained him through the last five years of his employment with her.

Frank immediately blew off Chad’s response, having seen it so many times before, and
followed the sound of the bellowing beast. He was surprised to find it coming from Charlie’s room, and even took a second to look around to make sure there wasn’t a fight brewing among some roadies nearby. Almost assured that it was Charlie’s yell, he carefully opened the door, just in time to see Charlie bolt out of the bathroom and lunge for Sheila’s throat.

“Holy shit! Charlie!” Frank shouted. “Stop it! Stop it!”

Charlie was bright red, and Sheila’s eyes were bugged out as he strangled her. Shocked to hear Frank’s voice, Charlie stopped and immediately withdrew his hands from her throat. Sheila sobbed and laid out on the love seat. Frank grabbed hold of Charlie’s arm, both men panting with excitement. The band, Chad, and the stage manager Tim flooded into the dressing room. Tim slammed the door shut and told Chad to “guard it with your life.”

“Screw you!” Chad responded. “Sheila – are you alright?” He rushed to get near her side. Twig, the band’s drummer, grabbed Chad and gripped his shoulder so hard Chad gasped in pain.

“Don’t you fucking move, got it?” Twig whispered into Chad’s ear.

“Yeah, yeah! Let me go!” Chad was wincing. Twig released him and gave a satisfying look to Tim. Chad rubbed out the pain on his shoulder, still holding the clipboard with his other hand.

“Everybody get the fuck outta here!” Sheila shouted. Tears had stopped streaming, but her mascara was visibly running down her cheeks. She was embarrassed to look so weak in front of this group of men, guys she’d made sure knew who the big fish was (her) and who the big fish looked out for (Charlie). She could imagine her status dwindling away as quickly as her makeup. She looked up at Charlie, who was straddling her body on the sofa. In the silence of the shocked crowd she slapped him square across the face. “You bastard!” she shouted at
him. “How dare you try to fucking kill me!”

“Sheila, I – I don’t know what came over me,” he stammered out at her, restraining himself from touching his red-hot cheek. “I got so pissed off, oh my god, I don’t know what I was trying to do.”

“You were trying to kill me, that’s what! I hate you! I made you and I can destroy you, you got that!” Sheila pushed him off and got to her feet. Frank stepped out of her way, and turned to make sure that the other guys moved as well. She walked over to the dressing table and got more tissues to wipe her face clean. “Chad, come here!”

Charlie pleaded with Frank, “Frank, you gotta tell her, I didn’t mean it! I was out of control, you know? Oh my god. Come on, babe!”

Frank walked over to her side and looked at her in the mirror. “Come on, She, you know Charlie wouldn’t hurt you. And look, you’re fine – no marks, you can breathe.”

Sheila rolled her eyes at Frank. Chad brought her lipstick and mascara. She started to put these on, and told Frank, “He’s just scared, I know. I play this game better than any moll or wench out there. But he’s really pissed,” she took a deep breath, “because these boys can’t get their shit together out there.” Charlie heard this, and looked up at Terry, Aaron, Michael and Twig. They stared at Sheila and slowly turned to look at Charlie. He was as white as a ghost.

“That’s not true, Sheila…” he protested in a whisper. “That’s not it at all.”

“Oh come on, Charles, get with it! You know you’re the center of everything out there! You said it yourself to me tonight – Terry fucked up the intro to Pay Day, and so did Twig. Don’t lie about it now.”

“Did you really say that, Charlie?” Twig looked at him and raised his eyebrows, and Terry and the others looked for his response as well.

“That is not the point, and you know it Sheila!” Charlie couldn’t believe that after the fighting and the shouting she could start another fight in front of everyone. “You want me to lose it again, don’t you?” he asked her.

“Charlie, pull yourself together man,” Frank said. He went to go hold his shoulders, but was pushed away.

“No way, she wants me to kill her! She’s totally fucking nuts!”

“I told you that from the beginning,” Terry whispered to Frank. Sheila heard this and marched up to Terry, her hand cocked back to slap his face. Charlie stepped in and grabbed Sheila’s hand. Chad was holding his clipboard like a teddy bear, frowning as if he was watching his mother get in a fight.

“Don’t you touch me, you asshole!” Sheila shook her hand free and swatted at his chest. Frank came in and took hold of her other hand.

“Everybody get the hell out, except you Tim – come on, move it,” said Frank. Slowly the room cleared out. When everyone had left, Frank and Charlie let go of Sheila, and moved her to the sofa. Tim grabbed a water bottle and a beer from the table, gave the beer to Sheila and the water to Charlie, and sat at the dressing table.

“Listen, you two, what the hell is going on? What started this whole mess?” Frank looked alternately between Charlie and Sheila, and patiently waited for a answer. After about two minutes of silence and some sighs, Charlie finally explained what the fight was all about.

©mabissam