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.