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.