Chapter 6

The crowds were assembled in front of Terry like children waiting for the word of their teacher to be released to recess. It was a press conference he had called, with the mixed blessings of his band-mates and Frank. They requested something a little more low-key, perhaps a press release sent from the label, or perhaps an announcement made during a concert. Terry refused, claiming that since it was his idea and he was going to have to take the flak from this announcement, he should be left to do the dirty work on his own. He was going to announce the continuation of Accelerator without Charlie as a permanent change. The other guys knew it wasn’t dirty work to Terry – it was show-business.

“Hello everybody!” he announced, as if he were addressing a coliseum of fans. “Thank you for coming here today, to my press conference.” He grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewed its cap with great flair, and took a long sip. He loved to make his audience wait with baited breath, and this was a technique he had picked up through his years of crowd pleasing.

“Well, the reason why you’ve all been called to order is because there has been a change in the band’s make up. That is to say that the change you all have noticed – Charlie Clark’s absence – is going to be a permanent one.” Cameras flashed, people made various noises, cell phone buttons were dialed.

“I know very well that this news will come as a shock to our many, many fans out there. It’s shocking to all of us in the Accelerator family, I can assure you. However, with Charlie recovering from his unfortunate accident,” Terry made sure to stare into the nearest camera lens at this point in his speech, “it has been decided that the band should take on a different creative direction.” He surprised himself with the intelligent sounding voice he was able to muster up in this arena of news-people. Usually he had to mumble on about how he loved them, the crowds, and how they were the reason for his being there. But this, the speech, this was a new kind of bullshit; a smarter, wiser bullshit.

“I’ll take some questions, and then some photos, and that’ll be it for now.”

“Terry! Terry! Why drop Charlie?”

“Like I said before, it’s a new creative direction we’re going to try.”

“So you’re writing songs now without Charlie?”

“Yes,” Terry searched for the voice to this question. “We’ve got some things in the pipeline that we’re working on. It’ll still be great stuff, but without Charlie’s flavor, you could say.”

“Weren’t you and Charlie a songwriting duo, Terry?”

“Yes, you could say that. We’ve had some great success under our belts, but I feel confident that we can do fresher things without him, sad to say I know.”

“Terry – over here!” A hand popped up in the back row. “Terry, what does Charlie have to say about the band going on without him?”

“Well, it isn’t something that I personally have discussed with him.” More camera flashes as Terry adjusted his sunglasses. “He’s been talking to our manager, Frank. Frank Pepper.”

“Is Frank here to make a statement about the change?”

“No – I’m all you’ve got baby,” Terry said with a Cheshire’s grin. The crowd reacted as he knew they would, with giggles and guffaws.

“Mr. Friedlander, will you tell us what will happen with the current tour that Accelerator is on? Who’s singing now, and will the tour continue?”

“I am singing for the band now, with back up singers of course,” more laughter, “as I get used to this new role. But I’ve had plenty of singing experience, on our first album Hungry at Home, I provided the lead vocals on that song, one of the first singles to go gold for us. And later, the song I wrote, Confrontation, that was my voice you heard.”

“Yes, but Terry, we love Charlie; wouldn’t you say he was the face of Accelerator?”

“Who said that?” Terry asked, sounding slightly annoyed. “Well, whoever you are, if you think Accelerator was a one man band you are highly mistaken. And you will be proven wrong as you see us on tour, to continue with this gentleman’s previous question. We are staying on tour this year, to promote the album Angry Love.”

“With Charlie’s blessing, right Terry?”

The crowd was silent, Terry pausing to think of an answer to this question. Nothing sprang to his mind, until a camera flash went off in front of his face.

“Charlie Clark is no longer a part of this equation.” The room was still. “Charlie Clark is going to try to do his thing, I suppose, and we will continue to do ours.”

“Which is?” one voice emitted from the room.

“Which is to churn out hits and make people happy. Our fans love us, and we love them,” the old bullshit was starting to look more and more comfortable to Terry, as his spell was getting lost on this group. “Thank you,” Terry stood up from his seat and knocked the microphone down onto the table. Cameras continued to click and flash away as he left the room, reporters shouting more questions at him as he left.

He returned to his hotel room, and had planned before to come home to watch the news reports about his press conference. The experience, however, had left a sour taste in his mouth. Instead, he went to the mini bar and found a good helping of gin and pistachios to satisfy him. After a couple of drinks and some nuts, he slid out of the red leather pants and velvet sports coat he had donned for his appearance. He went to the bathroom mirror and washed the eye liner off, and scratched his scalp. He picked up the bathroom phone and requested a meal from room service – lobster and a Caesar salad, with a bottle of white wine. Then he placed a call to Frank.

“Frank, did you watch it?”

“Yeah man,” he said drolly, “it was about as good as I expected it to be.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Listen, I’ll come up and we can talk about it, ok?”

“Fine,” Terry said, and instantly hung up the phone.

Several minutes later and Frank knocked on Terry’s door. Terry checked the peephole, and let Frank in after identifying him.

“What, who’d you think it was, room service?” Frank asked.

“Actually, yes. Or a pissed off fanatic, you know?”

“Yeah, I can imagine what people are thinking. We’re demonized now, I’m sure.” Frank stepped into the room and plopped on Terry’s large bed. It was a king sized bed, draped in satin and damask silks, with a pillow for every body part assembled in perfect order at the head of the bed. Frank laid out sideways across the mattress, and struggled to pull of his boots.

“I don’t know why you wear those things,” Terry said, waving his hands at Frank’s footwear.

“What? These? They’re more comfortable than the leather chaps you so adore!”

“Why did I let you in here again?” Terry reached for the door handle, pretending to get ready to throw Frank out.

“That conference was a little less smooth than you thought it would be, I’m guessing?”
Terry sighed, and went to the foot of the bed. He sat down and faced the television set. “I didn’t even want to see the coverage of it afterwards.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, darling,” Frank rolled over to his stomach. “We’re just a blip on the radar screen I’m guessing. I don’t think anyone is going to give their left pinky to hear the latest with Accelerator.”

“How much do you want to bet?” Terry was offended at the suggestion that theirs was a washed-up band. With their latest album selling steadily since its release, and the single song from Angry Love, Voodoo Doll reaching the top of the charts, he knew things weren’t as bad as Frank wanted to portray them to be. “You’re just upset about Charlie still.” He leaned over to reach the remote control for the television.

“Terry, you’re goddamned right I’m upset about Charlie. This is like an amputation for me, and for everyone else. I must say, having been his partner for a good 20 years…”

“22 years,” Terry corrected him.

“Right, well, 22 then, you’re handling things very well.”

Terry flipped through the channels, trying to find a 24-hour news station. “You’re right, I am handling things very well, Frank. Because,” he kept clicking through channel after channel, “after 22 years you start to get a little tired of the attention being diverted from it’s proper target.”

“That’s you, right?” Frank rolled back over and grabbed one of the pillows, and started to punch it with his fist.

“Yup, that’s me. There!” Terry found a news station, and waited to hear their story. Immediately the news anchor announced “that an important development had been revealed with the hugely successful rock band Accelerator. Let’s go to our entertainment reporter Jim Sussex now.”

“Thanks Tina. Indeed, just minutes ago we heard Terry Friedland from the band Accelerator announce that the band would not only continue with their tour for their album Angry Love this summer without lead singer Charlie Clark, but that Charlie would be gone permanently from the band. Here’s a clip from today’s press conference with Terry:

“I am singing for the band now, with back up singers of course, as I get used to this new role. But I’ve had plenty of singing experience, on our first album Hungry at Home, I provided the lead vocals on that song, one of the first singles to go gold for us. And later, the song I wrote, Confrontation, that was my voice you heard.”
One press member asked Terry about Charlie’s role in the band, asking Terry if he agreed with the popular assessment that Charlie was the - quote – ‘face of Accelerator.’ This is what Terry had to say:

“If you think Accelerator was a one man band you are highly mistaken. And you will be proven wrong as you see us on tour...”

Well, I’m sure Terry is right; we will all be watching to see if Terry can fill in the void left by Charlie’s absence in a band he represented for the last two decades. We asked some people on the street what they thought of the announcement…”

“Oh, here we go,” said Frank.

“And this is what we heard:

“Charlie, no more Charlie? That sucks! I love Accelerator – I grew up with them. I don’t know if I can listen to songs like Linda’s Eyes with Terry’s voice. That’ll be – weird.”

“Well, to be honest with ya, Charlie was always the reason why I liked Accelerator. But, I’ll buy a ticket just to see what it’s like without him.”

“I’m going to cry! This isn’t the same band anymore! I bought tickets to see them play in Winchester City next month, but I don’t know if I could go without Charlie. I heard about his accident, and this just seems too sad, you know?”

Terry switched off the television. “Crap,” he said under his breath.

“I heard that,” said Frank. “Well, Terry, what did you think? You could just fill in for Charlie and poof make him disappear and no one would care about it? You’re gonna have to figure out how to make this tour work without him.”

“Wrong, Frankie baby – that’s the manager’s job. I went out there and gave them the bad news. Someone has to get the world to like it now. I’m gonna sing my ass off on stage, but you’re the one who has to draw in the crowds now.”

Frank sat up, and there was a knock at the door. He looked at Terry and said “See who it is first!”

“Feeling paranoid?” Terry smirked at him, though he did check the peephole to make sure that it was, indeed, his lobster and salad, and bottle of wine from room service.

“Stick around Frank, let’s have some food and drink. It’ll make you feel better about the weeks to come.”

“Yeah,” Frank resigned to this suggestion. “How many more dates do we have to go? Ten?”

Terry tipped the room service waiter, and bolted the door behind him. “Just get some radio stations to play our songs in high circulation now, which shouldn’t be too hard after the news spreads around, and we’ll do some ticket give-a-ways.” Terry grabbed on to the lobster’s tail and body, and with a swift twist separated the two segments from each other.

“Which do you prefer?” he offered the parts to Frank, “heads or tails?”

Frank reached for the bottle of wine, and said “Neither, I’ll stick to a liquid diet for today, thanks.”

Chapter 5

Charlie grabbed the phone in the library and dialed up Frank’s cell phone number. It was time to find out if Sheila had really told him the entire truth, and to find out how he really was kicked out of Accelerator.

“Frank Pepper here,” was the answer on the other side of the line.

“It’s Charlie, Frank.”

“Charlie – how, how are you?” Frank sounded nervous.

“Cut the crap, Frank. Sheila just told me something and I want to know if it’s true.”

Frank cleared his throat, and Charlie went on. “Who decided I shouldn’t be in the band anymore, Frank? What the hell happened while I was in the hospital?” He could hear the loudness of his voice, and knew that he was getting his anger across to Frank.

“Charlie, just calm down alright? You’ve been through a lot already. Did Sheila tell you about what happened?”

“Yes – why? Was she not supposed to? Because I just happened to figure it out and it nearly made her crap her pants when I told her I knew!”

“Oh, Charlie. That was our idea, to not tell you about it right away. We didn’t think you would be well enough to handle it, and I think we were right.”

“Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t handle, you asshole!”

“Charlie – you just don’t know what happened, ok? Terry said,”

“Terry! Terry was the one who put you up to this!” Charlie shouted so loud he could hear a humming sound from the other end of the phone.

“Take it easy! Relax! Terry mentioned that with you in the hospital, the tour wasn’t going to happen as planned. Sheila and me were getting hounded by the promoters, and we had to do something. We couldn’t stick you up on the stage in a wheelchair, now, could we?”

The humor was lost on Charlie, as he imagined Bob with the cane standing at the mic on stage singing with the band, and he remained silent as he waited for Frank to cut to the chase.

“So, as a band, we made the decision to go on without you. For the tour, at least.”

“Who’s the new singer – you?” Charlie asked sarcastically.

“No, it’s Terry. He’s got some back up singer too, so there’s that as well.”

“Oh, good, that’s lovely. Terry can butcher up the songs and still get paid.”

“To be honest, Charlie, Terry can sing quite well, and the audiences are loving it.” He knew that had to cut Charlie down a peg, and quickly added, “Of course, there are plenty of signs out there with your name on it, people always asking how you’re doing. How are you doing?”

Charlie was quiet. “How do you think I’m doing?” he answered, acidly.

“I know, I know, it’s not the best situation for you. But you have to realize this is just temporary.”

“I’m not joining up with the band again!” Charlie scoffed. “After this – being cut out so cleanly without having a say in the matter, you think I could get back on stage with those stooges again? You’re out of your mind old man.”

A minute went by with no one saying a word. Finally, Frank said “Charlie, if you’re going solo, I want you to know I’ll help you out anyway I can.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Just call me, when you’re better, we can figure something out. I don’t blame you for being upset, Charlie. You know that, right?” There was no answer. “We’ll, you know it now. You can be pissed off at me for the rest of your life. I’m still saying I will help you if you want me to, any way I can.”

“Hey, Frank?” Charlie finally said.’

“Yeah?”

“Go tell Terry to fuck himself.” Charlie slammed the phone down.

Charlie looked around the library and saw the various decorations that he had placed in this room. It was his one respite from Sheila’s domination of the realm of decoration, and he took to it like any man would. Pictures, gold and platinum albums in frames, and various papers were strewn about the floor, propped up on walls, as if the act of hanging them on the wall or filing away the papers would be too much of an effort for Charlie. Even more so, the unkempt look of the room was satisfying, allowing him to feel free to let his thoughts wander in the room’s wall.

He stood up slowly from his chair at the desk and looked at his feet. He stood among several magazines, dated from last year, and he kicked them away with his good leg’s foot. He hobbled over to the mantle of the fireplace, and leaning on it for balance, looked at the photo on the mantle. It was a picture taken many, many years ago of the band, as they were beginning to recon their fame and fortune. Terry and Charlie’s arms were draped across each other’s shoulders. Aaron and Twig – who had just started to use that stage name, having found Michael to be a boring name for a drummer of a hit rock band – were pouring champagne on each other’s heads. Frank was taking the photo, so he was of course not seen in the shot. But Charlie remembered how thin and well polished Frank was back then. Used to wear blazers to the shows, along with the necessary sunglasses (shades, they were called), and a pair of black cowboy boots. The boots and sunglasses would remain staple items in Frank’s wardrobe, but the blazers would be replaced with leather bomber jackets, which helped (in Frank’s mind alone) to camouflage the ring of middle-aged weight around his stomach. Charlie laughed to himself when he thought about this, and then grimaced. “Those days are long gone, my man,” he said to himself. “Just memories and photographs.”

Charlie turned from the fireplace and went to lay on the sofa, which was placed in front of the only window in the library. The window was darkened by a set of wooden shudders, and as he laid on the sofa he could play with the shudders, opening and closing them swiftly with the push of a finger. He played here for several minutes, thinking to himself about all the massive changes, twists and turns that his life had taken in the span of a few days. A week since the accident, and his life was still thrown into disarray. The room seemed to match the mood he was in, and Charlie reached into his robe pocket. He pulled out his pain pills from the hospital, opened the container and put two pills on his tongue. He forced them down his dry throat, closed the container and put it back into his pocket, and fell asleep on the sofa for two hours.

Meanwhile, Sheila had been sobbing at the table. She had thought about how she tried to be a devoted wife to Charlie, but felt like a miserable failure. Every attempt she made to make his life simpler, more enjoyable, had turned their relationship to shreds. She knew Charlie thought she was the reason for the demise of the band’s good relationship. It was a fact that she hadn’t reckoned with herself, but one she was well aware of. Her attempts to bring Charlie the boat load of the royalties from their songs and shows had driven a stake between him and the rest of the band. Before she came along, they were content to split the money left over after Frank’s take into four equal parts. It worked and afforded them a comfortable life style. But when she was introduced to Charlie, as a means for the record company to not only keep tabs on the star of the show, but also to make sure that he would continue to draw attention to the band from the media with various “rock star moments.” Sheila’s part was to become his confidante, to build up his confidence and let him grow a bigger head. The company had told her what his limits were to be – which were thin and few – and she knew who signed her checks.

She would lead him away from the band’s table at restaurants and clubs, lead him over to more prominent members of the music scene that happened to be at the same places. And if there happened to be a photographer from a big magazine or newspaper there, it was put up as a lovely coincidence to the other band members. They were scolded for feeling jealous of Charlie’s fame and his ability to attract attention – “He’s your lead singer, guys. Any publicity he gets is good for the lot of you,” she would tell them. Frank was in on it too, and knew not to step on Sheila’s toes. He wouldn’t smooth the guys over any more than he had to, at least to keep the peace between himself and the band.

As time went on, she naturally developed an affinity for Charlie that was beyond the boundaries of their professional relationship. Before the record company found out, she made sure to get Charlie to confess his love and devotion to her. Instead of the label firing her for getting too mixed up in her job duties, she quit the label, and Charlie hired her on to be his manager. Only months passed before she had a ring on her finger, and they were buying a home together. A love nest, she would call it. They had gifts sent from relatives, and threatening letters from Charlie’s fans. Even more unsettling was the chilly reception the band gave them. Frank could see the blood in the water, as soon as Charlie announced their engagement – he knew she was in it for the money and attention that she’d grown accustomed to. But even if this was true, Sheila knew it was only part of the truth. She did care about Charlie, and his well being was just as important as her own. But the other guys in the band – they would not be persuaded.

Her presence had unsettled them from the beginning of her reign with Charlie. They would try to get him to realize that she was a vampire, a parasite to his talent. But when a man is fed and filled with love from a woman in power, there is no persuading him to think that he’s being used and slowly devoured. Instead of poisoning their dynamic, the guys reconciled to let Charlie have his Sheila, and they would stay clear of the two when they were together. Frank would be the intermediary for the band and Sheila, which was the cause of his weight gain and change in wardrobe.

With her head down on the dining room table, she felt the weight of the past holding her down. She couldn’t breathe, but didn’t want to. She wanted to die, to be free from the gilded cage she had created for herself and for Charlie. No, she didn’t want to kill herself – she wanted a divorce. She pulled herself up from the table, wiped the tears from her face, and marched into her office.

“Ring up my lawyer, Chad,” she told him over the phone. “I want a meeting at my house this afternoon.”

“Oh, Sheila, are you alright?” he asked her.

“I don’t know, Chad, but just do this for me, alright?”


The lawyer arrived with the necessary documents for them to look over. Chad had garnered the information from Sheila, about why she needed a lawyer, and did the dutiful task of explaining everything for her to the lawyer, to save his boss from the embarrassment. The lawyer, Mr. Kenneth Draper, appeared in a grey wool suit. He had the appearance of a frail, elderly man, looking very thin and pale. However, in the courtroom he could unleash a furious tempest of jargon and wit that would leave any opponent flailing on the ground, wondering how this old bastard chopped them down to size. The frailty of age and anemia was a beneficial disguise.

Charlie had emerged from his room when the doorbell rang, peeked out of the library to see who had entered the house.

Sheila sat down with the lawyer.

“Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Draper?”

“Please, call me Ken. I’ll take a scotch and soda.”

Charlie recognized the lawyer’s name and stepped out of his room and went to meet Sheila at the bar. “What is the lawyer doing here?” He grabbed her arm as she reached for the bottle of scotch.

“Charlie!” She jumped back in surprise. “Oh, you startled me.” She took a moment to recover, and said “I called him over to discuss – some things.”

“Such as?”

“A divorce. I think I want a divorce, Charlie.”

He let go of her arm and reeled back into a nearby bar stool. “A divorce?” He repeated her words. “Really?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she started to pour the scotch into two glasses. “That’s why Mr. Draper is here, to talk about it with me. You’re welcome to sit in, too, talk about it.”

“Oh, well, how nice of you to invite me to a meeting with my lawyer, in my house! This is great Sheila – first the band leaves me, and now you want to leave me, is that it?”
Ken had heard the commotion and decided to step in, to help avoid from being party to domestic violence. “Is everything alright here?” He looked at Sheila.

“Oh, yes Ken. Charlie is just, well…”

“I’m upset, Ken,” Charlie continued for her, “because my wife hasn’t told me anything about wanting a divorce. And this is turning out to be the most disastrous of weeks for me. How’s that, Ken? Does that sound like everything is ‘alright’ to you? Do people tend to ask you over for drinks when things are ‘alright’ at home?”

Ken looked into Charlie’s face, and looked down to see the sling his arm was in, and the cast on his leg. “Sorry, Charlie. I heard about the accident, you must be in a lot of pain still. Let’s go back and sit in the living room, ok?” The diplomacy in his voice was a bit unsettling to Charlie, after the confrontation he tried to introduce. They assembled back into the living room, with Ken sitting in-between Charlie and Sheila.

“Have you two discussed any of this before calling me?” Ken said.

“No, I just wanted to hear what my options were,” Sheila answered.

“I didn’t know that she was thinking about this,” Charlie said.

Ken took a sip of his drink. “Usually, couples have several conversations about getting divorced before I even step into the picture. Unless there’s abuse going on, or adultery.” Sheila and Charlie looked at him as if he was purple, and he said “I take that as a ‘no,’ then?”

Sheila said, “Things have been especially strained this week with us, but stuff has been building up for a while. So, I wanted to find out what getting a divorce meant.”

“It means you’re through. Kaput!” Charlie said.

“He’s right,” Ken replied. “You’re no longer married, so you no longer share anything. You have to split up the belongings you’ve acquired throughout your marriage, and in your case since there is no prenuptial agreement, the things you brought into the marriage with you.”

“And alimony?” Charlie asked, as he lifted his glass to Frank. Don’t leave out any of the dirty details.”

“Well, alimony is paid by the spouse – the ex-spouse – who makes more money than the other, in order to continue to give the other spouse the quality of life they have grown accustomed to. That’s determined by a judge.”

“A judge?” Sheila looked confused. “Why does a judge need to figure that out?”

“Because you are going to present your dissolution of marriage to the court, and they determine based on all the facts and figures what’s fair and what isn’t to each member of the marriage.”

“Oh,” she said. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked to Charlie for any reaction. He was emotionless.

“So, I’m going to leave now. I’ll let you look at the papers here, and just give me a call if you make any decision.”

“Charlie?” Sheila called out to him to grab his attention.

“Hm? Oh, yes, thanks Frank.”

“I’m Kenneth, Charlie.”

“Oh, yes – sorry. Thanks Kenneth.”

“Charlie – do you want to think about this some more?” Shelia asked.

“Actually, Sheila, maybe,” he was trying to keep up with his thoughts. “Maybe we should just try living away from each other for a while. Take a break, but nothing permanent.” He had been reflecting on all the changes he’d had to live with this week, the pain of the accident, the rejection of his band, and now this. He didn’t want to think things were through at home as well, and thought of the humiliation years down the road when people would ask, “What ever happened to that guy in that band? He used to be so cool.”

He continued to say, “I mean, maybe these problems are just temporary, you know? A result of what’s happened to us this week. Maybe we should just try to turn down the volume and step away from each other, before we start thinking about permanent solutions.”

“I think that’s an excellent suggestion, Sheila,” Ken said.

Sheila got up to walk Ken to the door. “Thank you for coming over, Ken. I’ll let you know what we decide.”

Ken got into his car and drove away. Sheila walked into the living room to sit with Charlie again. He was lost in thought, and she sprawled out on her side of the long couch, to think about things herself.

Finally, she said “Charlie – I think we need to spend some time separated, like you said. To figure things out, see if it’s just a bad time right now.”

He stayed to listen to this, then got up from his seat and left to go back to the sanctuary of his room. In the morning, she would have packed her things up, found a new place to live for their separation, and left him a note with instructions on how life should go on without him.

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.