Down Beat Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  DEDICATION

  PREFACE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY-SIX

  POSTFACE

  LYRICS TO THE SONGS

  NEWSLETTER

  ALSO BY MAX

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  THE MUSIC

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DOWN BEAT

  Copyright © 2018 Max Henry

  Published by Max Henry

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Max Henry is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, or artists mentioned in this book.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover image: Serge Lee Photo

  Model: Aykhan Shinzhin

  For those who have always found more comfort in the darkness than the light.

  PREFACE

  Two things:

  1.

  DOWN BEAT deals firmly with the subject of mental illness and its associated effects on not only the sufferer, but those around them. If this is something you feel may be a potential trigger for you, I advise you stop, consider if you should continue, and if you choose to do so, ensure you have a support person available.

  Rey’s story is an immensely personal one for me and I would love for you to experience it, but not at the cost of your own health and wellbeing.

  2.

  I always include a link to the book’s playlist—the songs that inspired the words—at the end. But this time, I’ve noted the songs that match the chapters so you can experience the soundtrack as you read.

  The playlist can be found on Spotify here: https://spoti.fi/2rdO7La

  Now let your hair down, smudge that eyeliner, and get ready to rock, because the tour starts NOW!

  ONE

  Rey

  “Got the Life” - Korn

  Fuck, I hate this city. Seems only appropriate the goddamn sky has seen fit to piss all over my arrival.

  “How long do we have to layover here?” I scowl at our useless fucking manager, Rick, as he steps off the plane.

  “Four days.” His jaw works the same piece of gum he’s chewed for the past three hours as he stares down at the puddles underfoot.

  Cocky little shit only has his goddamn job because Daddy didn’t have enough balls to stand up to Mommy when she demanded her baby boy get a position in the family business.

  “Better have us staying in a hotel with a fuckin’ five star rating this time,” I toss over my shoulder as I shrug my jacket higher and leg it for the terminal. “I swear to God if some illiterate cunt wakes me up because they can’t read the ‘do not disturb’ sign again, I’ll murder them with it.”

  My brother Toby, our drummer, sighs as he passes a seething Rick. His denim vest is pulled high over his bright orange-and-red hair in an effort to protect the goods. “Fuck off and have a smoke, would you?”

  I flip him the bird, aware that we’ve already drawn a crowd at the terminal windows above. It’s not all that often that a chartered plane comes in during a storm and regurgitates five denim-clad heathens and their cargo hold full of hard cases.

  If Rick did his goddamn job right, we wouldn’t be here all together. But apparently scheduling isn’t his finest attribute. We were supposed to fly in tomorrow, ready to rehearse the next day prior to our two-show stopover, yet Rick, the goddamn legend, missed that flight entirely from the itinerary. He booked everything else: the venue, the accommodation, but not our fucking flights to get here. And being the middle of school vacation, the commercial liners were stacked.

  I could hear his old man scream down the phone from ten feet away when Rick gave him the cost of our private plane.

  “Hey, Rick.” I turn and walk backward so I can jerk my chin at the asshole. “What exactly did Daddy say when you told him how much this flight set him back?”

  His nostrils flare before he answers, water kicking up around his polished, pointy-toe boots in a fine mist. “He’s making a few calls.”

  “To Mommy?”

  His jaw sets hard. Toby punches me in the arm as the rest of the guys pour off the plane. Our bassist, Emery, skips the second to last step and narrowly misses face-planting his drunken ass.

  “He might have a solution,” Rick pipes up, drawing my focus back to him. “The added day could work out in our favor as far as recovering costs goes.”

  “Yeah?” I spin back around to face forward and shake my head. “Struggling to see how, my good man.” The fuckhead’s delusional. We’re three shows into a twelve-stop tour. We’re supposed to be gaining momentum, not derailing the fucking train before it’s even reached full speed.

  Some guy in a high visibility jacket opens the lower terminal door to let us in a private room they’ve set aside. Toby gives the guy a raised palm in thanks while I bowl on in to the heated haven. Rain and I don’t mix. Pretty sure I had some traumatic experience with water as a kid; nothing else explains why I hate it so much. Swimming, baths, rain, and even a shower if it goes too long, all get me twitchy. Don’t get me started about the pitchers of water the swanky hotels leave around the place. I only consume the wet shit because my vocal chords would dry up otherwise.

  I shake my black denim jacket off and throw it over the nearest armchair. Toby makes a beeline for the coffeepot while Rick stands in the center of the makeshift room with his phone in hand, useless as a foreskin on a Jewish kid.

  “Thank fuck that’s over,” Emery hollers as he tumbles onto a sofa. “Hostess wouldn’t give me any more alcohol.”

  “Pretty sure you drank the plane dry,” Kris, our l
ead guitarist, murmurs. The sullen fucker finds the darkest corner in the room and makes his emo ass at home.

  I pull what’s left of my smokes out of the pocket inside my jacket, and then shake out a stick. The tobacco teases my senses as I pinch it between my lips and check my pockets for my lighter. The chain on my belt rattles while I pat my way around my jeans, my frown growing deeper the more it becomes apparent I’ve lost the fucking thing. Perfect.

  “Excuse me.”

  I look up to find the source of the sickly sweet voice. “What?” Some hostess that’s young enough to still shit yellow gives me a well-practiced smile.

  “I apologize, but this lounge is nonsmoking.”

  Toby laughs as he dumps sugar in his brew.

  I throw a middle finger his way, gaze still on the baby deer in my headlights. “Got a flame for me, princess?”

  She frowns, thrown by my question. My guess is that my kind of arrogance wasn’t covered in her standardized training. “If you’d like to smoke, Sir, you’ll need to exit the terminal building.”

  “Are you fuckin’ jerking me?”

  “Take it easy on the poor thing,” Emery tosses up from his position laid out, eyes closed. “If my head didn’t hurt so fuckin’ much I’d take a look at her, but I’ll judge by the voice alone she’s a pretty little thing. Probably not used to assholes like you, Rey.”

  “I can show you to the exit, if you like,” she says with a smile.

  Oh, she’s good. Young, but determined. “Nope. Pretty sure I can find my way out of here.”

  “You couldn’t find your way out of a paper bag,” Toby scoffs.

  He has a point: my sense of direction is shit at the best of times. Swear that’s some side effect of the tragic water incident; my inner ear has to be fucked or something. Still….

  “Watch me.”

  I smirk at the hostess and reach out to bop her on the nose with my fingertip.

  She jerks backward, personal bubble violated, and allows me space to head for what has to be the door out of here considering we walked in the only other one.

  “Rey.” Fuck.

  “What, Rick?” The door handle mocks me with its brushed steel.

  “Got our silver lining.”

  I sigh through my nose and turn to humor him. He smiles at me like a puppy proud for remembering to take a shit outside. “I’m waiting.”

  “We’ve got a venue for an intimate show day after tomorrow. IT put tickets up on the website while we were in the air, and they’re already 60 percent sold. We shuffle rehearsal times around, and we add this in as a fan bonus.”

  “Rick,” I say, jerking my head to the side with a wink. “I may just keep you on, you dashingly handsome bastard.” Kris crosses the room and snatches the packet of smokes from my hand before busting through the door. “I’m off to find a sheltered spot to chain smoke with that moody fucker.” I thumb over my shoulder. “When I get back, you can fill me in on the details.”

  The moron grins as Toby slings an arm around his shoulder, dwarfing him, and takes a swig of coffee.

  Yeah. Rick pisses me off no end, but I can’t deny one thing about him: his old man is what keeps my name on the end of everyone’s tongue, and for that, I’d forgive the fuckwit for damn near anything.

  TWO

  Tabitha

  “Symphony No. 7 in A Major” – Ludwig van Beethoven

  “What about this one?” I run my palms down the corset, a little uneasy at how tight it is once on.

  The leather and lace ensemble looked kickass on the website I bought it from, but after seeing my short ass squeezed into it I’m convinced the model must be some six-foot Amazon princess. I qualify for one of those fail memes that float around Facebook daily.

  “Ooo. That’s hot. Where the hell did you get that?” My roommate, Kendall, kicks her boots over the end of the stubby two-seater and pivots to see me better. “I love the detail under the bust.”

  “You don’t think it makes me look desperate?” I sidestep to catch a glimpse of my reflection in the living room window.

  “It makes you look trendy.”

  “I don’t want to be trendy.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Not in a following-the-herd kind of way, but an alternate I-don’t-give-a-fuck-what-you-think way.” Her black-rimmed eyes narrow. “Does that make sense?”

  “I think so.” My lips twist as I frown at her.

  Thursday night is the turning point of my life. What I wear won’t only show the people there to watch me play who I am, but it will set the tone for my brand. I’ve never had such a hard time choosing what to put on for a performance.

  Fuck this shit.

  “You’re overthinking.” Kendall reaches to the bowl of popcorn on the floor and grabs a handful before popping a few in her mouth. “I can see it.”

  “Yeah, well I can see your food when you talk with your mouth full.”

  She smirks at my cocked eyebrow. “How many tickets you sold now?”

  “One hundred and eight.”

  “Hell yeah!” She lifts her hand for an air five.

  I give it an air slap, yet my lack of smile gives away my true feelings on the subject. It’s a good number, sure, but it’s not even a fifth of the venue’s capacity. I’m going to be competing for attention with the tumbleweeds that’ll drift through the empty seats.

  “Again,” Kendall scolds. “You’re in your head. Get out here. Stop it.”

  “It’s just…” I pop the snaps on the corset. “It could be more.”

  “Your last performance was sixty-something, right?”

  I nod.

  “So, you’ve almost doubled your last event sales.”

  “That was close to a year ago.” I ditch the torture device and drag in a lungful of air. Wonder if I can breathe enough to play with that thing on?

  “And in that time you’ve hustled your ass off to get more fans.” She drops her feet from over the arm of the sofa and twists to sit upright. “Without making you feel shit, classical violin isn’t exactly a hot genre of music, babe. You’re doing well considering the uphill battle you have to get noticed.”

  She’s right; I couldn’t be more obscure in today’s market of pop rock and R&B if I tried.

  “Shit.” My ass hits the sofa next to her. “My parents are fucking right, aren’t they?”

  “Pfft.” Kendall slices a hand through the air. “Ignore them. You’ve already proved them wrong when they said you’d never be able to support yourself playing music.”

  I level her with a hard stare.

  “Right.” She chews her bottom lip, fighting a smile. “I never said you lived in luxury. A steady diet of ramen noodles is a thing.”

  “Bitch, please.” I bury my face in my hands. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “It’s just your nerves talking.”

  “Are you sure?” I moan as my phone rings out across the room. “Ugh.”

  Kendall’s weight lifts from beside me, her footsteps heavy on our hardwood floor. “Screen says it’s John.”

  “Ugh.” I moan louder as I rise to my feet. “Now I’m certain I’m going to be sick.”

  She swipes across to answer before the call is lost and hands me my phone. I close my eyes and give the guy I took a chance on for publicity a greeting. “Hey, John.”

  “Hey, Tabitha. Sorry to call you so late, but I needed to get in touch before rehearsal tomorrow.”

  My gut bottoms out. “Why?” I can’t keep the worry from my voice.

  “Um, something came up at the venue. We’ve got a major issue.”

  “Tell me you have a solution.” I meet Kendall’s worried gaze and shrug.

  “Not quite.” He hesitates; the sound of what seems to be a pen tapping on a desk echoes down the line. “We have to reschedule.”

  “As in later in the night? The next day?”

  “As in they’re booked out for another two months before we can get in again.”

  I swallow hard, fingers pinched to
the bridge of my nose as I squint my eyes shut. “Why ‘again’? We’re all ready to roll for Thursday. We’ve pushed this for—”

  “I know. I know,” he placates, cutting my complaints short. “But this is out of my hands.”

  “I paid you to set this up, John. How can it be out of your hands? This is your job,” I damn near shout at the fucker.

  “Yeah, well, sometimes the big dogs come and shit all over the small breed’s yard, Tabitha. I can’t do anything about it. The venue’s been taken over by somebody with more money, more influence.”

  I spent every dollar I saved on this guy, adamant that representation would open the doors I couldn’t. This isn’t happening. Nope. Not believing it.

  “Who?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Kendall slides a glass of wine across the counter to me. “Of course it fucking matters. You’re telling me that we have to reschedule my biggest performance yet. You know how many of those people probably won’t bother to come again if they have to rearrange everything?”

  “Yeah, I know we’ll lose a few.”

  “I can’t afford to lose anyone!” My hand shakes as I throttle the stem of the glass. “Who did it? Who kicked me out?”

  He pauses; the tapping stops also. “Dark Tide.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I knock back half the glass before continuing. “I’m being ousted by a damn rock band?”

  “A charting rock band. A top forty rock band. A rock band that shits gold. What did you expect me to do?”

  Fuck—he’s right. What the hell could a publicist such as John do? The kind of publicist a broke bitch like me could afford?

  “I’m out of pocket on this too,” he says quietly, as though testing the waters. “I’m frustrated as well, but I also know there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.”

  Not if he wants to keep his connections in the area happy. Not if he doesn’t want to stir the pot. Me on the other hand? What do I fucking care about what a rock band think of me?

  If they want to forget what it was like to start out, to have to drench yourself in sweat, blood, and tears to earn a name for yourself, then like hell I’m going to lie back and let them walk all over me.

  Fuck that. Nobody sets fire to my dreams and gets away with it. Not when I’ve sacrificed so much to get where I am, even if that’s relatively nowhere compared to the likes of them.