Missing chord, p.18
Missing Chord, page 18
Most of the time, Officer Daniels was okay, a bit officious, but quick and professional. But his foot-dragging over Rocktoberfest was driving me crazy. I waited in his outer office while he yelled at someone, the words muffled by the office door but the tone unmistakable. Thanks, whoever, for putting Daniels in a great mood.
After ten minutes, his door swung open and a young white dude in baggy pants and a ripped tank top slouched out. The guy whipped a ball cap out of his pocket, yanked it down backwards on his head, gave me a glare, and strode out. I waited till Daniels called, “Mr. Marsh?”
He looked a little red-faced but otherwise unruffled. Of course, it was hard to ruffle a buzz cut. I didn’t have to pull out the other chair because it was shoved back against the wall. I dragged the chair back into place and sat down.
Daniels clicked on his keyboard. “Right. I’m getting the reports from the nursing homes. You’re completing your hours on schedule. No complaints noted.”
“I hope not.”
“Keeping your nose clean, nothing you’re concerned about?”
I hesitated. “Just the trip to Nevada for the concert. I… other people are involved in this process and I need to let them know.”
Daniels steepled his fingers. “Remind me why you need to go to California and Nevada?”
“LA is for rehearsals with Chaser Lost, the band I’m guesting with. We’ve played together before, but it’s been a long time. They’re backing me up at the concert, since I don’t have a current band. The organizers are paying me fifty thousand dollars to appear. I need to give them a solid show for that payment, and that means at least some rehearsal.”
“Fifty grand.” Daniels tilted his head. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Yes, sir. Money I’m counting on for living expenses this year, so I can pay off my debt to society as quickly as possible.” Maybe that was laying it on a bit thick, but hopefully it would sound good. With the advantage of being the truth.
“Does every band get that kind of dough?”
I had to laugh. “I’m third tier nowadays. The top bands pull in close to a million for a big outdoor concert, and it goes down from there. I haven’t asked Chaser what they’re getting but half a million wouldn’t be out of range.”
Daniels whistled. “I’m in the wrong business.”
“I’m in the right business and I’m not pulling in that kind of dough.” Anymore. I’d been close, once upon a time, when I shared a bunch of that money with my manager and the label and spent more on a tour I was persuaded to self-back. Lots of hindsight there, but still, I had nothing to complain about. There were incredible musicians who never got their big break.
“Probably lots of booze and drugs, though, right?”
“Sure.” I kept my tone easy, even though his harping on drugs when I’d been clean throughout this mess bugged me. “Doesn’t mean I’ll have a problem, though. Hell, look at Axel Townsend of Grindstone. He admits he had huge problems with alcohol and hard drugs years ago, did rehab and all? He was at Rocktoberfest last year, and he’s still clean and sober, playing again this year. I’ve never had that kind of problem, and I won’t now.”
Daniels nodded slowly. “All right. I’m signing off on this trip for you, since it’s work related. One travel day on each end, like you proposed, no more. Check in with me the day after you get back. In fact, we’ll set up the appointment now. Text me when you leave California and head to Nevada. And I don’t want to see you on any social media wasted or high? Got it?”
“Crystal clear. Thank you.” I clenched my fists over being treated like an unruly teen while in my fifties, and kept a smile plastered on my face.
Daniels completed the paperwork on his computer and printed it out for me. “Keep a copy on you at all times while traveling. You’re responsible for clearing your schedule with the nursing homes.”
“I will.”
When we’d picked out a date and time for that return appointment, he stood and extended his hand.
I followed suit, saying as we shook hands, “I appreciate you helping me stay afloat financially.”
“I don’t mind having a client who follows the rules. See you next week.”
I kept my cool as I left his office, walking past a young Black woman with a worried expression sitting in the chair I’d vacated. We didn’t meet each other’s eyes but I silently wished her well. Down the elevator, out into the street, and then I startled some passerby with my fist-pumping shout of “Yes!”
The relief was so overwhelming, I barely noticed the odd feeling in my throat as I called Pete Lebraun.
“Hey, dude.” Pete wasn’t California-born, but by now he sounded that way. “What’s the word?”
“He signed the damned forms. Finally. I’ll see you in, fuck, two weeks? Yeah.”
Pete chuckled. “Gonna be good. We haven’t jammed in far too long. I’ll meet you at the airport. Let me know if your flight changes.”
“Will do.” I might’ve made the decision not to tour again, might be winding my career into low gear, but the prospect of seeing the guys, of jamming with topflight musicians, the heady expectation of the crowds at Rocktoberfest, made my feet feel light on the pavement as I walked down the block to catch the bus.
Chapter 16
Lee
Something was up with Griffin. Beyond the fact that Rocktoberfest was three weeks away and he was starting to get obsessed with the details of his trip, his rehearsal with holy fuckin’ Chaser Lost, his set list, and even what he would wear onstage— the question he was currently dithering over.
“They’re all T-shirts, babe,” I told him from where I sprawled on his bed. “Light blue and mid blue and dark blue. Tight and not quite as tight.”
“Yeah, but…” He tugged at the bottom of the electric-blue version he was wearing, turning to look over his shoulder at the mirror. “You think this one’s too long?”
“I admit I like to actually see your ass in those jeans.”
He laughed. “Yeah, maybe fifteen years ago.”
“Hey, you don’t let me say ‘fifteen pounds ago,’” I pointed out.
He shot me a narrow glance but nodded. “Fair enough. So which shirt?”
I decided to put him out of his misery and pick something. “The dark blue. Hugs your chest but not like you’re trying too hard, matches your best beret, won’t show the sweat if you drip on it.”
“Sold.” He draped the shirt in question on a hanger, smoothed it down, and set it at the end of his closet.
“And the faded jeans. The ones with the ripped pocket.”
“Thanks.” He chuckled. “You’d think I’d never done this before. Of course, half the time my manager or my label were picking my performance clothes.”
“That silver shirt open down to your belly button on the cover of Day Trip?” I teased.
He put a hand over his face. “Totally the label. That whole fucking tour was a fashion disaster.”
I had to laugh. “Glad that wasn’t your choice. Hopefully getting to dress yourself will make your performance more comfortable.”
Something dark passed over his face for a second and he turned half away, fiddling with the rejected T-shirts. “Hopefully.”
Okay, that was enough of that. “What are you not telling me?”
“Huh?”
“About the trip or the concert or something. You get this really worried look and then hide it away.”
“I don’t—” He broke off when I scoffed. “Well, maybe, I guess. It’s not a big deal.”
“I don’t want to pry, but maybe it would help to share? Boyfriend to boyfriend?” We hadn’t been using that word for long but I liked the warm glow I got saying it.
Griffin kept folding the rejected shirts. “I just, well, I had an irritated throat for a couple of weeks…”
My mind jumped to infectious diseases but he kept going.
“…so I went in, did the strep and COVID tests and everything, and it was all negative, but the nurse thought maybe I was getting a vocal cord nodule. And it’s just the wrong fucking time for that.”
“Nodule?” I tried to remember my ENT lectures.
“Yeah. It’s from overuse, basically. And the treatment is, like, three to six months of vocal rest, sometimes surgery which would really suck.”
“But…” I waved at the hanging T-shirt. “You’re still planning to do Rocktoberfest?”
“Yeah. Luckily it hasn’t affected my voice too badly yet. I’m a little raspy, but that’s not a terrible thing. I’ll get through Rocktoberfest and then rest up.”
“I should take a look.” I stood up but Griffin fixed me with a glare.
“No, you shouldn’t. You’re my boyfriend, not my doctor.”
“Come on, take advantage of the free advice.”
“I almost puked on the nurse when she tried to look with just a tongue depressor. If you’re going to gag me, I want it to be your dick in there.”
“But you can’t ignore your health—”
“Look, she’s set me up with a proper ENT exam on Friday. Some kind of scope thing. I’m not ignoring it.”
“Oh.” I was pleased he was getting seen, but a little worried about how fast the appointment was happening, given the wait for most specialties these days. Was that his star power, or a sign the nurse was really worried? The specter of some kind of laryngeal cancer hovered at the back of my mind. “And if she tells you not to do Rocktoberfest?”
Griffin’s grin seemed fake. “I’ll listen to her as soon as the concert is over. Lee, really, don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s just a pain in the ass thing. Hell, even Justin Timberlake had nodules.”
“Ooh, not Justin Timberlake.” I sat back on the bed, watching him. “Do you want me to come with you to the ENT?”
“No, seriously, I’m cool.”
“I just… can’t help worrying.” Griffin seemed fine and now he mentioned it, I thought I remembered Sam Smith had some kind of throat surgery too. And they were still singing. So probably it was no big deal. Almost certainly. But life had kicked me in the gut too many times for me to be complacent.
Griffin came and sat beside me, looping an arm around my shoulders. “Hey, thanks for caring. My biggest concern is if my voice will hold up for the show. Sixty thousand people paying to listen to me. I’ll take it easy till then, but I have to practice with Chaser Lost.”
“Surely they’ll understand.”
“Yeah, but we have to do a certain minimum not to sound like shit up there. Oh well, I’m sure it’ll work out.”
He didn’t look sure. I leaned close and kissed his cheek. “I can tell Kashira you don’t want to do singing or a lot of reading before you leave. Rest up.”
“That’s a good idea. Thanks.”
“And you’ll tell me what the ENT specialist says?”
His hesitation was brief, but I noticed it. “Sure, I’ll let you know.”
“Should you skip giving blow jobs for a while?”
That made him laugh. “Nah. Maybe semen’s the miracle cure for nodules. Ever think of that?”
“Can’t say as I have.” I kissed him and silently vowed not to make him choke on my dick until he got the all-clear. I wasn’t sure I could trust Griffin to take care of his health the way he should, but nothing was happening to him on my watch.
Next day at work, I maybe spent longer than I should’ve searching databases and articles for laryngeal nodules and polyps and tumors and confirming that yes, there was a full range of possibilities including the scary. I’d have felt guilty doing the research on work time, except for the hundreds of unpaid hours I put in through the year. Griffin didn’t have a lot of current risk factors, but I knew he’d drunk and smoked in his younger days, and sung in a lot of smoky venues. That had to have exposed his larynx to carcinogens.
Still, probably just benign nodules. He’d pushed himself hard at Rock on the Rock. Even one rough episode could cause nodules. Kashira had Griffin working with Mr. Harrington’s crossword and Tom’s checkers and doing art with Nancy. There were plenty of low-voice ways he could help with resident entertainment. He’d be just fine.
I might’ve repeated that a dozen times to myself with my eyes shut after I closed the article on laryngeal squamous cell carcinoma. The cancer usually spread to lymph nodes, lungs, and bone—
“Um. Mr. Robertson?”
When I looked up, a new aide hovered in my doorway.
“Sorry, just thinking. Yes? And call me Lee.”
“Mr. Zhukov is here to see you.”
“Oh.” I shoved everything I might feel guilty about into a deep mental box so Zhukov wouldn’t suspect and slapped a smile on my face, pushing to my feet. “Show him in.”
Zhukov strode through the doorway and planted himself in the guest chair, waving to me. “Sit, sit. I don’t have much time.”
“What can I help you with?” I eased back down.
“This vacation request of yours. It’s not a convenient time for you to be gone for six days.”
I blinked, because personnel management wasn’t Zhukov’s job. Ms. Kingston in HR handled any staff things that weren’t on my plate. She’d frowned over my short notice, but admitted I had so much vacation accrued it was ridiculous, and agreed it was about time I took some of my days. I hadn’t told Griffin I was going to Rocktoberfest, just in case something fell through. But I was totally going. The cost of the scalped ticket and hotel and flights was ridiculous, but I was going to show him I supported his career, given the way he was curtailing it to make me happy.
I told Zhukov, “I’ve arranged to cover my shifts.”
“We’re having nursing staff disruptions. It’s your job to smooth those over and assure continuity of care.”
I wanted to ask him if that was corporate-speak for dealing with the low wages he paid aides and the immigrant nurses waiting for their certification. They could make more at almost any other healthcare job. Some of the aides could make more at a lot of regular jobs. They often left to do so. But I didn’t want him mad at me, maybe looking too deeply into Harvey and Owen for retaliation. “There are always disruptions, sir. We handle them.”
“You can’t handle them if you’re not here.”
“I think Wellhaven will survive for six days without me.” I tilted my head. “Surely you’re not saying I’m that essential to Wellhaven.”
That put him in a neat bind, because saying yes would be a hell of a lot of leverage for me the next time we were negotiating my salary.
“No, no, not essential. Just…”
“Great. So I’ll take a vacation for once, and come back refreshed and ready to tackle our staffing issues on an ongoing basis.” I could do the corporate-speak too.
“Well, I suppose that’s all right.” Zhukov leaned forward. “Now, I want to talk about that, um, gay wedding we had in our main lobby. Was that necessary? And who paid for all the staff time and the food and everything? We don’t have a budget for special events.”
It was necessary because you were being a cold bastard. “Don’t worry. Off duty staff donated their time, and the food and other costs were covered by the grooms.” Harvey was on Medicaid and owned very little, but Owen had cut us a check for the meal and cake ingredients and decorations. He’d said he might as well splurge, since their combined care would spend down all his assets fast. I’d told him it wasn’t necessary, but now I was pleased he’d covered that base.
“Ah.” Zhukov shifted in his seat. “Well, in the future I expect you and Kashira to run any such event by my office long before planning begins. We’re not an entertainment venue. There are serious medical concerns.”
I went with, “Yes, sir, we’ll do that,” because it took the wind out of his sails.
He harumphed. “See that you do.”
We sat for a moment eyeing each other. I kept my expression bland as possible before saying, “Good talk, sir. Is there anything else? Perhaps we could go through my proposal for adding another overnight staffing position—”
“Send me an email.” Zhukov pushed his chair back and stood. “I’m a busy man. I’m just going to make sure Mrs. Svenson is doing well and then I have another site to visit.”
I was sure Patricia would have things to complain about, but she’d kept her unjustified ground-floor garden-view room in the reshuffle, so with luck she couldn’t cause any real problems. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“Yes. Right. Continue on.” He waved in the direction of my computer and strode out.
A minute later, Kashira ducked into my office. “Did you get a visit from…” She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “…our weird boss yet?”
“Shh.” I gestured her toward the chair. “Yeah, he was here. Shut the door.”
She tapped it closed with a practiced foot and slumped across from me. “He was interrogating Lavonda and the kitchen staff about the wedding food and how much waste there was.”
“I told him Owen paid for everything. I hope that shuts him up.”
Kashira rubbed her face. “Other nursing homes are worse than this, right?”
“Lots worse.” I nudged her foot under the desk. “They have hedge fund owners, worse staffing numbers, and mean, cruel nursing directors who don’t want the residents to have fun. Not awesome guys like me who make your life so much easier.”
She chuckled. “Laying it on thick there. But yeah, just bitching, I guess. I did work for one guy who makes Zhukov look like a teddy bear.”
“I’m deeply sorry to hear that.”
“Well, I quit and dropped an unbaked pizza at his feet, splashed that tomato sauce all up his front.”
“Good for you. I’ll remember to keep you away from the food if you’re mad at me.”
She snorted. “Thanks. I needed that. I’ll go soothe ruffled feathers in the kitchen.”
That was really Phoebe’s job, not hers, but Kashira was much more of a people person. “Thanks. Appreciate that.”
At the door, she hesitated. “Is Griffin sick or something? How long do you want me to keep his work plan easy on his voice?”
“Not sick, nothing contagious. Just trying to save his voice for the big concert in three weeks. He strained it a bit the other time he sang.” That’s all it is. I hope that’s all it is.
