We ended up enlisting all my bodyguards, the backstage carpenters on the deck, and the band, except Jimmy, who looked at Baz, looked at me, and said, “I suppose I gotta let him use my bass again.”
Baz grunted, “Thanks, Jimmy,” as he staggered past, carrying a huge urn overflowing with red roses.
Onstage, I explained. “Guys, I think we want them flanking the band, with the wind machines in the far upstage wings. I’ll point stage left and Baz will enter. Then you let ’em rip.”
Cousin Joe ran to my side, holding his iPhone and giving Baz an ugly look. “Jesus, Yoni, you really fucked up. People are leaving. The Twitter coverage is brutal.” He read off his phone, “‘I ran out crying!’ What the fuck did you do?”
I wanted to kick his butt up around his neck like a collar, but we had a show to finish. “I’m on it, Joe. Tell ’em to bring in the gold shimmer curtain while we’re setting up, okay? And find a mic for Baz here. And tell Sound.”
“Gold ain’t gonna cut it this time,” he muttered, sending a panicky glance at Baz, but he went out.
We finished our preparations. The curtain went up.
I made my entrance quietly. The buzz from the audience rose. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Baz slink onstage behind Max and take his position next to Jimmy.
Now that I felt better, I could sense the terrible mood in that giant room. It stank of pain and self-pity.
I snuck a peek at a monitor. Yes, it showed that the exits were all open. People were trickling out. Now that I had returned to the stage, they stopped and looked back.
Showtime.
Jimmy gave the signal and we started slowly: “Baby, Come Home.”
I couldn’t watch the monitors during this song. I was too emotional. Baz was there, backing Jimmy with his sour-apple bass. In another two bars he joined me on the vocals, and I lost contact with planet Earth. This was music the way I liked it best, hung like a big feather boa on the Statue of Liberty, swaying loose, flying free, anchored by a ten-ton bass line and a blues beat.
I sang it to Baz. “Baby, come home, all is forgiven.” I turned toward him.
His expression was raw and open.
My chest heated up.
When we finished, I reached back for his hand. He didn’t take mine. Funked. I stepped forward for one quick bow and then scampered off, signaling another emergency break.
But the monitors gave me better news as I ran after Baz.
Joe held up his phone from backstage left. “They’re coming back to their seats! And, hey, the roses were a good idea. How do you think they do that special effect, where the petals keep falling off but more keep growing?”
I waved at him and ran.