Fifty-Two

“Are you sure you want to go through with this, honey?” Bobbie put her hand on Roc’s shoulder as he leaned into the mirror, squinting as he carefully applied black eyeliner. A bottle of Midnight Velvet sat on the washstand.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s just that I feel Emma and I persuaded you.”

“You did.” Roc grinned at her in the mirror. “But I need to do this. You two conspirators just realized it before I did. We can’t live in a little room above a recording studio in Toluca Lake, ordering in Thai food forever.” Roc put down the eyeliner and turned to Bobbie. She fought back a grin at his one naked eye and one blackened. “What? Oh, right.” Roc grimaced at his reflection. “I know I look ridiculous. But this will be the last time I do this. I’m saying a real goodbye to that part of my life. Listen, Bobbie, you … you, Emma, and Stick brought me back to life these last couple of weeks. I might as well have been dead. Sure, I was writing music again, but I realized that I didn’t give a shit if anyone ever heard it.”

Bobbie held out a blush brush, and Roc recoiled. “Sorry, baby, you look a mite pale is all.”

“That’s my look. Every day is Hallowe’en. Am I scaring you?”

“Not unless you start borrowing my mascara without asking.” Bobbie kissed him on his neck, careful not to smudge Roc’s handiwork. “I love you.”

He paused and softened. “I love you too. Bobbie, I’m going to do this show, say goodbye to the boys … on stage, playing our hearts out like we used to, and I’m going to totally enjoy giving Uncle the surprise of his life.”

“Hey, Rocco,” Eddie called up the stairs, “can I come up?”

“Sure,” said Roc. “I’ve got to review the plan. I’ve got early onset stage fright.”

“He always says that,” Eddie smiled as he entered, “and then does a killer show. So, Molo, my man, the ’Tails are rockin’. They know the set cold, just as you sequenced it, and they’ve been rehearsing with the hologram all week.” He shuffled his papers until he found the stage plot and showed it to Roc. “They love the new tunes, especially ‘Here But I’m Gone.’ So, virtual Roc will do the opening three numbers. It’s amazing; he can adapt to tempo changes or even a wrong key, God forbid. Stick triggers the Molo holo, as we’ve been calling it.”

Roc closed his eyes and shook his head, smiling. “Eddie, where would be without you?”

“Focus, focus, old buddy. During the pyro at the start of ‘Swan Dive,’ Stick will kill the hologram, and you take his place.” He gestured at a spot on the stage diagram. “If you land off-axis, just look down and follow the luminous tape. In the light it might be a little hard to find your mark. But hey, you’ve done this before, right?”

“Right now, I’m not certain,” Roc replied, turning serious. “And what happens when people notice?”

“Honestly,” said Eddie, arching his brows, “I’m not sure they will; that’s the brilliance of this thing. I mean, yeah, the evil genius could probably tell, but you know him. After the opening minute or so, he’ll be schmoozing, checking gate receipts, doing mental cup size estimates … sorry.” Eddie looked sheepishly at Bobbie. “The boys will notice right away, unless they’re as brain dead as Danny slash Moonshadow or whatever he’s called now. But that should be fun. The audience has bought into the whole virtual performance idea, and they won’t suspect until your big leap of faith, right, Rocco?” Eddie grinned conspiratorially.

Roc nodded intently. “Yeah, I am a little nervous about that, the more I think about it. It’s not going to be like the usual mosh pit scene where they’re expecting a flying body from the stage.”

Eddie put his arm on Roc’s shoulder. “Hey, compared to your Malibu theatrics, this’ll be child’s play, no?”

“Don’t remind me.”

Uncle sat very still at his desk, headset on, nodding thoughtfully and examining the dust patterns the sunlight made as it streamed through his office window. From talk of details of the show onwards, he had paid very close attention to Roc and Eddie’s conversation. He switched off the studio surveillance audio and hit talkback. “Candy, get me Rodney at KROQ.”

“Uncle, are you still not taking calls? Since we announced this show this morning, my life has been threatened a half dozen times thanks to your no comps policy. Listen, baby, I’m bringing in your messages, and you deal with it, okay?”

Uncle laughed at Candy’s exasperation as she burst in with a neat but towering stack of messages. The top one was from Marie, and he decided to ignore the little heart that Candy had drawn over the “I” in Marie. “I’ve had it with Weasel Boy Savage. He’s gone from whining to screaming to threatening and back to begging again. What do you want me to tell him?”

“Usual El Rey treatment. VIP lounge for the label and reserved seats in the balcony. Absolutely no backstage, okay?” Uncle threw Candy a serious look.

“Fine,” she replied patronizingly, “but what about your little hood ornament?” Uncle was too amused to register the vanishing of all pretense of respect from his long-time employee. “She claims that the last time she was at the El Rey, the security took her to a special room and frisked her for about fifteen minutes.” Uncle held his hands up in defeat as Candy continued. “Or at least until she stopped giggling.”

“Okay, okay, but she’s the only backstage, and I’ll take her pass. Now will you get me Rodney … please?”

Candy dropped the message stack on the desk with a thump and strutted back to her desk.

“Hey, Rodney, dude.” Uncle perched on his prayer pillow, headset on, sipping an iced cappuccino. “Yeah, it’s going to be cooler than cool.” He listened then replied in his most honeyed tones, “I can’t tell you much, but the technology’s been around for awhile. Listen, Rodney, I need a favour. A special announcement today at three o’clock today. A KROQ exclusive.

“I’ve got a very cool idea for the first five hundred fans coming to the show. Remember the ‘Roc-a-like’ contest on the ‘Reflectors’ release? Right. Yeah, the nun in the wig still makes me laugh. Check this out.”