Shattered Glass Page 16

  Liam snubs the Grammies Again

  Liam O’Shea, former lead singer of Shattered Glass and now a hot solo act, thumbed his nose at the Grammy awards for the second time in three years. His manager and former band mate, Sam Stein of Stein Musical Talent Ltd., accepted multiple awards for Liam, including Album of the Year and Best Pop Vocal. Sam explained in the acceptance speech that Liam stayed home on bed rest.

  However, this is the second ceremony that the reclusive rock star skipped. I didn’t ask Sam the Man, again, why Liam skipped the awards a second time. He has repeatedly refused to address the subject or speak about his former SG colleagues. This reporter has had enough of Mr. Stein’s frosty “no comments” to last a lifetime.

  However, when Sam speaks, the industry listens. He proved that there is life after rock and roll superstardom when he chucked his music career after Shattered Glass’ first four albums to study for the bar. His sanity was called in doubt for leaving one of the most successful musical ventures in rock history.

  However, Glass broke, and now Sam is raking in the cash serving as legal representation and management for some of the hottest recording artists in the business. As for Sam, a tall, broad-shouldered, good looking hottie who is determinedly single, if he ever gets tired of litigating and diva dramas, he can go back to drumming. Sam always had more style and verve than his replacement Bart Hedge who, after Glass fragmented, disappeared into well-deserved obscurity.

  To the right of the op-ed piece on Liam was a glowing review for Milo’s book, Words Without Lyrics. The book debuted on three bestseller lists and currently occupied the number one spot on two of them. Milo spent the last year writing lyrics in his head and couldn’t find a collaborator who could put them to music that met the standards of his former collaborations with Liam.

  The kid, Milo thought with both anger and pride, beat them all. He recorded two albums still on the top-ten charts, which had also brought him seven Grammies between them.

  Milo spent two days stomping around his garden, taking his frustration out on the tumbleweeds, angry at Liam for skipping the Grammies, and at Sam for not telling him the truth.

  He decided to pay a call on Father Sanchez. The priest became the only person, besides Conchita, who Milo felt offered him any hope of redemption for the lost part of his soul. Milo needed the man’s sage advice.

  The small adobe church sat a few hundred feet back from the main thoroughfare in Bernalillo. Milo pulled the car into the church parking lot and looked around. Both the church and the adjoining rectory looked to be in a state of disrepair. Father Sanchez greeted him at the rectory door and offered him some coffee. Milo felt surprisingly at home in the priest’s small house. Despite his clerical garb, he seemed to be more open-minded than most of the men who populated the Catholic clergy.

  “Father, thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”

  “I always have time for a friend, especially a troubled one. Please call me Esteban, or Steve, if you prefer.”

  “I see that the parish isn’t large, and the church and rectory are in need of repair. I’d like to make a contribution to the building fund, if you would accept one from me.”

  “The building fund is always in need of a cash infusion. I’m afraid that my parishioners are not doing very well in the current economic climate of greed. But, my son, you need not consider a contribution as a price for my friendship. That is my own to give and comes without a price.”

  “I’ve made more money than I know what to do with. Please consider me a friend of the parish. All I ask is for your prayers in return.”

  “Those you already have, my son.”

  “Esteban, I need someone to talk to about my situation. After some thought, I feel I may have judged my Liam unfairly. Even if I didn’t, I love him and want him back in my life.”

  “I believe you have been living a crisis of faith.” The priest held up his hand when Milo started to interrupt him. “No, hear me out. I’m not speaking of faith in God. You lack faith in those who surround you. You are a man of many secrets, my son, and some of those secrets prevent you from establishing a true connection to another, be it a man or a woman.”

  “I’ve been hiding what and who I am almost as long as I can remember. When I first began to show what my father called my ‘sissified tendencies,’ he beat both my mother and me almost bloody. I learned that night that I needed to live a lie to survive. My father has been dead now for some years. Even after he died, I couldn’t bear to admit my sexual orientation. By claiming Liam, I dragged him into my own hell. He needed open affection and attention, and I hid in fear, afraid to acknowledge him as mine and meet his need to be a true partner.”

  “Your estrangement began when you found evidence of drug use and infidelity?”

  “Yes. But I’m no longer sure I can believe what I thought I saw right in front of me. And if he did use or cheat, I caused it by my neglect of both him and his needs.”

  “Did the boy ever lie to you before then?”

  “No. If anything, he always told the truth. He never lied. Lying was as abhorrent to him as it was to Lily, his mother. A child Lily raised would not be a practiced liar. Yet, I know that Sam lied for him at the Grammy ceremony. Sam and I are friends from the playpen. Liam couldn’t have been that sick. I’m positive Sam would have said something to me. He knows how I feel.”

  “Would Sam tell you something that Liam, his client, specifically asked him to withhold?”

  Milo carefully considered his answer. “Maybe.”

  “Is there perhaps another reason for Liam’s reluctance to be seen in public? To my eternal shame, I must admit I read the supermarket rags. I have never seen paparazzi photos of him at any of the clubs or other public events where celebrities congregate.”

  “You’re right. Rick said Liam pretty much keeps to himself.”

  “Was he always retiring?”

  “God, no. I remember him as outgoing, friendly. He knew the name of almost every person in the band’s organization, and in our heyday we employed one hundred and thirty people.”

  “Then, my friend, you have some thinking to do. What would cause such a drastic change in his personality? And more to the point, are you willing to accept both him and yourself for what you are, wiping the slate clean no matter what the past held?”

  “You’re right. Thank you for being here and listening to me.”

  “You don’t need me. God will always listen, even if you have ignored Him for a lifetime.”

  Milo reached into his pocket and pulled out a check for thirty thousand dollars. “I hope this covers your repairs. I owe you more than I can say. I don’t know if I could ever become a real Catholic, but I would be honored if you would consider me a friend of your parish.”

  “This is far too much, but I will embarrass myself and take it. There is quite a bit of work that needs to be done for my people, so for them, I accept your generous gift. Don’t be a stranger. Even if I’m not your spiritual advisor, I want to remain your friend.”

  Milo shook his hand and took his leave. He had many issues to contemplate.

  It took two days for Milo to digest his new friend’s wisdom. He worked his garden and attempted to dig inside himself to find the source of his anger over the Grammy incident. On the second afternoon after his visit to Father Sanchez, Milo pricked his hand with a cactus spine. He began to curse the cactus then stopped and realized that he blamed the cactus for his own carelessness.

  It was a defining moment. Milo realized the cause of his own anger. He suddenly understood that he caused the problem. Liam didn’t skip the Grammies because of illness.

  That afternoon came back to him with crystal clarity. He’d told Liam he never wanted to lay eyes on him again. Liam, being Liam, would take him at his word, avoiding any place where a face-to-face confrontation could occur. He was the reason Liam missed the moment when his peers recognized him as the best in the business. He was the reason that Liam passed on all the award sho
ws. He sat down in the dirt and prayed for forgiveness to whatever God would listen.

  “Oh, Lord.” Milo fell to his knees in the middle of the loose stone walkway. “If there is anyone up there, please pay attention to me now,” Milo begged out loud. “I’ve hurt and wronged someone I love and who once loved me. I need to make it right, not for me, but for him. He needs to know I believe him and that I am a fucking fool—excuse the last bit. Please, just find a way I can let him know. I won’t ask for him back, although I still love and need him, damn it. This time, though, it would be for him, like Sam and I promised his mother.”

  * * * *

  Sam drove from LAX to the small motel in Los Angeles where his investigator had found Rick. He knew he represented Rick’s last chance at living clean and sober. The report from J.B. Investigations told him that his brother had contracted hepatitis, and his drug habit accelerated the inevitable.

  As he pulled into the parking space in front of room 17, he looked around, appalled at the condition of the residential motel. The area seemed a haven for junkies and gang bangers. Sam feared getting out of his car. However, his baby brother resided on the other side of that door. Sam screwed up his courage, exited his rental, and knocked.

  “Who’s there?” Sam recognized Rick’s slurred voice.

  “It’s Sam. Open up.”

  Rick opened the door.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Sam. I’m in enough trouble without worrying about what they’ll do to you.”

  “Who is they, Ricky?” Sam put his arms around an emaciated Rick, his brother’s arms and legs covered in sores.

  “Sammy, don’t touch me. I don’t want you sick. You shouldn’t be involved in all of this.”

  “Fuck that. You’re my brother.”

  “I’m so ashamed.”

  “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. I love you and I always will.”

  Rick led Sam over to a table set in a small kitchenette. It overflowed with empty soda cans, take-out boxes, and an ashtray with a mountain of cigarette butts. They sat.

  “You smoking now?”

  “Yeah, makes it easier to control myself between hits. Look, Sam, I owe a great deal of money to all the wrong people, an amount that can’t be easily found, even by you. Sooner or later they’re going to find me, just like you did. I refuse to bring you down with me.”

  “If I walked out that door without you, I would be lower than a snake’s belly. Come home with me. We’ll figure this out together.”

  Rick laughed, the sound harsh and discordant. “With interest, I’m into the mob for at least five hundred grand, although with the interest, I wouldn’t be surprised if the sum is closer to a mil. You don’t have that kind of cash. You’ve put me in rehab three times already this year and it hasn’t worked. Write me off, Sam. I’m a bad bet.”

  Sam rose up and grabbed Rick by the shoulders. “You are not and never have been a bad bet. You are still the best bass player in the recording business. You stood as a good friend to Liam. You saved his fucking life. If you felt taken for granted, perhaps you were, but not because you weren’t of value, but because you’d shown yourself to be dependable. Milo and I knew that when you went on stage, you knew your stuff. Christ, Rick, what happened? You could have gone on to another band.”

  Rick slumped back into the metal-backed chair. “Sam, I destroyed Shattered Glass.”

  “Jesus, Rick, I don’t care what you think about the past, and I don’t want to hear it. Shattered Glass is not what’s important to me right now. You are. We are going to work together to get you out of this mess. I’m going to make it all right again, the band, everything. I swear.”

  Three days later, Sam returned to his office. He enrolled Rick in an in-patient program at Redbrook, a rehabilitation center with facilities in both Pennsylvania and New Jersey, and a program specifically designed for the hardest cases who came in with medical problems caused by drug abuse as well as the addiction itself. It was expensive, but if it could save his brother, it would be worth it.

  He picked up the telephone to call Milo.

  Chapter 11

  There was a war in this land

  In which brothers raised their hands

  Against their brothers in the fields soaked in red

  Where the crops should have been

  Instead were planted men, kin killed by kin

  Like brothers who had never been

  Born to be brothers

  —Liam O’Shea, “Brothers”

  * * * *

  K.C. Dorsey’s Sound Tracks

  February 2009

  A certain bass player, who lived a lush life when he was attached to his childhood buddies’ mega-rock band, is said to be in rehab again. It will be his fourth stay in a year. No one in the media has been able to scoop the location. The buzz, however, is that this time the Brilliant Bass Bad Boy has to give up his toys permanently, or he’ll be playing bass in Hell’s Own Band…

  * * * *

  Liam was groggy with sleep when his cell phone awoke him at eight in the morning in the obscure bed and breakfast where he’d booked a room for the Columbus gig. He’d deliberately changed his itinerary twice since leaving New Jersey. As a result, he’d managed to outwit his stalker for the last two stops of the tour.

  “Liam, this is Sam.”

  “I knew it had to be you or Rick or Danny. You are the only three people who have this number. Have you found him?”

  “I guess you didn’t read the trades today.”

  “No, after the concert I came to the hotel and crashed.”

  “Liam, I need your help.”

  Liam had never known Sam Stein to ask anyone for anything in his life. This had to be serious. He sat up in bed and pulled the phone closer to his ear.

  Now fully awake, he asked, “What’s wrong? Whatever you need.”

  “Don’t be so quick to agree. What I’m about to ask you will be hard, very hard, and I want you to speak to Patricia before you agree.”

  Alarmed now, Liam said, “Just tell me. No drama.”

  “Rick is in rehab again. First, I need money. He owed the Jersey mob somewhere near a million. That, plus the expense of another stay in rehab, has temporarily wiped me out. He’s very ill. The doctors tell me he doesn’t have long. What he wants the most is to see the band back together. He needs an incentive to stay clean. I want to provide him with that incentive. The band is the only thing he ever really wanted, the only thing that really meant something to him.”

  Liam stood in silence for a moment. “The band?”

  “Yes, Liam, the band. The original band, just the four of us like it used to be before we all screwed it up so royally.”

  “And this would mean I would have to spend time with Milo. I don’t know if I can, Sam. I can’t listen to our old recordings without crying.”

  “Please, I need you to do this.”

  Liam sucked in a long breath. “Has Milo agreed?”

  “I asked him the same thing I’m asking you. I want to do a reunion album and a short tour, small venues, maybe four or five cities. I’m asking for a few new songs composed by you and Milo. The cities can be up to you and Milo, if you wish. The only catch is that Milo insists the two of you collaborate face-to-face at his home in New Mexico, with a minimum stay of two weeks, probably a month.”

  “Why does it have to be in New Mexico? I have a perfectly good studio in New Jersey.”

  “Liam, I’ve been to your house. You’ve been there since 2002, and you haven’t even unpacked the boxes you brought from Rumson. How are you going to host the three of us, especially since Rick may need special care? He saved your life. When I would have let you be, he forced you to accept his company and therefore kept you in the land of the living. Rick needs this and you can’t host it there. Please?”

  It hurt Liam to hear Sam beg, especially since he was right. Despite his faults, after the breakup Rick, and afterward Sam, had been his only contacts to the family he made for himself in Shattered Gl
ass. He would talk to Patricia on how to deal with Milo, but he couldn’t refuse Sam.

  “I have two days more here in Chicago. Give me a few days to wrap things up at home and I’ll be there.”

  “When, Liam? I need a date.”

  “It’s February twenty-eighth. I can be at Milo’s by March fourth, but I have a few conditions of my own. First, no significant others. I couldn’t take that. Second, I do my thing and leave until the tour.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No thanks are necessary. We’re family, remember?”

  * * * *

  Liam waited until ten in that morning before he called Patricia. He wasn’t sure how to begin the conversation. After deliberation, he decided to give her the facts and let her draw her own conclusions.

  “I usually don’t hear from you when you are on tour,” Patricia said. “What happened? Has the stalker situation worsened?”

  “I think he is getting more dangerous, and yes, I’ve got to tell Sam. There have been some additional unsettling developments.” He began to pace.

  “Tell me about them.”

  Liam’s voice dropped. “Rick is ill. From the way Sam sounded, he doesn’t have long.”

  “That must have upset you.”

  “There’s more.”

  “With that tone of voice, this has to be about Milo.”

  “Yes. Sam asked me to work with him. It would take a few weeks, and it would involve staying at his home.”

  “Do you want to do this?”

  “One of the reasons I continued to see you after the incident was to try and rid myself of Milo’s ghost.”

  “All the therapy and happy pills in the world will not evict Milo’s ghost from your mind. This is something only you can do for yourself. There is no better way to exorcise a specter than to do it in person.”