By Degrees (6 page)

I’ve shocked several people, but there are a handful who don’t look as if they disagree.
 
I count the bassist, the chauffeur, and the two bodyguards in that group.
 
Good
.
 
Four down, three to go
:
Drummer, guitarist, manager.

“Wow, man, harsh,” says the drummer.
 
His stringy hair and stained t-shirt makes him look almost homeless.

“You’re fresh out of the hospital for a heroin overdose, right?” I ask him.

The guy’s jaw drops but he doesn’t say anything.
 
Several people snicker, but stop when he shoots them the evil eye.

“Who was with you when you were shooting up?”

He sets his jaw mutinously, but still doesn’t respond.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.
 
I know Tarin’s your friend.
 
I know you don’t mean to cause him any harm.
 
But right now, he’s on a one-way path to self-destruction.
 
It’s not just having fun for him.
 
He’s lost control.
 
He’s off the rails.
 
I need your help getting him back on.”

“Yeah, but who are you?” asks the bassist.
 
He’s smiling, obviously not as bitter as the drummer.
 
“Not to be rude or anything, but…”
 
He shrugs.

The guitarist gives me a mean smirk as he’s nodding in agreement.

“Thanks for asking, Randy.
 
Actually, I’m a consultant.
 
I have thirty days to get his ass in gear.
 
It’s not a lot of time so I need your help.”

“You a doctor or something?” Randy asks.

“No.
 
But I do this for a living, and I’m good at what I do.”

“We just have to take your word for it?” says Stick, the rhythm guitarist. He’s obviously not as convinced.
 
“Sorry, but we’re not that naive.
 
People come after us for our money all the time.”

“I’ve vetted her credentials, and they’re impeccable,” said Mel, sounding offended.
 
“And in case I wasn’t clear enough before, let me be more clear now … she has the label’s and my full support.
 
Period.
 
This is a done deal.”

I hold my hand out to calm him and the others down.
 
“I’m not here to make anyone upset.
 
I’m here to ask for your help.
 
I assume you want Tarin healthy and happy …”
 
I look around for confirmation, knowing full-well that anyone who disagrees with me right now is going to look like a complete ass.
 
All the heads in the room either nod or just remain still.

“Good.
 
That’s what I want.
 
It’s what Mel wants, it’s what you want, it’s what your label wants … and believe me … it’s what Tarin wants.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” mumbles the drummer.

“Oh, I’m sure.
 
And anyone who stands in the way of Tarin getting healthy and productive is gone.”
 
I wait a few seconds for that to sink in.

“Come again?” says Stick, on the verge of losing his temper.
 
The anger simmers beneath the surface of his cool exterior.

I repeat in a calm voice.
 
“Anyone who interferes in this program to get Tarin back on track is gone.
 
Crew, bodyguards, drivers, friends …” I look directly at him and finish, “…and even bandmates if necessary.”

The guitarist and drummer look at each other and then bust out laughing.
 
They get themselves hysterical over it, so I wait for them to finish.
 
I get the sense that the last bit of their mirth is forced, but that’s okay.
 
If they don’t learn now, they’ll learn soon enough.

I smile indulgently as they look at me, now obviously feeling very full of themselves. Once I’m sure I have their attention, I continue. “I recommend that you check the terms of your contract with the label. Have your attorneys verify too, if you want.
 
Specifically take a look at paragraphs forty-three subsection 2a and forty-four in its entirety.”

The smiles disappear from their faces and they exchange a worried look.

I gaze over the group, forcing my grin to stay away. This would be the wrong time to gloat. “The good news is that anyone on board with helping Tarin get his life back has nothing to fear from me.
 
My only goal is to get rid of his problems and bring him back to his creative, happy place.
 
I need your commitment today that you’re with me in this.
 
Thirty days or less of absolute dedication to helping Tarin.”

“What are we going to have to do?” asks one of the bodyguards.

“We’ll have a strategy meeting where I’ll ask for your input.
 
Then we’ll start right away.
 
We’ll get rid of all the bad influences in his life, the drugs, the booze, the pills, the cigarettes.
 
All of it.
 
We’ll get him exercising, writing, singing … doing the things that will get him whole again.
 
We’ll talk to him, remind him what he means to us, help him remember what’s important in life.”

“Isn’t that what rehab’s for?” asks the chauffeur.

“Rehab is for addicts. My information is that Tarin is not an addict.”
 
I look pointedly at the drummer.
 
He drops his gaze.

“He has no particular drug of choice, he takes whatever’s around.
 
And he doesn’t do drugs all the time, just when he’s around certain people.”
 
I don’t bother pointing anyone out.
 
Everyone already knows who the culprit is in this room.

“Why don’t you do a package deal?” says the bassist, looking at his bandmate.
 
“You can get two of them sober instead of just one.”

The guitarist holds the drummer back from punching the bassist in the face.
 
I watched them work it out, waiting to speak until they’re done.

I would never say this to them, and it’s not that I’m a cold person, but I don’t do this work for drummers unless they’re the Phil Collins type.
 
If the drummer for
By Degrees
suddenly becomes unavailable for whatever reason, they’ll find a replacement in less than a day.
 
If Tarin disappears,
By Degrees
is over.
 
Finished.
 
No longer able to make music that changes people’s lives, lifts them up when they’re down, and allows them to connect in ways that they can’t without the songs.
 
He’s the singer, songwriter, and face of the music.
 
I don’t value one life over another or one career over another, but I can’t save everyone.
 
I save the ones I do because of the one I didn’t.

“What’s good for Tarin will be good for everyone here,” I say, being as politically correct as I can.

The time has come for passionate advocacy, for me to show them exactly how and why we are going to do this.
 
I take a deep breath and settle myself as much as possible, preparing my mind and my heart for what I’m about to say, preparing my soul for the ghosts I’m going to temporarily resurrect.
 
I give these strangers everything I have, reaching down into the darkness and pulling out the piece of me that only sees the light of day once in the presence of strangers I will be working with: when I need them to know why I’m so dedicated to this task and how far I’ll go to succeed at it.

“Many years ago, I was in love with a musician.
 
Maybe some of you knew him.
 
His name was Austin Betzer.”
 
I pause and see the shock on their faces as I continue.
 
“We grew up together.
 
We were in love for a long time, since we were in junior high, thirteen years old.
 
I was with him when he picked up his first guitar at fourteen.
 
I went to every show he played, from the garage parties to the arenas. I stood by his side for everything, from his rocket ship ride to superstardom to his descent into madness. I watched him slowly lose track of who he was, where he came from, and what he was all about.” Everyone in the room remains silent, many of them obviously shocked.

“First his relationships suffered.
 
Then the music did, too. And then there was nothing left for him.
 
He couldn’t stop the downward spiral and I didn’t step in and do it for him.
 
No one did.
 
I let him go, and in doing so, I had a hand in his death.
 
I’ll never ever forgive myself for that.
 
But what I
can
try to do is make sure it doesn’t happen to another great musician like him ever again.”

I look around at their expressions, seeing tears from several.
 
I take a deep breath and give it my last bit of emotional strength.
 
“I will fight for Tarin with everything I have, and I will personally kick the ever-loving shit out of anyone who gets in my way.
 
But I can’t do this huge thing myself.
 
I need your help.
 
Tarin needs your help.
 
Please tell me now if you’re in or if you’re out.”

The room is dead silent for about five seconds.
 
And then the bassist speaks up.
 
“I am so fucking in right now, you have no idea.
 
Austin was my idol, man.
 
I fucking died a little that night with him, you know?”
 
He wiped a tear out of his eye.
 
“Fuck, that was awful watching him go.
 
We lost a fucking rock icon that night.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
 
He’s absolutely right, but what he doesn’t know is that the world lost a gentle, loving soul that night too.
 
There will only ever be one Austin Betzer.

“I’m in too,” says the driver, his voice rough with emotion.
 
“All the way.
 
You just tell me what you want me to do.
 
I didn’t know Austin, but Tarin is my friend.
 
One of my best friends.
 
I’d do anything to help him find his way back.”

“Us too,” says one of the bodyguards, pointing to his colleague.
 
“You won’t have to kick anyone’s ass.
 
We’ll do it for you.”

My hearts soars with hope, but I just nod without smiling.

“Damn, Austin Betzer?
 
You’re his girl?
 
I heard about you but never saw a picture.”
 
The band’s manager walks up and holds his hand out.
 
“Whatever you need, I’m in.”

I shake it firmly, looking around at the rest of them.

The drummer takes a huge breath and lets it all out at once.
 
Then he looks up. “I guess this is where I say, ‘My name’s Dave and I’m a drug addict,’ or whatever.”

I smile.
 
“No need.
 
Just tell me you’re in and I’ll see what I can do to get you whatever help you want.”

He nods.
 
“Fine.
 
I’m in.
 
I don’t know about committing to anything else, but I can commit to Tarin.
 
He’s my best friend.”

Stick is the last man standing.
 
He’s conflicted, that’s clear.
 
I can almost see the battle going on in his head.
 
Everyone in the room is uncomfortable except me.
 
I wait for his answer.

“Come on, man … you remember Austin,” says the bassist.
 
“He was totally there for us.
 
He got us that show where we met Mel.”

“Yeah, remember that?” says Dave, laughing while he travels down memory lane.
 
“He snuck around and fucked up that band’s amps so they couldn’t go on.
 
We got their slot and then
bam
.
 
Mel saw us and that was the start of it all.
 
Where would we be without Austin?
 
Probably still in my parents’ garage.”

I try not to let my shock show on my face.
 
It feels like someone just walked over my grave.
 
I imagine Austin’s ghost whispering in my ear, telling me he was the one who set me on the path into Tarin’s life all those years ago.
 
It’s a small world, babe.
 
There are hidden connections everywhere.

I shake my head to get the specter out.
 
There’s no such thing as destiny.
 
Only memories, regrets, and the desire to do better next time.
 
I will do better this time.
 
I
will
save Tarin’s life.

“Fine.”
 
The guitarist looks at me with a guarded expression.
 
I know I haven’t won the entire war with him … just this one battle.
 
“I’m in until I see shit going wrong.
 
Then I’ll be out, and I won’t be going anywhere.”
 
He glares at Mel.
 
“No one can force me out of the band I helped put together.”

Mel raises an eyebrow but wisely says nothing.
 
I do the same.

Once I see all the expressions relaxing around the room, I smile.
 
“Excellent. Thank you for coming. Please put your contact information on that sheet over there.
 
Be sure to fill in all the boxes.
 
My assistant Scott will be in touch for our next meeting.
 
He’s Austin’s little brother, so please be gentle and forgive him if he drops a load of f-bombs on you.”
 
I pause to wait for the laughter to stop.
 
“Please consider yourselves on-call for the next thirty days.
 
If I call, I’ll expect you to answer and respond ASAP.
 
Last, but not least, please do not say anything to Tarin or the crew or any of the other people who hang around.
 
I’ll be discussing this situation with Tarin personally tomorrow and then all the rest of them after.” I pause to scan their faces.
 
“Are we good?”