Graham made a comment about being grateful for the police in general, then headed back down the hall, to get the door. Marcus followed, wishing me a good day, and Hoffman came last, but she stopped as she was passing me.
“Rough night?” she asked.
It took me a second to realize she was talking about the cut on my head. I tried to fumble out my prepared lie, but I didn’t need it, because she’d already continued on her way. I watched her and Marcus shake Graham’s hand, and then they left, and he shut the door after them.
“No idea what the hell that was about,” he told me cheerfully when he came back. “Just dropped by, wanted to know if I had any idea about anything about your brother or those pictures. Wanted a list of possible enemies, shit like that. I told them every unsigned guitarist. Then they asked for disgruntled employees. I told them I’d try to get them something, but the way Van is, that list would be fifty pages long.”
“Just for the tour managers,” I said.
He nodded, grinning, then focused on me, concerned. “What happened to your head? You take a spill?”
“A bad one.”
“Were you loaded, Mimser?”
“No. I’m just a klutz.”
He laughed. “I love it, an Oregonian using Yiddish. Klutz. You’re not a klutz, kiddo. You want something, I’ve got stuff in the fridge, I’ve got some chai and some of those energy drinks that you and Van were chugging on the road. Bought a damn flat of the stuff, and I can’t stand it. Taurine, what kind of fucking flavor is taurine?”
“It’s kinda citrus,” I said. “I don’t need anything.”
“God, I do. I’ve got an ounce and a half of coke in the bathroom, I was gonna wet myself when that Hoffman one asked if she could use my facilities. Don’t think she noticed it, though.”
“You left it out on the counter?”
“Hell, no, it’s in my shaving kit.”
Graham left me laughing and went into the kitchen, then came right back, opening a can of soda. He flopped on the couch, and waved at me to take any seat I wanted.
“You hear the latest?” he asked me. “Nothing for Free is at seven, and Scandal just hit forty-nine. Our illustrious sponsor called me this morning, offering to tack on another twenty-five dates.”
“You going to take them?”
Graham chugged his soda like it was water, then lowered the can and began drumming one of his irregular beats on its side, staring at me. I wondered if he was actually on the coke he’d been talking about.
“Talked to Van about the albums, didn’t talk to her about the dates yet, there’s an issue, kind of, but maybe you should talk to her.”
“There’s an issue?”
“There’s a request, it’s not an issue, it’s a request that if they do add the dates, they add them with you back on the stage, not with Clay.”
“Oh.”
Graham swept on, ignoring the awkwardness. “I got a call, there’s a company down in L.A. called Muze Media, they put out videos, you know, the kind you see advertised on the cable outlets, late-night. Sexy Coeds in New Orleans Show You Their Hooters and shit like that, but they’re asking if we have any home video, maybe from the tour, anything like that. They’ll package and sell it, they’re offering a sweet deal on that.”
“We don’t have anything like that.”
“The Midwest stuff, this past summer, on the bus, Click had a camera, we were all passing it around, you remember, right? You and Van and Click all goofing around, making your home movie. You know who has that tape? Do you have it?”
“I’d think Click does.”
“I’ll have to call him.” He drained his soda, then began working the can in one hand, making the aluminum pop and crinkle. He was staring out the window, or maybe at the window, and his expression went a little blank, as if he was totaling figures in the spreadsheet of his mind.
“Hey, Graham?” I said.
“What? Sorry, honey, just thinking, you know.”
“Yeah, listen. I need some money.”
“You have money. You have more than some money.”
“Yeah, but I need cash,” I said. “It’s hard to explain, but there’s a purchase I need to make, and I have to do it by the end of the week, and the bank, they can’t get me the cash in time. But I was thinking, you’ve got cash, and you always said it was our cash.”
“You mean the Mad Road Money? Yeah, that’s Tailhook’s, that’s not mine. I’ve got a couple grand here, if that’ll do it, but I’d think the bank could cover that. How much you need, baby?”
“Four hundred thousand,” I said.
Graham stopped working the can and stared at me. “Come again?”
“I know it’s a lot.”
He continued to stare at me, and all of his nervous energy was gone. “Why do you need four hundred thousand dollars in cash, Mim?”
“Like I said, I’m buying this thing and—”
“What thing?”
“Property, it’s in Lake Oswego, near the water. Secluded, but it’s one of those private communities, you know, and they’re nervous about me moving in, because of everything and all. But if I can pay this guy in ready cash, he’s willing to sell to me.”
“You’re dumping your place?”
“It’s just . . . the cameras and everything, Graham, it’s just been too much, you know?”
“But you put so much work into that place.”
“I know, I know, but I can’t . . . I can’t stay there. And Lake Oswego, you know, it’s quiet, it’s real secluded. If I pay this guy in cash, then maybe the press won’t find out about it. I could use a place like that.”
He was wavering, I could see it.
“Be a good place for me to dry out.”
That was the push, and it took. “I can see that. But four hundred, Mimser, I’ve never carried a quarter that much. I can free up about a hundred, hundred fifty thousand.”
“I’ll write you a check.”
“Yeah, and you should talk to Van, too. She watches the money and she’ll want to know why I’m spraying cash like a stuck cow. Pig. Whatever it is that sprays when it’s stuck.”
“Normally a pig,” I said.
“You need it when?”
“By Friday. I have to meet this guy Friday noon, so if I can get it no later than Friday morning, that’d be great.”
“Yeah, I can do that,” Graham said, after a second. “We’re leaving tomorrow evening, but I should be able to get it to you before then.”
I got up and went and gave him a kiss on the lips, just a thanks. “You’re a saint.”
“You’re gonna have to talk to Van, you know. You should ask her at the party tonight.”
“I’m not going.”
“I know it’s soon after the funeral, but it could cheer you up.”
“I don’t think I’d be comfortable.”
“Mim, you’re part of the band, honey. Van loves you, she’s just being a hard-ass because she cares. That thing in Sydney, that’s not what this is about, that’s just the symptom, you know. Van’s got voice and she’s got presence, and even she knows that it’s worth shit if she doesn’t have you giving her a way to use them. We all want you back, we all want you healthy and happy, not . . . you know.”
“The way I am now?”
He crinkled the can again. “You should go, baby, at least stop by.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll be there. Click’ll be there. Be a chance to talk about these new dates, too. You tell Van what you told me, about this place, this Oswego lakeside-rehab-hideaway you’re buying, she might think that’s a big step, might lift her anti-Bracca embargo.”
“You think?”
“It’s what she says, it’s about the band. Getting you onstage, that’d be good for the band,” Graham said. “You should go.”