“No,” Buxton agreed. “Not any more. But believe me, I earned every fucking cent.”
“So that last tour was the only one you did with Gary Knox?”
“Yes, thank God.”
Arvo took his notebook out of his pocket and rested it on his thigh. “It’s that tour I wanted to talk to you about, really,” he said. “I’ve heard a few rumours that it was pretty wild. That true?”
Buxton put his feet up on the edge of the table, ankles crossed, and relaxed in the wicker chair. “Wild is an understatement,” he said. “But while you’ve got your notebook out, I’d like to make it clear that I never have, don’t now, and didn’t then, do any drugs other than the legal ones.”
Arvo grinned. “Those being?”
Buxton held out the cigarette and can. “Tobacco and alcohol, man. That’s all. And I’m not even much of a drinker.”
“This isn’t about drugs, Mr. Buxton.”
“Carl, please. No? What is it about, then?”
“I’m sorry I can’t give you any details right now, but you’ve got nothing to worry about. All I want is information.”
Arvo heard a sound behind him and turned to see a woman leaning against the door frame, one hip cocked. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she wore high cut-off denim shorts and a white shirt knotted under her jutting breasts. Her smooth, ridged belly was nicely tanned. Prime California girl, Arvo thought. The type they write songs about. Like Nyreen.
“Oh, sorry, honey,” she said to Buxton. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
“That’s okay. This is Mr. Hughes. He’s come to talk about Gary Knox.”
“Oh.”
“I hadn’t met Bella then,” Buxton explained. “She never knew Gary.”
Bella didn’t look as if she had even been born then, Arvo thought. But he knew he was being uncharitable; she was probably at least eighteen. She had a dreamy look in her eyes that Arvo was willing to bet wasn’t caused by either alcohol or tobacco.
“You guys need anything?” she asked.
“No, love, we’re fine right now,” said Buxton.
“Okay.” She waved her hands about a bit then chewed on a loose strand of hair. “I’ll just... you know... be... then... ” She shrugged, turned and walked away with the kind of exaggerated rear motion a man rarely sees in this day and age. Only the flip-flopping of her sandals on the parquet floor spoiled the effect. Arvo noticed Buxton gazing proprietorially after her. He caught Arvo’s eye and stubbed out his cigarette. “My wife.”
“Very nice,” Arvo said. It seemed the proper response, like the one he had made to the Mercedes and the garden. “How long have you been married?”
“About six months.” Buxton smiled. “I suppose you could say we’re still on our honeymoon.”
“Congratulations.” Again Arvo thought of Nyreen. Their honeymoon hadn’t lasted that long. He hadn’t heard from her since the New Year’s Eve phone call Maria had answered. “About the tour... ?” he prompted.
Buxton shifted in his chair and recrossed his ankles. “Oh, yeah, the tour. Well, it was certainly a marathon. I can’t even remember how many gigs we did, but it seemed as if we had to play every hick town in the country. Mostly outdoor stadiums, festivals, that sort of thing. It was one hell of a hot summer, too. I mean, the whole thing was grueling, man. Have you ever had to do anything like that? Spend so much time with the same group of people you practically end up going to the toilet to take a piss together? Well I’ll tell you one thing: it soon makes you a hell of a lot less tolerant of your fellow man.”
“I heard it really creates strong bonds, too,” Arvo said. “Like soldiers in the trenches, or the jungle.”
“Were you in Vietnam?”
Arvo shook his head. “Nope. Too young.” And he had been too young. Just. He often wondered what he would have done: gone to Vietnam, or headed for Canada. The latter would have been easy enough, seeing as they lived so near the border, and his father had plenty of colleagues at the university who took draft dodgers over in the trunks of their cars. His mother and father were against the war; they would have supported him if he had burned his draft card. What haunted him about it all now was that he would never know; he hadn’t been put to the test, forced to make the choice.
“Well, quite frankly,” Buxton went on, “let me tell you that bonding stuff’s a right load of nonsense, man. It’s just a load of patriotic crap. All that being cooped up like that together for a long time does is show you what stupid fools most people are when you get right down to it.”
“It does? That’s an interesting point of view.” Arvo had a feeling that, to Carl Buxton, most of the world consisted of stupid fools who didn’t recognize or appreciate his genius. “I haven’t heard it put quite like that before,” Arvo went on. “How many of you were there?”
Buxton crushed his empty beer can and dropped it on the table. “Hard to say. It varied. There were four of us in the band, then there was Gary, the road crew, manager, assorted groupies and hangers on.” He shrugged.
“So it really was as crazy as people say?”
“Yeah. You’ve got to be really together to stay sane through a tour like that. I mean, I’m a professional musician. I’ve been on heavy-duty tours before — been there, man, and bought the T-shirt — and that one was tough even for me. It helps if you’re fit, too, you know. A lot of people don’t realize that. They think we’re all just pill-popping, booze-swilling degenerates. I’ll tell you something for free: Mick wouldn’t still be up there performing the way he does at his age if he didn’t work out, man. No way. Think about it.
“Anyway, I worked out whenever I got the chance. You know, hotel gyms and pools, weight rooms. But there just wasn’t enough time. Never is. Soundchecks. Rehearsals. Hassles. Too much junk food. Not enough sleep. Then there was all the stress of doing one show, two shows, a night. All the craziness around you. Egos. Tantrums.” He glanced toward the french doors and lowered his voice. “And sometimes there’s a groupie you want to spend the night with, you know. I’m only human. I mean, you just can’t know what that’s like, you can’t possibly imagine it, if you haven’t been there.” He shook his head slowly in recollection, then grinned. “But that was all BB. Before Bella.”
“Gary was hanging out with Sarah Broughton, then, wasn’t he? Can you tell me anything about her?”
“Sarah Broughton?” Buxton frowned. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. Threw me for a moment there, man. You mean Sally. Sally Bolton. At least that’s what she called herself then. I see her on television sometimes. Some cop show. She a friend of yours?”
“No,” said Arvo. “I’m a real cop.” And he smiled to take the sting out of it.
Buxton laughed. “Right. Sorry. Reason I was asking is she was just as crazy as he was.” He looked over his shoulder again to make sure Bella wasn’t around, and whispered, “I fucked her myself once. And do you know what? I don’t think she even remembered doing it. Pretty crazy, huh?”
Arvo nodded, wondering if there might be a good reason why getting fucked by Carl Buxton was so unmemorable. “Pretty crazy,” he agreed. “What was their relationship like?”
Buxton frowned. “Hard to say. They were stoned most of the time. I mean, you can’t really have a relationship if you’re stoned all the time, can you? Your relationship’s with the drugs then, not with another human being. Toward the end, though, they just seemed to kind of drift apart. Know what I mean?”
Arvo nodded. “Was there someone else?”
Buxton laughed. It was a harsh, unpleasant sound, something like a bark. “There was always someone else for Gary, man. When he could get it up, that is.”