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I smile and shake my head. “I just came back to return the computer and phone. I already have a job in Los Angeles,” I repeat, because I don’t want her to think I’m moving back to New York.
The phone rings again and Faith runs to answer, postponing the sermon I see painted on her face. I take the opportunity to go to the recording studio and greet the band. As scared as I am to see them, I decided to come back in person because there are some conversations you can’t have on the phone.
I’m surprised to find dark and empty rooms. While I’m terrified to see Evan, I have to explain to the Jailbirds that I won’t be coming back. They are my bosses as much as he is. And I have to warn Thomas that I’m about to announce to Iris that I’ll be staying in Los Angeles for a little longer, and I already know she won’t be happy. I’ll need all the help I can to avoid being killed.
I return to the front entrance again and lean on the counter. “Where have they all gone?” I ask Faith, who, in the meantime, has finished her phone conversation.
She frowns and looks at me, puzzled. Only now do I notice the dark circles around her eyes and that sad look I rarely see on her.
“Don’t you know?” The question alone is enough to freeze the blood in my veins. “Evan made a mess. The label signed the Red Velvet Curtains for eight albums and decided to stop releasing the old Jailbirds’ albums. They’ve all been with their lawyers for three days to see if they can sue the record label. Iris is with them, too. I’ve been working here alone since Evan left.”
Her words hit me like a bucket of icy water. Things have gone from bad to downright apocalyptic. How the hell could the situation get so bad in less than a month?
“Why eight albums? And what does it mean that they’re not releasing the band’s old albums anymore? And what do you meanEvan left? Did he quit?”
Faith blushes and shakes her head, trying to answer my questions. “I didn’t understand all of the details. I’m sorry I can’t help you. But the Red Velvet Curtains fired Evan…and then the Jailbirds argued with him, and he left…I don’t know if he resigned. He didn’t say anything to us…they were furious. Damian smashed a stool in the recording studio.”
I can only imagine how Evan feels right now. I don’t think he’s ever argued with his friends, and from what Faith is saying, the situation is critical. I’ve never even seen them disagree. And then, in that damn meeting, I remember Anthony saying he was willing to release the Jailbirds’ albums. There was never any hesitation, at least not that I noticed. Why the hell did Evan bargain for an eight-album deal without keeping the Jailbirds’ royalties? It makes no sense. It’s so far from what we planned to do that I struggle to believe Faith’s words.
“Do you know where I can find Evan?” My voice comes out broken. As much as we’ve argued, my heart clenches in my chest, just imagining what a hard time he’s having right now. I need more information. I need him to tell me how the hell he caused such a mess. For someone who saw it as a personal defeat that he signed a less than ideal contract for the Jailbirds at the beginning of his career, he must have made an irrecoverable mistake to have disappeared from the earth.
Faith shakes her head. “I haven’t seen him for three days. Since they argued and Damian told him not to show his face around here.”
If Damian came in through that door right now, I would punch him, that’s how angry I am. The feeling, however, is immediately crushed by a sense of discomfort and concern. However frustrated I am with Evan, I’m also worried about his health, and if the situation is as bad as Faith says, the stress of arguing with the Jailbirds may have made it worse.
“I’ll leave the stuff here with you. I have to go and look for Evan.” The urgency in my voice straightens Faith’s back.
“Emily, what aren’t you telling us? Why is everything falling apart since that damn trip to Los Angeles?”
I shake my head and put on a smile. I have no idea. The situation was falling apart before I left, but Evan forced me to keep it a secret. Still, since leaving for that damn trip, everything has exploded with a ripple effect and I still can’t comprehend the seriousness. The last time I saw him, he was lying in a hospital bed after we thought he’d had a heart attack. The fact that he’s been missing for three days feels grimmer than I want to admit. But I can’t throw that bomb on Faith and then run away without giving her an explanation. Especially the part Evan asked me to keep a secret from his friends. I can’t talk about his private life with others, even if I do disagree with his decisions and am furious with him.
“No, you don’t have to worry about him. I’ll tell him to call you when I find him.”
Faith doesn’t have time to object because the phone starts to ring again, and I take the opportunity to sneak out the door and take a taxi to Evan’s house.
I knock on the door several times, more and more insistently. I’m lucky the doorman let me in because Evan forgot to take me off the approved list of people who can come up to his apartment without notifying him. I’m so worried this time he’s really had a heart attack and no one knew it that when he comes to open the door, I sigh in relief. Only to feel anxious again when I take in his appearance: his hair is disheveled, he’s barefoot, wearing a pair of gray wrinkled, stained sweatpants, and he’s bare-chested. While I would have gladly admired his sculpted body any other time, right now I’m so worried I can’t even speak.
Evan lets me in, and the warm, cozy, perfect house I knew is a mess of papers, pizza boxes, and empty cans of energy drinks.
“What the hell happened to you?”
He shrugs and leans back on the sofa. “Apparently, I fucked up.”
His voice is hoarse, and my concern deepens when I see the dark circles around his eyes. “When did you last sleep?”
He shrugs again, almost disinterested in the question, light years from Evan’s usual composure. His shoulders are slumped, and his hands cling in an iron grip to the sofa he’s leaning on. The veins along his arms seem almost more accentuated.
“Three days.”
If it weren’t for the fact that he already looks like a ragdoll, I would punch him. “Tell me what happened.”
“Do you really want to know? I mean, you live in Los Angeles now. It’s not your problem anymore.” He’s angry.
I cross my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow. “Do you want to be an asshole, Evan? That’s fine, but remember it was you who fired me.”
He closes his eyes, inhales, and lowers his head. A hint of shame runs across his face, and I almost feel guilty about rubbing salt into a wound. “Sorry. This situation is driving me crazy.”
“I can see that. I stopped quickly by the office, and Faith told me you’d really fucked up but couldn’t explain more.”
