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I squinted past the lights. In the middle of the small gang of people was the indisputably malevolent form of my half-brother, Apollo Brock. His head was bowed, but I’d been stared down at by him from enough billboards over the past months that I’d recognize him from just the tip of his ears or the corner of his eyebrows.
I glanced at the other members of the band. “It looks like someone received our message.”
“Didn’t count on him fucking up our one reunion gig though, did we?” Reed sounded a little cranky, but he gave me a wink all the same, to show that things were okay between us. “Should we be honored? When was the last time the infamous Apollo Brock showed his face in public?”
“Feels like he’s everywhere with those billboards.” I looked darkly at the approaching huddle of Apollo’s guards. “But you’re right. An honor, for sure.”
Apollo’s huddle of security reached the barriers. Half of them vaulted the barriers to restrain the security stopping anyone from jumping over. The other half lifted Apollo over the barrier, and then onto the stage, holding him aloft like he was a king being carried on a throne.
He was close enough now for me to see his expression. His eyes were dark, his brow furrowed. He glanced around at us, but he didn’t meet my eyes. For some reason, none of us said anything. Perhaps we thought we’d briefly had our voices taken away now that the microphones had ceased to work. More likely, we had no idea what was happening.
Apollo headed for an unused microphone just to the left of the main band area of the stage. He turned to face the audience, who were comparatively silent, though a whisper of mumbles swept the crowd.
He tapped the mic, and the sound was like being able to hear the drop of a pin in a quiet room.
I guessed that microphone was the only one working, then.
At last, he spoke. “Hello, assembled fans of my brother’s middling and quite dated rock band. You may or may not know me. My name is Apollo Brock, author of the number one bestselling memoirThe Black Sheep: The Lives and Lies of My Brothers.You more likely know me, if at all, as the brother of your favorite band’s lead singer, Sylvester Brock, who, it should be clear, did not invite me on stage tonight.”
Apollo didn’t look at me even as he mentioned my name. He was speaking in quite a stilted manner compared to his usual dramatic flair. For some reason, this was scarier than if he had just started cackling evilly into the microphone.
“I apologize for using you, assembled music ‘fans’, as ade factopress conference. But I have news I just couldn’t wait to share with the world. And, in this modern age, aren’t we all journalists of social media, in the end?”
A dramatic pause. Silence from the crowd. But, I noted, a majority of the people in the audience were holding their phones, recording or texting. So Apollo was kind of right.
Reed took a warning step towards Apollo. “Get to the point.”
He was met with an icy glare that seemed to halt him in his tracks.
Apollo turned back to the microphone, cleared his throat and continued: “I hereby announce I am stepping down as CEO ofBrock Industries. That is all I have to say, really. Ever again. Thank you, and goodnight.”
Then he turned around and stalked off backstage, leaving us in stunned silence, unable to play our instruments.
Luna
There was a sharp intake of breath from Priscilla’s throat, a rasp that cut through the silence of the sound booth. “Stupid boy.” Her voice was a hiss.
Then she turned around to face me. “I warned you not to meddle with my son’s head. Start picking at it and it all falls apart. Do you knowhow many yearsI spent carefully constructing that boy’s mind?”
I really had no sympathy for Priscilla. “He’s hardly a boy.” But I could see how she could easily whisper lies into someone’s ears. I’d been taken in by her, in the recording studio, when we’d sung such a beautiful duet and she’d held me while I cried.
“No matter.” She turned around airily to the sound desk. “This wasn’t the eventuality I wanted. But it’s not like I hadn’t prepared for the possibility I’d have to step up as CEO.”
I couldn’t help it – I blurted out my reaction before I could stop myself. “You’rethe new CEO ofBrock Industries.”
“Why yes, child. In fact, it was mine from day one – a clause in the will I persuaded Emory to leave in. I simply preferred to use Apollo as my figurehead all these years. I found that retiring from public life suited me rather well – after I was no longer required to pretend to be a maid during daylight hours.”
Even when being held hostage by Priscilla, I couldn’t force myself to sound enthusiastic for her benefit. “Congratulations, I guess.”
Luckily, she was barely paying attention to my responses. With a wave of her hand, she took a step towards the door. “But I suppose the stage lights beckon to me once again. Time to make my re-entrance onto the world stage. Bruce, start up my backing track, will you? I’m going to take the spare mic and make my way to the stage. The rest of you, come with me. If they parted for Apollo, they’ll part with me.”
Backing track?!What on Earth was about to happen?
Priscilla left the sound booth, taking most of the security with her, except for the two holding me by the arms and ‘Bruce’, who was operating the sound desk. Outside the booth, I could hear one of the technicians on the phone to the police, or maybe the venue security.
Bruce fiddled with the sound desk, and suddenly the backing track to one of Priscilla’s best-known hits, ‘I Wanna (Take Over the World)’, started blaring over the speakers across the entire concert hall.
I found myself laughing aloud at her choice of song. Maybe I’d gotten a bit hysterical. Possibly I was over-tired.
