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“Never leave home without it,” I piped up.
“Smart man.”
The comment came from a sharp-dressed man in his forties, accompanied by an equally stunning woman of around the same age. They entered the dressing room, suitcases in tow.
“I’m Foster Jones, and this is my colleague, Sasha Decour. Hair and makeup to the rescue.”
“Nice to meet you,” Van greeted them. “Thanks for accommodating our last-minute booking. I’ll get the rest of the guys down here, but you can start with Brodie. Not that he needs any improvement since he’s stunning as is.”
Foster clutched his chest, and Sasha sighed.
My face heated as I let Van’s comment sink in. Who knew I was such a praise slut?
Van quickly stepped out of the room, and I set my guitar aside.
“Just let me change into my outfit first.”
“Of course, it’ll take us a few minutes to organize our tools,” Foster replied with a smile.
I headed into the adjoining room to search the clothes rack.
A movement in the corner of the room caught my eye, but when I turned, there was nothing there. A cold draft surrounded me, but I shrugged off the strange feeling.
Holls and that ridiculous story about the ghost circled in my head, but I dismissed it.
I selected my black leather kilt and corset vest since it would complement the Day of the Dead makeup look perfectly. I paired the outfit with my favorite combat boots and headed out to find the rest of the band sitting down, getting their makeup prepped.
Foster and Sasha spent the next hour creating intricate designs on our faces. And glancing at my reflection, it was worth it.
Everyone thought so, except for Faise, who was acting even more cranky than usual.
“I don’t like the smell of this stuff. And how much longer is it gonna take?”
“Sorry, Foster. Despite years on stage, Faise is still a makeup virgin. Just ignore him.”
I got a middle finger from our drummer in return.
I had to talk to him. Maybe he was just burnt out from the tour, and this gig pushed him over the edge.
I hoped to fuck he wasn’t using again. Whatever the issue was, his attitude the past few days hadn’t improved.
Not that I was one to talk, but when it was just us four, there were always jokes and laughter. And I didn’t like feeling this tension from him. It threw our dynamic off, and we couldn’t work like that.
“Could you excuse us for a moment?” I asked Foster and Sasha.
They nodded and left us alone in the dressing room.
“Seriously, Faise. What’s up your ass lately? You’ve been in a shitty mood since we left Nashville. Speak.”
He shook his head.
“Silence isn’t going to work anymore. I’m only going to ask once because I need to save my voice. Tell us what’s going on. Are you okay? Are you… using again?”
“Fuck no,” he snapped back. “The hardest thing I’m ingesting lately is tequila and pot.”
Faise sighed and ran a hand through his black hair. Then he leaned forward and hung his head.
“It’s my brother. Rae lost his job six months ago, and then Hannah left him. Ever since, he’s been on a drug and alcohol binge. I didn’t realize how bad it got until we came home from Europe two weeks ago. Mom called me in a panic. She went by his place to see him and found Rae unconscious. Turns out he’s addicted to heroin. He’s gone through his savings; the mortgage on his condo is in arrears. I managed to get him into an addiction treatment center in California just before we headed down here.”
