“Plan on it,” Conor said before ending the call.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Colette said as she pulled on her T-shirt.
“It’s complicated. Let me try to get in touch with Gavin, then I’ll tell you some of it.”
He tried Gavin’s home phone and immediately got the answering machine. Then he tried Gavin’s mobile but it went straight to voicemail.
“Fuck, he won’t answer his lines.”
“Do you want Sophie’s cell number?” Colette offered.
“Good idea. I have it,” he said and tried her next.
“Why do you have Sophie’s number?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked absently.
“Because she’s your friend’swife.”
He ignored her as Sophie answered. “I just saw it on the tele, Sophie. What’s going on there?”
“Oh, Connie, it’s awful. Gavin is ready to break down,” Sophie said, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger, sadness, and hurt.
“Shh, now, honey. You know he needs you strong,” Conor told her. “Can you put him on the line?”
“Yeah. Where are you, anyway?”
“I’m in New York, visiting Shay. I’ll get a flight back today, though, and come straight there.”
“That would be great, Conor. Hang on.”
He waited while she took the phone to Gavin, who after a few moments said a hoarse hello.
“You okay, Declan?”
“Been better, Con. I have the feeling once I finish off this whiskey I’ll be right numb enough,” Gavin said with a laugh.
“Save some for me. I’ll be there late tonight.”
“Where are you now?”
“In New York. Shay’s coming back tomorrow.”
“Marty offered to come back from France. I told him no. I’m not even sure why you should rush back, man. There’s nothing to be done at this point. They’re a pack of rabid fucking dogs, the press is.”
“I can see that. Nice touch, by the way, as you went inside.”
Gavin laughed softly. “I couldn’t resist. The fuckers. Here I am asking ever so goddamn nicely to be left alone and they’re suddenly hard of hearing.”
“Least if I’m there we can tell ’em to fuck off together,” he suggested.
There was a long silence and Conor looked to see if he might have lost the connection on his phone but he hadn’t.
“Gav?”
When Gavin spoke again his voice was seething with hurt and betrayal. “Con, it was my own fucking brother who gave ’em the best quotes. He’s the one who suggested areinterpretationof my lyrics. I could kill him.”
“Jesus Christ,” Conor muttered. Conor liked Gavin’s brother about as much as Gavin did, which wasn’t saying a lot. Gavin and his older brother, Ian, had never gotten along. They were born with an incompatibility that seemed to carry over with Gavin’s friends. Ian had always taken the Irish tendency to be skeptical of someone’s ambitions and raised it to the level of contempt for Gavin daring to dream of something as fantastic as being in a band. Despite all their success, Ian had always dismissed Gavin’s part in things, categorizing it as luck rather than talent and hard work.
