Encore to an Empty Room (3 page)

“All that's great . . . ,” says Val. “But what's the point of this meeting? It's been two months and we haven't found
a single clue about where Eli might have hidden his next song. I mean, we still have to consider that the two tapes we found in LA and San Fran were it.”

“I know.” I hate hearing this because I've thought the same thing. All of us have. But as long as there's still a chance of finding the lost songs from
Into the Ever & After
, I feel like we have to try. “There might be clues we missed,” I say. “And the internet is too spotty from 1998. That's why we have to talk to people who were there. Plus, remember what Eli said:
More from the next show.
”

“Do we still think that's Minneapolis?” Matt asks.

“Makes sense,” I say. “If we could get a solid lead, we could try to book a gig there and go check it out.”

“Yeah,” says Caleb, “but it would definitely be easier if we'd found
any
more clues since then.”

“I know.” He's right. We need something,
anything
to go on. We can't just skip off to Minneapolis, or New York, the last two shows Allegiance played before Eli left the band, without a pretty solid lead, for all the reasons that have to do with still being in high school and having parents and everything.

Also, the rest of life has been keeping us pretty busy. Dangerheart has played a show every two weeks, practiced every other night, and is set to record an EP right after the holidays. Like Maya and me with our first semester project, the EP is a huge part of the band's PopArts grade. Not to mention our first chance to release some music.

I'm applying to colleges, too. Well, “applying” makes it sound like I've actually worked on the applications . . . but I will! Soon! I've still got twelve days until they're due.

Plus, Val's living at Caleb's and working to get her GED online. She doesn't want to enroll in school because then her mom might be able to track her down. Matt is helping her with the math bits because even though he's a freshman he is some kind of genius at math.

None of that leaves much time for sleuthing, and with every week that goes by, the doubt inside me grows: What if we're really just on a wild-goose chase?

Val sighs. “I keep thinking about the Eli on that ‘Exile' tape. He was already a mess, and that was
before
he ran off with my mom. Good ol' Melanie couldn't even remember to pick me up from school most days. It's just hard to imagine that he really followed through on writing, recording,
and
hiding the other two songs.”

“It does sound like a stretch,” I say quietly. Val's mom, Melanie Fowler, was Eli's girlfriend at the end of Allegiance. Actually she was Kellen's fiancée first. Hello, band drama! Val doesn't talk much about her, but I know that Melanie was bad enough to make Val run away a year ago, after a fight on Christmas turned violent. And though Val's never said, it seems pretty clear that wasn't the first violent incident.

Add that to a list of doubts about Eli that already includes a heroin addiction, and the fact that he was about to be sued by Kellen and the rest of his band, along with Candy Shell's
boss Jerrod Fletcher, for lost royalties and tour money. . . . Is there any way Eli really could have come through on the tapes?

But still . . . “It probably sounds cheesy,” I say, “but we can't give up yet.” Finding the songs is such a big opportunity for the band. And for Caleb . . . I think he really needs it. Ever since he found out about Eli, he's been torn up inside. I hope it will help him deal with those demons that have been swirling around in his head since last summer.

That's why tonight, I've called in an expert witness.

“There he is,” says Matt.

A wiry figure has entered the restaurant. He walks with a hunch like he should work in a mortuary, like he would know dark tales. Both of these things are kinda true. Slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, shoulders slumped, hands shoved into a black jacket that looks like something he's owned since the 1980s.

This is Vic, the server at Canter's Deli in Hollywood who knew where Eli's first tape was located.

He spies us and heads our way.

“You ready?” I say to Caleb. He eyes Vic worriedly and makes this expression that I call Fret Face. “Sure.” He gazes at me and I can see it all there: the hope, the fear, the trust in this idea and in me that I feel like I barely earned. I have a strong desire to grab him and kiss him hard, but I settle for another quick peck on the cheek, and holding his hand tight beneath the table, as Vic arrives.

“You wanted to meet,” Vic says when he arrives at our booth.

“Thanks for coming,” I say.

“Sure.” Vic looks around, as if he feels the cloak-and-dagger vibe, too. He grabs a chair from a nearby empty table and sits down. “How you holding up?” he asks Caleb.

Caleb musters a smile. “Not too bad.”

Vic nods and stares into the table. “So.”

“Okay.” I open my phone to a list of notes I made.

Vic's bony hand falls on mine. It's crisscrossed with white lines. Not sure Vic has ever seen a bottle of hand moisturizer. “No recordings,” he warns.

“Oh, no, I just have questions written down.”

“Put the phone away or I'm gone.”

“Right, sorry.” Phone returns to pocket. “Okay, first I, well, we wanted to say thank you for helping us find Eli's tape.”

“It was a tape?” Vic shrugs. “Huh.”

“You didn't know what Eli had hidden at Canter's?”

“He didn't tell me what it was and I didn't ask. I just knew he wanted it hidden until you came looking for it.”

“Well,” I say, “it was a tape. Of Eli playing his song called ‘Exile.' One of his lost songs.”

With each detail I watch Vic for a reaction . . . and get nothing.

“Now we're trying to find the others. We think maybe there's one in Minneapolis.”

Vic keeps staring into the table. Then he checks his watch. “These are the best hours of the night for tips.”

“Sure, sorry.” Everything he says throws me more off my game. “Um, but the thing is: Do you have any idea where Eli might have hid any other tapes? Do you think we're right that they might be in Minneapolis and New York? Or is there anywhere else in LA where you think he might have left a clue?”

“Look,” says Vic. “Here's all I know: Eli came in that day, hid whatever he hid in the back of that booth, made that fancy menu, and told me to help you find it if you ever came asking, but that was it. He didn't say another word to me
about any lost songs or anything. And I'm glad he didn't. I don't want to be involved in any of this. So, if there's nothing else, it's been nice to see you all but I need to go make the rent.” He starts to get up.

I don't even know what to say. I'm totally flustered, can't remember my notes . . . Suddenly this seems like a huge waste.

Vic is getting to his feet when Caleb asks: “What was he like?”

Vic pauses. “You mean Eli.”

“Yeah,” says Caleb. “I don't mean that day, but like . . . in general.”

I'm so glad he said something, and I squeeze his leg beneath the table, because I know it was probably hard for him in an anxious moment like this.

It's a good question, too. We know Eli was an amazing musician, but I feel like there are reasons to wonder whether he was a good person. It's not just because he was into drugs, or committed suicide while he had young children out there in the world. Those are more signs of someone who was troubled and struggling, I think.

What I actually keep coming back to is something little and random: when Eli made his first video for Caleb, he aimed the camera at the mirror to tape a reflection of himself. It distorted the image in a way that felt almost . . . theatrical. Even though he was playing this honest song, it still felt like a show. Should you be making a show of your
first connection to your lost son like that? I can't quite put my finger on it more precisely, but something about it bothers me.

“He was beautiful,” says Vic. “And troubled.” He sits back down. “You know, he had the gift, for music, for people.”

“For people?” Val says.

“Eli really cared about people. It was a problem for him sometimes. People would take advantage of him.” Vic sighs. “Some people have too big a heart for this world. And all hearts break eventually. Eli just felt too much and he could get caught up in the flood.”

I grip Caleb's hand. This is a little bit of like father like son.

“Eli used to come by back in high school,” says Vic, “and he'd sit at the counter and drink shakes while he did his homework. He'd come out back with me on smoke breaks and we'd talk about bands. He never wanted anything except company. After he died, I wished I'd done more to try to help him, but, at the time, I felt like what he needed was someone to just treat him like a normal person. To talk with him and respect his privacy, and not handle him like he was famous or an addict or any of that. I don't know . . .”

“Sounds like you did help him,” I say. “He trusted you enough to hide his secret with you.”

“Maybe,” says Vic. “We had a game where we'd think
about great bands and what might have happened if a little choice went differently here or there. What if John Bonham doesn't choke on his own vomit? Or what if the Kinks aren't banned from touring the US in the sixties? If Lennon goes with his dad to New Zealand . . . that kind of thing. Eli was into it. He'd go on and on about those alternate realities. I used to wonder if that came from his mom dying.”

“I read that she passed away when he was young,” says Caleb. “Do you know what from?”

“Some nasty cancer, when he was in high school,” says Vic. “His dad had remarried a few years before, and Eli hated the stepmom. I think during those early years Eli was living at that manager guy's house. What was his name . . . ?”

“You mean Jerrod Fletcher?” I ask.

“Yeah. Him. They used to come to the deli together sometimes. But it turns out Jerrod was just another one of the bastards that was after his money at the end.” Vic stops. He takes a cigarette from behind his ear and starts tapping it against his palm.

“It's nice to hear a version that doesn't make him sound like a mess,” says Caleb.

“Huh.” Vic gazes into the table like he's trying to find a thought.

“What?” I ask.

“You just reminded me of something he said that day he
hid the tape.” For a second it doesn't seem like Vic is going to continue, but then he does. “He comes running in, acting really paranoid. It was dead in the restaurant . . . Saturday afternoon around three. But that's what he said: that he was cleaning up a mess. When he was done with the menu, I asked him if he had time for our usual smoke break, but he said he had some place to be. Some party or something. I didn't press him, but . . . how could I have known?”

“Party?” I repeat. That doesn't fit what we know. “He should have been on his way to San Francisco for the next Allegiance show.”

“Why would he have done that?” says Vic. “They'd been broken up for months.”

“Wait . . .” What Vic is saying doesn't quite make sense. “When exactly was the last time you saw Eli?”

“The day he died,” says Vic. “September nineteenth.” He shakes his head. “Wish I'd known . . . but he seemed so
together
when he came in . . .” Vic trails off.

None of us have a reply. I lock eyes with Caleb and I can tell we're both trying to figure out what this means.

Vic is gazing at the floor, then seems to snap out of a daydream and checks his watch. “I should go,” he says quietly.

“Thanks for coming,” I say.

“No problem. You guys should stop by sometime. Keep me posted.” He turns and stalks off.

Nobody says anything for a minute. My brain is spinning. Finally, I break the silence. “We assumed that Eli hid the tape the day right after he made it. Like before he went to San Francisco. It made sense, but . . .”

“What Vic said . . . that means he didn't hide the tape until two months later,” says Caleb. “After he was back in LA. And doing better, according to Randy.”

“Probably because he ditched my mom,” Val adds.

“So,” I say, trying to fit the pieces, “Eli hides a tape at Canter's that day. Visits Randy, too . . .”

“Which is when he left his gig bag behind in Randy's car,” Caleb adds.

“It's almost like . . .”

“He was planning it out,” says Val. “Carefully.”

“And then . . . ,” says Caleb, “he went to Jerrod's party.”

“Where we heard he got drunk and thrown out,” adds Jon.

“If he had a plan,” I say, my fingers shaking as I hurry to get the words out, “that means he probably had all three songs finished. And he'd had the whole summer to think about where to put them.”

“So you're saying Eli really did plan this,” says Val. “Set the whole thing up for us to find.”

“It sounds like it,” says Caleb.

“Yeah,” says Jon, “but . . . if all that is true, does that mean he also planned to . . .”

“Die?” Caleb finishes.

“Sorry,” says Jon, “but, yeah.”

“No, it's okay,” Caleb nearly whispers. “We've all wondered if Eli killed himself.”

“We should talk to Randy,” I say, thinking of what he said in the van on the way back from San Francisco: he worried that Kellen McHugh, Eli's former band mate, had influenced Eli's death by possibly getting him started drinking that night at Jerrod's party. But Randy also said Eli was planning to give up his rights and let them have his money. “That part doesn't add up yet.”

“Randy's in Vegas until Christmas,” says Caleb. “You can never get in touch with him when he's there.”

“But I don't get it,” Val says. “If Eli hid the tapes on purpose . . . why haven't we found the next clue?”

“It's got to be out there,” I say, feeling more certain than ever. “We just need to look harder. Eli's come through for us so far.” I realize how weird those words sound.

“For once,” Val agrees. But she smiles and rubs her brother's arm.

“We should get back,” says Matt. “Maya's going to be bummed if we miss the Commander's set.”

“Good little puppy,” Val chides.

“Shut up,” says Matt, but he smiles. Matt and Maya have been dating for a couple months but lately I've noticed that he doesn't sound too happy when he refers to her. Actually, he doesn't even mention her that much. Part of it, I think,
is that he used to have a pretty obvious crush on me. But it's seemed like more than that lately. Except Maya acts like everything's fine.

“Yeah, we should go see them,” I say. “Back to the business of being an awesome band.”

“That sounds like a relief,” says Jon.

We wolf down our food and head back to the stage.