Chapter 3

Late Wednesday morning the basement was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and Gage’s slow, heavy breathing from the other couch. Cole and Derek were already gone. Work started early for both of them. Jack sat up carefully, rubbed the grit from his eyes, and checked the time on his phone. Just past ten. He moved without noise, found his shoes, and slipped up the stairs and out the side door before Gage stirred.

The drive home took twenty minutes. The house was empty. His parents were at work and Matt had already left for whatever summer job he was doing. Jack stood under the shower until the water ran lukewarm, letting the pressure work at the stiffness in his neck. The steam smelled of cheap soap and the residual whiskey still leaching out of his pores. He dressed, finished the last of the packing—toiletries, a couple of collared shirts, the clothes he would need for the weekend—and checked the flight confirmation one more time. 5:45 p.m. out of Memphis to Las Vegas. Nonstop.

He had no real reason to go early. The rehearsal dinner was not until Friday night. The wedding itself was Saturday. But the room at the hotel and the flight had been booked months ago, back when Layla was still part of the plan. Canceling would have cost more than it was worth. So he went.

AJ Fort was getting married. Jack was the best man. They had grown up next door to each other, backyards connected by a gap in the fence they had worn smooth over the years. AJ was a year older. He had lasted two years at Alabama before the band he started pulled him out for good.

Velvet Drain had started in a dorm room during AJ’s freshman year. AJ on bass guitar, Lucas Stone on vocals and rhythm guitar, Matt Williamson on drums. They added Rodney Richards, a local high-school senior with faster hands than any of them, on lead guitar. By the fall of AJ’s sophomore year they were playing every small venue that would have them—bars, frat basements, the occasional outdoor stage that smelled of spilled beer and cigarette butts. They were slowly building a following. Over Christmas break they locked themselves in a cheap studio and self-produced their debut album, Diluted. The mixes were rough, but the songs had some substance.

Zero Cable’s manager heard a copy of the demo through a mutual friend who worked sound at a club in Baton Rouge. Zero Cable had just broken big with their first studio album, Broadcast Delay, earlier that spring. Their manager needed a reliable opener for the Southeast leg of the fall tour—mid-sized theaters and college halls, nothing glamorous but consistent. He drove up to see Velvet Drain play a packed room in Tuscaloosa, stayed for the whole set, and offered them the slot before the night was over. They spent the fall of 1998 grinding through the same circuit night after night, learning how to hold a stage in front of crowds that had come for someone else. By the time the tour wrapped they had a following of their own.

The following spring a major-label A&R man showed up at one of their residual club dates in Atlanta with a contract already half-drafted. They signed it in a back booth that still smelled of last night’s spilled whiskey and cigarette ash, four signatures that turned the grind into something with real weight. The advance was modest by industry standards but enough to buy better gear, a real van, and the first taste of not having to count every gas-station sandwich. Subversion came out in the spring of 2000. Chemical Kisses was the first single on the Subversion album to be released and it rocketed up the charts, topping out at #1 in late May. The arena dates followed that fall and winter. They closed the last show in March 2001 and scattered for a few months of quiet before the wedding.

AJ was getting married to Maggie St. John, who had been born Marcy Simmons. The name change came with the modeling work, catalog shoots, lingerie spreads for mid-tier brands, the occasional swimsuit job that paid better than it should have. The nude body-double gigs paid better still. She had stood in for two different actresses on films that needed more skin than the leads were willing to show: one a mid-budget thriller where the camera lingered on a shower scene, another a period piece that required a brief, uncredited moment of full exposure during a love scene. Neither role carried a name in the credits. Both paid enough to keep the rent current in Los Angeles.

She and AJ met in the fall of 1999 in Los Angeles while Velvet Drain was recording the Subversion album. At the time she was dating Erik Drummond, drummer for the band Liquid Echo. Liquid Echo had just released their debut record and their manager, Lenny Stephenson, threw a big party at his house to celebrate the occasion. Lenny and Lucas Stone were cousins, so Lucas was able to get invites to the party for all four of the band members.

The night started with the usual mix of loud music, open bottles, and lines of coke being cut on the kitchen counter. It was the epitome of sex, drugs and rock and roll. By two in the morning it had turned into a thirty-person orgy. Maggie had snorted a line of coke off AJ’s cock before he and the rest of the band took turns fucking her while Erik was busy upstairs fucking one of Lenny’s assistants.