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4: Rumours 8:14 PM, Thursday Instruments and cheers resonated through SAC Valley Amphitheatre, the auditorium vibrating with energy. In waves, people danced and hooted as a guitar riff captured them, tantalising and fresh. Backstage, a young man sat on an amplifier. His mind was miles away from the concert. His brilliant dark eyes, shimmering from the stage lighting, gazed into space. He tucked chocolate toned hair behind his right ear and sighed. Scratching at his bulging biceps, he glanced at a clock on the wall. "Yeah, it's late." His eyes traveled to the speaker's narrowed blue eyes. The newcomer held his hands behind his back and continued. "Stapp, what are we still doing here?" Scott Stapp shrugged, and rested his head on the heel of his hand. "We can't just leave. I know it's not our problem, that the Chili Peppers aren't here, but..." "You feel it is," the other finished with a sigh. Running a hand through his spiky blond hair, he muttered, "Damn your conscience! You know we're going to be dead on our feet tomorrow night." Scott turned to him, eyes deepening and cutting into his bandmate's. "If they're not here tonight, who's to say they'll show up tomorrow? Come on, Phillips! Do you really think they'd just blow off a show like that?" "I don't know," Scott Phillips huffed, shuffling his feet. "I tried to see them back a few years ago and they canceled." Closing his eyes, Stapp rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, right after Anthony's motorcycle accident." He shook his head. Raising his head, he looked at the man approaching them, a tall, baseball-capped individual. Planting a hand on each knee, the newcomer leaned over his legs. "No...," he panted, "No sign of them. An, Anthony's girlfriend doesn't, doesn't even know where they, where they are." Stapp grimaced. "Thanks, Mark." Closing his eyes, Mark Tremonti nodded. He rolled up the sleeves of his black jersey and sat down beside Stapp. Phillips crossed his arms and stood before the two, legs splayed stance. "So what do we do now? Just hang around? How's it going to help, us just being here?" Mark shrugged and leaned back. The cheering in the auditorium grew louder, and from onstage, a voice drawled, "Thank you, Virginia! Enjoy the rest of the show, with the Red Hot Chili Peppers!" Whistles and shouts. "Take it easy!" The end of the curtain closest to Mark and the two Scotts parted. A tall, gangly blond stepped offstage, swinging a guitar and puffing away at a cigarette. Through red tinted shades, he glanced at the three before him. "Hey," he set down his guitar by an amp and cracked a smile. I figured y'all would have left by now." Stapp and Mark exchanged glances before Stapp made eye contact with the guitarist. "Kyle," he raised his eyebrows, "the Chili Peppers aren't here." Pause. "Sh**!" Kyle Cook exclaimed, his cigarette still dangling out of his mouth. "What, like, they never showed up?" Stapp nodded. "Sh**!" Kyle lowered his smoke from his lips and paced away from the three. Turning back to them, he held a hand to the small of his back. "So, so what should we do?" Silence. Kyle ran a hand over his fuzzy chin and seated himself on the amp against which his guitar rested. Stage hands rushed past the group, carrying boxes labeled "MB20" from the stage. Along with them sauntered a dark haired individual in a long sleeved, black fitted shirt. A smile spread across his curvy lips, and he laid a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "Hey, baby!" his blue eyes beamed. "Great show tonight!" "Thanks, Rob." Only the left side of Kyle's lips managed to twist into a smile. Rob Thomas stepped away. He fiddled with his wedding ring as he asked, "What's wrong?" His eyebrows furrowed, his full lower lip drooped from the upper. "Um..." Rob looked from Kyle to Stapp, who continued. "The Chili Peppers never showed up." Rob glanced about frantically, and Kyle handing him a box of cigarettes. Rob pulled one out and lit it. His sights bore into a back wall as he inhaled on the cigarette. He looked back at Stapp. "What happened to them? You know?" He exhaled the words with smoke. Stapp shook his head. "Nobody knows," he replied, fingering the metal choker around his neck. "Not their road manager, not their girlfriends..." "Damn." Rob scratched his jaw and took another puff on his cigarette. "You're not thinking something happened to them..." "I don't know," Stapp shrugged, gazing at Rob. "I don't know what to think." "Hey!" an individual strode toward them, shocks of dyed blond hair dripping over his eyes. He glanced up at Rob. "Somebody just told me I'm taking over for Flea tonight. What the hell is going on?" Rob shook his head. Putting his hands on the newcomer's shoulders, he said, "Nobody's taking over for anyone tonight, Pookie. None of the Chili Peppers are here." "Somebody's going to have to tell the audience that," Kyle murmured, folding his legs to his chest and taking another drag on his cigarette. Silence. The six men all stared at each other until Mark got to his feet. He shuffled away from the others. They watched him as he stepped behind the curtain, onto the stage. They noticed a dark haired figure across the way, carefully gathering baby doll heads from a set of amps. The individual kissed each one before wrapping them in powder blue cloth and packing them in a black box labeled "MB20" with white letters. "Where's Paul?" Rob asked, still watching his bandmate across the stage. "Prob'bly walking Sophie," Kyle replied, catching Phillips raise an eyebrow. "His dog," Kyle added, inhaling on his smoke. The curtains parted. A drenched individual stepped backstage, one stenching of alcohol. Everyone stared at him, some mouths dropping open. Stapp leaned toward the newcomer. "Mark, man, what happened?" he asked. Holding out his arms, Mark raised his eyebrows. "I was the bearer of bad news. What did you expect?" "Man, sit down," Stapp slid off the amp and gestured, open palmed, to his seat. Mark dropped onto it with a sigh. "'The hell's the matter with people?" he huffed. He removed his cap and ran a hand through his hair. Returning the cap to his head, he sighed again. "Sorry, man," Rob rubbed his chin. "You know, we shouldn't have let you go out there. One of us," he nodded toward his bandmates, "or one of the roadies..." Mark held up a hand. "No, forget it." He glanced at Kyle, who didn't seem totally there. matchbox twenty's lead guitarist was staring into space, his elbows propped on his knees, a cigarette dangling between them. Brian Yale, or "Pookie", shifted his weight from his left to right foot, his head lowered, his eyes locked on the wooden stage floor. Phillips cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention. "Mark, go get cleaned up. You're dripping on that amp, and it's not even ours." Mark leapt off the amplifier. Glancing behind him, he saw the slight puddle he'd left behind. "Damn, I'm sorry! Whose is this?" "Kyle's," Rob replied with a grimace. "Don't worry. Just a little water on the top." He used his sleeve to wipe it away. "It's all right," Kyle mumbled. Mark wandered away from the group. "Hey, listen," Rob called to him, and he turned. "When you're ready, just wander over to our meet and greet." Rob glanced at each Scott, then back at Mark. "You're all invited to hang out with us, if you want." Phillips cracked a smile. "Thanks! But we shouldn't stay long." Voices from matchbox twenty's meet and greet room traveled out of the open door, and the approaching musicians heard the buzzing a few hundred feet away. A pair of dark eyes and a goofy smile peeked out the doorway. "Hey!" the individual exclaimed. He swung on the door, brown curls bouncing along with him. Turning away from the approaching group, he yelled into the room, "Hey, everyone! Here they come!" Cheers erupted from the room, and Rob was first to glide inside. "Hey, baby," Rob patted his herald's shoulder. "Paul here?" "Nah." "Hey!" Rob called into the room. "Everyone thank Adam for being such a good host!" A few whistles resounded. Adam Gaynor turned to his bandmate, a smile spanning his face. "Thanks! I'm not Martha Stewart, but I try." "Oh, we brought friends!" Rob gestured to the two Scotts as they entered the room behind Brian and Kyle. With a bow, Adam said, "Welcome, friends!" "Hey, man!" Phillips replied, and Stapp grinned. Clusters of people patched across the room. Several of which stood staring before them, clutching miscellaneous items. Rob smiled at them, striking up a conversation as he and his present bandmates got to work autographing. Phillips and Stapp stepped away from the crowds, toward a table where rows of beers awaited them. A pony-tailed blond stepped before them, gazing up at Stapp shoulder-lovel. "Is it true the Chili Peppers broke up?" she asked, baby blues welling up, an RHCP Californication CD clenched between both hands. "'Cause that's what I just heard, that's the reason why they're not here." "Um...," Stapp stammered, glancing at Phillips. "No, not as far as I've heard. We just don't know where they are." "Oh." The girl stared blankly at Stapp before scurrying away. Stapp and Phillips each snatched up a can of beer. Phillips threw back his first gulp and smiled. Stapp leaned his head back and chugged. "I can't believe Anthony's really dead!" Beer down the wrong pipe. Stapp gagged. Hacking, he turned toward the guy who had spoken. The exclaimer held a beer of his own. He was leaning against a wall and facing a taller, skinnier kid. The slender fellow shook his head. "No, I heard it was John who ODed!" "That's bull!" a third guy replied. "John just quit the band!" Stapp grimaced. He sighed and took another swig of his beer. Glancing toward the door, he caught sight of a short guy with a stocking cap and glasses. The fellow stood wide-eyed, frantically scanning the room. Recognition flashed across his eyes, and the guy waded toward Rob. "What is it, Paul?" Stapp heard Rob ask the guy, just as a pale Mark confronted Stapp and Phillips. "You're not going to believe this," Mark voiced, barely audible over the boisterous matchbox twenty fans. "Not another rumour," Phillips huffed, and knocked back more beer. Eyes steady and staring into space, Mark shook his head from one side to the other. "matchbox twenty's drummer, Paul, just ran into the Chili Peppers' bus driver in the parking lot. He says the band was kidnapped." |