‹ Prequel: Changes
Making the Album
Drunk.
Rabbit was drunk. It was probably the drunkest he'd ever been, if you didn't count his Spring Break in Cancun...
He could't even walk, but the two girls with him didn't seem to care that he was stumbled all over the place and babbling nonsense. They just kept giggling and pulling at his jacket.
He had a vague idea of what was going to go on in his car tonight.
"Come on, sweetie." One of them cooed, and dragged him into the backseat.
He didn't want to.
He didn't want to have sex. Not now, not tonight. Not with two bar sluts in the back seat of a car that wasn't even his. It was Mike's. And Mike probably didn't know that he had it.
Everything was to fucked up. He couldn't deal with it.
With a sharp yank, he pulled both girls out of the car, nearly losing his balance in the process. Ignoring the idignant squeals of the girls, he hauled himself into the front seat and started the engine.
---
It was raining.
Rabbit was lying on his back on the asphalt of the road. He blinked, dragged himself upright.
The car was wrecked. He'd hit a telephone pole or something like that, and spun around and around until he'd collided with the side of a building. There was glass everywhere.
Rabbit laughed hysterically.
"Mike is going to shoot me..." He slurred.
Where the fuck could he go? If he went back to the apartment, he'd have to tell Mike about that car. The tour bus...that was an option. And then it came to him.
Barry's apartment.
He could go there, sober up and figure out what to do. It had to be around here somewhere. Barry'd always said he had a flat downtown.
With in mind, Rabbit staggered away towards the nearest apartment building.
It was going to be a long night.
---
"Kiss me."
It was a barely more than a whisper. In fact, anyone else wouldn't have heard it.
But Billie did, and he took his wife into his arms, kissing her all over her tear-stained cheeks. She pulled him downwards, onto the bed.
The tour bus was cold and the freezing November rain splattered the windows. It was dark, and the bedroom door wouldn't close.
But neither of them cared. They stripped off their clothes and wrapped themselves up in the sheets. They kissed and moaned and fucked until they were both worn out. They lost themselves in each other.
And they lay there, wrapped up in each other. And Tony realized that Billie's face was streaked silver with tears, and he was trembling.
She drew him close and held him with a strength she didn't know she had.
"I'll love you forever." She whispered into his hair.
"I'll love you longer." He replied quietly.
Tony smiled, and placed her lips against his, murmuring, "Prove it."
She kissed him, and they fall back once more against the pillows.
---
"Did you know a guy named Barry...about this tall with black hair? Really sharp dresser?" Rabbit asked.
The concierge raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. Top floor, apartment 10A." He said cooly, then turned back to his computer.
Rabbit stumbled over to the elevator, pushed all the buttons.
Twenty-three stops later, the elevator doors opened on the top floor. Rabbit waved cheerily at the other three occupants of the elevator, who glared back at him.
"Room...10A."
The gold lettering on the door was tarnished and there were scuff marks on the lower part of the door, as if someone had kicked it. Rabbit shrugged, and began picking the lock.
---
"So...it's around one a.m. and we haven't heard a peep from the police. Should we assume Rabbit's dead?" Tre asked.
Before anyone could answer, the phone rang.
"Aw...fuck."
Mike picked up the phone.
"Hello?...Speaking...No, I lent it to a...What? What's happened to my car?!"
---
The door swung open, creaking wildly. Rabbit stumbled to his feet and thumped into the apartment.
It was small, simple and clean. The furniture was battered, the rug was worn thin in some places and there was only two rooms that Rabbit could see.
He collapsed on the couch and lay there motionless, breathing in Barry's familiar scent. That weird but oddly appealing mix of cologne, soap and hair gel that only worked for Barry.
And then he noticed the package sitting on the scratched coffee table.
"What's this?" Rabbit muttered, then flushed at how stupid he sounded, talking to himself.
He ripped the cardboard apart and Barry's wallet, watch, lighter and notepad clattered onto the table, along with some guitar picks, a plain white envelope, loose change and that damned silver chain Barry always wore around his neck.
It took Rabbit a few minutes to realize that the envelope had his name on it.
He didn't want to open it. He didn't want to see what Barry had written for him. But something inside him had to see. Had to know what Barry had left for him.
It took him a few minutes to carefully rip the flap open and slide out the paper. Then he began to read.
Rabbit,
I know that out of everyone you're going to take this the worst. I know that you'll freak out and melt down and I'll never be able to rest in peace, knowing that you're all depressed and whatnot.
Needy bastard...
Anyways, I just wanted to tell you, dead serious [haha], that this isn't your fault. There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent the shooting. If it hadn't been at that concert, it would have been at another one. This guy was determined to kill someone, and nothing was going to stop him.
I know I'm dying. I knew it from the second I ran onstage that night and tackled Billie. I knew what was going to happen. I made my choice, Rabbit, and you need to just fucking accept it.
You're going to grow up a bit more and meet some beautiful girl who'll turn your head. You'll probably marry her. You'll have kids, and grandkids, and maybe even great grandkids. And all the while you'll be this great producer, who everyone wants to work with.
I know this for a fact : You're a fucking great assistant. It won't be too much of a stretch to take over.
You'll make me proud, Rabbit. Now, get your ass out there and live your life.
I'm gonna miss you...
And then there was his signature. Not the big, loopy, fake one he'd used for business. The neat, simple one that he'd only used once in a while.
Rabbit brushed his tears aside and carefully folded the letter. He placed it gently back into the envelope and tucked the envelope into his jacket pocket. He gathered up Barry's possesions and returned them to the box.
Then he tucked the box under his arm and strolled out of the building.
He was going to okay.
He could't even walk, but the two girls with him didn't seem to care that he was stumbled all over the place and babbling nonsense. They just kept giggling and pulling at his jacket.
He had a vague idea of what was going to go on in his car tonight.
"Come on, sweetie." One of them cooed, and dragged him into the backseat.
He didn't want to.
He didn't want to have sex. Not now, not tonight. Not with two bar sluts in the back seat of a car that wasn't even his. It was Mike's. And Mike probably didn't know that he had it.
Everything was to fucked up. He couldn't deal with it.
With a sharp yank, he pulled both girls out of the car, nearly losing his balance in the process. Ignoring the idignant squeals of the girls, he hauled himself into the front seat and started the engine.
---
It was raining.
Rabbit was lying on his back on the asphalt of the road. He blinked, dragged himself upright.
The car was wrecked. He'd hit a telephone pole or something like that, and spun around and around until he'd collided with the side of a building. There was glass everywhere.
Rabbit laughed hysterically.
"Mike is going to shoot me..." He slurred.
Where the fuck could he go? If he went back to the apartment, he'd have to tell Mike about that car. The tour bus...that was an option. And then it came to him.
Barry's apartment.
He could go there, sober up and figure out what to do. It had to be around here somewhere. Barry'd always said he had a flat downtown.
With in mind, Rabbit staggered away towards the nearest apartment building.
It was going to be a long night.
---
"Kiss me."
It was a barely more than a whisper. In fact, anyone else wouldn't have heard it.
But Billie did, and he took his wife into his arms, kissing her all over her tear-stained cheeks. She pulled him downwards, onto the bed.
The tour bus was cold and the freezing November rain splattered the windows. It was dark, and the bedroom door wouldn't close.
But neither of them cared. They stripped off their clothes and wrapped themselves up in the sheets. They kissed and moaned and fucked until they were both worn out. They lost themselves in each other.
And they lay there, wrapped up in each other. And Tony realized that Billie's face was streaked silver with tears, and he was trembling.
She drew him close and held him with a strength she didn't know she had.
"I'll love you forever." She whispered into his hair.
"I'll love you longer." He replied quietly.
Tony smiled, and placed her lips against his, murmuring, "Prove it."
She kissed him, and they fall back once more against the pillows.
---
"Did you know a guy named Barry...about this tall with black hair? Really sharp dresser?" Rabbit asked.
The concierge raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. Top floor, apartment 10A." He said cooly, then turned back to his computer.
Rabbit stumbled over to the elevator, pushed all the buttons.
Twenty-three stops later, the elevator doors opened on the top floor. Rabbit waved cheerily at the other three occupants of the elevator, who glared back at him.
"Room...10A."
The gold lettering on the door was tarnished and there were scuff marks on the lower part of the door, as if someone had kicked it. Rabbit shrugged, and began picking the lock.
---
"So...it's around one a.m. and we haven't heard a peep from the police. Should we assume Rabbit's dead?" Tre asked.
Before anyone could answer, the phone rang.
"Aw...fuck."
Mike picked up the phone.
"Hello?...Speaking...No, I lent it to a...What? What's happened to my car?!"
---
The door swung open, creaking wildly. Rabbit stumbled to his feet and thumped into the apartment.
It was small, simple and clean. The furniture was battered, the rug was worn thin in some places and there was only two rooms that Rabbit could see.
He collapsed on the couch and lay there motionless, breathing in Barry's familiar scent. That weird but oddly appealing mix of cologne, soap and hair gel that only worked for Barry.
And then he noticed the package sitting on the scratched coffee table.
"What's this?" Rabbit muttered, then flushed at how stupid he sounded, talking to himself.
He ripped the cardboard apart and Barry's wallet, watch, lighter and notepad clattered onto the table, along with some guitar picks, a plain white envelope, loose change and that damned silver chain Barry always wore around his neck.
It took Rabbit a few minutes to realize that the envelope had his name on it.
He didn't want to open it. He didn't want to see what Barry had written for him. But something inside him had to see. Had to know what Barry had left for him.
It took him a few minutes to carefully rip the flap open and slide out the paper. Then he began to read.
Rabbit,
I know that out of everyone you're going to take this the worst. I know that you'll freak out and melt down and I'll never be able to rest in peace, knowing that you're all depressed and whatnot.
Needy bastard...
Anyways, I just wanted to tell you, dead serious [haha], that this isn't your fault. There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent the shooting. If it hadn't been at that concert, it would have been at another one. This guy was determined to kill someone, and nothing was going to stop him.
I know I'm dying. I knew it from the second I ran onstage that night and tackled Billie. I knew what was going to happen. I made my choice, Rabbit, and you need to just fucking accept it.
You're going to grow up a bit more and meet some beautiful girl who'll turn your head. You'll probably marry her. You'll have kids, and grandkids, and maybe even great grandkids. And all the while you'll be this great producer, who everyone wants to work with.
I know this for a fact : You're a fucking great assistant. It won't be too much of a stretch to take over.
You'll make me proud, Rabbit. Now, get your ass out there and live your life.
I'm gonna miss you...
And then there was his signature. Not the big, loopy, fake one he'd used for business. The neat, simple one that he'd only used once in a while.
Rabbit brushed his tears aside and carefully folded the letter. He placed it gently back into the envelope and tucked the envelope into his jacket pocket. He gathered up Barry's possesions and returned them to the box.
Then he tucked the box under his arm and strolled out of the building.
He was going to okay.