Sequel: Making the Album ›
Changes
Consequences.
"Billie?"
Billie Joe cursed very quietly to himself. He'd been very, very quite while sneaking into the house. He'd avoided all the squeaky boards, all the trick steps. He hadn't stopped in the kitchen for a drink.
But somehow, Mike had found him.
Which was quite a feat, considering it was at least 3 am.
"Billie, are you or are you not still a part of this band?"
There was dead silence. If there was any question that could shake Billie out of his drunken stupor, that was it.
"What kind of question is that?"
"A serious one, Bill."
Mike paused, ran a hand through his hair.
"We've all but canceled the tour. And all these small tours around the towns you were so souped about? The owners are freaking out because WE can't give them an answer. Bill, if you're still a part of this band, we need to start touring and recording and writing again. Or else... It's over, Bill."
The harsh reality of things just reached out and slapped Billie across the face. And Billie just sank back against the table.
He couldn't lose the band. He just couldn't. Without Adrienne, without Joseph, without Jakob, all he had left was the band. Mike cleared his throat quietly.
"We've had offers. People who think you should be replaced... Some pretty good offers too, Bill. So I need an answer from you. And it breaks my heart to ask you, but Billie, are you done with Tre and me?"
Billie shook his head, shocked and numb.
"Offers?"
"People... Mostly locals... Think they can front the band... They aren't you, Bill, but if you're out, then we've gotta make do. People bought tickets, we've got obligations... You might be happy to forget about it all, but I can't."
Mike had moved close, too close, his face inches from Billie's, his finger poking
His chest.
"While you've been off drinking and avoiding Tre and me, there's been producers and reporters and photographers lurking about. There's been bills and there's been stalkers and there's been you."
"Me?!" Billie exclaimed, but Mike just plowed right over his words.
"This may be harsh, and it may be cruel, but Billie, just get over it."
There was a short breathless silence before Billie shoved Mike backwards.
"GET OVER IT?! MY WIFE IS FUCKING DEAD, MIKE!"
"YOU THINK SHE'D WANT TO SEE YOU LIKE THIS? MOPING AROUND, COMING HOME DRUNK OUT OF YOUR MIND, TRASHING YOUR GUITARS, REFUSING TO WRITE MUSIC? ADRIENNE WOULDN'T WANT IT, I DON'T WANT IT, TRE DOESN'T WANT IT!"
Mike's voice quieted and he looked at Billie.
"She's gone, Bill. As hard as that is, me and Tre, we're still here. If you still want to be a part of our lives, then get your ass in gear. Or we're gonna hire a new singer."
He walked past Billie and pulled the coffee mug off the stove.
"So what'll it be, Billie? Drop out of your own band and watch some dumbass kid take your place? Or get back in here and make some music?"
Mike held out a cup of coffee. Billie smiled.
"What do you think?" He asked, and took a long gulp.
Billie Joe cursed very quietly to himself. He'd been very, very quite while sneaking into the house. He'd avoided all the squeaky boards, all the trick steps. He hadn't stopped in the kitchen for a drink.
But somehow, Mike had found him.
Which was quite a feat, considering it was at least 3 am.
"Billie, are you or are you not still a part of this band?"
There was dead silence. If there was any question that could shake Billie out of his drunken stupor, that was it.
"What kind of question is that?"
"A serious one, Bill."
Mike paused, ran a hand through his hair.
"We've all but canceled the tour. And all these small tours around the towns you were so souped about? The owners are freaking out because WE can't give them an answer. Bill, if you're still a part of this band, we need to start touring and recording and writing again. Or else... It's over, Bill."
The harsh reality of things just reached out and slapped Billie across the face. And Billie just sank back against the table.
He couldn't lose the band. He just couldn't. Without Adrienne, without Joseph, without Jakob, all he had left was the band. Mike cleared his throat quietly.
"We've had offers. People who think you should be replaced... Some pretty good offers too, Bill. So I need an answer from you. And it breaks my heart to ask you, but Billie, are you done with Tre and me?"
Billie shook his head, shocked and numb.
"Offers?"
"People... Mostly locals... Think they can front the band... They aren't you, Bill, but if you're out, then we've gotta make do. People bought tickets, we've got obligations... You might be happy to forget about it all, but I can't."
Mike had moved close, too close, his face inches from Billie's, his finger poking
His chest.
"While you've been off drinking and avoiding Tre and me, there's been producers and reporters and photographers lurking about. There's been bills and there's been stalkers and there's been you."
"Me?!" Billie exclaimed, but Mike just plowed right over his words.
"This may be harsh, and it may be cruel, but Billie, just get over it."
There was a short breathless silence before Billie shoved Mike backwards.
"GET OVER IT?! MY WIFE IS FUCKING DEAD, MIKE!"
"YOU THINK SHE'D WANT TO SEE YOU LIKE THIS? MOPING AROUND, COMING HOME DRUNK OUT OF YOUR MIND, TRASHING YOUR GUITARS, REFUSING TO WRITE MUSIC? ADRIENNE WOULDN'T WANT IT, I DON'T WANT IT, TRE DOESN'T WANT IT!"
Mike's voice quieted and he looked at Billie.
"She's gone, Bill. As hard as that is, me and Tre, we're still here. If you still want to be a part of our lives, then get your ass in gear. Or we're gonna hire a new singer."
He walked past Billie and pulled the coffee mug off the stove.
"So what'll it be, Billie? Drop out of your own band and watch some dumbass kid take your place? Or get back in here and make some music?"
Mike held out a cup of coffee. Billie smiled.
"What do you think?" He asked, and took a long gulp.