Dani stared out the tour bus window, the Japanese signs a neon blur. "Fornication Station" fell off the Billboard charts two months ago without cracking the top hundred, but it was climbing at number thirty-six here. What was left of Inferno would soon face a sold-out crowd at Mielparque Hall in Hiroshima. Last show of the tour.
"Strike while the iron's hot," Basil said. She did her best to ignore him. "Gotta get right into the studio. Got a solid offer from Enigma and one pending from Atlantic. We land that, it's a rocket to the top."
"She already said we're taking a couple months off," Cal said. "Stuff my brother's been saying about her, I don't blame her."
Dani turned her head so no one could see her tears. She missed him, still caught herself daydreaming of marrying the only man she'd given herself to. Or, at least, the only man she was sure she'd given herself to. Heroin had left some gaps. Need some gaps. Wish Bobby was here. He'd know where to score some— stop thinking that way, Dani."
"You think Jon airing Dani's laundry's a bad thing?" Basil snorted. "More they print, the better. Metal fans love a bad girl."
"Just shut up."
These days, even Basil obeyed her.
By the time Inferno returned stateside, Basil had won the day. The band received glowing reviews as a power trio, with all the metal magazines agreeing the subtractions only added to their sound. Guitar Gods Magazine featured Dani prominently in an article about up-and-coming women guitarists, telling the music world her playing would stand up with the best of them. She especially liked the lines:
While Dani Glass' visual impact is an undeniable draw, close your eyes at a live Inferno show if you can and imagine early, Zappa-era Steve Vai. Hear the difference? I wouldn't try to live off it.
"Use the traction or lose it," Basil had said.
Despite the success, Dani spent her nights pouring lonely tears into the pressure cooker until they burst into songs. The title track of Inferno's second album—"Sweet Trouble"— took less than an hour to write. She wrote the whole album in a week and a half. Now, all they had to do was record it. With Jon and Bobby out of the picture, we might even get through it without blowing the whole advance. She hated herself for thinking that way. Gladly give up the advance to have him back.
Five days and three songs into the recording process, Basil stormed into the studio, cursing a blue streak.
"Jon's suing us over the name Inferno." Once his ranting had everyone's full attention, he added, "Don't worry about it. Label has deeper pockets than Jon Ryder. They'll cut him a check and shut him up. Meantime, we have a hit record to cut."
Watching from the sound booth, Basil interrupted the third take of the fourth track, the acoustic power ballad "Still Can't Say Goodbye."
"We got bigger problems. Nobody's gonna come see Inferno if Dani starts looking like Meatloaf," he said through a mouthful of meat lover's pizza. "Diet starts today—all of you."
After two weeks of sixteen-hour days in the studio, the band was little more than half done with the album. Dani felt foggy, struggling to remember what solo to which song she was supposed to be playing at any given time. One more week of pushing. Be a lot easier with the coke-play-heroin-sleep-rinse-repeat regimen. Wonder if my family will show up to my funeral when I end up like Bobby.
"Solo for "Still Can't Say Goodbye," 'Still Can't Say Goodbye' solo, take eleven," the producer mumbled around his cigarette. After another botched attempt, he clapped his hand over the mike and turned to Basil. In an exaggerated whisper, he said, "Maybe it's time for one of those studio cats?"
"I've got this," Dani said, throwing her shoulders back. She set her Strat aside, took up Bobby's old Les Paul, nailed take thirteen, and collapsed onto a couch.
She woke up in a dark room.
Dani sat up, no idea where she was or how long she'd been there. Feeling sharp pain, she grasped at her forearm and yanked the needle out. Wonder if someone shot me up and left me here, wherever here is? She shook off a chill and screamed. "Basil? Cal? Marc? Jon? Daddy? Anyone?"
It was probably only seconds, but it felt like hours before she heard footsteps and a door opened, letting fluorescent light spill in from the hallway. Within two minutes, a pair of nurses had her calmed. Within five, they had her hooked back up to the IV.
Dani watched the clock tick off forty minutes before a balding doctor entered, a black pen resting behind his ear on a tuft of white hair. He examined her over half-moon glasses.
"You've been here just over fourteen hours," he said before she could ask.
Dani moved a shaking hand over her stomach.
"You knew?" the doctor said.
She nodded, wincing as the knots in her stomach jerked tight. "Is the…"
He shook his head, color rising on his bald crown. He seemed to struggle to keep his voice low and level. "With everything in your system… diagnosis is overdose."
"Impossible," Dani said, biting her lip until she was sure she'd drawn blood. "I haven't since I foun… since I thou… I didn't know for sure… I've been clean a month."
"Tests tell a different story." The doctor glanced over his shoulder, leaned within inches of her nose, and whispered, "Might be just as well. You have any idea what that stuff does to a baby?"
The nurses urged Dani to stay in the hospital. A counselor stopped by and suggested an outpatient detox program. They encouraged her to at least call someone to come get her. Maybe Daddy? They almost had her convinced until she saw herself on TV. Reporter said it was an overdose. He didn't mention the miscarriage.
For a day and a half, Dani cried and wandered the streets of Los Angeles, hiding behind dumpsters and in alleyways when cramps and spasms made walking impossible. She knew she should be hungry, but the thought of food made her want to puke.
Need some blow.
It'd be easy enough to get. Never mind the dealers who would be all too happy to trade a balloon for a half hour with me. I could just call Basil. Don't know how, but it had to be him dosing me since Bobby died. Who else could it be?
Cramps doubled her over.
Supposed to get better after just a few days. I can make it till then.
Dani sat in the back seat, her whole body shaking. She didn't remember calling Basil, but there he sat in the driver's seat. How long she'd been in the car or what he'd been talking about, she couldn't have said.
"Don't know why I bother," he said, tapping furiously on the steering wheel. "But hey, there's more good news—label sold out to EMI."
"We're on a major label?" Dani tried to sound enthusiastic.
He stared at her in the rearview, sneering. He seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. "Remember that band out of Seattle?"
Dani shrugged.
"Punks got one hit and all of a sudden, the whole world's wearing flannel. EMI took up some contracts, but most of 'em were alternative and grunge bands—Nirvana wannabees. They ain't signing glam bands."
"Our record?"
"Kaput. Marc and Cal got their cut of the advance and split. Providence St. Joe's Hospital got yours. Unless I find another record company, pronto, you're back to busted."
"What good's a record company without a band?"
"You never needed 'em, kid." Basil reached back and caressed her knee. "Stick with me. I still got some ideas."