September 18; London
"Hello?...Yeah, this is Max...So you're gonna do it?...That's great!...Yeah, I'll tell them...Thank you so much, guys. Bye." Max hung up the phone, a smile lighting up his face for the first time since the day Michelle broke up with him, the memory of which still lingered in the back of his mind. It was the itch that never seemed to go away, the starvation that no amount of food and drink could quench, the heart that could never be mended again. Her last words on that rainy July day were a constant echo in his brain, a sad song stuck on replay; the image of her silhouette as she walked away burnt into his corneas.
"I'm sorry, Max. It's just...not working between the two of us anymore. I love you, and don't you ever forget that, but I don't think I can handle this anymore. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, too, Mich. And I finally have the chance to make things right, he thought, his smile widening involuntarily at the prospect.
"Why are you so happy all of a sudden?" Jay asked as he sauntered into the living room wearing nothing but an old t-shirt and a ratty pair of boxers, a bottle of beer in hand. "Not that I don't like it, I did miss your jokes, but what's up, mate?"
"Put on some pants, will you? I just got us a slot on a TV show!"
Jay, caught off guard, spewed beer all over the front of his shirt. "That...was some shitty timing. Now I've got beer all over me! But wait, have you seriously found us a gig? On TV?"
"We've got a gig?" Tom said in a near shout, bounding down the stairs. "And, Bird, is that beer?"
"Yes, it is beer. And, yes, Max has booked us a gig. He hasn't told me all the details yet, though," Jay answered.
"Cool! So where are we going this time? Ireland? Gloucester?"
"Woah, hold your horses there, Tommy Boy. I want Nath and Siva to be here too before I tell you everything," Max said, putting an arm each around Tom and Jay and leading them to the couch.
"Hold on, I will not be kept waiting for this. You two sit tight, I'm personally waking up those lazy-arses!" Tom ducked out from under his bandmate's arm and dashed up the stairs, really only retracing his steps from just a short while ago.
After a few minutes, Tom marched back down the stairs with Nathan and Siva in tow.
"What's happening?" a sleepy, and clearly grumpy, Nathan yawned. "We're gonna be on TV!" Tom practically screamed in his face. "Alright, alright. I get it, Tom. You don't have to scream it at me." The younger boy plopped down on the couch across Jay and Max.
Max began explaining. "Look, lads. Here's the thing. I want to apologize to Mich. And the gig? It's for the show Mobbed. The guy I was talking to on the phone was Howie Mandel. We are going back to Hollywood."
The room went silent as the boys eyed each other, each thinking something different.
Come on, lads. Do it for me just this once?, Max thought. I miss her.
We're gonna be on a TV show? And not just as guests, but we're actually gonna help make something big happen, Nathan contemplated.
Are we gonna have to dance for this? wondered Siva, worrying for his non-existent skills in the art.
It's really sweet and all, but is Max really willing to go through all this? Tom leaned back thoughtfully, resting his head against the back of the couch.
We've never done something with this kind of magnitude before. What if we mess up? Jay worried.
After what seemed like an eternity of dead silence, and despite their personal concerns, each of the four boys nodded once. "Did I ever tell you how much I love you lads?" Max, visibly relieved, said.
"I just hope you know what you're doing, mate. Now get us a flight before we change our minds," Tom smiled, holding out the receiver.