Music hath Charms

By

Dawnwind

Chapter 3

Bobby apparently had a pretty boring day, from what he told me later. He hung around Mighty Miles' ocean side apartment all afternoon while Miles signed about a million 8 by 10 glossies of himself with a scrawling signature and a little heart to make the teenyboppers swoon. What with all the publicity from the shooting they kept a low profile to avoid the reporters circling like underfed sharks. So, I wasn't quite prepared for the jam packed schedule planned when I showed up the next day. Bobby was supposed to join us later, after he'd gotten a read through of the interrogation with Mohammed Hassem. So, for now, it was just Fawkes, front man for a rock star. Or so I liked to pretend.

In reality, the morning was spent in the recording studio, finishing up an alternative acoustic version of 'Sandstorm' with a slightly different ending that was to be a birthday present for Amahl. His upcoming birthday would mark his majority and he was finally going back to Kharistan to be crowned king. Then, since this is the modern world, he was going to divide his time between the Middle East and San Diego for one more semester to finish his dissertation. I kinda wondered why they couldn't just postpone the whole ceremony for half a year until all his schooling was done, but apparently that wasn't protocol.

Farzimah explained the whole thing to me while we watched Miles wail from the sound booth. The sound technicians were pushing buttons and adjusting volumes and I found the whole thing fascinating. My fingers were itching to push up some of those faders and buttons, like you always see in rock and roll movies. Sliding all the faders on the board at the same time, jacking the decibel level all the way up to eleven.

"Darien, I feel like we owe you something." Farzimah was wearing an embroidered peasant blouse with a red ribbon tied just above her breasts. The ribbon had little beads dangling off the end and she kept playing with them, swinging them back and forth instead of looking me in the eye. Even with us getting to know each other she was still shy.

"For last night? Nah. All in a day's work for me," I boasted.

"Still, I'll bet my brother…" She broke off when the sound booth door opened, admitting Sherida Jefferson.

"Sorry I'm late, there's a truck load of reporters out front. I'm thinking of letting Rolling Stone get an exclusive with Miles. Good publicity for the tour." She was carrying several shopping bags but still had the ubiquitous camera still slung around her neck and snapped off a couple of shots of Miles singing.

"He doesn't want to talk about the shooting." Farzimah swung the red ribbon around her finger again, the gold beads clinking together as she talked. "What did you buy?"

When she and Farzimah got to chatting, I paid more attention to the recording wizards. Man, it was cool to realize that what I was hearing live would be impregnated into a CD, so that anyone else could hear it anytime later. The plan was, once the recording was presented to Amahl, that the rest of the pressing would be sold to the public with all proceeds going to a charity fund--something to do with poor girls in Kharistan who hadn't been allowed to go to school until recently.

"That's lovely, Sherida," Farzimah was saying, holding up a tiny, handblown perfume bottle, perfectly formed but only about five inches high. It was like an iridescent blue soap bubble, almost but not quite transparent. The miniature stopper was topped with a gold ball that shimmered in the overhead light.

"My sister collects perfume bottles. I saw it when I was at the mall earlier, scoping out the area they're letting us use at Virgin Records for the personal appearance later on today and had to buy it. That's why I was a little late," Sherida explained. Just as I'd seen a whole new side to Farzimah, far chattier than the first time we'd met; the PR woman was much less stressed and friendlier than the other night. She still had the annoying habit of micro managing every situation, and taking 'candid' pictures, but I didn't find her half as irritating as the first time.

"Really beautiful," I agreed, reluctantly tearing my eyes away from the sound guys. Miles was nearly at the end of the song, we could hear him singing over the sound booth's speakers, the complex chords of the song complimenting his voice well. "Can I hold it?"

"Sure." Sherida passed the tiny thing to me. It seemed even tinier in my hand and I turned my palm to let the blue glass catch the light.

The tech directly to my left manipulated his board like a magician, watching as Miles strummed the last notes on his guitar. Just as the 'live' music began to die, the tech punched in some prerecorded tones that were to be added onto the end of 'Sandstorm'. They were weird, atonal chords that sounded, at least to my ear, vaguely Middle Eastern, and appropriate to subject matter of the song. But none of us were prepared for the smashing finale. As the last strange, eerie chord blared, the tiny bottle in my hand exploded, shattering into miniscule fragments of delicate glass.

"Oh, my God!" Sherida jumped up, her dark eyes fixated on the shards in my hand.

"I-Sherida, I didn't do anything!" I protested, wanting to drop the remains into the wastebasket. I had a few tiny cuts in my skin, but nothing else.

"He didn't move his hand." Farzimah exclaimed, "It just shattered."

"Freaky," The tech muttered, shaking his head. He played back the end of the song to make sure he'd gotten the right mix of the music and the weird tones played through the room once again.

"Unbelievable!" Sherida had the presence of mind to snap a photo of the bottle's fragile remains, although I don't know what good that was going to do.

"What happened?" Miles barged in, his guitar still under one arm.

"Sherida's little glass bottle just spontaneously shattered." Farzimah gestured at me.

"Musta been defective," He declared, poking at the rubble in my hand. "Darien's bleeding. Zooey, get a bag to put this in and the first aid kit." That Zooey did so without a word of complaint impressed me. Obviously Miles worked with good people who didn't invoke the dreaded phrase 'not in my job description, man'.

"It's nothing," I replied, glad to pour the shards into a plastic bag. "Sorry about that, Sherida."

"Miles is right, that thing was defective." She frowned. "You didn't do anything. I'll go complain to the store after the appearance later."

"You gonna bleed every time I see you?" Miles joked, unwrapping a Band-Aid and handing it to me.

"Occupational hazard with me." I covered the largest scratch, which was barely an inch long with the Band-Aid and dabbed a Kleenex at the two smaller ones. The mild headache I'd been able to ignore due to Advil had come back strong, the wound over my ear throbbing. I couldn't say it in public but I was just glad the sudden adrenaline spike I'd felt when the bottle exploded hadn't turned on the Quicksilver. I must have more control that I thought.

"Well, how did that track sound?" Miles got back to business. "Play the whole thing over again."

As the sound swelled out of the speakers I concentrated on the difference between this version and the one we'd heard at the concert. This one was much more intimate, just Miles on the guitar, no back up band. And although the end chords almost sent chills up my spine, they fit in with the twisty, slightly Arabic tune.

"Sounds like demons rising out of the sand." Farzimah shivered, but there was a glint of humor in her midnight eyes. "Amahl loves this creepy kind of stuff."

"Sounds great," Miles agreed. "That ones a keeper. Mike was right, those chords really add something."

"Mike?" I asked, mostly out of idle curiosity, still toying with the Band-Aid. It was patterned all over yellow and black with Tweety Bird and that big ol' cat who was always out to get the hydrocephalic bird.

"Mike Kim, my manager, thought it'd make it more personal for Amahl. He always has great suggestions. Best manager I've ever had."

"You'll need to write up something for the liner notes about the charity." Sherida was making notes in her Palm Pilot, muttering to herself. "And I talked briefly to Joe Lincoln from 'Rolling Stone'. They want to do a front page article on you."

"I am not discussing the shooting with anyone but the police," Miles declared firmly. "Did you send the flowers an' stuff to her family?"

"All taken care of."

"She had a sister in Northern California," he said to me.

"Claire told me. They're sending the body up there." It still felt inconceivable that the pretty woman I'd had dinner with was now in a funeral home. Scary.

"She was really nice," Farzimah sighed.

"C'mon, there's a spread for lunch out in the green room." Miles hooked an arm around Farzimah's waist, leading her out.

I was really beginning to like the life of a rock and roller. There was always free food, people granting your every wish and pretty girls--even if Farzimah was already taken and I wasn't sure I would survive an evening with Sherida. They were still nice to look at. If it weren't for death threats and being shot at, I could seriously consider trying my hand at being 'A STAR'. The fact that my singing voice leaves much to be desired wasn't that big a draw back. There are plenty of rock and roll singers who can barely carry a tune. It's all in the presentation and the promotion. Miles never had a minute to himself. If he wasn't giving a phone interview, he was posing for pictures or being measured for costumes. In between times he and Farzimah would sit close up on the couch while he pondered lyrics for a new song. He was always striving. Probably why he got out of prison before I did. That old fashioned Yankee work ethic, as my grandmother used to call it. I think it was bred out of the Fawkes family, except maybe for Kevin, but he's a whole other subject entirely.

I ate a bagel laden with sun-dried tomato and cream cheese and a lot of pita bread dipped in hummus while waiting around. Like Bobby said, there was lots of standing, and sitting and lounging. A guy can't stand all the time. Midafternoon Sherida came back to herd us all into a limo for the Virgin records appearance.

There must have been upwards of six or seven hundred people lining the street around the mega record store. Awe struck girls and jealous looking guys were crowded into every available space. It took the limo quite a while to inch up to the front of the building, having to pass by a phalanx of media vehicles and maneuver around electronic cables and bright lights. Just like every promotion I'd ever watched on TV, when the star got out of the car, the crowd roared. Immediately reporters from 'Entertainment Tonight' surged forward with microphones, ignoring the rest of us in the car. This gave me the opportunity to usher Farzimah into the store and out of the crush. To be truthful, it must be kind of scary to be the object of that many people's affection.

"Fawkes, this is Victor Shubert, he's security for the store," Sherida introduced me to an ex-Marine who still sported the haircut. Bobby would have been impressed. I kinda wanted to kid the guy about his famous name but could tell right away that wouldn't have gone over very big.

Almost as if on cue, since I'd been thinking about him, Hobbes showed up. "Quite a crowd you managed to collect, partner," he said wryly.

"Hobbes, man, where have you been?" I whined. I was tired and my head had started to hurt again.

"Watching the perimeter, my friend." He nodded to the ex-Marine. "How many back up you got?"

"There are extra guards posted around the store on every floor, near elevators and escalators and two police cars on each cross street," Shubert answered, very nearly saluting.

"Plus the princess' regular guards, Fawkes an' me," Hobbes counted. "Should be enough to keep things quiet."

"That's enough to occupy a small country, Hobbes," I groaned. "Let's get Farzimah out of the front, here, huh?"

She and Sherida had moved to one side during the security discussions, waiting for us to be done. Shubert pointed out where Miles was supposed to sit while signing autographs and where he could pose for pictures. In light of the assassination attempts on Farzimah, Hobbes wanted her to stay out of the public eye all together, but she had other opinions.

"Many of his fans know me," Farzimah argued. "They expect to see me at public appearances. If I stayed away it would just create fodder for the 'Chronicle' and 'National Intruder' that he and I were separated or fighting."

"So it's all publicity," Hobbes said snidely.

"Of course not, Bobby, but it's just better not to give the worst of the lot something to embellish upon." Farzimah swept her thick dark hair off her pretty face with a frustrated gesture. "I'd much rather sit at home and watch 'The Osbornes' make their public appearances, but it comes with the territory."

"Princess, he wants us to keep you safe. How're we gonna do that if you stand up nice and pretty for some sniper to take you down, there's nothing I can do."

She flushed angrily. I was seeing more layers to this girl than I'd expected. She had intelligence, guts and while shy, a certain chutzpah. "I'll make the concession of sitting behind him, out of camera range, like some good little Kharistani girl, but you need to stop calling me princess."

"Done." Hobbes grinned.

"How long have you lived in this country?" I asked, to defuse the situation somewhat. Her comment about being a good Kharistani was injected with heavy sarcasm.

"When my father died and his brother took over as regent since Amahl was only eight, it was deemed best that we should get out of the country. They were afraid my brothers would all be killed."

"How many do you have?"

"Three. Abbas died last year but it was a skiing accident and we can't prove it was murder, but that's what we think." She looked suddenly very vulnerable, and I had the urge to put my arm around her, but just then the front doors of the store burst open, emitting Miles with Mike Kim and several hangers on running behind.

"Are we ready to rock and roll?" Miles shouted, raising his fist in a jubilant gesture. He loped over where he was supposed to sit and surveyed the preparations. A huge cardboard cutout of Mighty Miles grinning a thousand-watt smile was propped right next him and for a moment it looked like he'd been cloned. "Can I get a bottle of water here?" He asked Sherida, "Then, let's get started!"

Once the throngs had streamed into the store, the crush of humanity was overwhelming. Just that amount of bodies increased the heat by about ten degrees and I was sweating in a matter of minutes. Miles looked cool as a cucumber, smiling while thousands of girls clicked their little cameras at him and ooed and aahed over his signature. Farzimah stayed just to one side of the partition, her hair half covering her cheek but smiling at people who greeted her. As she'd said, many did seem to recognize her and that made the job that much harder for Bobby and me. How were we supposed to weed out the bad guys when there were so many people eager to get close up and personal?

"Hobbesy," I whispered. "I think I'll make myself scarce for a little while."

"Good thinking, gland-boy," He nodded. "See anyone who shouldn't be here?"

"Hard to say, nobody's brandishing ozis, but that's kind of passe for the in-vogue terrorist these days, so I was just planning on keepin' my eyes open."

"And outta sight," He grinned. "I'll stay here with Farzimah, maybe get my picture in 'People' magazine."

"Yeah, I can just see it--Miles Verbage signs autographs with his main lady Farzimah and an unidentified member of the entourage."

"Get out of here, Fawkes," Hobbes made shooing motions.

Fading back into the unoccupied employee's lounge, I covered myself in Quicksilver and disappeared from view. That way I could more easily walk around without attracting attention. Or so I thought. The problem was there was just too many bodies in the place for a wraith to slide through. I give off a cold aura and lots of people noticed. I even heard one woman asking one of Shubert's minions if the air conditioning was on the blink.

Near the back of the crush I spotted two guys who looked distinctly Arab and I kept them in view as I circled around one side of a dump filled with Pink's new CD. The two men were talking quietly together, trying to get a glimpse of Miles, pointing to the long line of people, maybe discussing how long a wait they were committed to. It wasn't until the taller of the two shifted around a group of giggling teen-aged girls all sporting T-shirts with Miles singing his heart out to a bride and the words 'Wedding Belle' printed in glitter paint, that I realized he wasn't all that interested in Miles, but quite intent on Farzimah.

Shit. This could be it and the amount of people in the room made it impossible for me to get back to the princess with any speed. Luckily, a well-placed icy cold hand on bare flesh causes immediate results. Girls squealed and guys swore but the bodies parted like the Red Sea and I'd gained my objective far faster than I'd ever thought possible. There was some dissension in the ranks, but the store guards were maintaining order with threats of expulsion from the establishment if people didn't just shut up. Any other day I might have found this kind of funny, but not today.

"Hobbes." I'd crouched behind a bank of CD's just long enough to get back my visible form. He jumped when I grabbed his upper arm, not expecting me back so soon.

"What? You see Suddam Hussein?"

"Not quite, but almost." I ducked my chin so I was talking almost directly into his left ear. "Over by the country/western section, see the two guys?"

"Gotcha. They make any actual threatening moves or you just got a gut feelin'?"

"Going with my gut on this one, man," I answered, my belly awash with churning acid. Hobbes was always urging me to follow my natural instincts and this felt right--or wrong to be exact. These guys were after Farzimah.

"Princess," Hobbes said quietly, "We need to get you out of here."

"Bobby, I asked you to stop calling…." Farzimah stood, smiling blandly as several cameras flashed, capturing her every move. "What is it?" She had the resigned expression of someone who knew she might have to do something she didn't really want to but knew the importance of listening to advisors.

"Do you see those two guys over there?" I jerked my head vaguely in their direction. They hadn't moved much in the last minute, but when Farzimah turned to look they both perked up, staring directly at her.

"C'mon, we don't have time for this," Hobbes was saying, pulling gently on her arm.

"That's Amin!" She cried happily, waving. This created quite a stir, with nearly one hundred hands waving back at her, obscuring my view of the two men.

"Who's Amin?" Hobbes asked with narrowed eyes.

"My brother! He's with his friend Tayeb," She laughed at our expressions, her black eyes twinkling with merriment. "You thought they were some terrorists, admit it! Big bad men coming to kidnap me! "

"Princess, if you're waiting for people, you have to tell us ahead of time," Bobby growled. I could feel the frustration and unresolved tension coming off him in waves and ran a soothing hand down his stiff spine. He relaxed fractionally, clenching his hands to get out some of the stress.

"I know, sorry, I wasn't sure they'd make it. I told Mike Kim," She shrugged. "Darien, can you escort them around the barrier? Maybe we can all go get some juice later."

"Yeah, sure." I slunk around the crowd again, visible this time. Coming closer to Amin I could see the resemblance, although he was probably younger than Farzimah by a year or two. Strange how prejudism rears its ugly head at the oddest times. I'd thought myself removed from the national distrust of people with Arabian ancestry, but in one moment I'd shattered that misconception. Even though I trusted Farzimah, I'd accused the first dark eyed stranger I'd seen. I didn't like acknowledging that side of myself.

Amin turned out to be a great guy and sincerely proud of his sister's semi-famous status. We escaped the bright lights and found a back table in the food court, just Farzimah, her brother and his friend, Hobbes, me and Sherida. My ears were ringing from the noise almost as badly as the night of the shooting so I was glad to sit down and sip some of the tart, freshly squeezed lemonade from the Hotdog on a Stick booth.

"Amin's going to Berkeley." Farzimah boasted, both arms wrapped around one of his. "A real genius."

"Sis," The boy complained looking proud nonetheless. If Amahl had been eight when they'd arrived in America, this brother must have been barely out of diapers at the time. He probably had very few memories of his homeland and after only talking to a few minutes it was obvious he wasn't entirely in favor of going back there.

"What's your major?" I asked.

"Molecular biology," Amin answered, stuffing a hotdog into his mouth. He looked like he was still growing with long gangly limbs and shoulders a tad too wide for his weight. Probably end up my height when his cells finished their bodybuilding. "But I'm not sure if that's my true calling--it's a lot of fun and really easy, but I'm drawn to Astrophysics."

"The kid is smart," Bobby complimented, coming back from the cookie booth with a whole box to share with the class. Farzimah has quite the sweet tooth, I've noticed. She polished off two cookies straight away and had eaten more than her share of purple m and m's in Miles' dressing room after the concert. Maybe she was the one who wanted that particular perk in his contract.

"Straight A's all the time," Farzimah agreed.

"Like you're some big slouch," Amin laughed, "She had her pick of medical schools-Harvard…all of 'em and stayed around here to be with Mighty Mouse."

The nickname made me laugh and I choked on a semi-sweet with nuts until crumbs were coming out my nose. "Take a breath, partner." Hobbes patted me on the back, but he was laughing, too.

"Back in Kharistan, Farzimah would have been married already," Tayeb put in, his dark eyes hostile. "We have no female doctors in our country."

Whoa, where did that come from? I took a swallow of lemonade which was now way too sour after the cookie and got my breathing under control. "How long have you lived in this country?" I asked, going for conversational so it didn't sound like I was interrogating him.

"Two years," He said. "My father believes that Western education will give me the edge to get a superior job once I return to the capital."

"Tayeb is into the boring stuff," Amin supplied, fishing raisins out of his oatmeal cookie. "Poly Sci, even though his major is electrical engineering. Wants to work for the government."

"Only boring in your mind," Farzimah laughed. She looked up when Sherida came back from where ever she had wandered off to. "Did you get a replacement?"

"They were very nice about it, even though the manager was shocked to hear how easily the bottle broke." Sherida held up a second delicate perfume bottle. This one was almost clear with a translucent pinky vein shot through and a gold ball on the stopper.

"I'll have it insured before I send it to Sheniqua though."

"Smart move," Farzimah laughed and the subject of Tayeb was dropped for now. But I was intrigued. Easy going, amiable Amin seemed an unlikely friend for the uptight and old world Tayeb. I wondered if he had any ties to the anti-Western factions in the Kharistani government. I found out later that Hobbes had the same questions.

We finished off the day with dinner at a sushi place where Miles had to sign several autographs before he'd eaten his first California roll, but mercifully the fans let him eat the rest of his meal in peace. Once Miles and Farzimah were locked away behind the electronically controlled gates of his ocean side home with her usual bodyguards patrolling the perimeter Bobby and I were released for the night. I opted for a quick fast food stop since sushi isn't high on my favorites list and the couple seaweed and rice bites I'd had hadn't filled me up.

"Bottomless pit," Hobbes teased.

"What'd you think of Tayeb?" I asked finishing off fries and a taco by the time he'd turned the engine back on.

"He went from obscurity to near the top of my suspects list in one brief conversation," Hobbes nodded, sipping more slowly on a soda.

"Yeah, kinda strange him hanging with Amin. The kid has nice written across his forehead…"

"And you still thought he was a terrorist."

"Don't remind me. Maybe Tayeb was throwing strong vibes. I wonder if he's just a negative son of a bitch or he's getting on Amin's good side to get close to the Princess."

"Gotta find out a lot more about that Anti-Western group. Kharistan's always been one of our allies in the Middle East. I would hate to have sentiments change now." Hobbes was always impressing me with his knowledge of world affairs. I'd never even heard of the tiny country until a day ago.