Chapter 57
“What is happening?” muttered Corey.
To a passerby, Anders André would appear ageless. But there were no passersby, just Anders standing in the empty hallway. He was in one of his suits, his own version of a uniform, and she could see the hint of crows feet around the eyes, the male pattern baldness barely visible with his closely shorn scalp. She always gave him credit: when he sensed the hair going, he didn’t try to cover it up, he steered into the skid and shaved it, part of the total reinvention that coincided with Luminario. It was the early aughts and it was time to emerge from the chrysalis of the 90’s—of the last century—into a new man, a new artist. Something more sustainable. He was so handsome and so gifted that people always tended to overlook his savviness. He was always a step ahead of the trends, as if he could sense an imperceptible change in the air pressure before a hurricane came ashore.
Anders smiled.
Don’t look him in the eyes, she thought. He’ll bewitch you.
“May I come in?”
“In most vampire lore, if you invite one into your home, you’re powerless against it.”
She was proud of herself for the zinger, for buying herself another moment to collect herself.
He laughed, rolling with it. “Well, I already love garlic. And you’d have to find my heart before you could run a stake through it. The holy water might sting though…”
Corey stepped aside, and Anders André sashayed inside. Passing through the doorway, into her foyer, he seemed even taller, taking up more space, making her condo feel smaller than it was. He appraised it all with a smile.
“I always loved your place. Made me feel safe, you know? You were always the responsible one, Core.”
At the sound of his voice, Iggy emerged from the bedroom to investigate. When he saw that it was Anders, he trotted over and brushed up against his leg. Fucking traitor, thought Corey.
“Holy shit,” he said, “is this Ig?” He squatted down and scratched the cat’s ears, who leaned into it. “Last time I saw him, he was a kitten. I guess it’s been a minute.”
“A decade of minutes actually,” said Corey. “Not that it’s not good to see you,” she deadpanned, “but what brings you by?”
“Well, Boston’s where it all started, isn’t it?” he said. He stood by her large windows, staring down at the lights alongside the Charles River and the buildings on the far shore, very much aware, she suspected, that she was watching him and the tall figure he cut looking down on the skyline.
All the world’s a stage, she thought.
“I meant what brings you by my place in particular?”
He spun on his heel.
“Here Come turns the big 2-0 this year.”
Here Come The Toddlers was in fact their third album, but it was the one that put them on the map. Anders thought the title was so funny—fuck the suits, man, life is one big goof—and the rest of the band was always happy to go along, but it was the album that introduced them to the world beyond New England and broke them wide open. The one that catapulted them from their indie label and college radio to a major label and Top 40. The one with Jagged Beauty and the endless string of singles on it. It launched The Toddlers, but Anders was the star they all orbited around. It was the one that made him a bonafide heartthrob. It took Corey years to see the calculating mind behind his slacker charm and to realize that, even when he was fucked up, Anders always knew exactly what he was doing.
Normally, Corey would have registered the anniversary. She would have felt the date creeping up on her, but for the past few months, she was in a different place, both physically and mentally. For the first time in a long time, she was looking ahead instead of backward.
“Huh,” she said. “Wow.”
“I’ve talked to Sloan and Terry.”
Sloan, The Toddlers’ drummer, and Terry, their bassist. Sloan was still on the Boston music scene and he and Corey kept in semi-regular touch, but she had lost contact with Terry completely. Last she’d heard, he’d gotten out and was selling real estate in Vermont. Good for him.
“Okay…”
“Corey, it’s time.”
“Time for what?”
“To get The Toddlers back together.”
“You’re joking.”
Anders stood there, framed in the window, the lights behind him, and he slowly raised his hands from his side, his arms spread wide. He smiled that mischievous smile and she saw that gleam in his eye, his weapons of choice that had left her powerless a long, long time ago.
“You want me to get on one knee?” he said.
She folded her arms. If Here Come The Toddlers made Anders a star, Luminario took him supernova. And with that admittedly classic record and his canny reinvention complete, something funny happened: Hollywood came calling.
His first role was a supporting part in an indie film playing a junkie musician. It wasn’t much of a stretch, but he shone, garnering a Golden Globe Best Supporting Actor nomination. He sparkled in his tuxedo, and suddenly, there was a string of larger roles in bigger films.
Corey and Ricki had talked about it on one of their many hikes around Catalina. Ricki didn’t begrudge Anders’s hustle at first, she explained, but his abrupt and total abandonment of the music world left Corey’s magnanimous producer scratching her head. “Luminario was undeniable, if a little calculated. But what left the bad taste in my mouth was the first chance he got, he fucked off to the movies and never looked back. Like a guy getting a younger, prettier wife as soon as he gets a little money in his pocket. But you were always the true believer, Core. I heard it in Damsel and your time here has only proven me right. Anders is good, but you’re the full octave.”
That moment was one of Corey’s proudest on the island. All rock stars wanted to be actors, Corey had joked, and all actors wanted to be rock stars. Anders walked between the two worlds and played them off each other for years, but now here he was, in her condo.
“You want to record again?”
He waved his hand as if brushing off an errant mosquito. “I don’t know about all that. If it’s cool, maybe. I’m talking about a tour. A tour to commemorate the twentieth anniversary of Here Come The Toddlers. Think about it, Core: people will lose their fucking shit!”
“A reunion tour? It’s a blatant cash grab.”
He extended his hands in front of him, fingers spread wide, as if he’d just been grazed by a live wire.
“Filthy lucre!” he shouted. “Why not?”
“I can think of a million reasons why not.”
“The Beach Boys did it. Fiftieth anniversary of Pet Sounds…”
“Half of The Beach Boys.”
“Fine. Are you saying you’re better than half The Beach Boys? Come on, we did something special and I’m not above taking it out for a victory lap. Who doesn’t want to turn back the clock and feel young again, if just for one night?” He thrust his hand into the air. “I sure as fuck do, don’t you? Give the fucking people what they want, Lyondell!”
“No, I’m just…” Goddamn him, the serpent, dangling his fucking apples in her face. He always knew how to play her. The idea wasn’t terrible. Her mind started racing with the possibilities. It would boost her profile, get her back in the popular consciousness before Running Light launched. And the money wouldn’t hurt. In fact, it would be pretty incredible. And she was no longer naive—she was a working musician, and this was an opportunity to ply her craft, and do it behind something that, despite all of the drama, she was very proud of. Whatever their dynamic, Here Come The Toddlers was a landmark album. So why did it feel like taking thirty pieces of silver? But she could use the damn silver and who exactly was she betraying here? What was it that felt so off?
Then it dawned on her.
“You know, don’t you?”
“Know what?”
“Don’t. I’m told there’s been buzz. You fucking know where I’ve been, who I’ve been with, and what we’ve done.”
He narrowed his eyes, studying her for a minute. Then his smile returned, even brighter than before, but somehow with less mirth. The mask of the charming slacker slipped just a bit, revealing the cunning businessman beneath that she had only recognized too late, after he’d left them all in his wake.
“Look at you, all grown up.”
“So how about we drop the fucking pretense about the good old days.”
She watched him take it in, swallowing it, then nod slowly.
“Fair enough. You want the truth?”
“Nothing but.”
“I had a good run in Hollywood, but like anything…” he said, a pinched look on his face, “well, it’s cyclical. But here’s the thing: I’m not a movie star, not really. Never was. I’m a motherfucking rock star, and it’s high time I reminded Hollywood, and the world, who the fuck they’re dealing with. And frankly, I need your help to do that.”
“No you don’t. You could tour Luminario for the rest of your life if you wanted to.”
“And I will, but everything else I said is true too. Here Come really is turning twenty!” he said, the cheerleading urgency creeping back into his voice. “I haven’t been on the road in years, and though my triumphant return to music will put asses in seats, what we had, what we did, really was special. Bigger than both of us. Once upon a time, we were a fucking team, Core. The Toddlers were a goddamn gang. We could take all comers. Remember that?”
“And I suppose my working with Ricki Parrish doesn’t play into your math at all.”
“Of course it does! I’m not stupid. But don’t pretend like it wouldn’t be a boon for you too. Me and you reunited, standing shoulder-to-shoulder…are you telling me that wouldn’t make fucking headlines? Put you back in the spotlight in a big, bad way and warm up the public right before the bomb you’re about to drop? All of that exposure, plus we get a booster shot of Vitamin Cash. Sloan and Terry too. This isn’t a win-win, Core, it’s a win-win-win!”
“I don’t know…”
“First date would be Madison Square Garden. It’s a lock.”
“Who authorized you to do that?”
He held up his hands. “My manager floated a couple of trial balloons, all off the record of course. But I didn’t want to come to you empty-handed.”
It had been a long time since she’d played the Garden. She thought she’d never see the inside of it again unless she bought a ticket.
“I need time to talk to Lou…”
“Don’t think, jump! Let that water flow under the bridge, man. How fucking fun would it be, the four of us on a tour bus again, re-conquering the world! I’m telling you, it would be fucking epic! Hell, I’m begging!”