Power Trio

They take a break from shows after Raison D’Etre. They take a break from the world. Kell calls out of work. She’s been doing that a lot lately, first the tour and then this. Her boss sucks air through his teeth over the phone and tells her he’s not sure how often he can schedule her if she’s going to be this tough to get a hold of. She can’t even be mad. He’s not wrong.

They stay inside, watch dumb paranormal investigation shows in bed, eating takeout. Kell’s relaxed the rule on food in her cali king. Just doesn’t seem to matter like it used to.

That wrung-out feeling hasn’t gone away. She feels like there’s a blanket of insulation hung across her brain.

The Vail was a stupid dream; she realizes that now. She’s such a dumbass. The lineup was probably finalized weeks ago. It’s got nothing to do with how good they are. Nothing they could have changed. There’s always next year.

Three mornings after Raison, Kell is awoken by Evan’s arms loosening from her waist as he gets out of bed early. She takes a groggy look at her phone in his wake; just past seven. She lays with a slumbering Thekla for a while, listening to her tiny little snores, but she can’t get back to sleep. Instead, she pads into the living room, still in her jammies.

The boxes are open. Packing paper blossoms out. Evan is stocking the kitchen with their crockery, being careful not to make noise. The fridge is already covered in the colorful chintzy tourist magnets Thekla insists on buying at every gift shop she goes to. VIRGINIA IS FOR LOVERS, one declares.

He smiles as she comes in. “Morning, hon.”

“Morning.” Kell stifles a yawn. “It’s starting to look like a living space up in here.”

“Yep.” Evan tears open the packaging for a flat-packed coffee nook. “You want to help me put this thing together?”

They get to work. Kell holds the pieces together as Evan lies on the floor, screwing them into place with the cheapo stick wrench that came with the package. “Am I dumb or is this complicated?” Kell frowns at the pictograph instructions.

“You’re not dumb,” Evan says (yes I am, she thinks). “This is some fiddly construction. But I figure it’s good to have something to focus on. Something material. Can I get two more of the F screws?” Evan takes them from Kell’s proffered palm and slots the first one in. “How’d you sleep?”

“Meh.” That’s Kell’s response to a lot of things.

Evan pauses his work. He rubs her inked-up calf. “You holding up okay today?”

“Hanging in there.” Kell kneels. “How ‘bout you, baby?”

Evan blows air out between his lips. “I’m living. That’s the thing about life, right? Something happens and you think, ‘that’s it.’” He goes back to screwing the nook together. “Then the next day comes and you need a place to put the coffee mugs. This is nice, anyway. Putting things together with you. Like we’re domestic partners or something.”

She gives him an affectionate nudge with her foot. “Kinda like that, isn’t it?”

His phone buzzes on the chair. An energizing stab of fury shoots through Kell. Before she really knows what she’s doing, she’s put the receiver to her mouth. “Who’s this?”

“Kell—” Evan sits up.

“Hi, I was hoping to talk to Evan?” A woman’s voice on the other end.

“You were, huh?”

“Uh, yes. I hope this isn’t a bad time.” She clearly reads the aggression in Kell’s tone. “This is Erin Gold? I’m on the crew of Bulletin.”

“You hope this isn’t a bad time.” Kell laughs humorlessly. “Let me tell you about bad times.”

Evan’s gesturing for the phone entreatingly. Kell squeezes her eyes shut for a beat, then passes it.

“Hi. This is Evan. I’m sorry, but I’m not taking—” He pauses.

“Oh,” he says. “I see.” He glances at Kell, his consternation clear. “That’s… I’m honored that he’s interested, but it’s been a tough few days. I don’t know. Okay.”

Thekla shuffles into the room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She’s in one of Evan’s t-shirts; it goes down to her knees. She gives Kell an inquisitive look. Kell mouths no clue.

“Well, if—uh huh. I need to talk to my partners about it. No, I understand. That’s very kind. But I need their input. Can I call you back? Okay. Okay, perfect. Thank you.” He lowers the phone. “Huh.”

“Whozzat?” Thekla perches on the couch, yawns big and displays every fang in her mouth.

“That was a lady from Bulletin,” Evan says. “Big national news guys. They want to come up and interview me. They want to send Harrison Scalar.”

“Oh, fuck. Scalar?” Even Kell’s heard of this guy. “That’s… I don’t know what that is. Freaky.”

“Yeah.” Evan sits next to Thekla. Kell squeezes in to join them. “He’s kind of a gotcha guy, right?”

“I don’t watch the news, really,” Kell says. “Thek?”

Thekla nestles onto their laps, executing a feline stretch across them. “All I really know about him is the interview he did with, um.”

“With Ray Houper,” Evan says.

“Oh shit, that was him?” Kell only now puts that together. Evan’s father went on Bulletin right in the middle of the lawsuit, the big featured story, and Harrison Scalar spent twenty methodical minutes taking him and his legal defense apart, point by point, in front of the entire nation, as he laughed weakly and daubed his shiny forehead. The way people talk about it, the reason Ray’s show went away was as much because of the Bulletin thing as it was the court case.

“And he wants to come up here and interview me. Live and face-to-face.”

“Jesus.” Thekla reverses her body so that her head’s in Evan’s lap and her butt’s in Kell’s. She’s not wearing anything under his shirt, Kell notes appreciatively. “You considering it?”

“That’s what I want to ask you two,” Evan says. “You were thinking we should hide out here, wait until the world moves on to something else. I can see us doing that. But I…” He chews a nail. “I think I’m leaning yes. I’m not ready to let everyone keep speaking for us. This sounded like a terrible idea as soon as I said it.”

“Not to me,” Kell says. “I don’t want the world to move on from us. That’s not what we’re about. We’re fucking Legendary. Fuck that.”

“We’ll be right off camera,” Thekla says. “Whatever you need.”

“I know you will. It’s the only reason I’m gonna be able to do this.” Evan sighs and navigates to his recent calls. “All right. Let’s make the nightly news.”

* * *

Harrison Scalar is shorter than he looks on TV. Fastidiously dressed, in a buttoned-all-the-way oxford and a cardigan, he greets everyone with gravity, shaking Kell’s hand like she was an executive and not a 6’5 punk-rock orc. In the background, Bulletin’s lighting crew are setting up big rings and glowing fill lights as they scout out angles in the Shed.

“I’m grateful that you’ve agreed on short notice,” Harrison says. “I’m not here to ambush you or try to slip you up. We’re not, strictly speaking, live. We’ll be on a few hours’ tape delay. So I’m going to go right in; we’ve already got the intro recorded. If you need a moment, you take it. I want you to see this as an opportunity, all right? To take hold of this thing.”

“So glad you said that.” Evan shakes his manicured hand. “That’s what I’m hoping to do.”

“Excuse me.” One of the set crew, a pretty green harpy, cuts in. “Can we move that, please?” She gestures to Neko-Chan the anime body pillow. “We like this shot otherwise.”

“Oh. Yeah, dude, of course,” Kell says. Thekla blushes. “It’s ironic, you know.”

The harpy gives a smile and a nod as they relocate the Smoke Shed’s official waifu.

“Can I ask,” Evan says. “What made you want to do this?”

Harrison raises his chin as an assistant straightens his collar. “For one thing, my kid’s a fan.”

They take their positions. Kell watches from a few feet behind the camera, Thekla’s grip light in her own. The DP counts down.

Harrison leans forward in his seat, adopts an easy posture. “Evan, thank you so much for taking the time to talk today.”

“Of course.” Evan clearly isn’t sure where he should look. He settles on his interviewer.

“I’m going to get right to it. You’ve been the center of a lot of controversy this week. What would you say to people accusing you of hiding your parentage? Why did you decide to perform under a pseudonym?”

“I don’t think I made that decision,” Evan says. “I think Raymond Houper made it. It wasn’t possible to live with him or live as his son in a reasonable or healthy way.”

“So, would you characterize what you did as hiding? Do you think that’s fair?”

Evan hesitates. “I guess to those people I’d need to explain myself a little more. About why I left Tennessee and how I’ve been living.”

Harrison sits back. “Why don’t we do that?”

And that’s what Evan does over the next ten minutes. He starts at the Thanksgiving argument and finishes at the tour. Kell remembers the way he shook and barely held himself together the first time they fed him, the shame burning his face. She’s so proud of him it’s thickening her throat, making her mist up a little.

“When I hear that story,” Harrison says, “my immediate reaction is, ‘this guy has been through a lot for his beliefs.’ But until now, you haven’t shared them. Did you consider using your identity to push back on your father?”

“I, uh. Can I think about this one?”

“Sure.” Harrison gives a brief gesture to the camera crew, passes a hand over his face. “Mark here.”

“We’re a rock band,” Evan says. “We’re not apolitical. Rock is never apolitical, but we play music. I think people should listen to it. We’re not singing attack ads, but if people just listened…” He hesitates. “I think they’d understand. I hope they would. And I’m the bassist. I serve the songs. This isn’t the Evan Houper project. My partners are the songwriters. And it wouldn’t be fair to them.”

“You say partners. There’s been rumors around this. Do you mean bandmates or are you in a relationship with the other members of Legendary?”

Evan glances at Kell and Thekla. Kell nods.

“A couple of them,” Evan says. “Sion’s a little too scary. Sorry, Sion.” A muffled laugh passes through the crew.

“So you live nonmonogamously with your band?”

“We’re monogamous,” Evan says. “There’s just three of us.”

That gets a chuckle from Harrison. “Bass, guitar, and drums. Kind of a power trio situation.”

“Kind of.”

“I want to talk about your parents now, if I may,” Harrison says, and Evan cautiously lets him. They touch more on Tennessee, on Melanie’s illness and on Ray’s changing face. Harrison Scalar, infamous attack dog of the free press, is handling Evan with kid gloves. Kell’s trying to figure out why. Is this some kind of setup?

“If you could say anything to Raymond Houper, if he’s watching this right now, what would you say?”

“I’ve thought about this a few times,” Evan says. “I don’t think I’d say anything at all.”

“That’s a definitive message,” says Harrison. “One last question, Evan, and then we’re done. Do you know why I came here this evening?”

“You mentioned your kid’s a fan?”

“He is,” Harrison says. “But he’s a fan of the Braves, too. And I’m not in the dugout pitching them softballs. I’m not surprised that you don’t remember me. But I remember you.”

Kell feels a shift in the air. Unease bunches her shoulders. Evan’s brow furrows. “I’m sorry?”

“This isn’t the first time we’ve spoken, Evan,” Harrison says. “The first time we spoke was this summer. I was in bed. You woke me up with a phone call.”

Evan’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Kell makes the connection a second after he does.

“You were with my son,” Harrison says.

He inclines his head, looks to a camera a few feet from Evan’s ear. “In June of this year, my son Aaron suffered a heroin overdose in the South Wharf district of New Laytham. Like Evan, he was unhoused. Like Evan, he was in New Laytham because his father had dismissed him, written him out of his life after an argument in the conviction that the rift between them was too vast, that they were better off without one another. The attending doctors later told me that when Evan found Aaron, he wasn’t breathing. Bulletin has footage of Evan administering emergency breathing, chest compressions, and a dose of naloxone. If he hadn’t, I would be two months out from having buried my son. Instead, Aaron is in recovery. And we’re back in each other’s lives.”

His eyes are shiny, but his voice is steel-cable steady. “Five years ago, I sat across from Raymond Houper and excoriated him until he stormed from the room. This year, Raymond’s son met mine and saved his life. Without a clue who he was.

“That, Evan Houper, is why I came here.”