Again Myron nodded.
“I still meet people who swear they were at the Espy that night. I don’t know if they’re lying to feel important or if they’re just self-delusional. Probably both.”
Myron remembered his own childhood. Every friend of his had claimed to see a “surprise” Springsteen show at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park. Myron had his doubts. He’d gone three times in high school when he heard the rumors, but Bruce never showed.
“Anyway, we became HorsePower, but I wrote every song—every melody, every lyric. We used backing tapes onstage. I taught Gabriel how to carry a tune but for the most part I dubbed over him or studiofied it.”
He stopped now, took a deep sip, seemed lost. To bring him back, Myron asked, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you need him as a prop?”
“Don’t be daft,” Lex said. “He had the looks. It’s like I told you—Gabriel was the beautiful, poetic, soulful façade. I viewed him as my greatest instrument. And it worked. He loved being the big star, nailing every piece of young ass who crossed his path, making money hand over fist. And I was happy too. Everyone was listening to my music. The entire world.”
“But you never got the credit.”
“So? That’s never mattered much to me. I was about the music. That was all. The fact that the world considers me a second banana . . . well, the joke is on them, isn’t it?”
Myron guessed that maybe it was.
“I knew,” Lex went on. “That was enough for me. And in a sense, we were indeed a real rock group. I needed Gabriel. Isn’t beauty in a sense its own talent? Successful designers put their dresses on beautiful models. Don’t the models play a role? Big companies have attractive spokespeople. Aren’t they relevant to the process? That’s what Gabriel Wire was to HorsePower. And the proof was in the eating. Listen to my solo stuff from before I met Wire. The music is just as good. No one cared. Do you remember Milli Vanilli?”
Myron did. They were two male models named Rob and Fab who lip-synched someone else’s music and rose to the top of the charts. They even won a Best New Artist Grammy.
“Remember how the world hated those two guys when the truth came out?”
Myron nodded. “They were vilified.”
“Exactly. People actually went out and burned their records. How come? Wasn’t the music the same?”
“It was.”
He leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you know why the fans turned on those two guys so horribly?”
Just to keep him talking, Myron shook his head.
“Because those pretty boys pointed out the truth: We are all shallow. Milli Vanilli music was pure crap—and they won a Grammy! People listened to it simply because Rob and Fab were handsome and hip. That scandal did more than rip away the façade. It held a mirror up to the fan’s face and let him see a total fool. There are many things we can forgive. But we can’t forgive those who point out our true foolishness. We don’t like to think of ourselves as shallow. But we are. Gabriel Wire looked brooding and deep but he was anything but. People thought that Gabriel didn’t do interviews because he felt he was too important—but he didn’t give them because he was too dumb. I know I was mocked over the years. Part of me was hurt—who wouldn’t be?—but most of me understood that this was the only way. Once I started, once I created Gabriel Wire, I couldn’t destroy him without destroying me.”
Myron tried to let this information settle. “That’s what you meant with all that talk earlier about Suzze falling for you or falling for the music. About being Cyrano.”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t understand. When you say Gabriel Wire is dead—”
“I mean that literally. Someone killed him. Probably Crisp.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I’m not sure, but I have my suspicions. When Gabriel killed Alista Snow, Herman Ache saw an opportunity. If they could pull him out of this jam, not only would they get their substantial gambling debt paid, but Wire would owe them for life.”
“Yeah, okay, I got that.”
“So they saved him from the fire. They intimidated witnesses. They paid off Alista Snow’s father. I don’t really know what happened next. I think Wire went a little crazy. He started acting erratically. Or maybe they realized that we really didn’t need him. I could make the music on my own. Maybe they hatched this plan and decided we were better off with Wire dead.”
Myron thought about that. “Seems awfully risky. Plus you guys used to make a mint on the rare concert appearance.”
“But touring was a big risk too. Gabriel wanted to do it more, but using backing tracks got more difficult as time went on, what with all the lip-synching scandals. It wasn’t worth it.”
“So I still don’t get it. Why kill Wire? And for that matter, when?”
“A few weeks after Alista Snow was killed,” Lex said. “First he left the country. That part was true. If they couldn’t clear him, I think Gabriel would have just stayed overseas and become another Roman Polanski or something. He came back when the case against him started falling apart. Witnesses started clamming up. There was no security tape. The last step was for Gabriel to meet with Karl Snow and slip him a bagful of money. Once all that was done, the media and the cops faded away.”
“And then, after all that, Crisp kills Gabriel Wire?”
Lex shrugged. It didn’t make sense.
“You told Suzze all this on the phone?”
“Not all of it, no. I wanted to. See, I knew it would all come out now, what with Kitty back in our lives. I figured that I should tell her first. I wanted to for years anyway and now we were going to have a baby. . . . We needed to get rid of all the lies, all the secrets. You know what I mean?”
“I do. But when you saw that post that said ‘Not His,’ I mean, you knew it wasn’t true.”
“Yep.”
“So why did you run?”
“I told you at Three Downing. I just needed time. Suzze didn’t tell me about the post. How come? She saw it, and man, I knew right away something was wrong. And think about it. When she came to you, she didn’t just want you to find me. She wanted to know who posted the message on the board.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why do you think that was?”
“You think,” Myron said, “that she still held a candle for Gabriel.”
“I still meet people who swear they were at the Espy that night. I don’t know if they’re lying to feel important or if they’re just self-delusional. Probably both.”
Myron remembered his own childhood. Every friend of his had claimed to see a “surprise” Springsteen show at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park. Myron had his doubts. He’d gone three times in high school when he heard the rumors, but Bruce never showed.
“Anyway, we became HorsePower, but I wrote every song—every melody, every lyric. We used backing tapes onstage. I taught Gabriel how to carry a tune but for the most part I dubbed over him or studiofied it.”
He stopped now, took a deep sip, seemed lost. To bring him back, Myron asked, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you need him as a prop?”
“Don’t be daft,” Lex said. “He had the looks. It’s like I told you—Gabriel was the beautiful, poetic, soulful façade. I viewed him as my greatest instrument. And it worked. He loved being the big star, nailing every piece of young ass who crossed his path, making money hand over fist. And I was happy too. Everyone was listening to my music. The entire world.”
“But you never got the credit.”
“So? That’s never mattered much to me. I was about the music. That was all. The fact that the world considers me a second banana . . . well, the joke is on them, isn’t it?”
Myron guessed that maybe it was.
“I knew,” Lex went on. “That was enough for me. And in a sense, we were indeed a real rock group. I needed Gabriel. Isn’t beauty in a sense its own talent? Successful designers put their dresses on beautiful models. Don’t the models play a role? Big companies have attractive spokespeople. Aren’t they relevant to the process? That’s what Gabriel Wire was to HorsePower. And the proof was in the eating. Listen to my solo stuff from before I met Wire. The music is just as good. No one cared. Do you remember Milli Vanilli?”
Myron did. They were two male models named Rob and Fab who lip-synched someone else’s music and rose to the top of the charts. They even won a Best New Artist Grammy.
“Remember how the world hated those two guys when the truth came out?”
Myron nodded. “They were vilified.”
“Exactly. People actually went out and burned their records. How come? Wasn’t the music the same?”
“It was.”
He leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you know why the fans turned on those two guys so horribly?”
Just to keep him talking, Myron shook his head.
“Because those pretty boys pointed out the truth: We are all shallow. Milli Vanilli music was pure crap—and they won a Grammy! People listened to it simply because Rob and Fab were handsome and hip. That scandal did more than rip away the façade. It held a mirror up to the fan’s face and let him see a total fool. There are many things we can forgive. But we can’t forgive those who point out our true foolishness. We don’t like to think of ourselves as shallow. But we are. Gabriel Wire looked brooding and deep but he was anything but. People thought that Gabriel didn’t do interviews because he felt he was too important—but he didn’t give them because he was too dumb. I know I was mocked over the years. Part of me was hurt—who wouldn’t be?—but most of me understood that this was the only way. Once I started, once I created Gabriel Wire, I couldn’t destroy him without destroying me.”
Myron tried to let this information settle. “That’s what you meant with all that talk earlier about Suzze falling for you or falling for the music. About being Cyrano.”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t understand. When you say Gabriel Wire is dead—”
“I mean that literally. Someone killed him. Probably Crisp.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I’m not sure, but I have my suspicions. When Gabriel killed Alista Snow, Herman Ache saw an opportunity. If they could pull him out of this jam, not only would they get their substantial gambling debt paid, but Wire would owe them for life.”
“Yeah, okay, I got that.”
“So they saved him from the fire. They intimidated witnesses. They paid off Alista Snow’s father. I don’t really know what happened next. I think Wire went a little crazy. He started acting erratically. Or maybe they realized that we really didn’t need him. I could make the music on my own. Maybe they hatched this plan and decided we were better off with Wire dead.”
Myron thought about that. “Seems awfully risky. Plus you guys used to make a mint on the rare concert appearance.”
“But touring was a big risk too. Gabriel wanted to do it more, but using backing tracks got more difficult as time went on, what with all the lip-synching scandals. It wasn’t worth it.”
“So I still don’t get it. Why kill Wire? And for that matter, when?”
“A few weeks after Alista Snow was killed,” Lex said. “First he left the country. That part was true. If they couldn’t clear him, I think Gabriel would have just stayed overseas and become another Roman Polanski or something. He came back when the case against him started falling apart. Witnesses started clamming up. There was no security tape. The last step was for Gabriel to meet with Karl Snow and slip him a bagful of money. Once all that was done, the media and the cops faded away.”
“And then, after all that, Crisp kills Gabriel Wire?”
Lex shrugged. It didn’t make sense.
“You told Suzze all this on the phone?”
“Not all of it, no. I wanted to. See, I knew it would all come out now, what with Kitty back in our lives. I figured that I should tell her first. I wanted to for years anyway and now we were going to have a baby. . . . We needed to get rid of all the lies, all the secrets. You know what I mean?”
“I do. But when you saw that post that said ‘Not His,’ I mean, you knew it wasn’t true.”
“Yep.”
“So why did you run?”
“I told you at Three Downing. I just needed time. Suzze didn’t tell me about the post. How come? She saw it, and man, I knew right away something was wrong. And think about it. When she came to you, she didn’t just want you to find me. She wanted to know who posted the message on the board.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why do you think that was?”
“You think,” Myron said, “that she still held a candle for Gabriel.”
