A N G E L (Roger Daltrey)

Twenty Three

Roger's POV

I turned the telephone over in my hands.

It had been quite a while since I had called Janice, and I felt bad for it. Between the band and Heather, I didn't exactly have a lot of extra time on my hands.

I punched in the number.

After a few rings, someone picked up.

"Hello?" Came a female voice.

"Janice?" I asked.

"No, it's Nancy. Is this Roger?" Her voice sounded rough and tired. I fleetingly hoped she was alright.

"Yeh, can you put her on?" I leaned back against the wall.

"Uh, about that—she just left. I-I dunno where she went. Besides, I seriously doubt she wants to talk to you anyways."

I scoffed, taken aback.

"What do you mean, why wouldn't she?" I inquired.

"I dunno, why don't you ask Heather, ya skuzz-bucket!" She spat.

"What? What are you talking about? Didn't she know?" I said in disbelief.

"No, I don't think you ever mentioned." The sarcastic bite in her tone made my stomach sink, but I ignored it.

"Doesn't she ever read a magazine? And it's implied! I'm a rockstar, I've got women everywhere!" I returned, frustrated.

"You could've at least told her." Nancy said. "Instead of making her believe she was actually worth something to you."

Click.

"Bloody fucking hell."

I pushed my hand through my hair and dialed Janice's old number, but it was disconnected.

Worry settled over me. Where was she? Was she okay? Something was certainly going on, and I had no way of finding out what.

"Hey!" Someone called from behind me. I put the phone back into its cradle and turned around to see Pete. "Woah, what's gotten into you? Look like y've seen a ghost."

I sighed and rolled my eyes back into my head. I didn't want to say what was really bothering me because I knew he'd make fun of me, but if I didn't tell the truth and something really bad that required my attention with no warning happened, he'd be pissed beyond belief.

"Er, uh, it's just...I called Janice. And her friend picked up and said she left and nobody knows where she is."

"Jesus Christ, Daltrey--" Pete began.

"I know, I know. It's not my problem. But something's not right, I can feel it. I could hear it in her friend's voice. Jan's mad at me because she didn't know about Heather until recently, but it's something deeper than that." I shook my head, sighing yet again.

"Look, mate. You're going to 'ave to let it go. These are some of the biggest weeks of our lives, and the band needs you. Heather needs you. Don't let some American hillbilly girl distract you from that. Now, John and Alison are having a get-together, so that's where I'm off to. If you want to prove to me that you're taking our work seriously, you'll be there." He turned on his heel and walked off.

My thoughts zipped around in my head like sparks. I couldn't get a handle on any of them.

As much as I hated to admit it, Pete was right. I did need to let it go. But if something truly terrible was going on and Janice, heaven forbid, lost her life, I would feel like it was partially my fault. Knowing that there's a problem and doing nothing to solve it? That's hard to forgive.