California Nights

One

The sun has long since gone down in Los Angeles, bringing with it the promise of another bitterly cold night (in more ways than one).

 He cracks open the bottle of red wine and pours himself a generous draft, making sure it will be enough to ease the ever-present tension in his heart and mind. There isn’t much to do that doesn’t involve “the new album” at the moment. He’s just won a Grammy. Ten years ago, that wasn’t even concerning to him, let alone so damn terrifying as it is now. He’s pissed at himself for being so naive back then and being so scared right now. He knows in the back of his mind why he’s cursing one of his biggest achievements: The heat has been turned up again. Too high, too fast. He knows what happened the last time someone asked for more than he could give. The thought has haunted him day and night.

“Top that, Henley.”

In need of some mindless drivel to drink to, Henley absentmindedly turns on Letterman. Dave’s distinctive voice cuts through the silence like a knife. That knife flies through the room and into his chest.

“After the break, we got Glenn Frey.”

The sentence causes him to spill his wine all over himself like an incompetent child. He scrambles up from his chair, spooked by his own clumsiness and what he thinks (knows; he can’t fool himself anymore) he has just heard. Don Henley, one time angry, untouchable young man, has been effectively reduced to standing in a puddle of red wine; literally and figuratively drenched in sorrow and booze as a result of one seemingly innocent sentence.

The wine isn’t his only problem now. Glenn’s on next.