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Ultimately, it wasn't anything that Adonis and I did that brought our relationship to Abraham's attention and brought his wrath down upon us both. It was his brother, Angelo.
We had just finished playing a show in Norfolk, Virginia. Adonis and I were hanging out on Big Bertha while the road crew broke down the equipment. Everyone else was either outside or in the bar as he and I relaxed in the front lounge area of the bus. We weren't doing anything suspicious. We weren't even sitting next to each other; I was seated at the table and Adonis sat on the couch across from me. We had changed our clothes and were just talking when we heard the bus door swing open.
Instinctively, Adonis and I both straightened up and fell silent as someone ascended the steps of the bus. It was only Angelo. Before I had time to feel relieved and make a joke, however, I saw from Angelo's expression that he wasn't as pleased to see us as we were to see him.
"C'mon, bruh," Angelo said, sucking his teeth. He rolled his eyes at us, then spun around and got off the bus again, slamming the door so hard that the bus rocked a little.
Adonis and I exchanged puzzled glances. "What in the world was that all about?" I asked.
Adonis made the "I don't know" noise, as he shrugged.
It never occurred to either of us that Angelo would go to his father at that moment and tell him about us. Why would he? Angelo and I had always been friends. Like the rest of the band, he knew about Adonis and me; plus, he had already told us, "Look, I'm not getting involved in what y'all are doing together. And if Pops asks me, I'm gonna say I don't know anything."
A few minutes later, the door to the bus swung open again. This time it was Abraham. He climbed the steps but stopped near the driver's seat, staring straight at me.
"Selena, can you come here for a second?" he asked. He appeared calm, but his mouth was set and his voice was hoarse from either fatigue or tension.
"Yes, sir." I got up from the table, alarm bells sounding in my head.
"What's wrong?" Adonis asked. I shrugged and followed his father. By the time I reached the top of the bus steps, Abraham was standing on the ground again, just waiting. His dark eyes were hard and his shoulders were pulled back. What was going on?
We had performed in Fairfax the night before; Abraham had been paid for that show in cash and had somehow rushed out of the hotel room in the morning without retrieving his briefcase full of money from under the bed. By the time he remembered, we were already setting up for the show in Norfolk. Abraham decided to borrow a car from my friend Michael, whose band was opening for us that night, so that he could race back to Fairfax, feverishly hoping that by some stroke of luck the money would still be there.
