Even Now

Chapter 2: One Thing Leads To Another

January 26, 1993: London, England

"So, just to state it for the official record, I'm Mike. Two-point-zero."

Layne scoffs aloud when he hears this, crossing his arms while rolling his eyes.

Here they are, "auditioning" a new bass player for the band. And his name is Mike. That's fuckin' weird.

The band's drummer, Sean Kinney, had recommended they look into hiring him, at least for the rest of their tour. Jerry had been all for it, having wanted someone who smoked the same brand of cigarettes, liked the music they wrote, who looked similar to and had the same first name as Mike Starr (y'know, in cases of calling someone the wrong name by accident... ever done that?).

Layne was completely against the whole thing.

"He's a great guy, Layne. He likes hanging with us. He knows what we're about, and he appreciates our music. He's the best we could ever ask for at a time like this," Jerry had reasoned.

Layne cares so little for this new... 'Mike Inez' person... that he's shown up to this audition high as a kite. How else would he be able to get through it?

"So, Mike, two-point-zero," Jerry laughs awkwardly, trying to be friendly towards their acquaintance in the wake of Layne's scoff. "Play something."

"We're really not that scary," Sean jokes, smiling at Mike.

"Right, well... here goes," Mike shrugs.

He starts to play an Alice in Chains song- 'Rain When I Die'- a song with a gritty, harsh bass-line. This "audition" is just a formality, he already knows he's in. He could honestly play any song he wants.

His bass playing is shit, Layne lies to himself.

He can't even watch. Do they even realize that they're just replacing Mike Starr, without even giving him a chance to redeem himself? The real Mike, that is. Layne knows they need a bass player for the rest of this tour, but still.
He straight-up leaves before the Inez guy is done. This prompts confused stares from his bandmates.

They'll get over it, he thinks to himself, lighting a cigarette.

***

"I think he's a pretty good bass player," Jerry shrugs, chugging his beer. He gestures towards a waitress who idly passes them by. "Hey, honey, could you just go ahead and grab me another one? Thanks."

The waitress nods, smiling at them as she walks away.

Jerry had practically dragged Layne to a nearby strip club, "for the booze," apparently, which he guessed made some sense considering that the nearest bar was another ten minutes away.
Weird fucking British city...

"I just don't see the point," Layne groans, having to raise his voice over the cheesy '80's music blasting over the speakers. "We already had a great bass player."

"Who was stupid enough to overdose, if he wasn't already stupid enough to be scalping our tickets," Jerry replies, almost as if it's a reflex for him now, or if to ask, "How many times must we talk about this?"

Layne shifts in his chair uncomfortably, crossing his arms. "He made a mistake, Jer. It's not like he planned for that to happen."

"For what? The overdose? The scalping? The drug addiction? The sex addiction?"

Layne looks away.

"I get it, okay?" Jerry sighs, leaning forward as his long blonde hair lightly brushes the table. "And it's not like he has to stop being our friend. I know you guys were especially close."