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Inside his mind, he analyzed why his relationship with Elizabeth had failed more times than were countable. Like the scholar he wasn't wholesale marlboros, he dissected situations, pondered things he should've said and shouldn't have been caught doing. When it came to ######, why couldn't Elizabeth understand that just because he occasionally strayed from their bedroom didn't mean he didn't love her? ###### was like role-playing. He never forced her to be monogamous but deep down he knew that if he found out she was ########ing someone else it would have hurt. A lot! Even with that knowledge, he couldn't confine himself to only one woman. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too. He tried being open with her but concluded that certain things should've remained secret. ###### was an ego addiction similar to the one felt onstage. Different audiences, like different partners, were more challenging and made him work harder for the applause. Like drugs, he was addicted to the rush. Even with an empire at his disposal, money couldn't buy him love, nor happiness, nor peace of mind. Nor Elizabeth. Looking around the large living room, a very disenchanted artist absorbed the modern decor. None of these possessions except a few token items had ever meant anything to Mayne. None of this shit was real. He was surrounded by trophies of a game that had no meaning. And he was tired of playing games.
The gig was well over two hours of electric ferocity. Of course Mayne consumed plenty of drugs and alcohol before and during the show (he did every gig) newport red cigarettes, but it was the Florida crowd's enthusiasm and knowing that he'd be able to sleep for a month that gave him extra spark. Every time he took a solo, he tried to best any previous soloing effort. Every time he approached his microphone to sing backups, his voice surged with whiskey vigor. For him, this was rock ��n' roll at its best. The 4,000-plus crowd acknowledged this with deafening applause.
After the final encore, it was time to celebrate. Mayne wound up with two eager females in his hotel room. In the privacy of his bathroom he injected a little heroin. Not enough to make him nod out but enough to get him good and high. The two nubile females would only make him feel better. After struggling to get his wet brown suede pants off, he joined the nude women, and thus the revelry began. The dope clouded his not-so-good memory but Mayne remembered a very drunk Peter Terrance walking into the room. The band's drummer had mistaken Mayne's room for his own. In the spirit of celebration, Mayne offered him a girl. Terrance declined saying he'd find his own and left. The menage-a-trois continued. Shortly afterward there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was Terrance taking up the offer, Mayne called out, telling whoever was at the door to enter. Standing at the door with an overnight bag was Elizabeth. On the spur of the moment she'd flown from L.A. to Miami to be with him. A very bad scene played itself out. Elizabeth left broken and hysterical. That was the beginning of the end for their relationship.
"You owe me three bills from that shit, brother man," the dealer explained just in case memory failed. I'm sure I got some change floatin' around. If I can't find some I'll five ya my Versateller card and you can get what I owe."
He lit up a cigarette and got himself another beer. The lid popped loudly and foam rose to the mouth hole. He watched newport cigarettes online, amused welcome to cheapdreheadphones dot com (4), then walked over to the black-out curtains and pulled the lever, letting bright sunlight invade his living room. "######## you very much," he loudly announced, squinting, and raising his middle finger to the sky. The view from his balcony was vast, displaying the City of Angels below, yet more often than not Mayne kept the curtains shut, preferring not to be a part of the world outside. It was safe inside his apartment. Against a far wall, tucked in the corner so that the ivory keys faced out toward the living room, was a vintage Steinway. He spent many pleasure-filled hours on the instrument true religion jeans, and even when he wasn't playing, the piano gave him visual stimulation. It was an instrument of precision and grace. Next to the piano, resting comfortably on stands were half a dozen vintage guitars: Les Pauls dre dre Headphones, Stratocasters, and Telecasters. The guitars he kept in the apartment were the ones that meant the most to him.