He thought they were all like him.
But they weren’t. And Venkat wanted so, so badly for that, of all things, to be Red’s downfall.
* * * *
Red spent most of dinner in his own room on the phone to Chicago, where another client of his, Justin Mellas, was prepping for a recording session and apparently freaking out about something. Venkat, happy to be alone, didn’t ask. The night moved so slowly, though, as he sat picking at the remains of his pasta. He played for an hour, just exercises and snatches of melodies from his dreams, and that got him to about nine P.M. But playing later than that, even in a nice hotel like this one, was bound to get him into trouble with management.
Three more hours.
Around eleven, Red poked his head through the ensuite door and asked if he needed anything. V
