Topic 228: 3:00 AM
June 14, 2008. 2:54 AM
"You were amazing!"
Drake smiles and shrugs the strap of his guitar case higher on his shoulder. "Yeah, I know," he says modestly.
"I mean it, dude," Josh says. His face is lit up like a Christmas tree as he slides the key card through the electronic lock on their hotel room door. "I've seen you rock before, but tonight, you rocked." The light above the card slot winks green, and Josh wiggles the door handle. "It was incredible." The handle clicks, but won't turn. The light turns red again. "And the crowd!" he continues, sliding the card through the slot again. "Did you hear them chanting your name at the end?"
"That was the best part," Drake says. He can still hear it echoing in his ears. Two thousand people calling his name, stamping their feet, clapping, whistling... it was the sweetest music he'd ever heard in his life.
The light turns green, and Josh wiggles the handle again. "I mean, I thought you being on TRL was the most amazing thing I'd ever see, but this -- wow!" The door remains stubbornly shut, and Josh's grin fades slightly as the light flickers red.
"I know," Drake replies. "The whole live audience thing, what a major trip."
"How's it feel to be on your way up, brotha?" Josh says, swiping the card for a third time. The door handle still won't budge, and Josh gives the door a frustrated kick, cursing under his breath as the light turns red once again.
"Incredible," Drake says. He jerks the key card out of Josh's hand and slides it through the slot. When the light turns green, he pushes on the door handle and the door swings open. Ignoring Josh's incredulous gasp, Drake pushes his way into their room. "Absolutely freakin' incredible."
November 19, 2008. 3:07 AM
The shriek of his cell phone's ringtone awakens Drake from a dead sleep, and it takes four tries before he can locate the damn thing on his bedside table. "'Lo?" he says, his voice gravel-edged with sleep.
"Did I wake you?"
"Josh? Why the fuck are you calling at -- " Drake squints at the clock. It takes his brain a moment to translate the pattern of red lines into numbers. " -- three o'clock in the morning? Where are you?"
"I'm at school."
"What?" Drake's head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton batting. He scrubs his eyes with the heel of his hand.
"School. Yale. Remember?"
"Yeah, okay. Yale. Right. Well, it was great talking to you, but -- "
"Don't hang up! I was just doing some research on the internet and I went to the Billboard website and have you seen it?" Josh says the whole thing in one breath like he's afraid Drake will cut him off before he can finish.
"Seen what, man?" Drake says impatiently.
"Uncertain Girl, dude! It hit number one!"
Drake's heart stops. His mouth works frantically for a second, trying to form words, but the best he can manage is "Waba nngh saaa..."
Josh's happy laugh rings in his ears. "You heard my words! Your CD. Hit. Number. One."
"Oh, my God!"
"I know!"
Drake throws the blankets off and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "Oh, my God!" he says again, leaping to his feet. "Are you sure?"
"Totally sure, man! Go check it out for yourself, if you don't believe me."
"Josh, oh my God, this is the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me!" He rushes to his desk and throws himself into the chair, flicking the switch to turn on the computer monitor. "You better not be shitting me, bro."
"I swear I'm not."
Drake's fingers are shaking so much it takes three tries to spell the website address correctly. When the page finally loads, it's like all the air in the room has been sucked out at once. "Holy --"
Josh laughs again. "How's it feel to be number one, brotha?"
Drake can't answer. He can barely breathe. Nothing in the world could ever feel as incredible as this. Nothing.
September 25, 2010. 3:01 AM
It's 3:00 AM by the time Drake shakes off the entourage and makes it back to his hotel room. As the door clicks shut behind him, he pulls his blazer off and throws it over the back of a chair, thankful to finally be rid of the stupid thing. It reeks of Stephanie's perfume, which is bad enough when they're sitting in the same room let alone when he gets it on his own clothes.
Skunkbag. When's she going to get it into her head he's not interested? She should be grateful for the one time she got.
His head throbs as he crosses the dimly lit bedroom to the bathroom, shedding his clothes along the way. It has been a hellish day. He hates these marathons in LA, cooped up all day with the promotional guys. Photo sessions. Interviews. Handlers. He's a musician, not a trained monkey. Shit like this takes away from his time in the studio, which is the only thing that makes it all worthwhile anymore.
He turns on the shower and runs the water until it's nearly scalding. Not that things are going so well on his current project, he muses as he steps under the spray. He seems to be fighting with the guys in his band all the time now. Especially Brett. They used to see eye-to-eye on almost everything, but lately they can't agree on the weather, let alone anything else. The guy is completely unreasonable, not to mention totally incapable of admitting he's wrong, which he is about so many damn things these days.
Drake raises his face to the stream of hot water and grinds his teeth. It's so weird, and so frustrating... he's one of the hottest acts in music right now, but it's just not enough. A year ago it would have been, but now he wants to be huge, a legend, someone people will someday mention in the same breath as The Beatles or Elvis. He knows what he has to go to get there, and he's trying, he really is, but everyone around him seems to be holding him back. He feels like a racehorse struggling to gallop, fighting the jockey who keeps trying to rein him in. Louis, his manager, keeps telling him to be patient, to just do what he's told and toe the line because all the ingredients for superstardom are there, he just needs to give the pie time to bake. Drake is seriously considering firing his ass. He's not a pie. He's a fucking star.
The sheets don't feel right against his bare skin when he slips between them. They're too stiff. He sighs. He left word with the maid yesterday morning to make sure he got soft sheets tonight, dammit. With an irritated grunt, he rolls over and grabs for the phone. Someone's going to have to get out of bed to fix it, but tough shit. It's not his problem they are too stupid to get it right the first time. He's about to jab the key for housekeeping when he notices his message light is glowing. That's weird. All of his calls are supposed to be handled by his service. He tucks the receiver between his head and shoulder and punches the keys to retrieve his messages.
"Yeah, uh, hi Drake. It's me. Sorry to bother you. I haven't talked to you for a while, and I didn't realize you were out of town. Don't worry about calling me back. I just thought I'd touch base with you, see how things were going." Josh's voice grows soft. "I miss you, man." He clears his throat, and when he resumes speaking his voice is back at full strength. "Anyway, I'll catch up with you some time. Take it easy, bro."
Drake closes his eyes and lets the receiver drop to the sheets. Dammit. Yesterday was Josh's birthday. He'd forgotten all about it. Again.
Blowing the wet hair out of his eyes, Drake slams the phone down and falls back against the pillows. He'll call Josh in the morning to apologize. Maybe. If he remembers.
July 28, 2013. 2:52 AM
The night air is thick with moisture as Drake pushes his way out of the club. He takes a deep gulp of fresh air -- well, fresh compared to the smoky haze of the interior, anyway -- and out of habit looks around for his limo. A few paparazzi are grouped around the club entrance, cameras in hand. They start to buzz when he appears, and a few raise their equipment and train it on his face.
He turns away instinctively, raising his hands to hide his face, then stops. He turns back and gives them his best smile, but they are already lowering their cameras.
One of the younger ones jabs the man standing next to him in the ribs. "Who is that?"
The older man looks up, then down again at his camera. "No one important," he responds, blowing something off the lens. The young paparazzo lifts his camera anyway, and Drake turns up the voltage on his smile, but the older photographer bumps the younger one's arm. "Forget it," he says. "No one'll pay anything for that one. You're wasting your film."
Drake turns on his heel before they can see the change in his expression. He raises his hand and whistles sharply through his teeth at a passing cab.
December 25, 2014. 2:58 AM
His parents still live in the same house. Drake hasn't been home for Christmas for ages, but the place still looks the same. His mother still hangs the same old ornaments he and Megan made when they were kids, still puts out the same old electronic Santa with the wave that looks more like a karate chop, and the same old nutcracker with the teeth Drake broke trying to crack open one of Megan's geodes. The only thing that's different is she's using colored lights on the tree this year instead of the white ones he remembers from his childhood. He stares at the lights without really seeing them, his cold feet tucked under one of the sofa cushions, and tries to will away the sense of uneasiness that's settled in his stomach like a lump of wet cement since he walked through the front door.
Josh had been uncharacteristically quiet at Christmas Eve dinner the night before. He'd smiled and nodded at all the right places in the conversation, laughed at a few of Walter's jokes, and passed the platter of ham when he'd been asked for it, but hadn't once met Drake's eye, hadn't once spoken to him directly. It had been like having dinner with someone he'd just met and barely knew rather than someone he'd once felt closer to than anyone else in the world.
He'd hoped they could sit together for a while after dinner, maybe catch up a little, but Josh had excused himself early, claiming jet lag, and closeted himself in the guest room. This had caused no small amount of alarm, as Megan had brought her boyfriend home for the holiday and Josh had stolen his bed. After 45 minutes of heated discussion, in which Mom and Walter flatly refused to consider letting Joe sleep with Megan in her old room, it had been decided he should sleep in Josh's old bed.
Which led to Drake stumbling downstairs at 3:00 AM with a blanket and pillow in tow. Joe snores louder than Josh and Henry Doheny put together.
He's just settling the blanket around himself when he hears footsteps on the stairs. Josh stops in the archway at the bottom of the steps, and his mouth drops open when he sees Drake.
"Hey Josh," Drake says quietly.
"Hey."
"What're you doing up?"
"Thirsty."
Drake nods and turns away to look at the tree. He hears Josh pad into the kitchen, then the sound of the refrigerator door opening. Drake squints against the wash of light that hits his eyes as Josh pours something. The living room seems darker than before when the refrigerator door slams shut again. Josh is shuffling back towards the stairs, apparently intending to go straight back to bed, when the dam bursts in Drake's chest.
"Josh. I'm sorry."
The footsteps stop. Drake can see Josh standing there out of the corner of his eye. "What?" he says, his voice husky with confusion.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
Drake sighs. "For everything, man. For being a prick. For acting like such a shit. For treating you so bad." The Christmas tree lights blur as his eyes start to sting. "For being a total failure."
"Drake." Josh moves into his line of vision, one arm extended in front of him. "You're not... I never thought you were a failure."
Drake shakes his head. "There's nothing left for me, man. It's all gone. I had it in my hands -- " he balls both hands into fists and shakes them a few times, then opens them again slowly "-- and I threw it all away. All because I'm an asshole who thought he knew better than everyone else." He glances up at Josh, who looks like he's just been poleaxed. "Worst of all, I let it all make me forget about what -- who -- was really important to me." His voice cracks, and he looks away again.
Josh rounds the end of the couch and sits down, placing his glass on the coffee table in front of him. They sit in silence for a long time, a silence that seems to get heavier and heavier the longer it goes unbroken. Drake wonders what Josh is thinking, wants desperately to know, and yet dreads finding out because if Josh cuts him off he really will have lost everything that ever meant anything to him at all.
Finally, Josh chuckles and shakes his head. "How do you do it, man?"
Drake frowns. "What?"
"How do you always find a way to worm your way back in?" He meets Drake's eye for the first time in five years, and the lump of tension in Drake's stomach starts to dissolve. "By rights, I should be pissed as hell at you. And you know what I'm sitting here wondering?" Drake shakes his head, feeling the corners of his mouth start to tug upwards in response to the grin forming on Josh's face. "I'm sitting here wondering if that old ping pong table of yours is still out in the garage."
They laugh, and Drake suddenly feels like he's been filled with helium. "It is. I saw it when I was putting the garbage out."
Josh's eyes are twinkling. "Wanna play?"
"Now?"
"Why not?"
Drake tosses the blanket to the floor and they leap off the couch and head toward the garage door as one. They're halfway there when Drake grabs Josh and pulls him into a bone-cracking hug. "Thanks, Josh," he whispers. "Merry Christmas."
Josh squeezes back, and it's like someone is pouring sunshine all over Drake's body. "How's it feel to be home, brotha?" Josh whispers back.
"Incredible, man," Drake says, and they pull back and smile at each other before heading out the door. "Absolutely freakin' incredible."