The 27 Club
By Lauren Buckingham
“Are you all right?”
Cam Everett and Sophia Albon exchanged glances. He was sure of what Sophia was thinking right now because he was thinking it too, about how sick he was of that question.
“Yes, Mom, I'm fine.” Cam pulled his blanket up over his chest and leaned back in his reclining chair.
His mother, Aster, peered at him from behind her glasses, but said nothing.
Not that he could blame her for being worried. Only a week had passed since he’d been fighting for his life after a supposed overdose. Supposed, as in almost everyone supposed he'd relapsed and taken the deadly combination of drugs himself. Which was understandable, given he'd only been clean for two years. He’d come close to relapsing more times than he cared to admit, but that night hadn’t been one of them. That night, he’d been thinking about how glad he was to be sober, to go to a party and be able to resist the urge to drink or get high, and not have to worry the next morning what he’d said or done the night before. He also wanted to be clear-headed when he talked to Jay. What he hadn’t known then was that he’d never get the chance.
“Do you want your heating pad?” Sophia asked him.
Before he could answer, Aster got up from the couch. “I'll go get it. I think I last saw it in your bedroom.”
Sophia watched Aster as she headed down the hall. After she disappeared, Sophia leaned over and said to Cam, in her silky Southern drawl, “Do you want to get out of here for a while?”
He chuckled. “Thought you'd never ask.”
Sophia's heart-shaped face broke into a grin. “How about we go down the street for some chicken?”
Cam licked his lips. “Sounds good. I think I could go for that right now.”
“Wanna go incognito?” Sophia cocked her head towards his hall closet.
“Uh-huh.”
“I'll get your bag.” Sophia made her way over to the walk-in closet just off of his living room.
Cam struggled to get up from his chair. His broken ribs still ached, broken when he’d had to be resuscitated following the overdose.
Just then, Aster returned to the living room, heating pad in hand, as Sophia was pulling Cam’s duffel bag from the closet.
“Oh…” She looked first at Sophia, then at Cam. “Are you two going somewhere?”
“Yeah, Mom, we’re going out to get food. We can bring you back some if you like. We’ll be back soon.”
“Do you feel up to that?”
“I think so. I'm getting a little claustrophobic in here.” He reached into the black duffel bag that contained the collection of disguises he would wear from time to time, whenever he needed to obscure himself from paparazzi. Today was such a time. One week after his near fatal overdose and the deadly overdose of his manager, there was no shortage of photographers, reporters, and others trying to get a glimpse of celebrity misery.
Aster smiled. “I think you should wear the Fedora hat and sunglasses. Go for the Blues Brothers look.”
Cam sifted through the bag. “I'm afraid I’m going to need more than that.” He picked out of the bag a curly orange-red wig and a multi-colored leather jacket with a large eight-ball on the back. “I think this should work.” He fitted the wig over his shaggy dark blond hair.
“I can go get food for you, anything you want, so you don't have to get out,” Aster offered.
“No, like I said, I need to get away for a while.”
“Okay.” She smiled and nodded. “I understand.”
He smiled back. He figured she would. She usually was agreeable, never one for pushback. Sometimes he wished his mother hadn’t been so agreeable, like when he was a teen, and she would accept his explanation that he was just hanging out in the park with friends. Or, when she wanted to be his manager and he insisted on having Jay as his manager instead.
Sophia giggled, as she retrieved her purse from the countertop. “You look…”
Cam finished zipping his eight-ball jacket. “I know, ridiculous.”
“I didn't say it,” she teased.
“That's sort of the point though, right?”
“Come on, let's go,” Sophia said, with a laugh. “Before you get used to that look.”
#####
“I never would've figured a California boy like you would have such a taste for Nashville hot chicken,” Sophia said to Cam, while they walked down the street.
“Yeah, well, I've developed a taste for a lot of things in the years I've been out here.”
Sophia glanced at him and cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” She replied, with a flirty smile.
He chuckled, not about to answer. He and Sophia were better off as friends, or that's what he kept telling himself anyway, as the restaurant where he and Sophia first met came into view.
Late one night, Cam stopped by after a recording session to get a bite to eat on the way home. He saw her standing in line, wearing a navy-blue pea coat, a beige sweater and jeans, a tote bag draped over her shoulder, her long, dark brown hair swept up in a bun. He remembered what he wore that night, too: a black T-shirt with a white graphic of a guitar on the front, underneath a black hoodie, with frayed jeans. He still had the whole outfit in the back of his closet, even though the pieces were seldom worn.
The first thing about her that impressed him was that she didn't recognize him and she treated him like any other person. She hadn’t believed him at first when he told her who he was, and that his latest single had just cracked the top ten. She’d heard his music in passing but hadn’t made the connection until he told her. She admired his work ethic but wasn’t impressed by his rising star and didn’t even watch the reality TV show that had launched his career and brought him to Nashville. As a full-time graduate student and teaching assistant at Vanderbilt University, she didn’t have much time for pop culture. Fortunately, she’d been willing to make time for him.
“Hey…” Sophia tapped him on the shoulder, interrupting his thoughts.
“What?”
“Do you see that car?”
Cam glanced behind him. “The black one? Yeah, now that you mention it, I do.” He sighed. “Think it's paparazzi?”
“I don't know, maybe. I’ve seen it since we left your apartment.”
“I'm not sure what good a picture of me in this getup would do them.” Cam laughed at the thought of a paparazzi snagging a photo of him with clownish red hair and wearing an eight-ball jacket he wouldn’t be caught dead in otherwise. He was about to tell Sophia that when the sound of gunfire cut through the crisp air.
Sophia shrieked, and Cam grabbed her and shoved her behind a nearby dumpster. He pushed her onto the ground, in the small dark space between the alley wall and the dumpster. He lay on top of her, shielding her with his body. If someone was going to shoot Sophia, they’d have to shoot him first.
Another two shots rang out, followed by the squeal of tires. When Cam looked up, he saw two bullet holes that had pierced the dumpster.
“You okay?” Cam whispered to Sophia, his heart pounding inside his head.
“I think so.” Sophia whispered. She looked at him and asked, “Now what?”
#####
“Did you happen to see any other details about the car, Mr. Weikert?” Detective Brown asked.
Cam paused for a moment, unaccustomed to the sound of his real name. Even though for the first twenty years of his life, he'd been known as nothing other than Cameron Weikert. He’d shortened his first name and took his middle name as his last name when he first started playing gigs around Orange County. In those days, it had been a way to create some distance between his life as a musician and his everyday life. He’d never dreamed back then that the two would be one and the same. He also never dreamed that someday, someone would be trying to kill him.
“No,” he finally answered the police detective. “All I could see was that the car was black. The windows were tinted, so I couldn't see who was inside.”
“We thought it was paparazzi, at first,” Sophia added.
Cam frowned. “Until they shot at us.”
“Even though Cam was wearing a disguise, sometimes they have their ways,” said Sophia.
“The wig and the jacket, you mean?” Detective Brown nodded.
Cam tapped the jacket which was now folded up on the couch next to him.
“Do you think this could be a stalker, an obsessed fan, something like that?” Aster suggested, nervously twirling her long blond ponytail.
“It's hard to say.” The detective looked up. “Have you had any other disturbances lately?”
Cam raised his eyebrows. He wasn't sure if Detective Brown knew of his overdose or not. He guessed the detective knew but wanted him to bring it up first.
“I nearly died of an overdose a week ago. But I haven't touched any drugs, drank any alcohol in almost two years.”
Cam glanced over at his mother. She bit her lip and opened her mouth but said nothing. She’d never said in so many words, but like most everyone else, she also believed he’d relapsed. He didn’t fault her for that, given all the lies he’d told while he was using, from the time he was fourteen years old. Sophia believed him, maybe because she was with him at the time, but she was the only one who trusted his account of that night.
Detective Brown wrinkled his forehead. “Then how do you explain your overdose?”
The same way he’d been explaining it for the past week. “I had a glass of plain ice water, that’s usually what I drink at parties since I got sober. Anyways, I started feeling sick and dizzy, then I passed out. I think someone spiked my drink. Of course, I have no way to prove that, but my manager died of an overdose at that same party, and now this.”
Detective Brown leaned forward, notebook in hand. “Do you think your manager was poisoned, as well?”
“I'm not sure.” Cam shook his head. “He still used drugs, as far as I know. He was something of a functional addict, and he didn't have any plans to stop. So, it's plausible he could've taken an overdose, but I think the timing of it is pretty odd, don't you?”
He didn't answer. Instead, he jotted something on his pad.
“That party was a private event, wasn't it?” Aster inquired.
Cam frowned. “It was supposed to be.”
The detective turned back to Cam. “Was there any way someone else could have gotten in?”
“I guess anything's possible.” Cam looked at Sophia and she nodded quietly. They’d talked about those possibilities in the past week. Sure, someone could've snuck into the party unnoticed. Or, whoever wanted him dead was someone on the guest list.
“What about you, Mrs. Weikert?” The detective asked, switching the subject.
“Me?” Aster pointed at herself. She pulled her zipped sweater tighter around her, obscuring the tattoo on the left side of her chest, of the flower which was her namesake. Cam often thought it funny that he, the musician, still had yet to get inked, while his mother had a tattoo and Sophia, the aspiring professor, had two.
“Yes, ma'am. Have you seen anything suspicious lately?”
“Well, no, but I've only been here since last week. We flew out here, when Cam had his…”
The detective nodded, allowing her to not have to say the word. In the whole time she'd been here, Cam had yet to hear her utter the word ‘overdose’ once. But at least she was still here. His father flew back home not long after it was clear that Cam would survive.
“I've just been so focused on taking care of Cam, making sure he’s okay,” Aster continued.
“Sounds like you came pretty close to joining the ‘27 Club’. You know what that is, right?” Asked the detective.
“I’m familiar with it.” Cam nodded. “Musicians who died tragically at the age of 27. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse… And almost Cam Everett. Twice in one week.”
“Do you really think that's a coincidence?” Sophia gave Detective Brown a pointed stare. “I mean, really?”
“Hard to tell.” He shrugged. “Is there any way either one of you can get the guest list for that party?”
“Sure, I can ask my—” Cam stopped, remembering once again that he no longer had a manager. “I'll find a way to get it to you.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Detective Brown got up to leave. “Well, you take care yourself, Mr. Weikert, Mr. Everett, whichever you prefer.”
He nodded. He preferred Cam, but he was too distracted right now to respond. “Thanks, you too,” he managed to say.
After the detective left, Sophia shifted her gaze to Cam and asked, “What are we going to do?”
Cam’s dark eyes turned wide and serious. “We’re going to get that list.”
#####
“Well, hi there, Cameron,” Cindy greeted him, with her big, fuchsia lipstick-lined smile. He’d gotten used to her penchant for calling people by their full names, even though no one ever called her Cynthia.
“Hi, Cindy.” He returned her smile.
“How are you feeling?” Cindy asked, her voice lowering, as if she were discussing some forbidden topic.
“Better than I was this time last week.”
“I'll bet,”. She shook her head. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Jay. I know you two had your differences, but he was such a big part of your life for a long time.”
Cam sucked in his breath. “That he was.”
“Let me know if there's anything I can do to help, okay?” Cindy smiled. “So, what brings you here today?”
“I’m here to see Roland.”
“Sure, I'll let him know you're here. I'm sure he’ll be glad to see you.”
Cam was silent. Maybe he would be, and maybe not.
Moments later, the door to Roland Jeffries’ office swung open.
“Cam!” He grinned, showing off his massive, tobacco-stained teeth. “How are you, fella?”
Cam forced himself to match Roland’s smile. “I'm getting by.”
“Cindy tells me you want to see me about something.” Roland adjusted his white Stetson hat.
“That's correct.”
“Well, come inside and we can talk it over.” Roland beckoned Cam into his office.
“Sure,” he muttered. He followed Roland into his office, a spacious room, walls lined with gold records and autographed pictures of artists he’d produced over the years, including one of Cam, just one photo away from the window.
Roland closed the door behind him and gestured for him to sit. Cam gingerly took a seat on one of the dark brown faux crocodile-print chairs that were nearly the same color as Roland’s massive walnut desk.
“I know, you’ve had a lot going on your life,” Roland began. “I imagine we have a lot to talk about. I'm not even sure where to start.”
Cam paused. He knew what he wanted to talk about, it was just a matter how he was going to bring it up.
“First and foremost, I'm concerned about your health, Cam. Physical and mental.” Roland studied Cam with his eyes before continuing. “I'm working on finding a good rehab for you. Not the one you went to before, I can find a better one. Pricey, but worth it. One with swimming pools and a tennis court—”
Cam shook his head. “I don't need rehab.”
“No offense, Cam, but you almost died of an overdose. Your heart stopped. It's a wonder you're still here.”
“Yes. It is.” He clenched his jaw. “I'm beginning to think someone doesn't want me here.”
Roland wrinkled his bushy gray eyebrows and narrowed his gaze at Cam.
Before Roland could reply, Cam said, “You know someone shot at me, don't you?”
Roland’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open. “No, I didn't. What happened?”
Cam related the events of the night before, about how someone shot at him and Sophia from a car while they were on their way to get food.
“Well, that's scary, Cam, I'm glad you and your lady friend are all right.” Roland leaned back in his swivel chair. “But you were in disguise, it could've been a random shooting. People are crazy these days, you know.”
“Or someone who knows my disguises and what Sophia looks like tried to kill me.”
“I'm surprised to see her back in your life. I thought you two broke up because she didn't like all the fame.” Roland shook his head. “None of my business, I guess.”
“You're right, it isn’t,” Cam said, his voice taking on an acid tone.
Roland leaned towards him from behind his desk. “Just why are you here? What's going on?”
“I'm here because I want to see the guest list from the party last week.”
“Why do you need that?”
“Because I think someone on that list may have tried to kill me.”
“What are you trying to say?” Roland scowled at him.
“Just what I said. Someone is trying to kill me, and I think it’s someone close to me.” He stared hard at Roland. “Maybe someone very close.”
“I think you're delusional,” Roland snapped. “You're an addict, you probably have brain damage, and nobody is going to listen to anything you say.”
Cam shrugged, trying his best to keep calm. “Well, the police are pretty interested in that list. You can either give it to me, or you can give it to them.”
“They won't be interested once I talk to them. Once I tell them that you brought a drug dealer into that party without anyone's knowledge.”
“Nothing happened that you don't know about.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I'm pretty sure I know why you wanted to kill me,” Cam said. “You knew I was leaving you behind. Once I split from Jay and found a new manager, I'd also be looking for a new producer. My contract with you is up soon and there’s no way you can make me stay. At least not alive. If I were dead, you could continue to make money off of me and my music. You could put out my unreleased songs. You could probably even use AI to make new songs and attribute them to me. You could sell the whole troubled musician, the whole ‘27 Club’ legend, make me even bigger in death than I was in life.” Cam leaned closer and looked Roland straight in the eyes. “Is that what happened?”
Roland sighed. “I’ve always said, you’re too clever for your own good.”
“Too clever for my own good, or a brain-damaged druggie? Which is it?” Cam snorted. “I'm guessing you killed Jay because you didn't want to share with him.”
Roland got up from his desk and marched towards the door. He reached down and unlocked the door behind him.
“What are you doing?” Cam swallowed hard.
Roland didn't answer. Instead, he opened his desk and pulled out a gun.
Cam's heart raced. He’d prepared for this, but it was still a shock, now that it was happening right in front of him. He carefully followed Roland with one eye, and quickly stuck his hand into his jeans pocket. Just long enough.
“You're still going to join the 27 Club, Cam,” Roland sneered.
“How? You shoot me here, there's only two of us in this office. That only leaves you as a suspect.”
“Not if you kill yourself.” Roland grinned, a sinister gleam in his eye. “I just sent Cindy out on an errand. No one will hear you if you scream.”
“I'm not going to kill myself.”
“Yes, you are. At least as far as anyone else knows. I can make it look like suicide.”
Cam paused. “If I'm going to die anyway, can I at least leave a note?”
“Please do.” Roland nodded. “Explain how you’ve struggled with addiction for most of your life and you just can't do it anymore. Your manager lost his battle and now you're ready to give up, too. You’re dealing with stalkers, and an on-and-off relationship. You can go into your parents’ troubled marriage—”
“What would you know about it?” Cam growled.
“I know they’re still married, but they haven’t lived in the same house for some time. I know that when you were a teenager, while they were fighting, you’d go to your room and write songs. Or get high. You can talk about your dad’s PTSD from his time in Iraq, and how he never really supported your musical ambitions. Or about your mom wanting to make money off of you, first by wanting to be your manager, then by trading on your name to sell clothes to rich people.”
Cam gritted his teeth. If he was going to write this letter, he would tell the truth.
“Give me the pen and paper,” he muttered.
“You’ve accepted your fate better than I thought you would.”
Cam ignored Roland and began to slowly write. Not in his usual chicken scratch, a hybrid between cursive and print, like he did when he was trying to write a song as the words came to him. For this, he would take his time.
He’d tell his parents that he loved them and that they’d done their best and he knew they loved him too. Whether they moved back in together, or made their split permanent, or left things the way they were, he wanted them to do what was right for them. He told his dad he knew he’d been through a lot, and he wished he'd been more understanding. He told his mom that he was proud of the Etsy shop she started when he was still a child, selling one-of-a-kind items she made in her crafting room, and he’d been more than happy to help her take it to the next level. Without her even asking, despite Roland’s accusations of her trading on his name.
Then there was Sophia. He told her how, of everything in his life, he would miss her the most. He told her how he’d never stopped caring about her and it was his biggest regret that they could never seem to make things work at the same time. He wished he’d had more time with her, whether in love, friendship or both. He hoped she could move on and find someone who made her happy, and he didn't want her to spend the rest of her life in grief.
“You still writing that?” Roland laughed.
“This is the last thing I'll ever write. Please let me have that.”
Roland nodded and motioned for him to continue. Cam then wrote to his fans, thanking them for their support over the years. He decided to tell the inside story about his breakthrough performance on the TV talent competition. That week, the contestants had been tasked with performing the song that had been number one on the day they were born. He wasn’t about to cover “Macarena”, so instead he chose to do the number one alternative song on his birthdate, an edited-for-TV version of Sublime’s “What I Got” and put his signature country-rock spin on it. The performance been so well-received that no one seemed to care that he’d technically broken the contest rules. He’d just finished writing that portion of the letter when a knock sounded at the door.
“Police! Open up!”
Cam leapt to the floor and lay on the ground before Roland could reach his gun.
“Help me! I’m locked in!” He called. Seconds later, the officers broke down the door. Cam breathed a sigh of relief, despite his sore chest and ribs. Finally.
#####
“You sure you're okay for me to go back home?” Aster said, from the backseat of Sophia's car.
“I'll be fine,” Cam replied. “Besides, Mom, your ticket is nonrefundable.”
Aster laughed softly. “You know, you still don't have a manager.”
“I know, I'm working on that,” Cam replied.
“Are you sure you don't want a ‘mom-ager’?” Sophia joked, as she got off the exit for Nashville International Airport.
“No, no,” Aster chuckled. “I think rather just be ‘Mom’ and let someone else be manager.”
“Hopefully this time one who won’t try to kill me,” Cam remarked.
His words hung in the air. He’d finally said it out loud, admitting that Jay and Roland conspired to kill him. After Cam sent the quick text to Sophia to alert the police, they arrived at Roland's office and arrested him while Cam was still writing his supposed suicide note, which had merely been written to buy himself time. Roland made a full confession, explaining how he and Jay conspired to kill Cam by giving him a drink laced with a deadly cocktail of both legal and illegal drugs. He claimed that it had been all Jay’s idea, but with Jay no longer able to speak for himself, no one could know what the truth was. The drink intended for Cam had mistakenly been consumed by Jay, who later passed out in the men's restroom and died. When Roland saw that Cam wasn’t dying fast enough, he’d added more crushed pills to Cam’s glass of water. That time, Cam did drink the concoction and collapsed on the dance floor into Sophia's arms.
“If the drug dealer hadn’t given him up, I have a feeling Roland would still be denying it,” said Sophia.
“He probably would have,” Cam agreed. “I’m hoping soon we’ll find out who Roland paid to try to shoot us.”
“I still can't understand how after all of that planning, Jay switched his drink with yours,” said Aster.
Out of the corner of his eye, Cam spotted a smile creep onto Sophia’s face. He froze. Suddenly, it made sense.
He recalled, after the overdose, hearing Sophia say, “I'm sorry, Cam, I don't know how it happened. I tried to save you…” He’d barely been conscious, and he hadn’t been able to respond. But now he knew how she tried to save him, how Jay had ended up with the drink Jay and Roland meant for Cam. How she was so sure was that the drink was spiked. Somehow, she’d seen one of them spiking the drink and made sure Cam didn’t drink it. Getting Jay out of his life for good was an added bonus.
“Just think, Cam, it was probably his carelessness that saved your life,” Aster continued.
Cam saw Sophia conceal a smile again. He looked out the window and said, “Something like that.”
