American Entertainment 1978: New York Night Fever

Chapter 114 Concealing the News

"When the police arrived at the scene, they didn't even notice him, mistaking him for a pile of scattered debris on the roadside. By the time they finally found Peter, his heart had stopped beating, and paramedics immediately performed emergency resuscitation, pulling him back from the brink of death. The impact of the windshield fractured all his ribs and fingers, broke his nose, and also caused a severe concussion."

"God," Zeke muttered, shaking his head as he rubbed his forehead, "I should have stopped him last night—would he even be able to play the drums anymore?"

All his fingers were fractured—a devastating blow for a top drummer, practically tantamount to his career being on the verge of collapse. Peter won The Circus Magazine's Drummer of the Year award for two consecutive years, 1976 and 1977, a testament to the dexterity and explosive power of his fingers honed through countless hours of practice. And he was about to release his solo album—

Neil Bogart placed his hands on his shoulders, turning him to face him, his gaze piercing: "Zek, look at me, this isn't your fault. The doctors are doing everything they can to save you."

"Zick, no one blames you. He just went too far—" Larry chimed in, sounding exasperated. "Fritz, who was driving, fared even worse. He was wearing his seatbelt the whole time and was trapped in the burning car. He suffered severe burns over 70 percent of his body. His injuries were so bad that the doctors could only administer morphine to his feet to relieve the pain."

Only then did Zik notice that a heart-wrenching scream could be faintly heard coming from an operating room at the end of the corridor.

Neil put his arm around Zeke's shoulder and led him away from that oppressive area: "Don't stay here. Leave him to the doctor; we can't help you here."

The group entered an empty hospital room to stay temporarily. Bill O'Quinn was among the first insiders to arrive at the scene; his face...

He solemnly pulled several photos out of his pocket and showed them to everyone.

Those were photos of the accident wreckage; the scene was too horrific—burnt, twisted steel bars, shattered glass, and bloodstains everywhere. Fritz was screaming in the fire; it was a gruesome sight.

Peter, the tough guy who was so spirited on set last night and knocked down a stuntman with a single punch, looks like a discarded rag doll in the photos.

Zik wasn't sure why this big-name agent, a former TV director and commercial producer, rushed to the scene immediately to take photos for record-keeping... Was it to collect internal evidence for insurance claims or to pursue liability? Or was it to turn everything into visual assets that could be packaged and used?

Or perhaps it's a deeply ingrained mindset of photographers/producers, whose first reaction at a disaster scene is to compose and frame the shot.

But this behavior sent a chill down his spine, as if Peter and Fritz were just consumables in this machine of fame and fortune. Perhaps someone died, perhaps someone broke, but the machine still had to keep running, and someone was always taking stock of the wreckage.

After Neil reviewed the photos, he quickly made a business decision.

"September 18th is the target release date for the four new KISS albums, and the KISS movie was originally scheduled to premiere on NBC in October." Neil's voice was calm to the point of being cold. "At this time, any negative news about the band would be a deadly kryptonite."

"But these things are hard to hide. Peter will probably need a long recovery period, and the movie and album will have to be postponed." Bill shook his head, his brow furrowed. "I still prefer to release the news proactively and put all the blame on Fritz, letting the company and Peter have nothing to do with it. It was his fault to begin with; if it weren't for this crazy guy, Peter wouldn't have gotten into this mess!"

"I'll handle the media side," Neil said decisively. "The album and the movie absolutely cannot be delayed, especially the album. I've already reserved the pressing capacity and marketing plan."

"Production capacity is the most important thing," Larry chimed in. "The market is completely shifting towards disco right now, and if we delay, we'll be squeezed out immediately. PolyGram is already very unhappy about releasing four rock albums at the same time, and if we delay, it will be pushed to next year or even canceled, and then we're finished."

"I don't care what method I use. I'll find a stunt double to film the scenes for the movie. As for Peter, I'll give him all the painkillers, morphine, and adrenaline I can. Once he wakes up, I'll give him whatever he wants... I have to make sure he recovers as quickly as possible and delivers the album on time."

Bill, aware of the seriousness of the situation, nodded solemnly: "I'll take care of it."

Zeke listened silently without saying a word until the group had finalized the arrangements, at which point Neil, Larry, and Bill left one after another.

He remained in the hospital for several hours before Peter was wheeled out of the operating room and taken to a private room. Zeke only glanced at him briefly; Peter was wrapped in bandages like a mummy. Before he could even say hello, Peter fell into a coma again.

The attending physician was very experienced, and he answered Zik and several staff members who came to inquire with caution and professionalism.

"The hand is saved. Modern orthopedic fixation combined with systematic rehabilitation can handle many hand fractures beautifully." The doctor pushed up his glasses, his tone softening slightly, but then becoming serious again. "But what drummers fear most isn't the ability to clench their fist, but the independent control and rebound of a single finger, the endurance and consistency under prolonged high-speed repetition, and the tactile feedback and fine-tuning of force—"

"In the short term, Peter's grip ability will definitely be severely impaired. In the medium to long term, we'll have to see how he recovers, especially since he relies on extreme techniques for a living. In my experience, precision, durability, and feel will all be affected to some extent. There's a high risk that he'll be able to grip and tap, but never return to his peak form."

"As for the concussion—" the doctor's expression became more cautious, "that's a battle on another level. Even if he wakes up tomorrow, it doesn't mean the alarm is off. We need to observe him for at least 24 to 48 hours to rule out the risk of intracranial hemorrhage or hematoma."

He carefully chose his words, trying to make the group of people without a medical background understand the cruelty behind it: "Even if a CT scan shows no structural damage, post-concussion syndrome can still strike. For a musician of his caliber, the most fatal thing is not the headache and nausea, but the disruption of visual tracking and spatial perception."

"Imagine a drummer playing; their eyes not only need to read the sheet music, but also constantly track the positions of the bassist and guitarist, and their peripheral vision needs to lock onto the height of the cymbals. If a concussion causes nystagmus, difficulty focusing, or abnormal sensitivity to light and sound—Zick, even if his hands recover to be as strong as steel, if the signal from his brain is delayed by 0.1 seconds, or if the visual image flickers like a broken television, he will never find that 'feel' again."

The doctor sighed, patted Zik on the shoulder, and said in a heavy tone, "So, don't rush to ask when he can return to the stage. The priority now is to wake him up, and then we need to see if he can relearn how to accurately hear his own heartbeat in this noisy world."

Zeke walked out of the doctor's office somewhat dejectedly. Peter's wife, Lydia, had already arrived from New York and was sobbing uncontrollably in the ward. As Zeke comforted Lydia, he couldn't help but think that Peter was still thinking about divorcing his wife, but now it seemed that the person who cared about him the most was still his wife.

Where is that Playboy February Bunny girl he was hanging out with now?

Zeke took Lydia to a hotel near the hospital, where she would take care of Peter. He couldn't help much anymore; he had to prepare for his own exams, so he suppressed his chaotic thoughts and drove to school.

Today's classes were already over, and Zeke sat down next to Judy in a corner of the library.

"How is Peter?" Judy noticed his low spirits and tired face, and hugged him with concern.

"His life has been saved, but it's hard to say whether he'll be able to play drums again."

"Don't worry, darling," Judy said gently, kissing him on the lips. "God will protect him. He's a cat-man, he has nine lives."

Zeke nodded silently, looking at his girlfriend in his arms: "You know, sometimes I really feel that the record industry is more ruthless than the Mafia. Apart from Peter's wife, it seems like no one really cares about him. Everyone is only worried about whether the business will be affected, only wanting to keep the news from him, give him all kinds of painkillers, and let him get better as soon as possible to make as much money as possible—but Peter already has a drug abuse problem, and this will ruin him—"

"That's just how the world is." Judy cupped his face and softly recited a few lines from "Sweet Dreams," "Some people want to use you, some people want to be used by you. Some people want to torment you, some people enjoy being tormented. Isn't that what you wrote?"

Zik chuckled self-deprecatingly: "Yeah, but there's nothing I can do."

"Zeeker," Judy said earnestly, her eyes clear and firm, "if you were in this situation, I would protect you and never let anyone treat you like that."

"Silly girl, I would never encounter such a thing." Qi Ke felt a warmth in his heart and hugged her tightly.