Alvin knocks on my door as I’m finishing getting dressed. “Mark wants to see you.”
“What? Why?” I’m really not in the mood to be scolded or lectured today. Or any other day.
“I think he’s sitting down with each of us individually,” Alvin says. “He held me after our session yesterday, remember?”
I’d been so drained, I hadn’t thought much about Alvin staying to talk to Mark. He must’ve felt the same because he didn’t come find me when he got back to the house.
I’m annoyed, but like a dutiful musician, I hoof it down the few blocks to the studio. Mark’s waiting in the suite reserved for us and I knock on the door as I push it open. “You wanted to see me early?”
He waves his hand. “Come on in. How are you?”
“Fine.” I take one of the seats and pull it around so we’re facing each other. “What’s up?”
A relaxed smile spreads over his face and he kicks back, throwing his sneakered feet up on the table next to him. “Nothing bad. You can wipe that nervous look off your face. I’m checking in with each of you individually.”
I scratch my chin. “Thanks?”
“How do you think things are going?”
“Great.”
“You’re okay with the schedule?”
It’s annoying to admit it, but his grueling schedule is exactly what a bunch of unfocused punks need to stay on track. “I think it’s working for us.”
“Good. I don’t want to squash your creativity, but sometimes we also need to rein it in to produce results. Inspiration is important. But if we waste too much time waiting around for you to be ‘inspired’ you might never write another lick. We want to get new music out there while you’re still relevant. It’s a delicate balance.”
I understand the wisdom in what he’s saying. “If I want to be a professional musician, I need to work at it every day. Treat it like a job. If I were a mechanic in my dad’s garage, I wouldn’t have the luxury of saying ‘I’m not inspired to change those brake pads today, Dad. Maybe tomorrow.’ Is that what you’re getting at?”
“Exactly!” He slaps his leg. “Hell’s fucking bells, you’re the first musician I’ve worked with who’s nailed it so eloquently.”
“It’s not quite the same thing—”
He holds up his hand to stop me. “I understand. I absolutely do. And I respect that. You are an artist.” He taps his temple. “You’re creating something out of nothing. Creating from your very soul. It’s an incredible gift to be able to do that, Chaser. It’s not the same as brake pads.” He holds out his hands palms up. “But I want to help you strike the balance between naval-gazing artist wallowing in his perfectionist vision of the perfect sound and musician who gets to eat and keep a roof over his head.”
“It feels a bit like selling out.”
“Is it though? If you spend two, three years dicking around, then what? No one hears your greatness. Kids move on. Find other bands to listen to and forget about you. The real fans will be back but how many do you lose? How much patience does the label have? I want to help you produce the absolute best album Kickstart is capable of producing, right now. Not a perfect, musical masterpiece five years from now.”
I can’t decide if we’re lucky to be working with Mark or he’s a lunatic who’s way overstepping his job description. “I do enjoy eating and sleeping indoors.”
“Good. I’m not saying you have to be one or the other. I want to help you figure out where you want to be and help guide you there.”
“Thanks.” I cock my head and study him for a second. “You having this same conversation with all of us?”
One corner of his mouth twitches. “That’s confidential.”
“I should warn you, then. Jacob’s all about the naval-gazing artistry.”
“I’ve noticed. You guys all balance each other out well.”
What a diplomatic answer. Kind of makes me like him even more. “We try.”
“How often do you practice, Chaser?”
“Every day.”
“Are you focused or playing whatever comes to you?”
“A little of both. I try to spend the first few hours on technique.” I wiggle my fingers at him. “Get them where I want to go. Then I’ll work on a current song we’re writing. I’ll wind down with something experimental and play around a little.” When I’m in L.A., I’m usually getting to that last part about the time Mallory comes home from work. Damn, I miss her. I’ve been all out of sorts since we got here.
“That’s a solid approach. I like that. Do you practice with other people?”
“Yeah, when we lived together, we’d always jam during the day. Now we’re a little more spread out but we still get together every couple days and play for a few hours.”
“How about outside the band?”
“When I can, yeah. I’ve played with Vinnie and Andrew quite a bit.”
“It’s good to expand your circle. Learn new things and ways to create. As long as you’re not always the one contributing to the creative flow. You need to get back some of what you put in.”
I definitely understand what he means. The first band Alvin and I started had tons of negative energy. We couldn’t put a label on it at the time. All I knew was that playing with them drained the life energy straight out of me after every session.
“I’ve been there.”
“Avoid those people like the plague.” He leans forward and slaps my leg. “What inspires you? Nature? Cars? Sunrises? Your girlfriend?”
My lips quirk. “All of the above. But I’m definitely more inspired since I’ve been with my fiancée.”
“It’s one thing to write about what you think love is,” He holds up his right hand, palm up, “And another to write about what it truly is once you’ve experienced it, isn’t it?” He holds his left palm up higher than the right.
“Fuck.” I sit back and nod. “Yeah. That’s exactly it.”
“Heartbreak’s an even better motivator.”
“I’d rather not go there.”
“What’s your best moment in music been, Chaser? One thing that defined for you why you’re doing this?”
I sit back and consider his question carefully. Getting our first advance—people actually paying us for the music we created was pretty fucking awesome. Meeting Mallory? That’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened in my life, period. We were destined to be together one way or another, so I don’t think that counts. And I wouldn’t consider ‘Candy Jar’ a musical high point in my career—even if the label says otherwise. Winning the “Guitar God” award was cool but also sort of embarrassing. I’m twenty-two, hardly a god.
Suddenly, I know exactly which moment stands out the most. “I met these two fans while we were in England.” I give him the story behind the song ‘Cry it Out’ and how the girls explained what the song meant to them. “It was a low point on that tour.” Real low point. Mallory had to leave the tour and go home by herself. There was a good chance I was going to kill Davey Revolver if he kept fucking with the band. “But something about their story made all the other shit worth it, you know?”
His eyes light up. Maybe his artists usually say, “free cocaine and all-you-can-fuck pussy.”
“That’s it, Chaser! That’s why you do this. Not the fame, money, or girls. That stuff fades. But if you touch someone with your music.” He rests his hand over his heart. “You can make an impact on their entire life.”
Someone knocks on the door.
Guess our music therapy session is over.
Garrett and Alvin push open the door and join us. A few seconds later, Jacob enters, closing the door behind him.
“I have so much stuff, it’s insane.” He tosses his lyric book at me. “Whatever that was you kept playing over and over last night must have seeped into my brain.”
“The entire hot water tank of water you went through this morning didn’t help?”
“Oh, that too.” He cracks up and slaps my shoulder.
&
nbsp; Mark steeples his fingers under his chin and looks us over “I’m glad you’re all here. I want to talk to you about something.”
We all lean in during his dramatic pause. Even me. It’s like with one conversation, Mark managed to anesthetize my inner cynic.
When he’s positive he’s captured our attention, Mark continues, “Have you ever considered contributing a song to a movie soundtrack?”
“Hell yeah,” Jacob pumps his fist in the air, “That’d be cool. Well, depending on the movie.”
“No sappy love songs,” Garrett adds.
Alvin casts a dubious look Jacob’s way. “No porno soundtracks, either.”
“Hey,” Jacob protests. He jumps up, thrusting his hips and screaming “bow-chicka-bang-bang” at the top of his lungs. “We would rock the fuck out of that.”
Mark slides his gaze my way and smirks. “Anyway, an offer like that would usually go through your label or manager but I have a friend who’s in a bit of a bind.”
“What kind of bind?” I ask.
“The band who was going to do the key song for this film flaked out at the last minute. Movie’s coming out soon, so they need a replacement like yesterday. The director’s a fan of Kickstart and a friend of mine. When he heard I was working with you, he asked if you’d be interested.”
“What about our album?” Garrett asks.
“Well, that’s just it. I figure we’re already here. We’re working on the album anyway. Let’s maybe see if we can come up with something. We can record it and send it on. You’ll get paid. Win-win. The timing and publicity from the movie will be great. Most likely right before your album releases.”
“What kind of movie?” Garrett asks.
“Big action flick. They want a strong, heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping rock song. No love ballads or sappy ballads. This movie’s all car chases, flashy explosions, fight scenes, and special effects.”
I’ve heard enough. “I don’t see a downside here.”
“I’m in,” Alvin agrees.
“What’s our theme?” Jacob asks.
My mouth twitches but I bite back my laughter. Now I understand why Mark chose today to have his conversation with me.
“Well, it’s an action flick. But there’s a central love story too.”
Jacob groans but I’m even more intrigued. And once he names the director and lead actor, we’re all sold.
This could be huge.
I can’t wait to call Mallory and tell her about it.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mallory
After the night out at the Cathouse, Pamela and I seem to have called some sort of truce. We’re almost like…friends.
“Goodness gracious, it’s like the writers have no respect for normal plot rules.” She bumps my shoulder and giggles on our way out of the studio. “Demonic possession? Poor Billie. They’re going to make her spew pea soup.”
“Eww.” I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one’s within earshot. The coast is clear, but I still keep my voice low. “I can’t decide if we’re on Gilligan's Island or Tales from the Darkside lately.”
“Dang right,” she agrees.
Our camaraderie lasts all the way out to the parking lot.
As we approach our vehicles, my gaze lands on a big black and red Harley parked beside my car and my heart skips. It doesn’t even look that much like Chaser’s bike but it’s another reminder of how much I miss him.
“What the heck?” Pamela mutters. “Why is Andrew here?”
I glance around, then realize he’s on the bike, helmet tucked under his arm. He waves to us.
Well, this is awkward. He’s parked so close to my car, it’s impossible to quietly turn invisible and give them privacy.
“Why are you here, Andrew?” Pamela stops by the front wheel and crosses her arms over her chest. The hopeful note in her voice pricks my heart.
Oh, Pamela, he’s not worth the heartache.
Andrew’s gaze lingers on her breasts for a few beats before swinging my way. “I’m not here to bug you, Pamela. I need to talk to Mallory for a second.”
Wait, what?
Pamela shoots a glare my way.
Buh-bye, budding friendship.
My shoulders jerk up in a helpless shrug. I didn’t ask Andrew to stop by. And I sure as hell wouldn’t ask him to visit me at work.
“You could call, Andrew. Not come to my job.” The confusion in my voice seems to satisfy Pamela. She focuses her scary face on Andrew again. My bewilderment quickly morphs into annoyance. I’m not in the mood to be used as a way to make Pamela jealous.
“I need to go.” I give Pamela a quick one-armed hug. “See you tomorrow.”
I unlock my door and try to open it without tapping Andrew’s bike. I’m about to squeeze myself inside when Andrew calls out, “Wait, wait, I really did need to talk to you, Mallory.”
Pamela flips him off and storms away. A few seconds later, her tires chirp over the pavement as she blasts out of the parking lot.
I slam my door and glare at Andrew. “Why are you here? I have to work with her. Now she’s going to be pissed with me.”
He shrugs. “She’s just jealous of you.”
I scoff. “Hardly.”
“She is. You’re a way better actress and she knows it.”
“Don’t do this.” I turn back to my car. “Please, don’t put me in the middle of whatever you’re doing.”
“We’re over. This has nothing to do with her.” He pats the back of the bike. “Let me give you a ride home.”
“Andrew,” I say as patiently as possible. “You’re parked right next to my car.”
“Ride to the beach?” he asks with hopefully raised eyebrows.
“No.”
“With Chaser gone, I thought you might miss riding.” His voice wavers with an enticing lilt that I’m sure works wonders on other women, but is only making me angrier.
“That’s…a weird thing for you to be concerned about.” I can’t picture any scenario where Chaser would be thrilled about me going for a ride on the back of Andrew’s bike. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you know it’s bad biker etiquette to try to get another man’s woman on your bike?” I snap.
“You’re not allowed?” he says as if he’s a kid dying to break the rules just for the sake of breaking the rules.
“I don’t want to.”
“Well, that’s different.”
“Andrew.” I draw out his name in an effort to capture his hummingbird-quick attention span. “This is my job. If you’re trying to make Pamela jealous, please do it somewhere else. And with someone else.”
He sighs, and straps on his helmet. “Believe it or not, this had nothing to do with her. I wanted to take you to dinner or something in case you were lonely with Chaser being gone.”
I wish I could believe his visit is as innocent as he’s trying to make it sound. But even if it is, I don’t think I’d accept his invitation. It’s too…uncomfortable. “Thank you. That was sweet.”
“And, I didn’t want to mention this in front of Pamela because it would make her jealous—”
“What?” A suspicious note creeps back into my voice.
“Those samples of the T-shirts I’m designing arrived. You still cool with modeling them for me?”
“Do you promise that none of them are of the ‘I fucked Andrew Lane Club’ variety?”
He holds up one hand and with a straight face, promises, “Swear to God.”
I completely forgot that I’d agreed to do it weeks ago. And now I feel bad for turning down his invitation to dinner. “Okay,” I answer hesitantly. “I’ll do it.”
“Cool. Thank you.”
“Do you have a hair and makeup person?”
Confusion draws his brows down. “You always look fine. Can’t you do that yourself?”
“Not if you want it to look professional.” I glance toward the building. Cindy could use the extra work. Maybe if Andrew’s sh
irt business takes off, he’ll hire her to do all his shoots. “I know someone who’s really good. If I bring her, will you pay her daily rate?”
He hesitates for a second. “Yeah. Whatever you want.”
“Thank you.”
“Cool, stop by tomorrow after work. I’ll show you the shirts. We can do a few test shots. You can help me scout out a few locations on my property—”
“You’re doing this all…yourself?”
“Well, yeah. I want to test the waters before I jump in, you know?”
“I guess.”
“It gives me a different creative outlet while we’re between recording and touring.”
That sort of makes sense.
“Anyway, you’re off Saturday, right? I’ll get my other models together—”
“Wait, I’m not the only model?”
His mouth curls into a sly smile. “No, but you’re the star.”
At least I won’t be alone with Andrew at his house.
“You think Chaser would be interested? When he gets back, I mean. For the men’s line.”
I can’t picture Chaser wanting to add “model” to his resume but who knows. “Maybe.”
“Cool. I want it to be sort of edgy and punk rock but also super classy.”
“That’s a lot of expectations.”
He half-shrugs. “I have faith in you, Mallory.” He starts the bike up. The deafening rumble shakes the ground, vibrating straight through me. “Sure I can’t interest you in a ride?” he shouts.
“I’m sure.” I shake my head for some no way emphasis.
He waits until I’m in my car before taking off, handling the big machine with the grace of a panther.
It’s late and I’m starving. I put Andrew’s visit out of my mind and head home.
Chapter Thirty
Mallory
The pain of missing Chaser wraps tighter and tighter around my ribs with each day he’s away. I’m so excited for his eleven o’clock call, I practically pounce on the phone as soon as it rings.
“How’s my girl?” he asks.
I swear hearing his voice makes my eyes water. “Missing you.”
Wheels of Fire (Hollywood Demons Book 3) Page 19
