“Yeah. I must be getting sick or something,” I lied. “Felt like I was about to throw up.”
“Get your sister to make you a doctor’s appointment,” Roxy demanded. “You’ve been working a lot. A B-12 shot will do wonders for you.”
“I can have a single in a month,” I told them. “I can definitely do that.”
“Then let’s rent a house with a studio here so you can write and record,” Roxy suggested. “I’ve been getting a ton of calls from producers who want to work with you. I’m sure Dre has too. Who do you want to work with?”
“Joey,” I answered. “Can’t I work with the same people I worked with last time?”
“Yeah,” Dre replied, “if you want your album to sound the same as Limited Edition. You should try other producers. You just start writing. We’ll get to the other stuff when it’s time to record.”
“We’ll see,” I said.
Only songwriters understand the song writing process, not managers and definitely not label executives. They know how to market and sell music. They know about branding. They know nothing about what it takes to create music. If I’ve learned anything from hanging out with other musicians, it’s that it’s best to simply nod and act like the record company knows what they’re talking about, then go in the studio and do what I want. They’ll get the bill later.
We discussed more album ideas and were having a productive conversation when Roxy brought up the house rental idea again.
“Forget it,” I told her. “I’m not recording here. I live in L.A. That’s where I’ll work.”
“Los Angeles is such a huge distraction for you,” Roxy complained. “With all the tabloid attention you get there, how do you think you’ll ever get focused?”
“Atlanta isn’t any better,” I reminded her.
“Atlanta is a lot better,” she argued. “The paparazzi isn’t following you twenty-four hours a day and writing about every time you take a shit when you’re in Atlanta.”
“I agree,” Dre added. “I think Atlanta is perfect for this album. We’ll set you up in a house and bring in all of your equipment. You’ll be fine.”
I sure as hell don’t agree, but when Dre puts his stamp of approval on something, that usually means I have to do it.
“Fine, I’ll record here. But I’m not going into hiding just because I have to record an album,” I told them. “I don’t want to feel like I’m in protective custody. So don’t even think about not booking me any shows or anything like that for the next six months.”
I said this mainly for Roxy’s benefit. Ever after being my manager for over three years, she still doesn’t get me. She doesn’t have faith in my multi-tasking abilities.
The best way I get new ideas for songs is to perform. I have to be onstage, feeling the vibe from the audience. Tonight’s set at Rabbit’s will be perfect. Just the thing I need to get me back into songwriting mode.
****
I didn’t expect to see her walk into Rabbit’s. How could she not know that I was in town? I’m sure her aunt told her. There she was, dressed in tight black jeans, a multi-colored low cut shirt that I’m sure is one of her own creations...hair and make-up, flawless. She looked incredible! I almost forgot the lyrics to the song I was playing.
Sunny
The crowd cheered loudly when the song ended, like they usually do when I play. I left the stage and walked over to my normal seat next to Kat. Sunny smiled at me when I sat down. My ‘hello’ caught in my throat. I wasn’t expecting a smile.
“What’s up, Aiden,” she said. “How are you?”
“Fine,” I managed to say without sounding like an idiot. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Well, this feels awkward,” Kat said loudly. “What is it with you two? Y’all ain’t seen each other in damn near two years. I know y’all got more to say than that. If you don’t, you better think of something.”
Kat got up and I watched her join her husband at the bar. I felt Sunny’s eyes on me.
“What?”
“How is it that two years have passed and you still look exactly the same?” she asked. “You’re rich now. But I recognize that t-shirt. Don’t tell me you haven’t bought any new clothes.”
“I have new clothes. I just like this shirt.”
Sunny sipped her drink. When she put her hand around her glass and lifted it to her mouth, I was momentarily blinded by the brilliant diamond ring on her finger.
What the fuck?
I didn’t acknowledge the ring. Sunny didn’t bring it up either. Instead she talked about her job as a designer for Baby Phat, and how much she loves working for her idol, Kimora Lee Simmons.
“Baby Phat? How do you work for them and live in Atlanta?”
“I don’t live in Atlanta,” she told me. “I live in New York.”
“What? When did you move?” My voice was about an octave higher than usual and didn’t sound as casual as I meant it too. Her news threw me for a loop.
Kat, Erica, Roxy, and Delilah rarely mention Sunny’s name around me. Still, I know that at least one of them knew about this. Somebody should have said something!
“I moved six months ago,” she answered.
“My apartment has been empty for six months?” It was a dumb thing to say but I was grasping for something...anything to say.
“Is that a problem? I told Roxy that I was moving. She said she would take care of it.”
“She must have forgotten to tell me,” I mumbled.
I stared into my beer mug. Sunny’s engaged and living in New York. She probably lives with her fiancé.
What the hell is she doing engaged?
“So, what’s really going on with you?” Sunny asked. “Besides, what I read online?”
The irritating way she said “besides what I read online” made my blood boil. She hasn’t changed much either.
“Don’t believe everything you read. Tabloids lie.”
“But video doesn’t,” she stated. “They can lie about who you’re sleeping with, but when there’s video footage of you falling out of your car pissy drunk, that’s the truth.”
“What are you getting at?”
“All I’m saying is that’s it’s embarrassing to see you act that way. I mean, going out every night and partying before your record deal was okay. But now? Really, Aiden? Screwing one Hollywood starlet after another and always shit faced? That kind of behavior takes away from the quality of your music,” Sunny sighed.
I rolled my eyes. Nope, despite the ring and big job in New York, Sunny hasn’t changed much either.
“And this is a problem for you because?” I asked.
“Don’t be a smartass,” she snapped. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels like this.”
“Here’s the thing,” I told her. “I don’t care what everyone else thinks about what I do, especially you.”
“Especially me?” Sunny looked up. Her eyes blazed. The Sunny I used to know finally showed up.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” I said, more agitated than I wanted to be, “that what I do is none of your business. You don’t work for me anymore.”
“I don’t have to work for you to know when you’re acting like an idiot.”
I didn’t want our first conversation in two years to go like this but there’s something about her that brings out the worst in me. I should have known it wouldn’t be all peaches and cream when we finally saw each other again.
“Sunny, let’s not talk about this. It’s not important.”
“Oh yes,” Sunny agreed sarcastically. “Let’s talk about the important stuff that really matters. Like, are you going to apologize to me or what?”
“Apologize for what?” I asked.
“For what?” Sunny squeaked. “What the hell do you mean, for what? You moved to L.A and I haven’t heard from you since. You changed your fucking phone number, Aiden! That hurt!”
“What you did was hurtfu
l too,” I told her. “Do you even know what that damn tour was like without you? Pure fucking chaos is what happened when you quit. You left me! Where’s my fucking apology?”
Sunny glared at me. “You are such a selfish and insensitive jerk! It's always about you. I worked my ass off for you. All I wanted was a simple thank you. Even now, it's too hard for you to say. I didn't ruin your tour. It's not my fault you surrounded yourself with people who can't do the job.”
“Thank you, Sunny,” I said, adding my own sarcastic flare. “Thank you for doing what Roxy paid you a lot of money to do. Thank you a million fucking times!”
Without a word, Sunny picked up her drink and started to walk away.
“You are still an asshole,” she sneered.
“Have a good marriage!” I called over my shoulder.
As she walked away, I started to feel bad. I don’t want things to be like this between me and her. I know that I owe her a lot. I just hate whenever she points out that I couldn’t do this without her, that I wasn’t good enough to make it on my own, without her...that I needed her.
But you need her now.
The thought hit me so hard my chest ached. I do need her, not to manage my career or pick out my clothes. I need my friend, the girl that used to sit on a beanbag chair while I played. The girl who shared my love of old eighties cartoons. That’s who I need.
I pushed my chair away from the table and jogged out to the parking lot. I looked around frantically for any sign of Sunny. There weren’t any empty parking spaces and my heart rate increased. There’s a chance that she was still in the vicinity, that she hadn’t left. I still had time to find her and make this right.
“Why the hell are you acting like a character in some damn romantic comedy?” Sunny’s voice came from behind me.
I turned around. She was leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette.
“What are you doing out here?”
“What does it look like?”
I stuck my hands in my pockets and balled them into fists so Sunny couldn’t see my frustration.
Stay calm...make things right.
That’s my mission. That’s the only thing that needs to happen.
“Sunny,” I started. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you in there.”
“You said exactly what you feel, Aiden. It’s fucked up, but you don’t have to apologize for that.”
“Come on, I’m trying to make amends here. I miss you.”
Sunny was quiet for a minute. I waited patiently for her to say something. Finally, she looked directly at me.
“I miss you too.”
I stepped a few feet closer to her. There was something in her voice, in her eyes that she wasn’t saying.
“But?” I asked.
“I wasn’t prepared to lose my best friend when I quit. I thought we had a real friendship. I thought that I meant more to you than just someone on your payroll. When you left and didn’t even call me, it became extremely clear that I didn’t.”
“That’s not true,” I told her. “You should know that.”
“That’s what I thought but hearing you say that...it doesn’t...” her voice broke.
“What are you trying to say, Sunny?”
The anguish in her pretty hazel eyes is clear. I hurt her. I took away something from her, something that was sacred; something that was special.
“I’m saying,” she paused. “I’m saying that I only want the best for you. I want you to be happy. But you are going to have to do that without me. Things are different now. We’re different now. A lot changes in two years.”
“I thought I wanted to see you again. That’s why I came tonight. But seeing you, face to face, brought back a lot of hurt and feelings that I don’t even want to try to explain.”
She ground out her cigarette with the toe of her stiletto.
“I have to go.” She walked past me.
“Sunny! Don’t leave yet. Let me talk to you.”
“Did you give me that same courtesy before you left?”
She kept walking to a rented Toyota Camry. I didn’t follow her because she has every right to be mad. I hurt her so I let her go.
This time.
This will not be the last time I see Sunny. I’m going to make things right with her. I will get my friend back. I shouldn’t have done what I did to her. She’s just hurt right now. She’ll come around.
Chapter 33
“Aiden, what the hell is this?”
Joey spun around in his chair and glared in my general direction. I looked around the studio. I haven’t seen Joey in about six months. The anger and irritation in his voice has to be meant for someone else. But we are the only two people in his studio.
“What?” I asked, confused by the way he was looking at me.
“What is this shit you got me listening to?”
“My new album,” I told him. “You don’t like it?”
“You sound like you should have a mic in your hand, not a guitar. I can see you dancing around the stage with four other guys in a boy band. Who worked on this?”
Joey just finished touring with his band so I know he hadn’t heard much about what was going on with me. He should know that I wouldn’t actually release an album without him hearing it first.
“Mainly Johnny Boy,” I answered. “I worked with some other producers too, some new guys that Dre recommended.”
Joey grimaced. “Johnny Boy? So, you’re going strictly pop now? Are you retiring Dee-Dee for a beat machine and auto tune?”
“It’s not a pop album,” I argued.
Sell My Soul is a different sound for me, true, but it doesn’t sound like a pop record. It has more of a Tom Petty or Dave Matthews Band vibe to it.
“It has no soul,” Joey simply stated. “I go away for six months and this is what you do?”
“The label kept pushing for it,” I told him. “I had to give them something quick.”
“Power Music is going pop too? What the hell is going on over there?”
I shrugged and ejected the CD.
“So you hate it?” I asked, feeling a little disappointed. I value Joey’s opinion a lot. I don’t know what I’m going to do if he truly hates this album.
“The lyrics are good,” he answered. “But they don’t fit the music.”
I stared at my guitar case. Pressure is mounting for me to put out something great. I can’t be a flop. But I can’t write. That’s the problem. Too much pressure and too many people talking shit about what my next album is going to be like. I can’t focus with this much attention on my next project.
“What’s the matter, kid?”
“You’re right,” I said, slowly coming to a scathing realization. “It’s shit. Everything I’ve written these last six months has been garbage. I told Roxy I couldn’t make this album in Atlanta, but she never listens-”
“Stop whining,” Joey interrupted. “You’re a grown ass man. I told you about letting that label run your life. You should have signed with me or listened to Roxy. ”
“You never asked me to sign with you,” I protested.
“Aiden, again, you’re a grown ass man. You wanted to be on a major label. Well, now you’re on a major label. You’re the golden ticket, boy. Now all the pressure is on you to keep making them money. I warned you about that,” he replied. “Don’t say I didn’t.”
“So what do I do now?
“You listen to your label and put this out and the kids will love it. The critics won’t. But it’ll make you a pop star. Is that what you want?”
I shook my head. “I just want to make good music.”
“That’s good music?” Joey gestured to the CD in my hand.
“It’s good enough,” I muttered.
“So, are you okay with putting out ‘good enough’ material?” Joey asked. “Or do you want to get your band together and start from scratch?”
Up until that moment, I thought my album was great. Up until that moment I was prepared to
hand it in to Dre, confident that I had another hit on my hands. But now, I can’t put this album out, not as is. Dre is going to be pissed but it doesn’t matter. This isn’t me.
I bit my lip, confused as to what I actually want to do and what I can do. I only have a month before I have to turn this album in. I cannot write and record thirteen new tracks in a month. I’m not inspired to write anything...anywhere. Not here in L.A or in Atlanta. All the material on this album is stuff that didn’t make the final cut of Limited Edition. All we did was revamp it. I don’t even remember half of the people I worked with or anything. I was so unfocused during this album that I just worked with whoever Dre sent to the studio that day.
Starting over isn’t going to help much. It’s not like the album is absolute garbage. People are going to like it. They already like the first single. The question is, can I tour off of it? Can I make money off Sell My Soul?
“If I put this out...as is,” I said to Joey, “do you think it will flop? Do you think that I’ll be able to go out on tour based on the strength of this album?”
“After all these years, your fans know your live show is better than any CD that you make, so yes, you can tour off this,” Joey replied. “But if you put this out, you are going to catch the attention of the teeny boppers. Do you really want to share a fan base with Justin Timberlake?
“I can live with it,” was my reply. “I don’t have time to redo this entire album.”
“Let’s just redo a few tracks then,” Joey suggested. “I can’t let you put this out like this, even if you are just ‘okay’ with it. Let’s give it a little soul. You have time to do that.”
True. Dre hasn’t even heard it yet. He’ll hate having to fly the band out here so we can start over but I have to work with Joey again. I have to work with my band. And I’m not doing it in Atlanta.
Too many memories. Plus, I’m pretty sure that’s the reason I can’t write. There’s too much negative energy there.
L.A is better. This is where my home is. This is where I created my first album. I should probably always record here.
Re-recording is going to take some time but I don’t care. It’s my ass that’s one the line...no one else’s. I’m not putting out anything that doesn’t reflect who I am as an artist. They’ll just have to deal with it.
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