by Jesse Jordan
“But... but...” I stammer, not sure what to say. “But I was going to tell them.”
“I guess the right time to do that would have been a few weeks ago,” Martha says, then shakes her head regretfully. “Listen… like I said, I understand. I'll talk with Larry. Maybe he'll bring you back for another group, another artist. And I'll make sure you keep producer credit for all the songs that make the album.”
At the mention of producer credits, more immediate issues come to my mind, pushing away the hurt of being rejected by Rocky. “Uh, thanks. About that Martha... well, like I said, I'm not exactly living well...”
“I've already cut you a check at the base rate for your studio time,” Martha says, pulling an envelope out of the inner pocket of her suit jacket and handing it to me. “I know it's not great, but as soon as the album drops you'll start getting your royalties too. You know most of that's going to depend on which tracks get chosen for singles, sales, stuff like that… but that's music.”
“Yeah... okay. Thanks, Martha. Uhm, well, I guess I should get out of here. Uhm, what's going to happen to the guys?” I ask, wondering why I should even care. They dumped me, and I'm asking about them? Why?
Martha leads me out of the studio, towards the front door. “I'm going to talk with Larry today, he'll get in contact with some contract producers. Don't worry, the people he normally brings in are good. They've made good albums before. The guys will be okay.”
I nod, sighing when I reach the door. “Okay. Well, it's been good working with you Martha, and please tell the guys… tell them I'm sorry. I never meant to lie to them.”
My professional composure holds until I reach my car and pull out of the parking lot, getting a whole quarter of a mile down the road before my emotions get the best of me and I have to pull into a gas station to cry. The storm is short but fiercer than I expected it would be. I've been fired from jobs before but for reasons that had nothing to do with me. A guy wants to bring in his buddy to do producing, or an artist suddenly wants to because he screwed around on their home computer. But in every situation, I've never felt like I did anything wrong.
This time though, I do. Not guilty enough that I should have lost the job, but I understand it at least. I lied to the guys, and more importantly, I lied to Rocky. What the hell was I thinking? Protecting my daughter is one thing, but all I had to say was Yeah, I changed to the two-year program when I got pregnant unexpectedly and had to go to work right away. Sure, it might have led to a lot of questions, but Rocky's been respectful of my privacy, so have Ian and Joey. They never asked why I was leaving so early, they just cared that we were getting dynamite work done. It wasn't until I kept my secrets even in a personal situation that I hurt Rocky's trust in me.
The crying jag leaves me eventually, and I go into the gas station, buying a guilty pleasure of a cream soda. It helps me calm down, and as I burp afterward, a very unladylike, but wholly satisfying act, I get back in my car and go to pick up Bella. If I get there by nine, I only have to pay a third of the daily fee, and if I get a few lucky green lights, I should be able to be there just in time.
I'm determined to not waste this day on regret, so after getting Bella from daycare, the two of us have spent the day just being together. First, we went to the bank, where I deposited the check from Gashouse, I might as well get something out of it. After that, I stopped at our apartment and we made sandwiches together, PB&J for me, PB&R (peanut butter and raisins) for Bella. Her lunch bag we put in the fridge, the leftovers will keep.
After making sandwiches, the two of us rode my bike to the library, where Bella got to watch a free community storytelling in both English and Spanish, which was kinda cool.
When story time was finished, we checked out a few books, one for me and two for Bella, walking next door to the park where the two of us sat down and enjoyed our sandwiches.
Now, wrapping up our lunch, Bella's starting to get a little tired. “Mommy, can we read one of the books we just got?” she asks, smiling sweetly. “I like when you read to me.”
“Sure, sweetie,” I reply, folding up our brown paper bag and putting it in my back pocket. It's an old habit and one that maybe, someday, I'll be able to break. Maybe when I can afford to not have to worry about it anymore, and don't look at each and every piece of paper, jelly jar, or container as a potential wasted opportunity to save money somewhere else. “Which one do you want to read?”
“Can we read Kitty in The City?” Bella asks. Kitty isn't a cat, but actually a little girl, and is one of Bella's favorite book characters. There's about a dozen Kitty in The... titles total, and we've read them all. I pull the book out and we find a spot underneath a tree and I open the book.
“Kitty in the city....” I begin, letting Bella turn the page. “One day, Kitty got a phone call from her Uncle Harry...”
The story is kinda cute and pretty simple. Heading to the city from her small town, Kitty gets to spend the summer with her aunt and uncle in their apartment. Along the way, she meets the neighborhood kids, including the bully who ends up making Kitty cry. It's at this part, always, that Bella looks at me with usually the same question. “Mommy, why is the bully being mean to Kitty?”
I shrug, ruffling her hair. “Honey, the world is, unfortunately, full of lots of people who are mean to others. When we're being mean, it could be because we're not happy. It could be because we think the other person is dangerous. There could be a lot of different reasons.”
Bella thinks carefully, then shakes her head. “I don't like when people are mean to each other. If the bully just listened to Kitty, they wouldn't have fought and they would be friends.”
“Well, let's see what happens,” I tell Bella, giving her a kiss on the top of her head. “Go ahead and turn the page. When Kitty got home...”
The story continues through to its conclusion, it's a little more confrontational than I'd like a three-year-old to be reading, but I didn't know about the book until Bella had already read three others in the series and we had it at home. Still, I guess it helps for Bella to understand the power of friendship, and in standing up for herself. I know that some of the Hollyweird kids have already tried picking on her. Actually, one of them was jealous the day that Bella brought in a chicken wrap with mayo and cheese for lunch, as apparently, the little boy's mother was on a vegan kick and had sent her son to daycare with sprouts and hummus on a vegan, gluten-free piece of flat bread. Score one for leftovers and government food stamps.
After the story, Bella gives me a big yawn and we head home, where I put her down for her nap. Kissing my daughter's forehead, I head out to the living room to start sending out e-mails and making calls. Maybe those horror and action movie guys have another project in their pipeline that I can start working on.
I reach out to a few of my connections, mostly through text messages and e-mail, then sit back, glancing at the clock. It's only four fifteen, I'll let Bella sleep another fifteen or twenty minutes before waking her up, she can help me with making her dinner. It kind of hurts to look at my desk, it's so bare, with a lot of reminders of exactly how I'm living right now. I see the WIC card that I thought I wouldn't have to use again in the cup next to where I keep my computer.
“Guess it's time to pull you out again,” I whisper, fishing it out and taking a look at it. In neighborhoods like mine, there's a clear division between people who have it and people who don't. I hate using it, but… “Fuck it, I'm taking care of my daughter. That's worth my pride.”
I slide the card into my wallet, and get up, going over to the kitchen to see what's even on tap for dinner anyway. Hmm… a little ground beef, there's some macaroni in here, a can of fresh tomatoes, maybe we can afford for me to eat the same as her today. As I think about it, the word pride keeps popping into my head, and what Bella said in the park, that Kitty and the bully wouldn't have fought if the bully had just listened to Kitty.
Sadly, listening is also a two-way street, and I spare a few moments of self-pity to feel l
ike a damn fool. I don't know what they were, but Rocky must have been giving off signals, little things that said he wanted me to tell him about Bella. He must have found out even before our date, and it was his chance to try and let me tell him about everything. Maybe that's why he didn't push harder for me to stay the night, he was upset. I know he wanted me, you can't fake that much of an erection.
Still, I will protect Bella. Even if I am head over heels for Rocky, Bella has and always will come first in my life. But deep in my gut, I know that Rocky would adore her, and there's a little voice that keeps saying that maybe even love her at first sight too. I do know that he's going to make a great father someday, I can tell that much about him.
“If I get a chance,” I whisper to an empty fridge before closing the door, “I'm going to make things right. I'll apologize to Rocky, tell him about Bella, and let him know how I feel about him.”
Rocky
“You really want to?” I ask Ian incredulously as we sip beers at the bar. We're leaning back against the classic wood and brass rail that stretches a decent length, watching the action going on. There's a small crowd in the place, along with a live band on a stage that's barely bigger than a king-sized bed, but they're playing hard, if not particularly well. “Come on man, just because they've got a live band tonight doesn't mean that this place isn't a dive.”
“Which means that nobody's going to say shit if the three of us ask to play some,” Ian says, finishing off his fourth Corona of the night, cool as a cucumber. The man just is one of those who can naturally down alcohol when he wants and not be effected. If there's any change in Ian, it's that he speaks more freely when he's got a few beers in him. “Seriously, Rock, in the week off that we've had, you've been moping every damn time I've seen you. So, let's just jam, have a little bit of fun.”
I look over at Joey, who cocks an eyebrow. He's not in full-on 'Joey Rivera of the Fragments' mode, but he's certainly looking a little rock n' roll in his black denim jacket. “Hey, the lead guitarist is playing a Gibson Flying V, I've always wanted to shred on one of those. And it'd be fun. Besides, the frontman is playing a Stratocaster, just like you play.”
It's enough to convince me and I nod, bumping fists with the guys. It was Ian's idea to go out tonight, and I'm glad he did. He's right, I've been too serious the past few days, and going out like we used to just to have some fun is helping pull me out of the attitude nose dive that I've been in. Still, I'm not going overboard, I'm only on my second beer. “All right, let's see what we can do. Yo! Barkeep!”
The barkeeper comes over, and Ian talks with him for a minute. I see the barkeeper grin as Ian finishes and he disappears for a little while. The manager comes out a minute later, his jaw still being picked up off the floor. “Hi, I'm Tony, the manager. You guys really are the Fragments?”
“That's what the union card says,” I joke, smiling. “Rocky Blake. Nice to meet you. So, we were wondering if your house guys would be too upset if we kinda jammed one or two songs?”
“For free?” Tony asks, still not believing it. “Uh, I don't wanna be a dick, guys, just that we don't exactly clear a lot on a nightly basis. Those guys are playing for beer and fifty bucks each.”
“Let's work a barter then,” I reply casually. “Your kitchen's supposed to okay, so how about you let us each put in an order for a burger of our choice and an order of those cheese tots, we'll play. And if you can get a picture of the set printed out on your office computer before we finish, we'll sign it for you.”
“Hell, I'm down with that any day of the week!” Tony says. “Give Richie here your orders from the menu and I'll make sure that it's all hot and ready as soon as you come off stage. When would you like to play?”
“Check with your band, see when they'd like to take a break. Any time after that is good for us,” Ian advises, and Tony scampers off. We turn around, I don't want to put any sort of pressure on the house band, and if Tony's being a dick, I don't want to have them feel bad about it. Ian looks back over his shoulder while Joey checks the menu, ordering a chorizo burger before handing it to me. “Okay, looks like the band is cool with it.”
“Good. Chicken chipotle burger,” I tell the barkeeper and hand the menu to Ian, who orders a double patty melt after just a glance. “Damn Ian, you plan on dropping bombs on the toilet later? A double patty melt in a dive bar? Risk-taking.”
“I've been here before, man. You were right, the food's good,” Ian says with a chuckle. Just then, one of the patrons recognizes us and comes over. She's your typical bar girl, bottle blond, her breasts shoved into a push-up bra that's probably actually a little too small just to make them seem bigger in her V-neck top, skinny jeans that look like they've been painted on, and high heels that fit the décor, in this case a set of boot-like wedges. Ian notices her and smiles. “Well now, hello.”
“Hi,” the girl titters, immediately latching onto Ian, giving him a hungry, but still saucy smile. I'm glad about that, I'm totally not in the mood for groupies right now. “My name's Cindy. Are you really Ian Ivory?”
“That's what my license says. My mom calls me just Ian, though,” Ian says. “Guess you like the Fragments?”
“I've been to like, three of your local concerts,” Cindy says, putting her hand on Ian's arm. Forward, isn't she? Then again, Ian does rock some pretty impressive biceps, and he's not wearing sleeves tonight. Ian notices her attention, and I can see it in his eyes. I'm glad that I've got my own place tonight, I wouldn't be getting any sleep if I didn't. “So, like, are you guys just out having a good time?”
“Actually,” Ian replies, taking her hand off his arm and patting her hand affectionately, “you're just about to see your fourth mini-concert. But... after that, I might be willing to talk about hanging out and having a good time. What do you say, think you can stick around for a half hour or so?”
Cindy doesn't have time to answer because at that moment the lead singer of the house band gets on the mic. “Hey guys, you've been a great audience. Tony, the manager here, just told us though that we've got some guests in the crowd that would like to do a little jam session for you. Now, I'd like to say I'm professionally jealous, but I like 'em too. So, without further ado, Rocky Blake, Joey Rivera, and Ian Ivory... the Fragments!”
There's a buzz in the crowd as we climb onto the stage, and I shake hands with the lead singer of the other group. “Thanks, man. We're really not trying to horn in on your action, I just really could use a little let-off of steam, you know?”
“It's all good, bro,” the singer replies, patting me on the shoulder. “Just don't take too many of the girls home with you, okay?”
“You get all the 9.5s,” I joke, and we're cool. The house band leaves the stage, and I look out on the crowd, smiling. “Well guys, bet you didn't expect this tonight?”
“WE LOVE YOU!” some girl in the audience yells, and I give a smirk back, looking over at Joey who's fiddling with the guitar.
“Hey, Joey looks like you got some fans here,” I joke to the crowd's ripple of laughter, playing around until Ian and Joey are ready. It doesn't take long, Joey's a good player who could probably make a garage sale POS sound good, and Ian's able to adjust himself to the drum set quickly enough, so I turn around, lowering my voice so they can't hear me. “Suggestions?”
“Gimme Danger,” Ian says. “Call it a preview.”
It's a good idea, and Joey gives us a thumb’s up, so I turn back. “Okay, guys here's a little sneak preview slash world premiere of some stuff we're working on now, it's called Gimme Danger.”
The crowd hums as Joey starts his opening riffs, Ian joining in, and as I start singing, I'm feeling it. Sure, Cora maybe might have sold us out, but her arrangement and producing have given us a solid start to the album, and as we rip through the song, the crowd's on fire. It's tiny, it's intimate, and it's the sort of group that I got into music to play for. When we finish, the group of less than a hundred people roars, and the new guests in the bar are caught off guard at
the wall of sound that greets them. I'm grinning from ear to ear, and we quickly go through two more songs, an older one of ours, PlayerRed, and then our own little studio remix of a rock classic, Light My Fire by The Doors. I see a few folks with their phones out, but that's okay, we knew that it was probably going to happen. We wrap, and the house band is some of the first to applaud us as we hand over the instruments and leave the stage, where our food is waiting for us, and Cindy's waiting for Ian. Somewhere, she's found a couple of friends too, and Joey gives me an elbow in the side, grinning. “More fun.”
“Maybe for you guys,” I reply, patting Joey on the shoulder. “No offense, just I'm not quite feeling like cleaning the pipe tonight. You boys have some fun with it though.”
The manager is true to his word, and the now six of us chat and relax, Ian downing another two beers while Joey and I sip at one each. Ian picks up the tab for the girls, and while Cindy's friends, especially the redhead, are disappointed that I'm not up for some fun, they're more than willing to share Ian and Joey between the three of them. They'll figure it out I guess.
“Okay fellas, I think I'm going to bounce,” I tell Ian and Joey when Mindy, Cindy's redheaded friend, climbs into Joey's lap, her tight backside firmly planted in between his legs. “You guys be safe, okay?”
“Sure you don't wanna stick around?” the currently unoccupied girl, Kylie, asks as she bats her eyes. “Even if you just want to talk?”
“No, I'm good. But thanks,” I reply, trying to be polite “I think I'm gonna head home. You guys take care.”
“Dude, that was like, so awesome!” the new corporate producer, I think his name is Gerry (with a G, cuz' he's certified) exclaims in his coked-out surfer dude accent. He's even wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and even though we're in late fall, he's got a fake tan. “Like... totally bitchin'!”
