Now We're Here

by Jessica Kale

  “What the fuck, Straub?” she said, her hand flying to her mouth. She tried to suppress a smile before she broke into laughter. “You know I don’t like people digging into my stash!”

  “You think that by now I don’t know you have a stash?” he said, opening up the bottle without even asking her. “I feel like this is the type of conversation we need to have over whiskey, because it looks to me like there’s gonna be a lot of yelling and smashing of things,” he continued.

  “It doesn’t need to be that way if you just listen to me,” Dorothy said, her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn about this.”

  “Let’s say, we’re on the same page. There is no way Gabriella’s going to be on board with this. She’s going to lose her shit, and we’re going to have lost one of our most important signs.”

  “I think you’re underestimating my convincing skills,” Dorothy said, snatching the bottle from him and stuffing it between her thighs. “You’re also underestimating my vision for this band.”

  “Which is?”

  “Merchandise. Lots and lots of merchandise. I want everyone to be wearing a t-shirt with Sawdust on it. I want their faces to be in all the magazines. Their concerts sold out, their songs on every radio station. Straub, I’ve got plans for this group!”

  Straub had wondered if Dorothy was already drunk when he had come into her office. Now he was sure. Her breath smelled of brandy, her eyes were a bit bloodshot and her hair was even more disheveled than usual.

  “And do you think a bunch of free-spirited hippies would want their faces printed out on every t-shirt?” he asked, his eyes darting from Dorothy, to the liquor bottle, and then to Dorothy again.

  “Just go to a rock concert and tell me you don’t see Robert Plant’s face staring at you everywhere you look,” she said.

  Straub leaned back in his chair and started stroking his beard, as if in deep contemplation.

  “Alright, you know what? I think you’re right,” he said after a long pause. Dorothy took a drag from the bottle and tipped the neck towards him. Straub wondered if all her business decisions lay at the bottom of scotch bottles. The way her crimson lips curved into a smile made him melt in his chair. “Hey, don’t get ahead of yourself. I just realized we can reach some middle ground here,” he said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “There’s no way in hell Gabriella’s going to consider transitioning to a different genre,” Straub said. “But what we can do is talk to Devon.”

  “The blonde one that looks like a surfer?” Dorothy asked.

  Straub nodded. “He already looks like he should be in a boy band,” he said. “Besides, I’ve dealt with all three of them, and to me Devon, looks like the most … I don’t know.”

  “Materialistic?”

  “Well, aren’t we all?”

  “Straub, you’re contradicting yourself. Everyone wants money. They’re not going to be that hard to convince,” Dorothy said.

  Straub watched her as she slipped farther down her chair. He felt sorry for her. How could such a powerful woman let herself be so consumed by the mere contents of a bottle? Dorothy had always been like this. Wild and erratic, like a storm. She was lonely. But she loved putting on a brave face.

  “Alright, we have a deal,” he said, extending his arm out to her. Not to shake her hand, but to haul her up.

  “I’m fine, Straub, don’t be like that,” she said, raising the bottle to her lips.

  “You’re not doing this,” he said, snatching it from her and rising to his feet.

  “What the fuck are you doing? Come back here!”

  Straub hurried out of her office. He didn’t even care if someone saw him running across the studio with a bottle of Black Label in his hand. He regretted digging into Dorothy’s stash, he regretted even finding out she had a stash. But he had been keeping an eye on her for a while now. Often she would show up to the office drunk, struggling to keep up her balance, her legs wobbling under her as she walked. Whenever she would see him, her eyes would widen like a child’s and she would pull her shoulders back, as if he was that easy to fool. “Oh, hello, Straub!” she would croak. He would follow her into her office, try to cover for her, but she would spin out of control, anyway. Her legs wouldn’t work the way she wanted them to, neither would her hands. Straub hated seeing her this way. Lately, her life had become a revolving door, leading her into sobriety at times, and catapulting her into drunkenness at others. Despite all that, she knew how to do her job, and she did it pretty well. Straub was her accomplice, and together, they formed quite the pair.

  ***

  Jeremy was running around with a feather duster. He didn’t know what had come over him, but he was itching to clean up. It was a long day at the studio, and by the end of it, he just wanted to spend the entirety of his night mopping up to the Bee Gees blasting from the speakers.

  There was a knock at the door. Jeremy couldn’t hear it over the vacuum’s white noise at first, but when that dull thump at the back of his mind turned into loud persistent banging, he couldn’t help but jump in his place.

  “It’s almost midnight, for Christ’s sake.”

  He turned off the vacuum cleaner and headed for the door. For a second, he hesitated. We renovated this whole damn studio, but we couldn’t think of putting a peephole? Whatever, fuck it.

  Jeremy turned the knob and the door inched open. He peered through the gap, only to find a six-foot man in a tucked in shirt and suspenders, standing at the doorstep. He had a stoic look on his face, much like a hit man, but there was something in his eyes that made Jeremy think. He was more worried than intimidating.

  “Where’s Alicia?” the man asked, staring at Jeremy through heavy-lidded eyes.

  “Alicia?” he asked. “And you are?”

  The man didn’t answer. He just continued to stare at Jeremy with that same stoic look on his face. “Just tell me where she is,” he whispered through his teeth.

  Again, Jeremy hesitated. He watched the man as he took in the room with a single sweep, his eyes settling on nothing before he let out a sigh.

  “She’s not here,” Jeremy said finally. There was no way in hell he was going to trust this man.

  “Doesn’t she work here?” the man asked. “I’m pretty sure she does.”

  “Well, she’s not here right now,” Jeremy said. “But you can go to StoneCrawl and ask there.” Suddenly the air became even stiller than before. The man peered over Jeremy’s shoulder again and then stared down at his own two feet.

  “Alright,” he said after a long pause. “Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re welcome,” Jeremy said, forcing a smile.

  The truth was, he couldn’t wait for the man to leave. Without another word, the man turned around and walked away. Jeremy actually made sure that he was gone before he closed and locked the door.

  Jeremy frowned, fighting the sudden uneasiness in his stomach. If it weren’t for the suspenders, the tucked in shirt and the tap-dance shoes that Jeremy couldn’t help but notice, he could’ve sworn the guy was here to kill Alicia.

  “This town’s full of weirdos,” he said, turning the vacuum back on and swiveling his hips to the Bee Gees.

  CHAPTER 4

  “What d’you think Straub called us in for?” Alicia asked, looking over at Jeremy, who just shrugged.

  “You would think I’d know more than you guys, but I really don’t,” he said with a smirk on his face.

  It wasn’t long before Straub stumbled into the studio. His cheeks were red, as if he had just come back from a marathon.

  “Well, good morning!” he said, that familiar grin plastered across his face. He sat down at the head of the table, pretending to organize some papers, stalling what was obviously going to be something neither of them would like. “So first off, Dorothy’s sorry she won’t be able to join us this meeting, she’s not feeling very well. And second, I’d like to congrat
ulate you all for your success. Papercut is now officially number one on iTunes.”

  Alicia felt a warmth radiate through her. A wave of applause swept across the table, but she couldn’t help but notice Gabriella. She was grinning from ear to ear. Alicia hadn’t seen her this ecstatic in a long time. “Oh my God,” she said. “I can’t believe this!”

  “You better believe it,” Straub said, his eyes wide “Tell me, Gabriella, why do you think your music is so successful?” he asked.

  For a moment, the doe-eyed musician was taken aback.

  “Because it’s honest, my lyrics are honest,” she finally said.

  “Is that it? Or is there something about your songs that makes them relatable? Something that makes people go, 'Oh, this sounds familiar,' or, 'Oh, I’ve been through something like this before?’”

  “Not really,” Gabriella said, shaking her head from side to side.

  “Oh, come on! Are you saying your songs aren’t relatable? Not even in the slightest bit?” Straub asked, grabbing at the edge of the table and leaning in so close to Gabriella’s face that it made her uncomfortable.

  “Of course they’re relatable,” she said, moving away. “But all I’m saying is that I don’t mean for them to be. I write based on my own experience, not anyone else’s.”

  “So, if you were to get pregnant with octuplets, would you write a song about it?” Straub asked, almost challengingly.

  “Not that I even want to have kids, but I would, yes,” she said, flipping her hair to the side. “Where are you going with this?”

  “What I’m trying to say is, your album was a hit because practically every song on it is about a shared human experience, be it relationships, breakups, sex, it’s all relatable!”

  “But childbirth isn’t?”

  “Not when you’re giving birth to octuplets, no.”

  Gabriella chuckled. “Alright so, what you’re saying is that people will only like our music if it talks about the most basic human experiences? So if I ever want to write something for me, and me only, no one will listen to it?” she asked.

  “If you’re just writing something for yourself, then why would you want to perform it in front of others?” Straub asked, stroking his beard. He crossed one leg over the other and stared at Gabriella, who was starting to look frustrated.

  “I guess what she’s trying to say is, there’s no point in performing lyrics if they’re not genuine,” Alicia said, looking at Gabriella from the corner of her eye.

  “And what’s more genuine than shared human experience?” Straub asked. There was silence. Jeremy was just watching them, trying to figure out where this conversation was heading. “Gabriella, Runaway from Home got over fifty million views on YouTube! Do you know what this means?”

  “Yeah, Alicia and I actually co-wrote this song,” she said.

  “How many teenagers have run away from their homes? How many have had explosive fights with their parents and then decided to pack up and leave?” Straub asked.

  “I don’t see where you’re going with this,” Alicia said, folding both arms across her chest, utterly confused.

  “You’ll find out in a second, but first, let’s talk about your tour.”

  Gabriella and Alicia exchanged brief glances before the blonde let out a sigh. “I’m excited,” she said.

  Lately, Alicia had been thinking about nothing but the fact that she wanted to go on that tour with her girlfriend. She just wanted to be around Gabriella all the time, supporting her, giving her love. For the time being, that was all she wanted to do.

  “Well, today we need to go over the track list and finalize a few things,” Straub said. “Dorothy and I were thinking we should add a remake or two in there.”

  “A remake of what?” Gabriella asked, leaning in across the table to look at the rest of the band members. Devon and Sydney looked at each other but didn’t flinch.

  “Just a few songs. Runaway from Home would sound great as a dance track,” Straub said. Instantly, Gabriella jumped in her place.

  “No it wouldn’t. Why would we want to turn a four-minute country song into a dance track?” she asked, frowning furiously.

  “See, this brings me to my next point,” Straub said, waving a finger at her. “Dorothy and I have been talking, and we’ve decided that we’ll be making a few changes before we start working on the band’s next album,” he continued, leaning back in his chair.

  He lit a cigarette and looked at them. For a second, Alicia couldn’t see him through the smoke. “With the way the music industry has been moving lately, we think you should incorporate more pop elements into your next record.” There was silence. “That being said, Kevin’s going to be working with you on your next album instead of Alicia.”

  Alicia felt her heart skip a beat. A collective gasp was released. She tried to arrange her face into something a little less shocked, a little less hostile, but Gabriella didn’t make a bit of an effort.

  “What the fuck?” the blonde shouted, rising to her feet. “What do you mean Alicia’s not going to be working with us? Have you lost your mind?”

  “Gabriella!” Jeremy hissed, motioning for her to sit back down. She turned to him, her eyes drilling into him like daggers.

  “Please, Gabriella. Have a seat so we can talk about this like adults,” Straub said, tapping his pen against the tabletop.

  Alicia just watched them, unable to process what was happening. It was like she was watching everything go down from an outsider’s perspective, like she wasn’t even in her own skin. In fact, a part of her wished she could crawl out of her skin and slither away.

  “Alicia, say something,” Gabriella said, stomping her foot against the floor.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Papercut was a hit, why would you …” As she spoke her voice trailed away slowly, like her words were unwilling to take flight. There was sadness in her eyes that made them look glossy, too glossy. She turned to look at Gabriella, but with every movement she made, her muscles ached. Her limbs moved as if some inexperienced person was controlling them remotely. “Why would you screw me over like that?”

  “Alicia, this is nothing personal against you. Dorothy and I have been observing the music industry for a while now and lately there has been a gradual shift towards pop music,” Straub said, his eyes fixated on Alicia’s. All the while he was trying to avoid looking at Gabriella, whose eyes were boring into him.

  “Jeremy, aren’t you going to say anything?” the blonde asked. He parted his lips momentarily before he averted his gaze to Alicia. There was no trace of tears, not in her eyes or in the track marks on her reddening face. Her eyes were narrowed, rigid, cold, hard. Her customary warmth was gone faster than summer rain on the tarmac. At that moment, he knew she was already far away.

  “This is ridiculous,” Sydney said, shaking her head from side to side. Gabriella glared at her, as if scolding her for having remained silent for so long.

  “I’m sorry, but I know Kevin,” she spat. “Kevin is an opportunist. He doesn’t care about good music, he doesn’t care about music at all.”

  “I’d be careful if I were you,” Straub said.

  “I don’t care about your threats,” Gabriella said. Straub didn’t bat an eye.

  “Well, I definitely expected that,” he said, more to himself. “What you need to understand is that we are doing this for the good of this band. Kevin is not an opportunist, Kevin has been in the business for longer than I can remember.”

  “Oh, he’s not an opportunist? I’m sorry, but is it just a coincidence that all of the people he’s signed so far are talentless perky California blondes?”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure America thinks otherwise.”

  Gabriella could feel the fire boiling up inside her. She looked around her, but no one was moving. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you guys, but there is no way I’m letting Kevin move us away from our own sound. Over my dead body.”


  “Gabriella, please sit down so we can talk about this,” Jeremy said, nodding towards the chairs. “We need to sort something out.”

  “It’s already sorted,” Alicia said, her lips barely moving. She raised her eyes off the table top and stared at Straub, but he didn’t flinch.

  “See, I was sure you’d be diplomatic about this,” he said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head like he had just won a poker game.

  “Diplomatic? Diplomatic?” Alicia spat, her eyes flicking from side to side. “I personally don’t know Kevin that well, but I’m pretty sure you know better than to sack a producer who got this band to number one.”

  There was silence. Gabriella looked over at Alicia, a glimmer in her eyes.

  “What about you, Devon? You’ve been awfully quiet this entire time?” Straub asked, turning to look at the blonde singer.

  “I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” Devon replied, trying to avoid looking at Gabriella and Alicia. He must’ve created a blind spot where the two of them stood, but that didn’t stop them from coming at him like lionesses.

  “Whose side are you on?” Gabriella asked, her nostrils flared.

  “I’m on the band’s side,” he said, crossing one leg over the other. “Straub’s right, the music world really is progressing. I don’t think there’s room for old school country rock anymore.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” Alicia asked. Suddenly the world around her started to spin. What the hell’s come over him? What happened to the stringy rock-obsessed bassist she knew he was?

  “I’m just saying we should be open to change, that’s all,” he said, shrugging.

  Alicia smelled something fishy. It was like one day he was dedicated to the band, and the next he didn’t give a flying fuck.

  “Does being a sellout count as 'change' to you?” Gabriella asked, her eyebrows furrowed. “Whatever, I’m out of here.” She threw her bag over her shoulder and stormed out of the office. Alicia was left dumbfounded. She looked around her but didn’t say a word.