Rory
Page 6
Crawford checked his watch. It was 10:45pm Denver time, which meant it was 5:45am London time. “When was his studio time scheduled for?”
“Lou, we don’t even know how he’s doing—”
“I don’t give a fuck how he’s doing! I’m not going to eat the cost of a week’s worth of studio time in LA for that fucking junky. Not again.”
“It’s next week, Lou.”
“Shit. Who the hell am I suppose to fill his timeslot with?”
“I don’t know, Lou. How about Kandy Karter?”
“She’s on her honeymoon.”
“Maybe we could get her back.”
“Her last release bombed. I’m in no hurry to rush out another.”
“How about that opening act on Justice’s tour?”
“Convicted Chrome?”
“Yeah. Are they ready for the next level? Do they have the songs to go in and cut an album?”
“No. Their lead singer sucks, and while the band has some talent…” Lou paused, frowning at what was happening on stage. Mickey and this bullshit had distracted him and now Charlotte was going off script. When she finished Dragonfly she always went right into Shackles and Chains. Why was she unstrapping her guitar and resting it in its stand? He pulled the wet cigar from his mouth, intending to tell Mickey he’d call him back, when she moved back to the microphone stand and began speaking.
“I always love coming to Denver.” The crowd roared. “Our opening act began right here in Colorado. Let’s hear it for Convicted Chrome.” There was another roar. “So I’ve got a special surprise for all of you tonight. I’m going to ask Rory O’Rourke from Convicted Chrome to come up here.” She turned toward the other side of the stage, smiling.
Lou cut his eyes to where she was looking and saw the guitar player point at his chest in surprise. His white shirt was unbuttoned and open, revealing his tattoos and abs.
“Yes, Rory. Come on out here. Don’t be shy now.”
The women in the audience screamed excitedly. Lou’s gaze skated down him. He had that classic rock star look: the long hair, the ink, and the tall lean body the girls swooned over.
Rory joined Charlotte, and she put her arm around him.
“I tease, ladies. Rory’s not shy.”
The women all screamed again.
“Some of you may not know, but Rory is a very talented songwriter, and he’s going to play a song for you that he just recently wrote. You’re going to love it, I promise.”
A roadie rushed forward and handed Rory his guitar.
Slipping the strap over his head, Rory moved to the microphone, giving Charlotte an I’m-going-to-kill-you look.
She just gave him a big smile and blew him a kiss, then moved back. Her band all stood quietly, then she picked up her guitar again and put it over her head.
“Thank you,” Rory spoke into the microphone. He looked at Charlotte. “And I want to thank Ms. Justice for this unexpected opportunity.”
The crowd laughed.
Charlotte softly strummed in the background, and Rory began playing. He leaned into the microphone and said, “This is called A Song For Rayne.”
He started singing and out came a phenomenal voice, taking the auditorium by surprise.
Lou watched the audience’s reaction. They roared, and Lou looked back at this new talent. He had no idea the guitarist could sing like this. Why the hell wasn’t he the lead singer? But Lou could answer his own question. This kid had a voice that had depth and power and was not made for screaming heavy metal garbage into a microphone at gazillions of decibels.
Lou watched phones come up all across the auditorium as people filmed the song. That rarely occurred. That happened only when something magical was transpiring. The wheels in his head began turning.
“Lou, are you there? Do you want me to cancel?” Mickey yelled into the phone.
“Hang on,” Lou hissed.
The song was hauntingly hypnotic, and the music, though raw with only Rory on guitar and Charlotte filling in with a background melody, was beautiful by its very simplicity. The lyrics carried the song; too many instruments would have only distracted from them. And his voice! It was made to sing this song.
Lou growled into the receiver. “Don’t cancel the studio time. I think I’ve got an act.”
Chapter Ten
As the last notes of music drifted out, the crowd went wild. Rory stepped back and bowed. Charlotte walked to the microphone and invited Rory to stay on stage and finish out the night. They played two more songs.
When the lights finally went down at the end of the show and Charlotte and the band walked off stage, Rory was ecstatic. He couldn’t believe how wonderfully his song had been received.
“Oh, my God. That was insane!” he told Charlotte. He couldn’t stop smiling.
“You were awesome, kid.”
“When you asked me if I trusted you earlier, I had no idea what you were planning.”
She grinned. “You didn’t believe me about the song. I had to prove you wrong. They loved your voice, Rory, and you had them in the palm of your hand with those lyrics.”
They walked down the back hall.
Charlotte looked up, and Rory followed her gaze. He knew from being on this tour that it was Charlotte’s tour manager. He was a real bigwig in the industry and had handled the careers of numerous successful acts.
He waved his arm. “Charlotte, come here, and bring the kid.”
Charlotte’s eyes flicked to Rory. “I’m guessing he means you, kid,” she teased.
Rory followed Charlotte into her dressing room where Lou Crawford waited.
“What’s up, Crawdaddy?” Charlotte asked.
“You went off script. You know I hate when you do that. We talked about it. Any changes need to be run by me.”
Rory’s eyes cut between the two of them. Last thing he wanted to do was be in the room when her tour manager was reprimanding her like this.
“Lou, maybe you need to start trusting my judgment. I know my audience and I know good music. It was a hit, wasn’t it?”
“Lucky for you. It could have backfired just as easily. The kid could have bombed.”
“The kid has a name,” Charlotte snapped. “And he’s standing right here, Lou.”
Lou shoved his cigar in his mouth and stared at Rory. “Yeah. Sit down, kid. I want to talk to you.”
Rory looked to Charlotte, not sure she wanted him here.
She gestured to the couch. “Please, Rory. Sit.”
When he did, she introduced them. “Rory, this is my manager, Lou Crawford, also known in the industry as Crawdaddy. I’m sure you know who he is, but I’ve probably never had a chance to introduce you. Lou, Rory O’Rourke.
Rory put his hand out. “Mr. Crawford.”
“So, kid, you wrote that song?”
“Yeah.”
Lou nodded, chewing on his stogie. “Uh huh. I understand you also wrote Love Gone Wrong.”
“I wrote a different version. It was supposed to be a love song. The band changed it up to fit their sound.”
“Play it for me.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, right now.”
Charlotte passed him one of her acoustic guitars. “Here, Rory. You can use this.”
Rory took it and played a few notes, getting the feel for the tune of the strings. Then he sang the song slow, the way he’d originally wrote it. When he was through, he looked at Lou Crawford.
“I like it better slow,” Lou stated.
“Yes, sir. The band changed it quite a bit.”
Lou chewed on his cigar. “Uh huh. You still got rights to the original version?”
“Yes, sir. I still have songwriting rights to all my songs.”
“Good. How many songs we talking about?”
Rory frowned. “I, ah, I guess around a dozen.”
“They any good. Besides those two?”
Rory shrugged. “Depends who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
“No, for you to perform. Are they good or are they crap?”
“I like about four of ‘em.”
“Four, huh?” He nodded and looked to Charlotte. Then he stood, so Rory stood as well. He held out his hand and shook Rory’s. “Nice meeting you, kid. Maybe we’ll talk again.”
With that cryptic remark he walked out, and Rory looked at Charlotte. “What was that about?”
She grinned. “He’s a hard man to like, but he’s good at what he does. If I had my guess, he’s thinking about offering to take you on, but he hasn’t made up his mind yet.”
“And that stuff about the number of songs?”
“Seven’s the magic number. You should know that, Rory. You typically need seven for an album.”
Rory’s brows shot up. “Is he talking about recording me?”
Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t know. But if the opportunity strikes, you’ve got to be ready.”
“It was awesome you gave me that chance, but—“
“Your song was good, Rory. The audience seemed to like it. I’d keep an eye on social media tonight. You never know with these things. Sometimes something magical happens, and the social media Gods sprinkle their mystic fairy dust on you and boom!”
Rory chuckled. “Boom?”
“Yep. Boom, you’re suddenly the hottest thing since Michael Jackson moonwalked across the stage for the Motown 25th Anniversary Party.”
“Right.”
“Do you doubt the great and powerful Oz?” she teased.
“You gonna find me a brain or a heart oh powerful one?”
She waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe a pot of gold.”
Chapter Eleven
That night the tour buses headed out for Houston. Charlotte was playing two shows at the Arena and was checking into the Four Seasons Hotel. Convicted Chrome stayed on their tour bus—a trashed out used model that had already been through three other bands. It followed third in line behind the one Ms. Justice had to herself, and the one that carried her band. Behind the three tour buses came two semi-tractor trucks filled with equipment.
The next afternoon, Rory was on the tour bus with the guys. He sat on one of the couches with Tommy, facing Hamish and Gary on the other side.
He was distracted, his fingers moving over the strings trying to come up with a new rift. Hamish and Gary were arguing about tempo, and Tommy was smoking a joint.
As he stared at the floor and worked on that rift, Rory couldn’t help but relive playing on stage last night. The guys in the band had already headed back to the tour bus and had no clue what had occurred. They’d been too busy fucking three girls who had just been kicked off the bus an hour ago.
Rory remembered what Charlotte had said about watching social media. She’d posted a selfie on Instagram that she’d taken of the two of them on stage with the crowd in the background toward the end of the night. It had been a great shot, and with it she’d posted: On stage with this amazing guy—Rory O’Rourke. The audience loved the song he performed. Check it out!
Then she’d posted a link to one of the videos someone had put up on YouTube of him performing.
He’d checked the post about an hour after she’d put it up, and it had over ten thousand likes and over eight thousand comments. He couldn’t believe it.
It had been amazing meeting the legendary Lou Crawford, too.
Rory only wished he’d had more material ready when the man had asked him how many songs he’d written. He may have blown his chances right then.
Charlotte was right when she’d reminded him it was all about being ready when opportunity knocked, and so last night he’d stayed up late in his bunk, scribbling lyrics down on paper. It’d been hard to concentrate with all the sex going on in the back of the bus where Hamish, being lead singer, had claimed the big king bed.
Tommy and Gary were up on the sofas getting it on with two chicks. Not that Rory didn’t occasionally partake of the female groupies, but since he’d met Rayne, he’d mostly stayed to himself and wrote.
Tommy bumped his shoulder with a hand that held the joint.
“No thanks, man,” Rory said.
There was a pounding on the bus door, and Tommy got up and hit the switch to open it. A man in a suit climbed up two steps and peered in. He had a small name badge. “Which one of you is Rory?”
“That’s me,” Rory said with a frown.
“Sir, I’m Jackson with the Four Seasons Hotel. Ms. Justice sent a car. She’d like you to join her for lunch.”
Rory set his guitar aside. “Me? When?”
“Now.” The man waved his hand in front of his face and gave Tommy and his joint a dirty look, then his eyes ran over Rory in his t-shirt and jeans. “May I suggest possibly a collared shirt, sir? One that doesn’t reek of marijuana.”
“Fuck off,” Tommy said. “This is primo shit, and we’re on our bus.”
“Shut up, Tommy,” Rory growled and dug out his one white dress shirt. He wore it with his big cross and bracelets, his jeans and biker boots. There was no denying he was a musician, and he didn’t want to pretend otherwise, but Charlotte was at the Four Seasons, after all, and there was something to be said for having some class. At the last second, he decided to shrug into his black velvet blazer.
Hamish stopped him with a hand on his bicep. “What’s this all about?”
Rory pulled his arm free. “I don’t know.”
“Why weren’t we invited?”
“I’ll ask her. Maybe she doesn’t like your cologne.”
Tommy chuckled. “Hell, nobody does.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Hamish snapped.
“Sir, the car is waiting,” Jackson prodded.
Rory followed the man off the bus that was parked behind the Arena and into the waiting black Mercedes.
“Nice wheels,” Rory remarked. “Whose car?”
“Yes, sir. It’s available for the use of our special guests.”
“Charlotte is certainly that,” he murmured.
“Yes, sir. She’s a very special guest. We also have Devon Dreads staying with us. He’s doing two shows at the stadium. There’ve been some complaints of the smell of marijuana on his floor. I hope that won’t be a problem with your band.” Jackson looked over at him with a grin.
“You won’t have any problems with me, and my band won’t be invited up so you shouldn’t have to worry. I’m the only one of the bunch who’s house-broken.” He grinned, and Jackson chuckled.
They drove the three blocks to the hotel. Rory stayed silent, his mind going a mile a minute.
They soon pulled up at the entrance. One of the doormen dressed in suit pants, white shirt and vest, complete with cowboy hat greeted them and valeted the car.
“This way, sir.” Rory followed Jackson.
“Good afternoon,” another doorman greeted Rory, holding the door open as they entered.
The hotel was stunning. They walked through the gorgeous lobby and around a corner to a bank of elevators. Jackson swiped his card and took them up to the nineteenth floor. They exited and turned a corner. He pressed a doorbell next to #1904. Rory had never seen a hotel room with a doorbell. Wow. This place was something else.
One of her assistants answered the door, and Jackson stepped back. “Please tell Ms. Justice if there is anything else she needs, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Thank you,” the woman said, then she turned to Rory. “Are you Rory O’Rourke?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come in. I’m Miranda, Charlotte’s PA.”
“PA?”
“Personal assistant. She’s waiting for you.”
He moved into the suite. There was a parlor with a seating area, a dining area, and another room around a wall. The suite was graciously appointed and the table was set for lunch: plates with silver covers, wine glasses, and a chilling bottle.
Charlotte walked out of the other room.
“Hello, Rory.” She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, taking both his hands in hers.
“Charlotte. What’s the occasion? Not that I’m not thrilled with the invitation.”
She moved toward the table. “Come.” She lifted the open bottle and poured them each a glass, handing him one. She lifted hers in a toast. “We’re celebrating.”
“What are we celebrating?”
“Have you not seen YouTube? Your song went viral!”
“What? Are you kidding me?”
“It’s true!”
“Oh, my God!”
She pulled out her phone and showed him. “Look! People love it. Look at the comments.”
Miranda approached. “Charlotte, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
“Of course. Thank you, Miranda.”
When she’d left, Charlotte gestured to the chair. “Please, sit. Let’s eat.”
They sat and ate a nice lunch. Charlotte chatted about the tour and asked Rory about growing up in Grand Junction. After about twenty minutes, a knock sounded at the door.
Charlotte pushed her chair back. “Excuse me.”
Rory turned, his eyes following her to the door. She pulled it open, and Lou Crawford walked in, an unlit cigar in his hand. “He here?”
“Yes, Lou, we’re over at the dining table.”
Lou glanced over and grunted as he shuffled that way.
Rory was surprised to see him, but Charlotte didn’t seem so. Rory stood, extending his hand. “Mr. Crawford.”
Lou jammed the cigar in his mouth and shook it. “Kid.” He sat in one of the empty chairs.
“Would you like a glass of wine, Lou?” Charlotte offered, but he waved his hand.
“No, thanks, honey.” He looked at Rory and jerked his head toward Charlotte. “Did she tell you?”
Rory sat, turning his chair toward Lou, and glanced at Charlotte. “Tell me what?”
“Your song, kid. You’ve gone viral. People are loving it.”
Rory grinned. “Yes, she told me. I can’t believe it. I mean, it was just last night.”
“If shit’s gonna take off like that, it does well in the first hour. Her post did very well in the first hour, and now the upload of you on stage has close to a million views.”