The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set
Page 4
Why didn’t this surprise me? What did was that Dad was willing to take him on. “So why...”
Dad shook his head. “He doesn’t want to ruin his career before it really even starts. He came to me to help him clean up his act, and I saw this as a good opportunity for him. He’s promised to stay clean.”
“But he’s a solo act,” I said.
“Not anymore,” Dad said. “Anyway, working as a part of a band will help him grow as a musician. Keep his ego in check.”
I had doubts about that. “I never heard anything about him getting into real trouble,” I said.
Cliff looked at me and then nodded toward my dad.
“So you bailed him out and made sure the press didn’t catch wind?” I guessed.
My father just smiled at me, answer enough. That’s why he got the big bucks.
I turned my head and looked through the window at the guys as they got ready to play. Graeme was the only one without an instrument, at the stand mic in front, having abandoned the piano for now.
“What makes you think he’ll stay on the straight and narrow?” I asked, sneaking a peek at Andres as he tuned his guitar and tested the pedals on the floor in front of him. He really was gorgeous with his dark hair and eyes—totally rocking that Latin lover vibe. It was especially distracting that he had the several days’ stubble thing going on.
“I told him,” Dad said, breaking into my thoughts, which was a good thing. “He messes up, he’s out, and I can’t protect him anymore. Notoriety works for a while to get attention, but will only get you so far in your musical career. I can get him better press and more success if he does it my way. And my way he’s not dead of an overdose before he’s thirty.”
“He’s a player,” I warned, sliding my eyes back toward the window, not wanting to give my father the opportunity to guess I knew firsthand.
“Not anymore,” he said.
That pulled my eyes back to his as I snorted involuntarily. “Right.”
He shook his head at me, his expression serious. “He signed the contract. He knows the rules. I don’t mess around anymore, Nessa. If he wants this, he’s got to do it my way.”
I had my doubts, but I nodded and turned back to the window just in time for Graeme to count them in and they started to play.
That Time I Should Have Read a Book Instead
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: Spring Break
Message: Are you having a good break?
V.
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: Spring Break
Message: No. But I’m guessing if you’re e-mailing me, neither are you. :/
Dave
I sighed, hating that I’d just given so much away by sending a simple, bored e-mail. I was in the condo on the Tuesday morning of break, lying in bed. Dad was long gone, and I was feeling lazy and a little bit lonely. I don’t know why I decided to send Dave a message but whatever the reason, now that I’d gotten his response, I was now sorry I had.
––––––––
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: Spring Break
Message: Not true. Having a blast with the band in Manhattan. The band you could have been in.
My fingers hovered over the keys and then I deleted the last sentence, not wanting to make him angry or rub it in what he was missing out on. Although apparently lying through my teeth (fingers?) was totally acceptable.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: Spring Break
Message: Not true. Having a blast with the band in Manhattan. Just getting ready to go meet them at the studio. Where are you spending break?
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: Spring Break
Message: Home with family.
That made me pause. Why wasn’t he having a good break at home? Did he hate his family? Did he wish he was somewhere else? Somewhere exotic? Exciting?
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: Spring Break
Message: Bored? :P
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: Spring Break
Message: Not exactly. My grandfather is ill.
I gasped at his sudden honesty and then rolled over and sat up, leaning against my headboard. It suddenly felt like this conversation was too real for lazing in bed.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: re: Spring Break
Message: Oh. I’m really sorry. I hope he’s okay.
I practically held my breath until I got his response.
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: Spring Break
Message: he’s going into hospice.
Doing a quick search, I learned hospice meant end of life care. His grandfather was dying. I stared down at the phone and fought tears; I knew what it was like to lose a grandparent. I’d lost all four already, knew that grief personally. A typed message felt so inadequate, but I wasn’t about to call him. Even if I wanted to, I didn’t have his number, and it felt too personal anyway. We didn’t really have that kind of relationship. Though with this new information, it felt more personal than it had been.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: re: Spring Break
Message: Dave, I’m so sorry.
There was a long pause as I waited for him to respond. Long enough for me to get out of bed and pad to the bathroom, taking the phone with me, of course. I’d just finished brushing my teeth when his response came.
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: Spring Break
Message: Thanks. Anyway, I’m not sure why I just told you that. Please don’t say anything. I don’t want anyone to know. Ok?
Why on earth had he told me? We didn’t even know each other. In fact, I had been fairly sure he sort of hated me for nagging him about the band and had no idea why he suffered through e-mailing me. I suddenly felt guilty about all that.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: re: re: re: Spring Break
Message: Is this why you didn’t want to audition?
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: re: re: re: re: Spring Break
Message: Partly. It’s complicated.
I read his message and sat down on the closed toilet, not wanting to abandon the conversation to jump into the shower just yet.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: re: re: re: re: re: Spring Break
Message: I’m sorry I nagged you. If I’d known, I would have backed off.
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont
.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: re: re: Spring Break
Message: I didn’t mind your nagging so much. And like I said, I didn’t want anyone to know.
Though, if I didn’t know better, I might have thought you wanted me in the band because you liked me. ;)
I nearly fell off the toilet lid, I was that surprised at his sudden one-eighty. Was he seriously flirting with me? A sudden wave of rage washed over me as he reminded me why I loathed musicians so much. Clearly, I’d dodged a bullet by him not auditioning. Not that I was going to be around the band much, but with him going to Westwood, it would have gotten way too awkward, way too quickly.
Jerk.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: nice try
Message: Sorry to disappoint you, Dave, but I don’t date musicians.
“How do you like that?” I said to my phone as I hit send and then waited for his response where he would apologize and try to smooth things over.
I waited.
And waited some more.
After about ten minutes, I realized I must have pissed him off. But there was no way I could send him another message now or I’d look like I was backpedaling.
Oh well.
It was many hours later (after a long walk to the spa for a pedi and a stop at Panera for lunch) that I finally got his response, the one I’d assumed wasn’t coming.
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: nice try
Message: Good to know.
Good to know? Ugh. It wasn’t exactly what I’d been expecting. I mean, obviously, I’d shut him down, which had been my intention.
So why was I disappointed?
Corned Beef and Confessions on Rye
The last thing I wanted to do was go back to the studio. Not just because the less I had to be around Andres, the better, either. I was in Manhattan, and it was spring break, and I wanted to do fun things with my best friend: shop, eat, people-watch, stay away from musicians.
Not hang out in a stuffy studio, pretending I wasn’t avoiding a guitar player who seemed determined to make me uncomfortable. To be honest, just his presence made me uncomfortable, but he had taken awkward to a new level, seeming to go out of his way to flirt with me and pretend to want to get to know me. And the more I rebuffed him, the more determined he got.
Which meant I’d avoided the studio the last several days, dodging Dad’s requests. He wanted me to come listen to the band and give feedback on the music and the boys in general because they needed to build image portfolios for them. Of course, as a teen girl who normally would fit into the band’s target demographic, my opinion was valuable, and since I wasn’t the type to suck up, trusted.
I felt somewhat bad, especially when Dad seemed to think I was avoiding him (and I wasn’t about to tell him the real reason for making myself scarce) but I had tried to make up for it by cooking him a couple of dinners and even dragging him out one afternoon so he could take me to the Met. He had refused at first, but I’d gotten Linda involved, and she’d shooed him out, saying she and Cliff could hold down the fort for a couple of hours while the boys rehearsed.
So far, this week had been mostly musician and drama-free.
It had also been really boring.
Things were about to pick up since Sandy was scheduled to arrive. Except, of course, she wanted to meet the band. This wasn’t a surprise—I had promised her she could. But that was before I knew about Andres.
Still, there was no backing out now, so on Thursday morning, I went with Gary to Penn Station where we picked Sandy up in the limo and drove back to the studio. After hearing about her extended spa weekend, I’d told her the band was busy and couldn’t be distracted, so we could only spend a couple of hours (max) at the studio. She could meet them and hear them play, but we wouldn’t be staying all day.
She definitely wanted to stay all day.
And gauging by the guys’ reactions to her, they wanted the same. No surprise there: where I was cold and standoffish as I woodenly introduced her around, she was all smiles and flirtiness. That she was fangirling, even before she’d heard them play a note, was harmless, and it shouldn’t have bothered me, but I knew that Andres was watching my every move even as he flirted with her, making me even more nervous than I already was around him.
Thankfully, I got an opportunity to escape in the early afternoon. Dad was working with Graeme on his vocals while the guys sat around, looking bored as they stared at their respective phones.
“I guess I should get some lunch,” Linda said, frowning as she glanced from her laptop up to the clock on the wall.
“We’ll go,” I offered, standing up and stretching, happy for the distraction. I turned to Sandy, but she was looking wistfully through the glass at Graeme, obviously reluctant to leave.
“I’ll come with you,” Chris said, popping up out of his seat. “I could use some air.”
Sandy didn’t even look at me so I smiled at Chris and nodded, glad at least someone was willing to help.
“Just put it on the account,” Linda said with a grateful smile. She had so many balls in the air that I was happy to pitch in and grab food for everyone, especially if it meant I could get out of the studio, even for twenty minutes.
It was a bit awkward walking down the street beside Chris at first. I barely knew him beyond Dad’s basic introductions from the beginning of the week. Nonetheless, what I did know, I liked. In a friends kind of way, of course. I looked at him sideways, wondering if there was some sort of ulterior motive behind him wanting to come with me.
“So,” he said as we made our way to the deli. “You having a good spring break so far?”
I glanced over at him, not sure if he was joking, but no, how could he know the last place I wanted to be was at the studio? His friendly smile and open expression confirmed that his question was an honest one.
I shrugged. “Could be worse.”
He laughed. “Okay, so I’ll take that as a no.”
“Hanging out in my dad’s studio isn’t really my idea of a great time,” I said, sounding a lot crabbier than intended.
He hunched his shoulders a bit, and I realized maybe I was raining on his parade a little. “No offense or anything. Just not my thing.”
“Not a music fan?”
Did I want to get into it with this guy? No, I really didn’t. But I didn’t want to insult him, either.
“On the contrary,” I said. “I’m a big music fan, but put it this way, if your dad owned a bakery, you’d still like croissants and donuts and fresh-baked bread, but you’d also appreciate having a salad or a hamburger every once in a while, right?”
He tilted his head toward me, still smiling and said, “You do need a nice, fresh bun to make a great hamburger.”
I rolled my eyes. “Touché.”
He bumped my shoulder with his. “I’m just teasing; I do get it. Obviously, you’re not into the family business.”
“Not really. I probably would have preferred to do something else on my spring break than hang out in a stuffy studio. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be a rock star.”
Chris grinned at that, but his cheeks got a little pink, which was adorable. Not that I’d ever admit it or tell him. But he was definitely the nice guy in the band. With his piercing blue eyes and easy smiles, he was going to find a big fan base with girls who are into the boy next door type for sure.
“All that talent around you and you don’t play?” Chris asked, taking the focus off himself and that whole rock star comment that I could tell he was struggling with.
I shrugged. “A little. Nothing to write home about.” It was my turn to shift focus. “Speaking of home, where are you from?”
/> “Seattle,” he said as we stopped in front of the door to the deli. He grabbed the handle and pulled it open, gesturing for me to go in front of him.
“Thanks,” I said. “So how did you hook up with Tony?” I knew my dad had put feelers out about the band months ago but didn’t know the guys’ individual stories.
“I was in a band back home, and we were doing a wedding gig, if you believe it.” He chuckled as we stepped to the back of the four-person line at the counter. He crossed his arms and then nodded his head back in the direction of the studio. “Cliff was one of the groomsmen, and I guess he called your dad right from the church hall.”
I smiled; that sounded like Cliff. He and my dad (and Linda, too) are always on the lookout for talent.
“Three weeks later your dad sent me a plane ticket to come audition.” He shrugged. “Rest is history, I guess.”
“A star is born,” I said.
He smirked. “I guess. It’s...it’s kind of surreal, you know? I mean, one second I’m playing old Beatles songs in a crap wedding band to help my mom with rent and then next thing I know, I’m signing this crazy contract with more zeros than I’ve ever seen. Don’t get me wrong, I love the music, it’s just...that money is really going to help.”
I looked over at him and saw something like awe in his eyes. Clearly this opportunity was about more than just making his musical dreams come true. As someone who had been lucky to be born into wealth and who’d never really had to work for anything, it was humbling to know that getting to be in Dad’s band was life-changing for Chris in ways I’d never considered. It also made me a little uncomfortable—talking about money with people who didn’t have a lot made me feel like a spoiled brat.