Blood and Guitars

by Heather Jensen

  “No, I just came all the way over here to make sure you made it there by tonight.”

  “Okay,” he said, navigating the menu on the screen. I let out a sigh. Apparently I need to work on my sarcasm.

  “Of course now,” I stated. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 8

  Jonas and I were getting our guitars out when O’Shea walked into the studio. He waved to Karl, the studio engineer who sat on the other side of the glass in the control room, and then sauntered over to us.

  “Chase coming?” He put a foot up on the couch next to me, leaning down to pick up Cowboy who was whining for his attention.

  “Should be here soon,” I replied.

  “Is it a good one?” He meant my song. I looked up to see the hopeful glint in his eye. I knew O’Shea well enough to know he was almost as hungry for new material as I was. Almost.

  I nodded and he grinned, needing no more of a response than that. I’d brought my Ibanez along but once I’d reached the studio, I’d realized just how anxious I was to hear the song on my electric. So I went for Liza instead. We had our guitars tuned and ready to play when Chase walked in. I handed each of them a lyric sheet for “Midnight Poison” and a copy of the basic guitar chords I’d typed up. If nothing else, it would help everyone follow along. I knew O’Shea could take my basic melody and kick it into a higher gear in no time.

  “What are we working on today?” Karl hollered from the next room. I put my guitar down and half-jogged out into the hallway to talk to him.

  “It’s brand new,” I explained. “I just finished it so it’s going to be rough but if we could get a decent take and go from there that would be great.”

  “You want some cans?” He gestured to several sets of headphones hanging on the wall nearby.

  I nodded. “And Chase will need a metronome click in his,” I specified. “It’s an up-tempo song, but I won’t know the speed for sure until we get going.” I sang the chorus for him, clapping out the beat until he thought he’d found a good speed on his digital metronome. “Let’s start there and see how that feels.”

  “You got it.” Karl was already unwinding the cords on the cans as I followed him back into the large sound room where he plugged them in and handed each of us a pair to put on.

  “Give it to us,” O’Shea said once I had strapped the Fender Strat back on.

  I smiled, feeling anxious and nervous all at once. The adrenaline rush that bringing out a new song always gave me was incredible, but it wouldn’t even register compared to the one I’d get from performing it live for the fans. Chase did a double on the kick drum and Cowboy whined, hurrying away from us and out into the hallway. I watched through the glass as he made his way into the lounge and saw Karl bend to pick him up. The dog was going to have to get used to studio life sooner or later.

  “Okay. We should start out with just the rhythm guitar for the first verse, or maybe just the first half of the verse. I’m not sure.”

  “We’ll try it both ways if we have to,” Jonas piped in. “Play it like you wrote it and we’ll go over it until we get it right.”

  I nodded. Why was I so nervous? These were my boys. They had my back. We’d work it out just like we always did. They’d take care of my new and fragile song and it would soon become an entity of its own, belonging to all of us.

  I strummed a power chord on Liza and took a deep breath, not bothering to check the lyric sheet in front of me. I knew the words by heart already. I strummed the first few intro chords and then sang the first verse. I paused after that, wanting to share an idea before I lost it. “I was thinking maybe you could double bass like a heartbeat during those last two lines,” I said to Chase, who nodded as he gazed at the lyric sheet, scribbling a note with his pen.

  “You were right about just having the rhythm for the first verse,” O’Shea offered. “Jonas and I will come in with Chase after that.”

  I nodded, happy with the decision, and then I went on to sing the chorus. “There are some minor changes in the chorus the second time around,” I pointed out, giving everyone a second to glance over their lyric sheets.

  “I like it,” Jonas said.

  “Yeah, it’s good,” O’Shea added. “And the echoes are the same as the first.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Then comes the refrain.” I sang again. I pointed to O’Shea and said, “I’ll sing ‘waiting for a single trace of’ and then you finish the line with ‘you.’ It runs into the next line down.”

  He made a note on his lyric sheet and nodded. “What were you thinking for the refrain as far as the guitar goes?”

  “It might be good to finger pick something out right there. I’ll leave that up to you,” I said to him. He grinned, accepting the challenge. “We’ll soften the drums there, too,” I said to Chase. “Or at least simplify it for a few measures until we build to the chorus again.”

  “Let’s try it,” Jonas said. “Hearing you guys go straight through it as far as you can might help me come up with the bass lines.”

  I took a breath and nodded. “Okay, here we go.” I glanced at Karl through the glass and said, “Hey, can we roll tape for a bit?” I watched him move his fingers toward the mixing board to push a button and then he gave me another thumbs-up sign. We all put our cans on and then I realized that I’d need the metronome in my mix until Chase was set to come in with the drums so I wouldn’t mess him all up by being off to begin with. A few seconds later and Karl had fixed that problem.

  I played and sang again and Chase came in for the second verse as planned. O’Shea sang the echoed lines with perfect timing when we reached the chorus. It was a little hard to follow Chase’s rhythm because he was changing it up every 16 measures or so, trying to get a feel for the song and what would suit it best, but we managed to make it to the end the first time through. Now, all we needed was some lead guitar and a bass line.

  “I’ll go into the control room for a minute and use the playback to work some of my parts out,” O’Shea said as he took off his cans.

  Chase perfected his imitation heartbeat on the kit for a moment and then he and I began to play through it again so Jonas could play around with some bass riffs.

  It took another hour and a half for the basic pieces of the song to come together. The song wasn’t finished yet,(Jonas wasn’t at all pleased with any of the bass lines he’d come up with so far) but we could definitely see the light at the end of the tunnel by the time we were ready to call it quits.

  “If you give me a minute I’ll piece together a rough cut for you and get some copies made,” Karl said as we gathered around the mixing board where he sat. Cowboy was lounging idly on his lap, but he his ears perked up and he got to his feet when I walked in.

  “Hey boy,” I lifted him into my arms. “I knew you’d get used to the noise.”

  O’Shea slumped down onto the center of the worn leather couch. I sat next to him, laughing as Cowboy jumped up at him, trying to lick his face.

  “Who do we want to call in to help us produce this baby and make it solid?” Chase questioned. We hadn’t really discussed producers for this album yet, this being the first time we needed to approach the subject, but the answer was fairly clear to all of us.

  “Karatz,” we said in unison, which made everyone laugh. The answer was simple. Ken (Karatz) Morris had worked on more than half of the last album, Recycled Coma, with us and by the time we’d finished recording, he’d been more like a fifth member of the band than anything. The ‘Karatz’ nickname had been born when he’d given his then fiancé a ridiculously large diamond engagement ring. The guy was an amazing producer, and it had definitely paid off. By the time his wedding had rolled around a year later, I wondered just how much of it had been paid for by our record sales. The thought made me grin even now.

  “I ran into him a couple of months ago,” Jonas said. “His wife just had a baby.”

  “Wow. Kenny’s a dad.” Chase said in mild disbelief, petting Cowboy who had wandered onto his lap. �
�Think he’s busy with another project?”

  “You mean besides changing diapers and mixing formula?” Jonas added.

  “Only one way to find out,” I said. “I’ll give him a call.”

  “Guess there’s no point in making further plans until we know if he’s in or not,” O’Shea turned to look at me. “You’ll let us know if he’s up to it?”

  I nodded. “I’ll have an answer for you by this time tomorrow.”

  “And I’ll have a bass part worked out,” Jonas said, sounding determined. We waited around for Karl to finish piecing parts of the song together and then we all walked out, copies in hand.

  “Keep up the good work,” O’Shea said to me as he unlocked his car.

  I waved a dismissive hand at him, smiling. “You know me.”

  Cowboy and I drove down to Edgewater Park. It was early evening and a cool salt breeze was blowing as I attached a leash to his collar.

  “You were a good dog at the studio,” I told him. “You deserve a good break and some exercise.” He wiggled anxiously as I lifted him from the front seat and set him on the ground. He tried to run but quickly reached the end of the line. I laughed a little and said, “Hold up,” before I managed to use the release button to let more leash out for him.

  We walked along the sidewalk, Cowboy panting with excitement and turning back to look over at his shoulder for me every ten yards or so. I don’t know where he thought I was going but I was beginning to think he was the one taking me for a walk. We neared the large gazebo where a bunch of people were crowded into the tables and chairs there. They were talking loudly and laughing. My best guess was that they were having a family reunion or something. The scent of barbeque sauce reached my nose as we passed and my stomach let out a loud growl. I hadn’t eaten in hours. Finding some dinner was definitely next on the priority list after my pup had gotten his exercise for the day. Cowboy and I kept on walking, pausing only for him to water a tree here and there.

  When we got home Cowboy ran into the house so fast that he slid across the kitchen tile for three feet, making me laugh. I dropped my keys on the countertop and tossed the garbage from my brief stop at Blimpie’s in the trash before filling Cowboy’s dish with fresh dog food. Glancing at the clock, I decided now was just as good a time as any to make the call. I pulled out my cell phone, wandering in to sit in the living room as I scrolled through the many numbers in my contact list. I found the one I needed and pressed the send button, lifting the phone to my ear. It rang only three times before someone answered.

  “Trey? Is that really you?” said a familiar deep voice with mild surprise.

  “You mean I’m still in your phone, old man?” I chuckled.

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” he said lightly. “I thought you’d fallen off the face of the planet, though, as much as I hear from you.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, still laughing. “Yeah, well … I thought you might need some time to adjust to life with diapers. You know how things go.”

  “Do I ever.” I could hear the smile in his tone.

  “Congrats, by the way. Why don’t I make it up to you,” I added. “Do you have plans for lunch tomorrow?”

  “That depends. You buying?” Ken chuckled and then added, “I’m sure I could finagle something.”

  “That’s why I love you.” I grinned into the phone. “How’s Café Ponte? Say around eleven-thirty?”

  “Over on Icot? I think I can manage that.”

  “You’re a lifesaver man. Tell Serena and the little one I said hi.”

  “Will do. Catch you tomorrow, Trey.”

  I hung up the phone, feeling somewhat relieved. Karatz was a stiff negotiator, and with all the changes going on in his life right now, I knew he might be a hard sell. The only problem with that was I couldn’t imagine anyone else that we’d want to help us out with this new record. Karatz was our man. Between him and Wes, we’d managed to get a gihugic budget from the label for ‘Recycled Coma’, our last record. It had been perfect. We needed to duplicate that process simply because it had worked so well. Nothing else would make sense. I sighed, knowing that Karatz would have a harder time saying no to my face. I only hoped that it would be enough.

  Chapter 9

  “Your table is ready, sir.”

  I pulled my cap down low as the waiter gestured for me to follow him. He led me to a table in the back and I took a seat, asking for a glass of water before he hurried off to seat someone else. I checked my watch. It was eleven twenty-eight. Karatz would be here in two minutes. I knew this because Karatz was the kind of guy who was always on time, in the most literal sense of the phrase. He wouldn’t be one minute early, but he was never late either. I picked up the menu laid out before me on the table and glanced through it even though I knew just about every dish listed by heart. I’d been here often enough to know that everything they served was delicious but I had a favorite dish that would hit the spot.

  I put the menu back down again and glanced around the restaurant. The small tables covered in crisp white linens were filling up with people on their lunch breaks. I sighed and took a moment to appreciate the fact that I wasn’t stuck in a lame job that required me to sit in a cubicle staring at a computer screen all day. Although no one seemed to recognize me at the moment, (my cap and sunglasses were a good cover) I was sure to be the envy of most of the people in this restaurant. I was lucky, and I reminded myself of that fact constantly, never wanting to forget it. Sure, I could sing, and I knew my way around a guitar pretty well, but everyone knows that making it in the music business is about ten percent talent and ninety percent luck. And luck runs out. It always does. The guys and I were just hoping to have a good run at it while we could.

  My thoughts were interrupted when a voice called my name from a few feet away. My eyes focused on Karatz immediately and I got to my feet to greet him.

  “Hiding out in the back?” he teased as he stepped toward me for a hug, thumping me on the back.

  I laughed and shrugged, not denying it. Besides, he knew why I was hiding. I don’t mind signing autographs and taking pictures with cell phones for fans, but today I was more concerned with getting Karatz to get on board with the new album.

  “What’s going on, family man?” I asked him as we sat.

  He let out a loaded sigh and smiled at me. “It’s good to get out of the house for a few,” he admitted with a chuckle. “It’s seriously been so long since I’ve eaten here that I nearly forgot about the place.”

  “You’re missing out, then.” I watched him pick up the menu and scan it with his eyes.

  “What’s good?”

  “It’s all good.” The waiter reappeared with ice water. He clasped his hands behind his back and smiled at me patiently. “I’ll take a bowl of Max’s soup of the day,” I began.

  “What is it?” Karatz asked me curiously.

  “No idea.” I shrugged. He raised an eyebrow at me appraisingly. “I told you, it’s all good.” He chewed on his lip as if considering my words as I finished ordering a sirloin steak sandwich.

  “And for you, sir?” The waiter gestured with a nod of his head to Karatz.

  “He’ll try the soup, as well,” I interrupted.

  Karatz gave a shrug and smiled at me, before adding a rock shrimp and crab sandwich to his order. The waiter bustled off to get our orders in to the cook and I took a sip of the lemon water he’d placed in front of me.

  “I know you didn’t just miss my pretty face. There’s a reason you called me last night, kid. But I don’t do business on an empty stomach so we’ll ignore the elephant in the room until our stomachs aren’t growling.”

  I smiled, realizing just how much I’d missed having him around. “Whatever you say,” I replied. I asked him about his wife, certain that she and the new baby would be a topic that would pass the time until our food arrived. I was right. The soup was clam chowder. I poured a packet of soup crackers into my bowl and watched as Karatz dug right in without hesitation. He see
med to enjoy it. My sandwich was delicious, and Karatz wondered out loud after eating half of his why he didn’t come here more often.

  I ordered a plate of warm chocolate soufflé for each of us as dessert and Ken gave me a look in between bites of Tahitian vanilla ice cream that said it was time to talk business.

  “We’re back in the studio,” I said to him. “At least, we’re starting.”

  “How’s it going so far?” He seemed interested. I took that as a good sign.

  “It would be better if we had your magic ears,” I added.

  He smiled and took a bite of his soufflé. “You got a pile of songs for me?”

  “I … er … not exactly. But I do have a hit.”

  He cocked his head to the side and looked at me. “What does Celebrity Dent say?”

  “I don’t care what the label says. We want you. Besides, Wes will go to bat for us.”

  He smiled again and I truly worried for the first time that he was going to turn me down. “Life’s crazy at home,” he began. “Joshua is up half the night-”

  “Let me stop you there,” I said. “I know this is asking a lot. But we can’t do this without you. We’ve only laid down one track. You’re the only one who can get us the budget and the studio time we need to make this next record worth while. We’re ready to take it to the next level. We need our sound to evolve a little, you know, and you’re the guy who does that for us.”

  Karatz gave me a puzzled look and then let out a chuckle. I gave him my best blank stare, wondering what I had missed.

  “Look,” he began. “I’m not trying to explain to you why I can’t do this. I’m trying to explain to you why we have to do it at my place.”

  “Huh?” I said brilliantly.

  “I just finished putting in the studio at my new place, and it sounds like I did it just in time, too,” he stated. “The truth is, I’m anxious for something to do, but there’s no way Serena is going to want me gone all day for however long it would take to get this record made, and I’d hate to miss out on Joshua that entire time. The way I see it, we can make this work if we can use my studio. Then you’ll have your producer, and I’ll be near my family for the process. It’s a win-win.”