by Jesse Jordan
Ian gives Rocky a look, and Rocky nods, chuckling. “Okay, man, you're right. Give me a hand while Ian goes and ices that thumb?”
It takes me and Rocky twenty minutes to finish unloading all the lumber from the truck while Ian ices his thumb and starts helping Cora. Pulling the last chain out of the truck, I look at the big pile on the ground. “You know, Rock, Ian's heart's in the right place, but damn if he doesn't make a big mess sometimes.”
“We'll work through this. I'd like if we can get it put together by Thanksgiving if you've got the spare time,” Rocky jokes, setting down the last of the pre-stained four by fours. “Then, I was wondering if you'd like to have a sort of opening weekend for it, have Angel do a sleep-over with Bella. I mean, Maria's working hard, so's Teresa. I bet they'd like a day or so of rest, maybe some pampering?”
“You just want to send my sister to the spa again,” I joke, thinking to the last time Rocky did that, a gift certificate day when Four Letters went platinum. He paid for Mama and Maria to spend a whole day at a Beverly Hills spa, and afterward, Maria had a bit of a crush on Rocky because he was so nice, even though Rocky was already dating Cora at the time. “I'm telling you, you just have to ask Maria, she'll make you a dulce de leche any time you want.”
“Yeah well...” Rocky starts before the bells from the church about a half mile away start to ring, pealing out four times. “Oh shit, four already? Don't you have that interview?”
I check my watch, and Rocky's right, I've gotta go. “Yeah, you're right. Are you and Ian going to be okay?” I ask, checking my pocket to make sure I've got my keys with me. “You know, I can still take a couple more loads.”
Rocky shakes his head, pointing towards the front of the house and my car. “Joey, you don't need to do that. Take a moment and chill, you know? Get out of here, me and mop-top can handle the rest of the unloading. Gimme a call tomorrow or something, maybe we can figure out a time I can get you to whack your thumb with a hammer.”
I laugh, going through the house to say my goodbyes, a fist bump to Ian before Cora gives me a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Thank you again, Joey. For everything.”
I can't help it, even if Cora is Rocky's fiancée, she's a pretty woman and I blush, looking down and making Cora chuckle. “Go on, pretty boy. I talked with James earlier, he said the reporter from LA Pulse is supposed to be cute, too. Relax and have some fun.”
I nod and go out to my car, a ten-year-old Buick that maybe if the rest of the tour goes well, I might look at replacing. The thing is, most people think musicians make money based on album sales, and that's not the case, at least not the money people think we get. Two platinum albums don’t really produce a lot, ironically.
Where we make money is in touring and endorsements. With the cut of tickets and more, it’ll be about five hundred and twenty-eight thousand dollars when I get my royalty check in January. While in Montana that might buy me a ten-acre ranch with a huge house, in Southern California it's good enough to get a kid with no college degree a bank loan on a decent sized three-bedroom house in Ventura County with a third of an acre lot and a two-car garage. Maybe that royalty check will let me upgrade my car, maybe not. I'm good though, it'll come in time. And for now, I can take care of my family, which is more important than the size of my bank account.
I get off the freeway and see that I'm cutting it close, but not too badly. I wanted to have a little jam time before the interview, my guitar always helps me relax, but it looks like no dice. Instead, I head straight in, giving Phil the receptionist a wave. Gashouse has had a good year, when we first started recording here they didn't have a full-time receptionist, and Larry, the owner, was often the first guy in. Now Phil at least works nine to five weekdays for the label as he cuts his teeth on the music business, I think he's a night student or something at one of the local colleges. “Hey Phil, number three?”
“You're good to go, Joey,” Phil replies, handing me the keys. “When's the interview? I'm taking off at five forty-five today.”
“About fifteen minutes from now, so I'll lock up, no problem,” I tell him, walking off after giving him a fist bump. Studio three is the smallest at Gashouse, but I wanted it that way. Larry's really cool in that he lets me play by myself when I want to without having to fork over money for studio fees, and I've got some guitar tracks that I want Cora to take a listen to for the next album. I need to practice those.
I plug in the guitar in the studio, a decent Fender Stratocaster that I keep here. It's not my tour piece, but it's good for messing around. I plug it in and quickly give it a strum through, it's not perfect but it'll do to let me relax.
I start playing one of the first guitar solos I learned, Sweet Child o' Mine, while I think about the interview. Opening myself up isn't something I'm used to. People have never really been interested in Joey Rivera, the person, but Joey Rivera, the guitarist. Well, nobody except for Rocky, Ian, and later Cora. And my family. After this, I need to go home and check that Angel's okay before I sit down with Mama and help her with the paperwork for the daycare license. Mama and Maria need to have a license to care for more than two or three kids at a time. Mama's worked so hard, went out and got her childcare courses, her CPR and health certifications while Maria...
There's movement outside, studio three has a small window that looks out onto the parking lot, and I see a nearly brand new Lexus sports coupe pull up. Nice car, does that belong to the reporter? Huh, I thought at most I'd get some new reporter straight out of college. Maybe I rate a bigger fish than I thought. That's kind of a nice idea.
The way the car parks, I can't see much. Just a flash of blond hair before the reporter is on the sidewalk that leads to the front door. I pull my guitar off, going out front. I come around the corner, seeing a trim figured woman with her back to me, asking Phil where I am. “Hi. I'm Joey.”
The woman turns around, and I feel like my eyes just popped out of their sockets. She's stunning, with slightly curly blond hair that hangs down in big swirls and ringlets around her face. Her big beautiful eyes that are an arresting light jade green, and lips that look cherry red. My face feels hot, I know I'm starting to blush, and she suddenly looks kinda flustered too. ““Uh... hi. I'm Andrea Coates.”
Andrea Coates. It's a beautiful name, and I swear it's like I'm sort of floating, half drunk, as I escort her back to the studio, my face hot the whole time. Shaking her hand was like an electic shock I once got plugging my guitar into the wrong jack on an old amp. And... is she looking at me that way too? Whoa.
“Uh... let's begin, shall we?” Andrea asks, hitting the button on her voice recorder. “Okay, I'm here with Joey Rivera, the time is five... thirty-seven on a Friday night, personal interview. Joey, first, just for the legal guys over at the Pulse, you don't mind sitting down and talking tonight?”
I shake my head, taking a deep breath. “No, not at all. I'm a bit nervous though, so I hope you've got plenty of memory on that thing to let me stutter.”
Andrea laughs, and she's got a musical laugh, beautiful. I've never been good with words, that's Rocky's department, Cora helps some there too. I write poetry with my guitar, with notes. Which I can understand because right now, that laugh is worth poetry. “I made sure to put a whole sixteen gig flash card in this thing, we can talk all night and not run out of space. I think my batteries will die first. Don't worry, this is your chance to just tell your story, let people get to know more about you. I promise, no surprise questions, and if I go somewhere you don't wanna go, I'll respect that. So first off, how're you feeling after the first leg of your tour?”
“Tired, but that's not the tour,” I admit. “Ian and I are helping Rocky and Cora move into their new house today. So, if I smell like I've been doing manual labor, well... Cora's a good manager.”
Andrea laughs again at my joke, her green eyes twinkling. I notice she's got the same shade of green eyes as Angel, that's really interesting. Not too many people have that shade of green. I like it. “I'm sure she is. B
ut let's go back, I mean, a lot of people are interested in Joey Rivera the person, not just the kick-ass guitarist. How'd you get started in guitar?”
“Kick-ass, huh?” I ask, and Andrea shrugs, smiling. “You've taken a listen, I guess?”
“I have, I was in the crowd the night Rocky asked Cora to marry him. That rendition of Four Letters was seriously one of those events that got me right in the feels, as some of the people around the office say. And I'll give you guys props, not releasing that and making it special... that's really cool,” Andrea says. “Sorry, I know this is your interview and not a chance for me to just gush, so anyway... yeah, I've listened to your stuff.”
“Thanks. Tell you what, I'll play some for you later, if you want,” I tell her. “But you were asking about how I got started. Well, my first guitar was all the way back when I was just four years old. My Papa played guitar too, he started me on acoustic and then right before... well, before Afghanistan, he got me my first electric, a cheap little second hand Yamaha. I loved that guitar.”
Thinking about Papa makes me clam up some, it's hard to talk about him except with my family, and Andrea sets her notepad aside. “Joey, if you don't want to talk about it...”
“No, actually I think I'd like to, he deserves it. Ian and Rocky keep telling me I need to open up some, and well... Papa was in the Marine Corps, stationed out of San Diego. When I was nine, he got deployment orders. He and his battalion were going to do a rotation overseas in Afghanistan. He got me that Yamaha as an early tenth birthday gift, he actually borrowed fifty bucks from his platoon sergeant to pay for it too.”
I close my eyes, remembering the feel of Papa's Yamaha, the excitement on my face and on his face the first time I played for him. “It was the night before he left on deployment, and he was so proud of me when I strummed out some chords for him. 'My little Joey's going to be a great musician someday,' Papa said. The next day, as he hugged me goodbye, he insisted I stay behind and go to school. He kissed me on the forehead and told me, 'Okay, you gotta be the man of the house while I'm gone.' I hugged him back and promised him I would.”
I can see Andrea's moved, and she swallows. “What happened?”
“Terrorist rocket attack,” I reply softly, my hands hanging between my knees. “Papa saved two men, shoving them out of the way as he saw the rocket coming. They gave him a Silver Star and a posthumous promotion to Gunny.”
It's hard, thinking about it. “I'd talked to him on video chat two weeks before, he was excited. He had only two months left to go, and Papa was glad to be coming home in time for Maria's birthday. That was the last time I saw or talked to him.”
Andrea swallows, not sure what to say for a moment, then whispers quietly. “I'm sorry to hear that. You stepped up?”
I nod, smiling grimly. “Mama needed help around the house. Maria, my sister, was still in kindergarten, and the life insurance and pension weren't a lot. So, I started going to work after school. We moved up to Los Angeles and I started hustling jobs. Newspaper delivery before school, odd jobs after school, other stuff on weekends. I gave it all to Mama, and in my spare time I played my guitar.”
“Wow. What about your mother?” Andrea asks. “You talk about her warmly.”
I nod, swallowing. “I used to walk Maria to and from school, except for a few years when we were at different schools. Mama worked long hours. She married Papa when they were both twenty. So, she didn't exactly have a college degree, you know? She was from the bad side of San Juan, marrying a Marine was getting out for her. She busted her ass even before Papa died. But afterward, Mama had a high school degree from Puerto Rico, no college, and some family in Los Angeles. She worked some of the hardest jobs, taking crap work in Boyle Heights. Then after Maria had Angel, we found a cheap house in Anaheim.”
“Angel?” Andrea asks. “That's a lovely name. Boy or girl?”
“Boy,” I say with a smile. “He's amazing. He's four, and yeah, he's so cute.”
Andrea nods, smiling back. “Four, huh? And he's your sister's?”
I nod. “Yeah. Maria had him when she was just fifteen. It made it hard for us, but Mama and I made it work. Now that the Fragments have started to get traction, I can give Maria and Angel the life that they deserve, you know?”
Andrea does the math, nodding. “You're quite the mature man for twenty-two. Maria is lucky to have a brother like you.”
I shake my head, feeling heat creep up my neck again. “Nah. I'm not a great brother. I've had to go on tour before, leaving Mama and Maria behind. Even when Maria was struggling to work on her GED and get caught up after she had to drop out of school to take care of Angel. Before you nominate me for the sainthood, I count all the nights the past few months where the most I could do was give them a call on my cell phone. Some nights, the most I could do was send them a text message. That isn't cool.”
Andrea scribbles on her pad, then looks up at me, her eyes sending another little quiver through my belly. “I bet Angel thinks differently. Maria probably does too.”
I shake my head, shrugging. “Well, anyway... during high school, I met Ian at a local jam session, he'd come to town to listen to a vocalist in the Anaheim area, and he and I clicked. From there we made a band, but we became the Fragments when Rocky joined us after our original vocalist quit. Five years after that, and here we are. Really, those are the two big strengths in my life. My brothers in the Fragments and my family.”
Andrea gets my point. I'm not comfortable trying to portray myself as some sort of good guy, and moves on. “So, what are some of your favorite memories of getting into the music business?”
I lean back, smiling. “Being given the chance to take photos. It's a hobby I've gotten to pick up since the Fragments started touring. Right before our first overnight tour, down in San Diego, Mama went out and... I still don't know where she got the money, but she gives me this little digital camera with a two-gig memory card. I mean, it wasn't much, but to me, it was great. Mama asked me to take some photos of our trip. I ended up bringing back that memory card half full!”
Andrea laughs, again a little ripple goes through me, and the heat in my face creeps up another degree or two. “Must have taken you a while to sort those.”
“You're telling me,” I laugh, and Andrea blushes this time, God she's pretty. “Anyway, as the Fragments have gotten more financially stable, I've upgraded from that camera twice, once not my choice when Ian accidentally sat on my one on a trip through Colorado. I'm glad the memory card wasn't damaged, or else we'd probably be short a drummer right now. But the photos I've gotten, they probably aren't great art, but they are good for me. New York, Chicago, the one time we went overseas to London and then Manchester. I've gotten to see places that a lot of people haven't. And I've gotten a chance to get photos with a lot of the people we've shared stages with. That's really cool.”
We keep talking, and as the conversation goes on, I just feel like I'm not talking to a reporter, but just a remarkably beautiful woman who is interested in what I have to say. “What are your goals in the music business?”
“I think a lot like Rocky. I want to make good music. When we focused on getting popular, we struggled just to pay for the gas to get from gig to gig. With Rocky though, especially the past two albums, he brought this idea of putting all our focus on making good music, being ourselves, and sales have increased. So, I'm gonna trust my brother, and we're just going to make good music that reflects us. It seems to be working since Four Letters dropped,” I reply with a smile. “Cora's a great addition too, never doubt that. She's only been on stage once, but in my mind, she's the fourth Fragment. I've had some spare time on the road recently to experiment a little too, I'm working on some stuff now. You want to listen?”
“Sure. I'll even turn off the recorder, don't want to ruin your super-secret riffs,” Andrea jokes, but still she turns it off. “Okay, blow me away.”
I stand up and pull on the guitar, checking my tune for a second before starting a little ri
ff that I've been working on. It's a little more soulful than pure hard rock. I don't know if it fits our sound but I like it. Andrea taps along, humming to herself as she listens for a few minutes before I finish up. When I set my guitar aside she claps, grinning. “It's moments like that that make being a reporter fun.”
“You talk like you just grind,” I reply, smiling. “You gotta be getting something out of it besides a one-minute private guitar solo. That's a pretty sweet Lexus out there.”
Andrea shakes her head, leaning back in her chair to look out the window at her car. “No... that's not from reporting. Sadly, I'm a trust fund princess. Actually, I've had to bust my backside for a year and a half to get any respect around the Pulse office.”
“Who'd be stupid enough to disrespect you?” I ask. “You listened well, and you asked good questions.”
“You were someone nice to ask questions to,” Andrea replies, giving me a dazzling smile. “It didn't feel like an interview, more like...”
“Having coffee with me?” I ask, trying not to drop the 'd' word. Andrea nods, and I echo it. “Yeah, here too. Honestly, I had to keep reminding myself that you just wanted to get my story for the paper, and not to ask questions back.”
“Why would you want to ask questions of me?” Andrea asks, biting the corner of her lip. “I mean, I'm not interesting.”
“Not from what I see,” I say, taking off my guitar. “I think you're quite interesting, and I'd like to know more. So maybe, if you're free sometime, we can do coffee for real?”
I'm nervous, which is more than a little strange. Since the Fragments started getting positive press, I think I've been turned down twice asking a woman out, not that I do so very often. I'm usually too busy trying to take care of Mama, Maria, and Angel. Most of my 'dates' are really just after parties or one-night hook ups on the road.
But with Andrea... I'm nervous asking her out. I'm disappointed when she frowns and shakes her head. “I'd like to, but I'm sorry Joey. Working for the paper, I don't know when my schedule is, and for at least this weekend I've got nighttime assignments.”
