On the Run (Vagabonds #1)

by Jade C. Jamison

  Liz said, “Uh, we better not…”

  “Why the hell not? We worked our asses off.”

  I could see Liz debating with herself, and I understood why. The beer belonged to one of her parents—well, I assumed she had parents, but I’d never seen them. They were never around, so maybe that was why the beer was there, because no one was around to drink it. Liz began to form a reply and then said, “Fuck it.” She walked over to a small cabinet beside the fridge and got out a bottle opener. “Here.”

  “Anyone else?”

  Peter stood. “That’s my cue to leave. Girls,” he said, and it struck me, because he wasn’t calling us whores or sluts or skanks like he usually did. It got all our attention. “Don’t overdo—and no driving if you drink. I need you alive and out of jail so we can start recording Monday.” He pursed his lips like he often did, and it made him look like he had no mouth at all until he opened it again. “I’ll text you all with the details. It will likely be early in the morning, so I need you to rest up this weekend.” He paused as he often did for drama’s sake before continuing. “The hours will be grueling, so celebrate tonight but be ready to work your asses off next week.”

  We agreed and Peter showed himself out. Liz asked, “Anyone else want one?” No one turned her down and we soon all sat on the warm garage floor sipping the cool beer. I still hadn’t acquired a taste for the stuff, but I was bound and determined to. “I keep wanting to pinch myself. This really is happening.”

  We all nodded and giggled and it was at that moment that I felt closest to the other girls in my band. We’d been through a lot to get there in such a short time, but we had done it—in spite of our own stubbornness and in spite of Peter’s assholery…in spite of the fact that there were obvious frictions within the band. As I sat there on the floor and the girls talked a little about hopes and dreams, I basked in the warm glow of the beer and friendship—five very different girls from different backgrounds, coming together for one cause and one love…and we were gonna make it.

  * * *

  We all spent the night at Liz’s house. We’d been hammered when we’d made our way to her bedroom, but when I woke up the next morning with a headache and dry mouth, I was able to really check out her digs. I had never seen anything like it and wondered why this young woman needed further fortune. I’d come to find, though, that Liz had no intention of living off her father’s money. She wanted to make a name for herself, and she was driven.

  Her room was mostly ivory with a few accents in black, but it was huge, and that was what I was struck by. Her bed was big enough for three girls—Liz, Kelly, and Barbie—and Vicki and I crashed on the floor. It was comfortable enough and I was young. I’d been so damned tired, I could have slept standing up. As it was, I’d positioned myself close to a wastebasket near the desk in her room just in case I had to relieve myself of the contents of my stomach.

  I took a deep breath and stretched. God, I felt like shit, and I knew the beer was to blame. I was so thirsty. When I finally stood, I made my way over to the window. It was a big window and, at first, I’d thought it was a sliding glass door, but it wasn’t. I looked out onto the backyard and almost gasped at the beauty of the landscape. Greens, whites, blues, purples, pinks, and even reds, yellows, and oranges all perfectly positioned for maximum effect.

  I hadn’t heard Liz walk over because the carpet muted her steps. “Pretty, huh?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.” I was about to ask her if I could get a glass of water, but she had something to say. Liz, a woman of few words, only spoke when necessary, so she had my attention.

  “I wanna tell you, Summers—you’re a hell of a guitarist.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  “Yeah, but…you. It’s almost like it’s intuitive for you, like…you’re in tune with it, with whatever song we’re playing. You don’t have to think about it; you just do it.”

  I shrugged. “I just love it.”

  Liz shook her head. “I hope I get that good someday.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. “Thanks.” I took a deep breath. “Could I get a glass of water?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure.” I hadn’t known it at the time, but that was the last time I would ever hear Liz admit that I was a better player than she was. She was good—don’t get me wrong. Hell, you might even say she was great, but she and I both knew I was better. I’d never say anything, either, and just writing it makes me feel like an egotistical asshole…but it made me feel proud that a solid guitarist would give me props. And she had the lyrics part all over me. I couldn’t write myself out of a bad poet’s contest, much less pour my heart and soul onto a page enough that other people would feel what I did.

  But Liz could. Peter had told me when he’d first brought me onboard that Liz was a genius when it came to songwriting, and I didn’t disagree with him. However, compliments didn’t come easily for me, especially at that age and especially with females. I’d gotten the occasional compliment at school, mostly from girls, and I hadn’t ever known how to take them. “Nice pants, Kyle,” felt like, “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you’d wear that to school!” So I wasn’t into compliments—I had a hard time taking them and even harder time giving them. The whole thought made me uncomfortable…but I knew I needed to say something to Liz. This whole project had felt like her baby and she’d been pushed aside more than once—first my taking the lead guitar spot and then Barbie taking over vocals. It felt like Peter was gonna make the rich girl’s dream come true but she was going to be relegated to the back.

  So when she brought the water, I forced myself to say something. Just one thing. “Liz, on the same note—you write amazing lyrics. I could never do that shit.”

  I saw her smile—actually smile—before she said, “Thanks, Kyle. That means a lot coming from you.”

  Now if I could get her to quit looking like she wanted to kiss me…then everything would be fine.

  “You’re Gonna Listen” ~ In This Moment

  Chapter Twenty-three

  I GOT A group text Sunday afternoon with the address of the place and the time for our first recording session (eight AM sharp). Peter also mentioned that he would need to meet with our parents at some point, to let them know his plans and to also get their permission.

  Permission for what? Well, I suspected that, even though I was sixteen and could conceivably drive myself across the country, he needed their okay to take us to gigs. I had no idea the scope of the venture at the time. Even though he’d filled my head with dreams and I’d wanted to believe them with all my heart, I also had a niggling doubt that he was full of shit. Time would tell and I had nothing better to do with my days, so I didn’t see a reason to not go along.

  I showed up at the studio, located in an area of Colorado Springs I wasn’t familiar with, a few minutes before eight. Liz and Kelly were there, but I saw no sign of Vicki or Barbie. Just as I was getting out of my car and fetching my guitar case off the backseat, Peter pulled up next to me in a beat-up sedan. I had no idea what kind of car it even was, and my doubts about him grew once more. How was this guy, who obviously couldn’t afford a decent ride, supposed to make us rich beyond our wildest dreams?

  I couldn’t help the frown on my face when I headed over to join my bandmates. Peter? He could join us when he felt like it…or not.

  Liz asked, “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing.” No way was I gonna ruin her dream too. As much as I kept grasping for that carrot, I had nothing on Liz.

  “Good morning, sluts. Are you ready?”

  Jesus, not again. Shit. That was all I could take. “We’re ready, asshat. Are you?”

  He did not glare at me. His stare was as cold as it had always been. No, it was the tone of his voice that gave me pause. “You and your two friends here might be ready, Ms. Summers, but your band is not ready. Where are your comrades?”

  “How the fuck should we know?”

  Two beats, then, “Is that going to be your answer when it�
��s time to walk onstage? And tell me exactly how you plan to perform without a singer and drummer. Hmm?”

  As if on cue, Vicki arrived. Her mom, driving a dark green van that was at least fifteen years old, pulled up beside us and Vicki jumped out. “Later,” she said before closing the door. Her mom didn’t look much older than Vicki. She grinned and waved and drove off.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and glanced at the time. “Eight on the dot, numb nuts.” Wow. Calling him names really made me feel like I had a little control over the situation, and hearing Kelly stifle a chuckle made it even better. I had to hold my poker face, though. I didn’t need him knowing how much I was enjoying this.

  “I suggest you check yourself, Ms. Summers.”

  “Listen here, Cyrus. Bringing Barbie on board was your idea…so it’s your problem if she’s late.”

  He blinked. “I brought all of you on board, Ms. Summers. I’m trying to teach you all accountability and hoping you can help me with that. I cannot be everywhere all the time. I need you all to be accountable to one another as well as to me. Do you think you can do that…or do I need to find someone else for the job?”

  God. What an asshole. I sighed and shrugged, but no way was I going to answer him. I scowled, wishing we could just get on with it.

  “That’s what I thought, you little bitch.” He turned on his heel and started heading for the front door. “This way.”

  After we walked inside, I found my tongue. “You gonna fire Barbie?”

  His voice had an “Oh-how-droll” quality. “Let me worry about Ms. Bennett. You worry about your task.”

  “But you just got done telling us we had to worry about each other.”

  Kelly snickered again and Vicki laughed outright. Peter turned around. “Obviously, Ms. Summers, you’ve already had too much coffee this morning. I appreciate the feistiness, as I’m hoping your audience will, but enough fucking around. We need to focus.” He began walking down the dismal, tiled hall. “Honestly, we don’t need Ms. Bennett around for a bit. We can begin without her.”

  I wasn’t planning to let it go now, not when I sensed I was getting the best of him. “Don’t you need to talk to all of us about meeting with our parents?”

  “I need to arrange that individually.” He pulled on a heavy metal door and we followed. The space inside was dark but we could see enough to stop ourselves from running into anything. We got to another door and Peter opened it. The lights in there were on and there was a guy sitting at a big sound board. Unlike what I had ever thought of studios based on pictures and movies, this place did have some sound boards, but there were also a couple of computers in there. It made sense, but I hadn’t expected them.

  “This your band, Pete?”

  “Most of them.”

  “So you wanted raw?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think I’ve got everything set.”

  “Who’s going first?”

  “I’ve got three rooms. We can do drums, bass, and rhythm guitar first—and simultaneously, if you want. Do you have a song ready?”

  “We have ten.”

  The sound guy’s expression changed. “Uh, Pete, this is gonna take more than a day then.”

  “I realize that…but something you need to keep in mind is that I need the recording done in one week.”

  “One week? You fucking crazy?”

  “No. You’ll make do with whatever you get…so you decide how many takes, but I need it tight.”

  “O…kay.” The guy was clearly uncertain, but he wasn’t done. “So how long to mix it?”

  “Another week.”

  “You out of your mind? You ever do a recording before?”

  Peter nodded, ever patient. “Yes, with John three months ago.”

  “Did he work miracles for ya too?”

  “No. We were more traditional, but…” He turned and glanced at us. I could tell he was uncomfortable that we were overhearing this conversation. Well, too damn bad. He should’ve settled this shit already. “I have my money sunk into that venture and don’t have much cash flow at the moment. You get two weeks to make the best mix you can.”

  Sound guy sighed. “Fine. I can make it work. But don’t expect it to sound like Phantom of the Opera.”

  “I have no expectations except a finished album.”

  Sound guy shook his head and stood. “You wanted raw—you’ll get it.”

  I had been so absorbed in the conversation that it was another several seconds before I realized two things. First, I’d have nothing to do for who knew how long, because I was lead guitar—the one person not named for the three rooms that were going to be occupied. Second, what the hell venture was Peter already involved in? And why did my band get the short end of the stick?

  Sound guy said, “Okay, gals, I guess you’re gonna be stuck with me for the next week. My name’s Guidry. Bathrooms are that way,” he said, pointing back the way we’d come, “and if you need something to eat or drink, you’ll need to walk down the block. We got nothin’ here…which is kinda dumb when you think about it, because we also have a stage where we have live performances all the time. We could make all kinds a’ bank if we had vending machines.” He patted his round belly. “Probably better that we don’t, though, ‘cause I already overindulge.” He paused and looked us all over. “I’d ask if you have any questions, but we don’t have any time for that. We gotta get crackin’ now if we’re gonna get this shit done. Who’s my bassist, drummer, and rhythm guitarist here?”

  The other three women nodded and raised their hands, and he focused on them, leading them off in the other direction. Peter looked at me and he began talking to me, his voice low. “I appreciate your sense of humor, Ms. Summers, but I demand your respect.”

  “Gotta earn it, old man.”

  His expression didn’t change a bit. “I have. Don’t ever think you’re irreplaceable, young lady. There are plenty of girls out there who are just as pretty and would love this opportunity even more than you. I realize you’re very good at what you do, but I don’t need a great guitar player to be a part of this band; I merely need someone adequate…and there are plenty of other girls out there who fit that bill.”

  That was the moment I knew I could no longer walk off the car lot. My heart had already settled on being a huge part of this band. As much as the other girls got under my skin on occasion, I loved them, and I loved the band. And, while I would have loved a stronger, harder sound, I was proud to be part of what we’d created, and I envisioned years and years of happiness and success together—but we had to record our album first.

  I didn’t say anything. Instead, I clenched my teeth together as if that act alone would keep me from being flippant any further. Peter’s gaze grew cool once more. “That’s what I thought.” He let out a slow breath of air. “There’s a sofa in the other room if you’d like to relax.”

  As much as I would have loved to take a nap, I’d never seen an album being recorded before, and I wanted to check it out. “Thanks,” I said and instead grabbed a chair next to where Guidry had been sitting. I wanted front row and center.

  I should’ve brought a drink…like the beer we’d had at Liz’s house a few days earlier, because it was boring as shit. It started out cool, but he had them play the song over and over and over…and, without lead guitar and the lyrics, it wasn’t that exciting. I knew rhythm was important—we would have a shitty song without it—but it was uninspiring without the good stuff.

  I kept my mouth shut, though, because I’d already pushed my luck earlier that day. Peter said to Guidry, “We’re wasting time.”

  Guidry looked exasperated. “We’ve barely started.”

  “Raw.”

  Sound guy rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He looked at me. “You ready?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  I followed him into a booth and he let the other girls go for a while. Before he put the headphones over my ears, he told me he’d play the tracks back so far (one of the recordings
the other three had just created) and I’d play to it. He said, “This is the shoddy way to do it, but your boss is breathing down my neck.”

  “How would you normally do it?”

  “Me? I like to do it one track at a time, usually start someone off with a metronome so they… Anyway, Peter wants raw—he’ll get raw. Just do your best, tiger.”

  “Tiger?”

  Guidry winked at me and then began walking out. “That’s what he calls you behind your back.”

  Peter? He had a secret nickname for me?

  And what the hell did it mean?

  But I slipped the headphones on. I needed to be serious. I understood that time was of the essence, and I also knew I was a kick ass guitar player. I was ready to show the world what I was made of. Before Guidry started the playback, things seemed to come clear to me. Peter might have been a supreme dickhead, cold and seemingly uncaring, but I now knew that he had found people he believed in, enough that he was risking whatever money he had left in this world—and so, even though I still felt distaste for the guy, I didn’t want to let him down.

  I closed my eyes and listened, then joined in when it was my spot. In my head, I imagined Barbie singing and I kept my eyes closed. I dreamed of playing to an audience—a huge audience, not like in the high school auditorium, one where I couldn’t see the end of the sea of bodies, one where the roar of the crowd rivaled the screaming of my guitar, one where I could feel the energy as though it were the whole world consuming my soul.

  My guitar and I were one.

  When the song was over, I opened my eyes and looked toward the booth. Chubby Guidry with the cheesy light brown goatee was grinning from ear to ear. Peter wore his same flat expression. Liz’s mouth was agape; Kelly was smiling and clapping; and Vicki was nodding. Barbie stood near the door, sulking and looking like she might be nursing a hangover.