by Lori L. Otto
As she has become accustomed to doing, she asked about all of my band mates. When she got to Peron, I also didn’t tell her about our fight. Maybe I should have. After all, I stood up for her–for us. But in the end, I didn’t want her to have any negative feelings about him. He’s a good guy going through a bad time.
It was also my way of avoiding the topic of addiction with her. She knows my mother is a recovering alcoholic. She doesn’t know my growing suspicions about myself… that I think I must have inherited that gene from her that makes people prone to addiction. To science. To music. To sex. If things truly interest me, I don’t just have a casual regard for them. I become obsessed. Addicted.
But there’s no such thing as a science addiction or a music addiction.
I’ve already acknowledged that I have a problem. That happened a few months ago. I already took that step.
But I have never liked the twelve steps of AA. I don’t believe in handing things over to a higher power. I don’t like how it made my mother blindly follow a church and its beliefs to the point of causing my little brother pain. I’m happy that she’s learning to think a little on her own now, but it’s like fighting a new battle for her.
I believe problems that I caused can be resolved by my own actions, too. It’s about self-control… and I’m doing a decent job of that now.
Chapter 14
I’m learning to live the Livvy Holland lifestyle in West Hollywood. The label has put us up in a five-bedroom, seven-bath Mediterranean home with a detached recording studio in the back that overlooks the Hollywood hills. It was a surprise even to Damon, but so was the fact that his album went Platinum. On our first night here last week, there was a party with a ton of industry people out by the swimming pool. I’ve never seen so much champagne in all of my life–but I’d managed to stay away from it all, and from the model-caliber women they’d hired to serve it.
“I can’t believe I’m in my swim trunks in the middle of November,” I say to Peron, who’s sitting across from me in the hot tub. I wasn’t sure he was awake until he nods his head, his eyes hidden behind his prescription sunglasses.
“I do it to hinder the ticking time bomb,” he says after what had to be thirty minutes of contemplative silence.
“Holy shit. That’s it,” I say, drying off my hands and writing it down on the blank line of notebook paper.
“Read the chorus back to me.”
I read the lines I’d written weeks ago, with the one he just so brilliantly muttered aloud:
I do it to silence; I do it to calm.
I do it to hinder the ticking time bomb.
I do it for pleasure; I do it for pain.
I do it to placate the voice in my brain.
“Yeah, that’s nice,” he says, grinning. “That only took forever.”
“No kidding. But it’s going to be good…”
“It’s going to be spectacular, Will. It’s your best one yet.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Let Damon be the judge.”
My phone rings from the table next to the grill. I hurry to answer it.
“Hello?” I take a seat on the edge of the spa, putting my feet in the water to stay warm.
“Will?”
“Shea? What’s wrong?” She starts crying. “What is it?” I ask, softer.
“You know my open house and auction is in three days, right?”
“Yeah…”
“I don’t know why I didn’t put two and two together, but it’s the same night as this big food fair in town. No one’s going to come to my restaurant.”
“Of course they will. You said a lot of people are interested in buying your furniture and appliances.”
“I’m sure I’ll get those sold, but the other things in the shop… the things I want to sell to the general public… I put a lot of money into that stuff.”
“Well, could you sell it on eBay or something?”
“That’s such a hassle, and I just want this to be over. I want to make a clean break. This is sad enough as it is, losing Momma’s restaurant. It just sucks.”
“I know, Shea, I know. I wish I could be there for you. I’d find a way to be out there if that wasn’t the same night the label scheduled their meeting with me.”
“I know I can do this. It’s just hard.”
“I wonder if you could partner with the Maubry or anything. Maybe there’s an act in town that could come down. I could get Damon or Ben to make a call.”
“I’m willing to try anything.”
“I’ll ask them. Damon’s crazy enough to do just about anything. Just take a deep breath and know that in a few days this will all be behind you. Okay?”
I hear her sigh. “Okay.”
“And then we’re going to find a way to see one another soon, right?”
“Right.”
“Good. I miss you like crazy,” I tell her.
“Can’t wait to kiss you,” she says.
“Oh, no shit…” My thoughts linger on that. “Now I’m all turned on and in a hot tub with Peron. Thanks a lot for that.”
She giggles lightly into the phone. “Tell him I said hello.”
“Peron, Shea says hi.”
“Tell her I don’t wanna see your boner.”
“Peron says hi to you, too.”
“I heard him,” she admits.
“Just trying to keep it polite for you.”
“I know you better than that,” she whispers.
“True.” I laugh.
“Does he still have a date tonight?”
“Yes, he does.”
“Let me talk to him.”
I hand Peron my phone and slip back into the warm water. The temperature outside is still a little too cool for swim trunks.
I try not to eavesdrop on their conversation, reading over the entire song I’d written for Shea. It’s the first song I had started writing for her back in Minneapolis. It’s actually a relief to have it finished. I just hope that Damon can include it on his next album.
“She wants to say goodbye,” Peron says.
“I’ll call you after I talk to Damon. I’ll leave a message if you don’t answer.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’m falling.” She’d started ending our phone calls with this after Damon and I played the song for her. It gets my stomach all jittery every time–in a good way.
“Falling,” I say back to her, glancing only briefly to see my bassist’s reaction. He grins at me. “Talk to you soon, Shea.”
“Bye.”
“She says I need to borrow your cologne.”
I nod slowly and smile. She had complimented me multiple times on the cologne my sister-in-law bought me for my last birthday. “Now you know my secret.”
The next morning, I walk past Peron’s room to see that he never came back last night after his date. Livvy knows her cologne.
“I spoke to your woman,” Damon says as soon as I get to the kitchen. “I have nothing going on that night, so I’m flying to Minneapolis.”
“You called her?”
“I borrowed your phone off your nightstand.”
“You’re going to see her?”
“Yeah. The label’s flying me out there. I’m going to be signing some free EPs at Mrs. Livingston’s Kitchen… They’re already producing radio spots for the local stations.”
“That… was not what I had in mind,” I say, shaking my head.
“It’s good, though, right?”
“I mean…” I scratch my head, envisioning Damon and Shea together. I know Shea thinks he’s attractive. I know he thinks she’s hot. I have to admit that I haven’t known Shea long enough to build up trust in her yet, and Damon, well. I’ve never really needed to trust him like this, and I’m not entirely sure I do now. “First thing in the morning, it’s a little discomforting, I’m not gonna lie.”
“Dude,” he says seriously as he points to the chair across from him.
I grab a bowl from the cabinet and take
a seat, serving myself some cereal and milk before we begin. “I’ve never liked anyone like I like her. That’s all I’m gonna say.”
“Will. Willllllllllllll…”
“What?”
“I’m not gonna make a move on her. If she makes a move on me, you know, I can’t help that,” he says sheepishly.
I drop my spoon against my bowl and glare at him.
“Oh, you’re scared she will? I’m just messing with you. I swear. Hands off her.”
“She’s gonna be in a very vulnerable state. I already know this. This is gonna be one of the worst nights of her life, Damon. She’s losing everything. Her restaurant. Her job. Her apartment. She’s gonna be that girl. The one you want to wrap up in your arms and console… I’ve seen you do it a million times. You love that girl.”
“I can be a dick. I can be a heartless Will, I can.”
Both my middle fingers salute him. “This is going to be the biggest test of our friendship. Do you understand that?”
“Fuck test,” he says. “It’s bullshit, if you ask me. Bullshit that you don’t trust me. Plus, I know what I lose if I mess with her. Best guitarist in the States. Stellar writer. Most of all, best friend. Yeah. You may think she’s worth it, but I don’t.”
“I’m sorry, man. You’re right. Just… I’m worried about her.”
“I get it.”
“Okay.”
“Hey, when I talked to the label, they said that your meeting was going to run late, and that they were going to put you up in a suite at the Redbury for the night.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a nice place at Hollywood and Vine. You say ‘thank you’ when the car drops you off.”
“Still don’t know what the meeting’s about?”
“They hate your image. And they think you say ‘fuck’ too much.” He can’t hold a straight face after he tells me this.
“Fuck ‘em.”
Friday night, Shea calls me in the middle of her open house to wish me luck before my meeting. I’m still debating on whether or not to wear a tie, so I ask her opinion.
“You wear a tie, and you take a picture of yourself wearing a suit and tie, and you send me a picture of that shit. Stat.”
“Maybe you weren’t the right person to ask.”
“I’m salivating over here thinking about you in a suit.” The jealousy looms just under the surface as I remember that Damon is in her restaurant right now, likely just a few feet from her. I wish I’d never told her about my god damned suit.
“I look silly. Anyway. How’s it going?”
“Amazingly well. Thank you so much for suggesting this,” she says.
“Well… I mean. This wasn’t exactly my plan, but–”
“Stop being so humble!” she exclaims.
“Okay, okay.” I tug at the hair I’d just finished perfecting in the mirror. “Shea, please just remember how much I care about you tonight, okay?”
I can hear the quick intake of breath through the phone. “I will. That’s sweet.”
“Okay. Oh, the car’s here. I have to run.”
“Be yourself,” she says. “There’s no one better.”
That leaves me speechless. “God, I have to see you soon, Shea.”
“I know.”
“Okay. I’ll call you after I’m done.”
“Leave a message if I don’t answer. It’s crazy here.”
If she doesn’t answer, my imagination is going to go crazy. “Will do. Bye.”
“Will!” Tavo yells. “Your limo is here!”
“Fuck, what?” I look out the window to get a closer look. I just saw a black SUV pull up, but Tavo’s right. It’s an Escalade limo, the same one they’d used for Damon many times. “Well, that’s wasteful.”
I grab my guitar and the piece of luggage Ben had let me borrow and head downstairs, just as they ring the doorbell. The limo driver takes my things from me and opens the door. I get in, joining another man and two women, all dressed very nicely. I’m glad I decided on the tie.
“Will? Or do you go by William?” one of the women asks.
“Will.”
“Will Rosser. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“It’ll be Will Scott soon… might as well start using that. Long story. Family drama. Better this way,” I say, hoping to get past that quickly. I shake everyone’s hand and turn down the glass of champagne that’s offered to me.
“He doesn’t drink, remember?” the other woman says. I recognize her–Sabine–from the party we had our first night. I guess the man was there, too. There were so many people, and I was exhausted by the time we got to LA. “Sparkling water, maybe?”
“Nah, I’m good, thanks.” I take a deep breath, nervous at the formal way they all carry themselves. Damon is the topic of discussion all the way to the studio’s offices. It’s obvious they all have a huge crush on him, which is good. They should. He’s got so much talent, and the star quality that goes along with it.
They have me drop off my guitar in a secure conference room while they show me around the building. We interrupt no fewer than fifteen recording sessions to meet producers and artists. They all know me by name and gush over Where Your Horizon Meets Mine, which had gone viral on YouTube thanks to the EP we’d put out. I have to take a selfie with Ariel Naseem for Max and Callen. Seeing a picture of me with their pop music queen will be a complete mind fuck to them, and I only wish I could be there to witness their reaction.
A couple of the bands ask to take pictures with me. It’s a little wake-up call of my own.
“Looking forward to working with you,” the singer of the last band says.
“Yeah,” I respond, trying to mask the confusion. Sabine whisks me out of the studio quickly to meet the others, and we return to the conference room for our meeting.
“Get comfortable, Will,” George Wilbern, the man running things today, says to me.
“I’m fine.”
“What do you think of our offices?” he asks.
“They’re amazing. The studios are incredible. They don’t quite have the view of the one we’re using at the house you’ve put us in, but… the equipment blows my mind. I could probably sit with those sound techs for days and never get bored.”
“Is that what you like to do?”
“Oh,” I start, shaking my head. “I’ve just always been fascinated by the science of music… and music itself. I don’t know if you know that I’m a scientist in my day job. That might explain things a bit.”
“We were aware that you were taking a sabbatical from that for Damon, yes. He explained that you expected this to be temporary.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe having you in-house as a sound-tech part time would be a good fit?” Sabine asks.
“Oh, no. Maybe as a hobby. When Damon and I lived over the recording studio in Brooklyn, they’d let me play around with the controls in their downtime. I like experimenting with sound more than anything… but I love my job. It’s… important.”
“And music’s not?” she inquires further.
“It’s just different. They both have their virtues. The sciences and arts both have the potential to leave their marks on civilization, whether it’s with hard facts or the passing down of songs from generation to generation. I like having my hands in both.”
“We love that you have your hands in music–and more particularly, your mind. You’re an incredible writer of music, Will. I’m not sure if you realize how talented you are.”
“Thank you.”
“From the tracks on Damon’s current album that you had a hand in, to Horizon, which I think could win Song of the Year once we record it in the studio, to the new ones we’ve been able to hear over the past week.”
“New ones?”
“Damon and Ben have… covertly… recorded your writing sessions with Peron,” George informs me.
“Ahhh, shit. Sorry. Well, Brookings isn’t mine,” I clear up quickly.
“We enjoy Brookin
gs, but it doesn’t have staying power, Will. I think you know that.”
“Done Away? Liar? This song you’ve written for… Shea, is it?” Sabine continues the conversation.
“The song’s just called For Shea.”
“We’d probably change that if we recorded it.”
“I see,” I say, laughing, realizing I’m not really in control of my own songs at this point.
“They’re brilliant. Every single one of them should see the light of day. The problem is, they’re all telling your story, and your story’s rather unique–yet similar–in these songs. And Damon can’t go on singing about the same subject night after night, or track after track on the album, if you will.”
“Is this coming from Damon?”
“Absolutely not. In fact, I predict he’ll be upset to find out we’re trying to take these songs from him,” George says.
“Then… I don’t think I want to give them up. I’m writing them for us. For the band to play. For me to play.”
“But you just told us this tour is only temporary.”
“On an album, though…”
“Any artist–as you just discovered–would be honored to have you play on their album, Will. If you license a song for them, we would make sure you were a part of the package deal on the album.”
“So… those people have heard the other songs?”
“No. We met with a few of our top artists and played Horizon for them, and the ones on the debut album that you co-wrote. No one outside of this room has heard any of the unreleased tracks or seen any of your lyrics.”
“Okay. I was about to get really angry. Like… already you’re making me realize I need to figure out how to copyright my work as I write.”
“Your work’s already copyrighted, Will, but you can file for it officially, too. There’s a form you fill out, and a thirty-five-dollar fee you pay per song if you’re the sole author. It’s fifty-five dollars if you and Peron write together. We can give you everything you need to know to protect your work, and we encourage you to do so.”
