by Jesse Jordan
“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 riff 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, hummin
g 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.”
“Oh, I gotcha,” I reply, disappointed, but then Andrea smiles. “What, got an idea?”
Andrea nods and reaches for her notepad. “You're in town for a few more months, right?”
“Yeah, we kick off again in January, and start concert practice right after Christmas,” I tell her, seeing where she's going. “And you know us rock stars, we've got lots of nights free. So maybe, if you've got a free night...”
“I can give you a call,” Andrea says, scribbling her number down on a scrap of paper before tearing it off and giving it to me. “What about you?”
“Here,” I reply, writing the number on the top of her notes. “You know, so you know who's calling is someone legit and not some crazy stalker ex.”
Andrea's face clouds for a moment, but then she laughs. “No, not a crazy stalker. Not even the Dark Prince of Rock, as our urban beat reporter calls you.”
“Better than what some people have called me,” I laugh, and Andrea's face clouds again. “Sorry. I don't like it, but some people in rock have issues. So, I laugh instead of getting pissed.”
Andrea nods, putting her stuff away. “I understand. So... if you get a call from me, you'll pick up?”
“Do you mind if I walk you out to your car?”
Andrea shakes her head, pulling her bag over her shoulder. “Not at all, Joey Rivera. In fact, I think I'd like that very much.”
Andrea
“Who were your big influences growing up, musically?”
I should be listening, or at least transcribing better. The fact is though, every time Joey's voice comes on my recorder, my pen is faltering, and I've caught myself drifting, lost in his voice.
“Of course, growing up in San Diego, there was a ton of Mexican influences. Mama teases me about it, I don't speak Spanish like a Puerto Rican, but with a Mexican accent. Ha, ha, ha. Anyway, of course playing guitar I was influenced by that culture. Mariachi, flamenco. But being on the base, there was a lot of rap, rock, even some country. A lot of country boys in the Marine Corps. The cool part was it just sort of melded all together. So, I guess if I had to say hard rock, of course, Eddie Van Halen and Slash were big influences. I can't claim to be Latino and not say that Carlos Santana didn't play a huge role in my development. But also, Clapton, and the guest spots he did with Phil Collins were just amazing.”
It's easy to be distracted, I think. He's got a great speaking voice, not too deep, not too high, with a laid back, California vibe to his speech. He's bashful, not cocky. He’s one of the best guitarists in the country, and he doesn't seem to quite get how awesome he is.
“So how were you in school? You know my paper does a lot of stay in school type work.”
“Ha-ha. High school wasn't quite my thing. I wasn't the best student, my mind just works more musically than book-wise. Add that in with me getting super early and staying up until eleven or midnight to practice in or working another odd job, yeah... academics was just not my strong suit. I'm trying to catch up now, though. My sister, she just got her GED, and you know what she scored? Ninety-three average. Ninety-three! That's like, college level smarts. I'm so proud of her.”
He's amazing, and every chance he gets, he praises his sister or his mother. He's seriously the most devoted son and brother I've ever heard of. Considering I haven't even heard from my mother in fifteen years, since the divorce, I guess it's a rarity. Especially for this town.
“You don't strike me as the dumb rocker type though, no offense.”
“I try not to be. Helping Maria study for her GED made me learn again too, and I like to read a lot. Nothing super high level, I mean I'm not going over medical books or anything, but I do like to read.”
“What are you reading right now?”
“Business Management for Dummies, if you can believe it. Mama and Maria are starting their own business, and I'm trying to help them out. And I think it helps me too, you know? I mean, Cora's great, I love her to death, but I don't want to be the guy who can't even read his own recording contract.”
“Hey 'Dre, why are you burning the midnight oil?” Henry asks, stopping by my desk. “It's Monday, I know you worked the weekend, and now you're here at nine o'clock? There's dedication, and then there's being a masochist.”
I blink and turn off the recording. “Huh? Oh, hi Harry.”
“Oh, hi Harry, she says, like I haven't been listening to Joey Rivera for the past two hours. Damn woman, are you having issues today?” Harry asks, his voice concerned. “You usually are a whiz at transcription and fishing quotes out.”
I shake my head and set my recorder aside. “Sorry, I guess I'm just distracted, and yeah, the weekend stuff kinda wore me out.”
Harry hums in sympathy and picks up my recorder. “Well, here's a trick I picked up, let me show you what to do. Did you know all the computers here have voice typing capability? It's a bit old, but it should work for this.”
Harry takes a two-way audio plug from his pocket and plugs one end into the headphone jack of my recorder, and the other into the microphone jack of my desktop and pushes the button. “And here you are. Let it play, and when you're done, you've got a pretty good transcript of the interview. And you can just leave it up all night if you want. I've left it running in the background and when you come in in the morning, you’ve got what you want.”
I watch my screen as words start to almost magically appear, with halfway decent punctuation marks, and even skipping lines in between questions. It's all clear enough that I can make sense of it. I'm impressed. “Thanks, Harry. Why didn't you mention this to me before?”
“Simple, you were too fast for it before,” Harry says with a smirk. “Go on, get out of here. I'll see you in the morning.”
I yawn, stretching overhead. “You're probably right. I still need to get a couple miles on the rower tonight anyway. You know, coffee and donuts do not a sexy backside make.”
Harry laughs while I grab my bag, leaving the office. I am exhausted as I ride the elevator down to the parking garage, but the fact is, that it's not j
ust because of working the weekend. I mean, my craft fair and street carnival stories were written and turned in before I even got to the office today. With nothing else due until Wednesday, I sat down to get going on the Joey interview, and just got distracted. I spent nearly an hour deciding how to describe him. His odd, sexy stage image as a dangerous rock guitarist versus the shy, humble, cute boy next door that I met in the studio. How do you describe his muscular arms or he seems dangerous there’s no hint of danger in person, or the way his dark brown eyes go from mysterious to twinkling instantly without...
“Hey, watch it, lady!” a bicyclist in front of me yells, as I nearly run into the back of his bike.
I shake my head, trying to get focused, and realize... I've got a major case of first meeting crush. Just ninety minutes with Joey Rivera, and three days later, still… I can't run over bicyclists on my way home. I just need to get some perspective about Joey. He's cute, and has a sexy body, but after all the bullshit Chad is putting me through, am I really ready?
When I pull into the parking lot of my building, I see Chad's Mercedes parked in the visitor slot. He hasn't been by in weeks, and I realized that even not calling him after his 'gift', he still didn’t get the point.
Sighing, I shut off my engine and take my keys out, keeping them in my hand. I honestly don't trust Chad anymore, the rape accusations notwithstanding. Frankly, girls who falsely cry rape disgust me almost as much as the guys who actually did assault their dates or rape girls, because it makes every legitimate complaint look tainted by association. But Chad's the type of guy that I can believe did something at that frat house back in college.
Chad's waiting for me in the lobby of my building, a grin on his face.
“Hey, baby,” Chad greets me, opening his arms. “When you didn't call, I thought I might just stop by.”
