Travis

by N Kuhn

  “Gerard Shaw boys. Nice to finally meet you. Marcus talks about you all the time.” My eyes go wide, and I look between Duke and Gerard.

  “Yea, he’s my father. See, the music industry is all about keeping it in the family Trav. We’ve got your back here.”

  “Nice to meet you Mr. Shaw,” I said finally taking his hand. As he moved to Bas and Max for their introductions, Duke pulls me aside.

  “My father is the head here at MegaRock Records and Entertainment. That’s how I got my experience as an agent, working with him. He likes Death Polish. He wants you guys. You’re already in, we just need to get these contracts signed, get you guys an image and get your music out there. Do you have enough songs to fill an album?” Unable to speak from the pure shock of how fast this is all moving, I can only nod my head. Papers are shoved into my hands and I’m pushed back over to Bas and Max. For the first time since Bent told us he was leaving, I wish he were here. He would know what these contracts say better than us. We suck at reading this legal crap.

  Instead of sitting by the guys, I walk past them and into the hall. With the new Blackberry thing that Duke had given us, I pull it from my pocket, dialing Marcus. He would know what to do.

  “Hey son, what’s up? You signed yet? Congratulations.” He doesn’t even ask who it is.

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “Duke gave me the number when he told me you guys were getting phones. Been waiting for you to call me with the good news.”

  “We haven’t signed yet dad. I wanted to, well, I don’t know. I guess I’m not so good at this stuff, ya know. What do these things even say? Are we gonna get the shaft or are they clear? I mean, this is Buffalo, not LA. It’s not like they are Sony or anything. But are they legit?”

  “Trav, if they weren’t legit, you think I would have sent my only son there?” He has a point.

  “Nah dad, cool. Well then I guess we’re signed. I just need the other guys to autograph these and we’re on our way!“

  My heart starts beating in my chest. Dreams are finally coming through, shit’s happening, and fast. I love it. Always, I always knew I would be big. Yea, I figured the guys would come with me, but their hearts aren’t in it like mine. My dad has paid a lot more attention to me now that I’m on the verge of signing. This is exactly where I want to be and who cares what the contract says. I’m signing and so are they, I’ll make sure of it. Letting myself back into the room, I see Max and Bas reading over their contracts. Grabbing a pen from the table in the center of the room, I sign my name and the bottom and hand it to Duke.

  “I’m in. This is awesome. Right guys?” Max looks up at me, his eye brows furrowing.

  “I’m still trying to understand half of this. Shouldn’t we like, have attorneys or something?” Bas asks. Shaking my head, I laugh at him.

  “Man, my dad said it’s cool. They are going to take care of us. He trusts them, and so should we. Just sign man, this is what we all wanted.”

  “Yea, but I thought Bent would be here with us,” Bas says, looking a little upset, maybe even hurt. I mean, we have all been together since we remember.

  “That was his choice. He didn’t want this like we do.”

  Nodding in agreement, both Bas and Max look at each other and shrug. They sign the contracts and place them on the table along with mine.

  “That’s it. What now?” I ask, looking at Duke, not even trying to hide my excitement.

  “Now, we knock out this demo, then take you boys shopping for some real clothes. Your demo is now going to be your single, while we’re still recording the rest of the album. Then tomorrow you have a photo shoot and we can co-ordinate the schedule for recording the rest of the album.”

  Three hours and a lot of coke later, we have our single cut. It sounds amazing. Better than I could have dreamed. Not to sound cocky, but it’s more than I ever dreamed. Duke loads us all into a limo waiting outside the studios. We’re off to the Galleria for some new threads. Apparently we have to create images, and not just look average.

  “Talk to your mom at all?” Max asks me, as we ride to the mall.

  “No, and don’t plan on it. She doesn’t deserve to be in my life. She hid my father from me, kept him away, when I needed him the most. She didn’t even care enough to show to the battle.”

  “My ma said that she’s sick. You should maybe take it easy on her man. Your ma won’t be around forever you know,” he says, trying to play peacekeeper. Sick or not, she doesn’t deserve me in her life. I’m not going to be back under her spell, her control. I have my father now, my new music career, and my best friends. That’s all I need. And Brittany. Shit, where had that thought snuck in from. I hadn’t heard from her since she left my place. But Bas said he ran into her down at the gas station and she was looking good. Said she had gotten a job with her dad’s firm downtown. Good for her. About time spoiled daddy’s girl learned how to work for something. Even though I wish that she would call. I’d love to rub in her face how well we are doing. That she was wrong about me, we’re going to make it.

  Reaching in front of me, I grab the bottle of whiskey that’s icing in the side bar. How cool is this? They just have alcohol ready for you whenever you get in. Both times I’ve been in here there was fresh, ice cold whiskey ready. Pouring myself a glass, I look over to the other guys.

  “Want one?” they both shake their heads no.

  “Dude, it’s like, noon, barely.” True, we had been at the studio since seven am. But, still, we put in a lot of work cutting that single. I deserved a break. Twisting a little, I flash Bas a quick smile. Pulling my necklace up and opening it, I take the last snort of what was stored in there. Not that I’m out. There’s plenty more back at home. Bas and I have a lot of packing to do over the next few days. Moving sucks. But, we can finally afford to get a nice place and we’re going to need the pick me up lines while doing it.

  “Tsk-tsk,” I hear Duke say. He shakes his head, “Be careful with that man, that’s why your dads doing small shows instead of world tours. It can kill a career as quickly as it makes it.”

  “I can handle this Duke, don’t you worry.” Holding my nose closed, I toss my head back, savoring the chalky, yet powerful taste. That’s what this is. Powdered power. I like that. I’ve written some of our best music on this shit man, and it definitely helps keep you up, when you’re out of go juice. Sipping the whiskey in my hand, the amber liquid burns going down my throat. Perfect combination to keep me going today. Bas and I had been up late with the blondes. Jasmine and Cherry. Apparently they were lesbians, but they loved to include a guy or two sometimes. I had no problem being their sometimes. Smiling, I look out the window. As we drive through the parking lot, people stop and look at us, most likely wondering what important famous rich person is riding around Buffalo in a limo today. Well guys, that me. Travis Dane. Finally.

  The four of us traipse around the mall picking out the new us. Duke wants me to keep my bad boy image and insists on lots of jeans, tight tee shirts, big belt buckles and motorcycle boots. I even now have the leather jacket to go with them. He wants to keep my hair longer, so it falls in my eyes. He says chicks dig that shit, and I’m inclined to agree. The lady in the salon he takes us to can’t stop staring and smiling at me. It’s working already. The alpha male syndrome. Chicks dig a man in power and that’s me baby. My band, I’m the lead and I’m the alpha. Bas ends up being the bad boy Romeo. Dressing almost like me, he gets his hair buzzed down though. They want him to stay clean shaven, to look younger. Max, is supposed to be our good boy. Clean, pressed clothes, neat hair, and the whole deal. Since he’s on drums, what he wears on stage doesn’t matter much. But Duke says when we do public appearances, meet and greets or just go anywhere that we need to dress to our persona. If the paparazzi catch us looking different, then it’s bad press. It doesn’t matter if we’re slapping a baby or helping some old bag across the street, the label only wants to see us in public, in our new images. I can live with that. It’s not
like I’m changing much, except the more expensive labels on my clothes.

  Along with new clothes comes Box Seats for the Buffalo Sabres Hockey games, a Suite for the Buffalo Bills Football games, drivers, new cars and so much more. We haven’t even cut our whole album and things are falling in our laps. Part of me thinks it’s my dad’s influence or even him, but the rest of me, wants to think it’s because the label knows we’re going to be huge. We’re going to make it. Even though we’re with the label now, we still get to finish up our gigs we had lined up. It’s like great exposure and practice all rolled into one. The amount of groupies we have, doubles in no time. Some of these chicks are hot, some not so much. But at this point, who cares, they are just the beginning of what’s to come for us.

  Having just finished off a set at The Warehouse off Chippewa, Bas and I are sitting out back of the club having a smoke. He’s mocking the groupies that were in front of the stage.

  “Man, that one chick was about to peel her panties off and throw them at you, I don’t know how you do it. You’re so funny looking. Why do chicks dig you?” he asks me.

  “Because I’m the lead singer.” We both laugh at that. This feels great. Our lives finally are going how we want. Silently puffing on our smoke, the click of heels on the pavement draws our attention. Looking up, a short little redhead emerges from the darkness of the alley. Thinking to myself, she must be a hooker, Bas looks over to me, and I know he thinks the same thing. We can communicate like that, without words. Leaning up against the building, I pull my leg up behind me, getting more comfortable. The closer she comes, the more I can see of her. She’s not really dressed like a working girl, but she’s no saint either. Her short black dress is just modest enough to cover what’s important, and make her look classy. Her shoes remind me of something Britt would have worn, so they must be expensive.

  She keeps looking over her shoulder, as she makes her way towards us. Handing the joint to Bas, I push myself off the building. Tucking my hands into the pockets of my Diesel jeans, I lean back onto my heels. The black Army issue boots I have on make a slight squeak as the soles press into the pavement under my weight. Awkwardly glancing over her shoulder again, her flaming red hair swishing about her in the wind, I can’t get a good look at her face. Slowing as she nears us, her face comes into view. At first glance, it looks tight and pinched, but the closer she comes, I can see how she’s just tiny. The heels give her an added height, that without them, she would be about five foot. Everything about her is small, tiny nose, small but plump mouth, handful breasts. Stopping in her tracks in front of us, she sneaks a glance back down the alley again. Looking us up and down, her brown eyes remind me of hot cocoa on a winter’s night. I just want to drink her in. I haven’t gotten laid in a few days. Jasmine and Cherry seem to be wrapped up in themselves right now.

  “Can I bum a smoke?” Pulling the pack out of my pocket, I hand her a Marb and my lighter. Her voice is soft, but shaky. Watching her try to light it, I realize her hands are shaking. Pulling the lighter out of her grasp, I light the smoke for her and take my joint back from Bas. Inhaling a deep breathe of the intoxicating smoke, I hold it a moment, before blowing it out, towards her.

  “You ok? You look scared or nervous or something.” Another look down the alley, only this time, as she looks, I can see the red welt on the left side of her face, already starting to bruise. What little light hangs over the back door of the club casts it in a sickly looking color.

  “Nasty shit,” I nod my head towards her face. Turning her emerald eyes on me, she doesn’t respond. “You need help or something? You ok?” I ask her again.

  “Mind if I just stand here with you for a few minutes?” Shrugging my shoulders, I look over at Bas.

  “I’d like to know who hit you,” he says to her. As she looks back down the alley again, this time she shrinks towards us, trying to wedge herself in between Bas and I. As if trying to disappear into the brick wall.

  Following her terrified gaze, I see a man sauntering our way. Great, her pimp has arrived. None of us speak, Bas and I continue smoking. The tall scrawny shadow of a man follows the same path she took, heading right towards us. As I watch him saunter towards me, he keeps his head lowered, but his eyes, look up, locking in on the girl between us. Feeling her shake next to me, I instinctively put my arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight to me. Her body instantly relaxes. The guy stops right in front of us.

  “Stacey, let’s go. What the fuck are you doing with these douchebags? Time to go home.” He reaches a hand out to grab at her, and a small whine escapes her lips.

  “What’s up man, I know you, don’t I?” I ask him. He looks familiar, I just can’t place it. The man just grunts at me.

  “Jeremy,” Stacey whispers from next to me, “I’m not going anywhere with you. Stay away from me. Stay away from my house. I’ll call the cops if you come near me again.” With each word her voice gets louder.

  Guess we know who hit her then.

  “That’s it,” as it comes to me. “You’re Jeremy Sadlow, yea, we went to school together.” Snapping my fingers, I point at him, then look to Bas. “You were that douchebag always hitting your girlfriend. Guess that hasn’t changed huh?” Jeremy scowls at me.

  “Yea, and you’re the maggot who Brittany was stupid enough to date right? You were such a loser back then, nice to see you still are. Now get your hands off my girlfriend. Stacey, let’s go, now.” He reaches out for her, and I step between them, batting his arm away.

  “Nah man, I don’t think so. Stacey’s hanging out with us now. You’ll have to call her later.” Balling my fists at my side, this guy is an asshole. Always was, apparently always will be. I’ve been dying to knock him on his ass for years.

  He tries to grab around me again, to get at her, but Bas is faster, dragging her out of the way, pushing her behind him now. As he does, I swing my fist up, connecting with Jeremy’s nose. The pop and crack that follow sound sickly. Blood begins to spurt from his nose. As he looks up at me, his hooded eyes glare angrily at me. Standing up, he pulls back to hit me, but I catch him before he can, swinging and connecting with his jaw. This time, he goes down, crashing onto his knee. That must have hurt. Only, I don’t stop. Pushing Jeremy onto his back, I climb on top of him, swinging again and again.

  “You piece of shit, get the hell off me, and go stroke off to your guitar.” Trying to buck me off of him, I tighten my legs around his stomach, and hold him down by his shoulders. Each time my fist connects with his face, I can hear myself screaming. No one calls me a loser. Not Brittany, not this guy. This man is the loser. Beating his girlfriend. Every time my fist meets his face, I feel more powerful. My muscles tighten and my blood courses with power. The power to be better than him, than everyone.

  “You dirty scumbag. You like to hit women? How’s this feel?” Bas tries to pull me off of Jeremy, as he attempts to block his face with his arms. Breaking free of Bas, I keep pounding on Jeremy. Before I know what’s happening, I’m lying on my stomach, face down, staring at the pavement, my arms twisted behind my back. The air is filled with a metallic smell. Blood. I have no clue who’s holding me down, until my head clears. Realizing I’m now surrounded by Buffalo PD, I’m trying to catch up and figure out what happened.

  “Son, I’m gonna lift you up, ok?” I hear the gruff voice in my head. Helping me stand, I look around. There’s an EMT attending to Jeremy, and an awful lot of blood on the ground around him. Stacey is looking at me like she wants to kiss me, and Bas is looking at me like I’m an idiot. Max and Duke are off to the side, their arms crossed, and they both wear the same look of disappointment on their faces. How funny, I’m just noticing how alike they look. The officer who cuffed me and helped me up, and another, help me into the back seat of the car.

  Chapter 6

  Travis Beginning the Downfall

  Before I even got finger printed and had my mug shot taken, there was an attorney there waiting for me. Stacey, Bas and Duke had followed us here.
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  “There was marijuana involved Duke. He’s not his dad. I can’t just turn the other way. He has to be punished.” The cop that was talking to Duke looked older than Marcus. He had to be at least sixty. Duke was doing his best to try and squash this. I had beaten Jeremy bad enough that he had to be hospitalized. Left alone in this concrete room, I’ve had nothing to do but think. My dreams are finally coming true and I have to go and get arrested. But I shouldn’t be in here alone. That asshole beat Stacey. He has been doing it since high school with his girlfriends and hasn’t learned, maybe I taught him a lesson. From down the hallway I can hear the unmistakable laugh that is my father. How long have I been here? Last I knew he was in New York City, getting ready for the tour we are heading out for. Pulling myself up from the rickety cot, I flex my fingers. My arm is sore and my fingers slightly swollen. Nothing a big blast of coke and cold drink won’t fix. Holding onto the bars of the cell door, I try to peer down the way.

  A jangling of keys echoes through before anyone comes into view. A young officer most likely a rookie appears next to Marcus.

  “Son, you make me so proud. Let my boy out.” The officer looks all too eager to do what my father asks. The click of a lock opening and it is like glorious freedom. The cells down here smell like piss and I want a shower. Marcus throws his arms around me, and over his shoulder I can see Stacey timidly waiting at the end of the hall.