by J. M. Nevins
He leaned forward and stared at her. “Kit, I have never wanted something so badly in my life. Please, help me get this. You know what I play the best. Coach me through this. All I have is my one guitar. The rest of my equipment hasn’t arrived yet.”
She let out a sigh as the wheels in her head turned. She didn’t want to let him down. Seconds later, she had a plan. “Let’s get Aaron on the phone. We need to find local rehearsal space pronto. I can’t very well have you fire up my Marshall stack in this apartment. That’s no way to say ‘nice to meet you’ to my new neighbors in the apartment below us.”
He nodded. “I’ll call him. Be right back.” He grabbed the phone and started dialing as he walked into the kitchen dragging the cord behind him.
Hours later, they had returned from well-spent time in a rehearsal studio in the heart of Hollywood. Joe had decided to work on his acoustic skills as well in case they asked. He and Kit had been playing around with options for a while and he felt confident.
He smiled at her and gazed into her eyes. “Thanks for helping me so much today. Your opinion really matters to me. Damn, I do love those freckles of yours.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop, Joe. Stop while you’re ahead. Let’s focus on the music, ok?”
He grinned and gently brushed his forefinger along the bridge of her nose. “They’re so cute!”
She glared. “Don’t.”
He stared into her eyes and leaned forward to kiss her. She pushed him away and he groaned as he flopped back into his seat. “We just spent the day together, Kit, and it was awesome. Are we going to keep running around in awkward circles with this or are we really gonna talk about it? The drive yesterday was murder. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with you in a new city.”
She sighed and shook her head. “You should be focusing on your audition in three hours.”
He sighed and shook his head. “See, that’s the problem. This situation is messing with my head. I want an answer, preferably now.”
She shifted her eyes away. “It’s the same as I told you yesterday. I can’t do it, Joe.”
His caramel brown eyes narrowed. “You can’t or you don’t want to? There is a marked difference. Be straight, Kit.”
She looked into his eyes and felt bad. She didn’t want to take the risk of losing him forever and she feared that would happen if they got romantically involved. “I don’t want to. I think we’re much stronger as friends. I don’t want to mess up our friendship. You’re one of my best buddies. We work well together and I need that more right now. I can’t risk it.”
He shook his head regretfully. “You’re totally scared to get into a relationship again. You’ve shut down your heart. Why can’t you just tell me that? It’s a more honest answer, Katie.” He sat back in his chair defiantly and folded his arms in front of his chest, raising his eyebrows in anticipation of her reaction.
She glared. “Do not call me that. You know better. You know I hate it.”
He chuckled and purposely taunted her. “Katie, Katie, Katie.” When she gave him a stern look of warning worse than the first, he decided to back off. He held his hands up in surrender and then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His eyes met hers. “Ok. I have my answer. You want best buddies and colleagues. If you need that, I will give you that.”
She sighed and reached out for his hands, taking them in hers. She stared into his eyes and smirked. “Thank you. It will be better this way for both of us. I can’t give you what you want. I’m not that girl, Joe. I never will be.”
He nodded for her benefit, but was not entirely convinced. He gently squeezed her hands and let them go. He had a feeling this conversation would come up again at a future date with the tables turned in his favor. He hoped it wouldn’t be too little too late. “If you say so, Kitty-Kat. You are the smart one between us.”
She frowned. “You’re smart.”
He chuckled. “Ha! I do have talent, yes. I am a damn good guitarist. I’ll own that. Top of my class at Berklee…”
She interjected. “You should have stuck it out and graduated, Joe.” She chugged her beer.
He frowned. “Now see, there you go. You’re being my dad right now. Not cool. Anyway, before you rudely interrupted me, I was going to say that I am skilled with a guitar and social proclivities, but when it comes to common sense and all things academic excluding music, I am an epic failure. And I’m totally ok with that. Made my choice easy growing up. It was all about the guitar for me.” He smiled wide.
She surveyed him carefully. “I think you underestimate yourself.”
He chuckled and sipped his beer. “You think way too highly of me. My accountant would disagree with your theory. I can guarantee that. Do I have to remind you of all the times you helped me with my homework when we were kids?”
Before she could provide another rebuttal, Alexa walked into the room. The moment she noticed Joe sitting at the table she screamed out at the top of her lungs with delight and charged toward him with arms outstretched.
He laughed and bent down to hug her. “Now, that’s what I call a greeting!” He kissed her on the cheek and pulled back. “How are ya, Lex? I’ve missed you, girl. It’s been way too long. Kitty tells me you’re on your way to being this big PR guru. Grad school at USC? That’s ambitious!”
She giggled. “A drop in the bucket when you want to build a big media empire. You know how it goes, Mr. Guitar God.”
Kit stood up and smiled. “And guitar god he is.” She beamed with pride. “Tell her the news, babe.”
Joe smiled wide and Alexa’s eyes darted from him to Kit and then back to him. She sensed it was good and squealed loudly. “What? Tell me now!”
Kit pulled her car into the lot and parked. She glanced over at Joe and grinned. “You ready to do this?”
He forced a grin. Nervousness was clouding his vision. He had waited for this moment for years and now that it was upon him, he didn’t feel completely prepared. He chuckled. “Y’know, maybe I should just blow it off. I’d really like to be in a band where I can contribute and be one of the primary songwriters. I…”
She shook her head. “Don’t do this, Joe. No more self-sabotage. This is your dream being handed to you on a silver platter. This is your time. And if you really want to be a songwriter, talk to them about it. If they pick you, and there’s no doubt they will, I’ll make sure it’s written in your contract. It’s completely workable. Don’t make excuses. It’s ok to be scared. This is big.” She sighed and then smiled. “It’s showtime for you, Joe, and your star is on the rise. Let’s go.”
Kit watched proudly as Joe’s attitude shifted the moment he opened the door to the rehearsal studio with his guitar case in hand. He had mastered the attitude of fake it ‘til you make it and carried himself like a pro. He held his head high and embodied an impressive presence she had never seen before. She couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear.
He was well received by the band. He waved her over and grinned. “Guys, this is my manager, Kit McKenna.” He went through great pains to introduce each band member to her before they got down to business. She could immediately tell that none of them took her seriously, but she shrugged it off, not wanting to create waves that may capsize Joe’s big opportunity.
As Joe took the stage and Kit took a seat on a black, leather sofa in the back, she glanced over and noticed a huddle of men talking in hushed tones and two female assistants scurrying in and out of the room like nervous mice trying to dodge a hungry cat. One of the men was talking on a large portable phone. She grinned, recognizing exactly who they were—the record label was in the house tonight.
She watched them carefully and wondered if she would be like them one day, talking on a portable phone in the late evening—a rehearsal blaring in the background with last minute adjustments and decisions being made at lightening speed while high stakes dollars and huge egos hung in the balance.
She felt a charge of exhilaration thinking about all of it. Her b
iggest dream was to own and run a record label and her first matter of business was learning the music industry on a more global scale than her limited management of bands afforded her in Philadelphia. She had yet to sign one of her bands to a label and she was determined to change that now that she was in Los Angeles.
An hour passed quickly and Kit continued to stare as the band huddled around Joe, talking to him. Some of the label men were in the mix now too and before she could entirely comprehend what was going on, she heard Joe’s voice call out to her. “Kit! Can you come here please? I need you for a sec.”
She nodded, smiled, and stood up. As she made her way to the stage, she felt her stomach churn with uneasiness and noticed that her steps seemed to go in slow motion. She tried to recall the pep talk she gave Joe before he got out of the car earlier, but her efforts were futile. It was her turn now. The contract shoved at her the moment she set foot into the circle of sharks reminded her it was go time. She was in the game, instantly expected to play at the pro level, while the huddle of men anticipated and eagerly awaited her failure.
To their chagrin, she jumped into action reviewing the terms of the contract carefully and asking all the right questions, pointing out clauses like a seasoned veteran. She overheard Wilson Carmichael drawl in his English accent to Joe. “Where did you get this bird? She’s a gorgeous secret weapon. Do you always carry a hot barrister-manager in your back pocket, man?”
She let a faint trace of a grin surface on her face, absorbing the comment in stride. She was very used to being underestimated by the opposite sex. When they looked at her all they saw was shiny, long, layered red hair, long legs, curves and a smile that always lit up the room. They didn’t expect her to be smart. She had the looks of a top model and her sound business acumen often threw them off. She wanted to giggle finding the whole situation amusing, but forced herself to remain focused as she negotiated the terms with the record executives standing before her shooting daggers with their beady eyes.
When she had all the information she needed, she pulled Joe aside in confidence. Her emerald eyes bore into him. “Joe, listen to me. This contract has everything you want and more. This isn’t just a pay to play deal. They don’t want you as a hired gun. They want you as a new member of this band. They’ve heard about your reputation. This wasn’t happenstance. Stan set you up here. Wilson was at the Rainbow last night waiting to pounce.
“They will let you contribute with the songwriting, although that won’t start until they go into the studio for their next album, understandably. I’m advising you to sign it if it feels right to you. They love you, Joe. They said it was no contest. I got you good money. You have the upper hand here. Took ‘em a little out of their comfort zone, but they can afford it. We’ve got ‘em where we want ‘em.” She grinned and winked.
He stared at her with wide eyes. “They’re great, Kit. What’s the drawback?”
She grinned. “I don’t see one, but you will have to release me as your manager. When you sign their contract, I have agreed to absolve our agreement. You will then fall under the management they presently have. You met their manager, Nigel, right? You like him?”
He nodded and then frowned. “But Kit, I don’t want you to get screwed out of the deal. If I sign you won’t get a dime.”
She smiled. “Joe, you are such a sweetheart thinking of me. It doesn’t work like that, though. I’ll get my cut. I worked it out with the label and it does come out of your earnings directly. It’s a requisition fee.”
He looked worried as he stared into her eyes. “A what? Is it a good payout? If it isn’t, I’ll give you another cut under the table when I start getting paid or if you need it immediately, I’ll pull it out of my trust.”
She shook her head. “No, you won’t. It’s great. I’m totally happy with it. Do this, Joe. If you don’t, you’re stupid. Opportunity like this only knocks once and I’m telling ya to open the door and run through.”
He finally smiled wide and nodded his head. “Ok. Shit! This is wild isn’t it?” His caramel brown eyes were alive with intrigue. “My whole life is gonna change tomorrow. Can you come to Oakland with me? Come see my first show with them.” He chuckled. “I promise it won’t be like our last time in Vegas. I’ll get you your own room or you can take the bed in my room. I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to.”
She laughed. “Ok, if you’re promising me that, I’ll definitely go. I’d love to be there to support you. You’ve earned this, Joe. You’ve been waiting on it since you were ten years old.”
He grinned and nodded, leaning down to give her a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. Couldn’t have done it without you, Kitty-Kat.” He took a deep breath. “So, where do I sign?”
* * *
The frazzled server ran back into the kitchen. “Where is the order for twenty-two? Twenty-two, not twenty-four, idiot!” His eyes stared like a laser beam of blame.
Sully frowned and felt his anger bubbling up. “That is twenty-two. Look at your ticket!” His South Side Chicago accent came barreling through like an out of control freight train. He shook his head, annoyed.
The fumbling newbie server stared at the ticket. “Oh. Oh yeah. Oops.” Without apologizing, he seized the plate and slipped off like a thief in the night.
Sully returned to the grill and flipped over an order of steaming hash browns, wiped his brow with his sleeve, and thought there had to be some other way. He started daydreaming, thinking about one day when he’d be up on a stage—an enormous stage in one of the largest arenas in the world. A grin started to spread across his face and remained there until his boss’s angry, yelling voice yanked him out of his self-imposed fantasyland.
“O’Sullivan! What are you doing? That’s it. You keep burning the food you stupid dreamer! This is the last time. You’re outta here. You’re fired!”
Sully sighed, rolled his eyes, freed his long, brown locks from the hairnet, and took off his apron. His steel blue eyes narrowed at his boss as he threw the apron onto the grill. He strutted out and didn’t miss a beat as the apron erupted into flames behind him. Job number fourteen down. He wondered how many more to go.
He walked out to his beat up, rusted, yellow 1971 Ford Pinto and got in. He turned the key to start the engine and its normal routine of running and running without turning over commenced. Frustrated, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the steering wheel, hoping to will the car into submission and resorting to silent prayers from his Catholic school days. “C’mon, please.”
Finally the engine turned over. He put the car into gear and got onto the road. He sighed. His gas gauge had a needle that always seemed to be weighted on empty and today was no different. He managed to make it over the hill from the Valley back to Hollywood to his drummer’s girlfriend’s house, where she was kind enough to let him crash on the sofa. He walked through the door and noticed his drummer, Remo, sprawled out on the sofa playing Atari Space Invaders with Bryan, his keyboardist, sitting on the floor. They were laughing and yelling colorful expletives at each other. He called out to get their attention. “Hey!”
Bryan looked over and frowned. “What are you doing back so soon?”
He stared at him blankly. “I got fired.”
Bryan made a gun with his fingers, put it to his temple, pulled his imaginary trigger, and collapsed on the floor pretending to die. He then looked up, concerned. “How are we going to eat now? Dude, you have to learn how to keep a job.”
Sully was not amused. He glared. His nasty tone cut through the air like a newly sharpened knife. “You have to learn how to get one.”
Remo laughed and threw his controller on the coffee table. “Now, now, girls, settle down. Really guys, you two are starting to sound bitchy and I’m not running a sorority house here. I’ll get Shelley to help us out. She’s got a good paying job and she doesn’t mind that we’re here.”
Sully looked around and frowned. “Where’s Jimmy?”
Remo leaned back in his seat. “At the st
udio.”
Sully looked surprised. “Already? Why?”
“Dunno. I’m no mind reader. I’m just a drummer, man.” He displayed a full-toothed grin.
Sully shook his head. There were times when the guys in his band drove him nuts. Now was one of those times. “I’m gonna go rehearse for the show tonight. You guys should too. We could use the extra time. C’mon, chop chop.” He started heading out of the room.
Bryan pointed at him. “See, that’s why you can’t work for anyone. You’re always the bossy one. You always have been since we were kids.”
Sully donned a smug half grin and flipped him off with his middle finger. “Bryan, do you wanna be a rock star or not? We’re in Hollywood now, where people are getting record deals everyday. You’re not gonna get there by playing Atari all afternoon. We came here for a reason, y’know. Remember, you are replaceable. There’s nothin’ but talent in this town. It all boils down to how bad you want it.”
Bryan rolled his eyes and grabbed his keys. “Jeez, alright, alright. I don’t need your lecture series. You get so touchy. We’ll take my van. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 3
“Who?” Kit cradled the receiver on her shoulder as she struggled to grab a piece of paper and a pen.
“Jeff Martin. Meet him at Madame Wong’s in Chinatown at three for soundcheck and play the shit out of everything, Kit. Make me look good, ok? I’m going out on a limb for you here. He was freaked that you were a chick guitarist until I totally talked you up and let him hear one of your old demos. This is a friend of mine and his cover band is super popular.”
