Cory's Dilemma

by Dan Petrosini

“Sounds good. What did I make last night?”

  “Not sure of the final figures yet, but the total amount was five million. Your gross cut is about forty percent. But next tour, things keep up this way, we go to fifty-five percent like the hot acts.”

  “Super. That’s a ton of money.”

  “Don’t spend it all, kid. We got a lot of expenses that come out of it.”

  “But we got another five dates to do.”

  “Yeah, except for the Staples Center, they don’t seat anywhere as many as last night.”

  “I want to send some money to my wife.”

  “Tell me how much, and I’ll wire it.”

  “I don’t know. How about twenty thousand?”

  “Make it ten, you don’t want her spending too much.”

  “You’re right. Sounds good.”

  “Consider it done. Look, I gotta run, but remember, don’t screw up with the booze or the women.”

  “Hold on a sec. Since you mentioned, the . . . ladies. I want to ask you something. Say you made a mistake, and the person you did it with was threatening to tell your wife. But they said if you paid them, they’d keep it quiet.”

  “You in a jam, kid?”

  “No, just asking.”

  “Never pay. It’s a mistake.”

  “Why?”

  “They’ll come back for more. It’ll never end. You can’t let something like that happen, you understand?”

  “Yeah, it’s for a friend, not me.”

  “Either way, don’t do anything stupid, kid. You’ll regret it.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

  “And do yourself a favor: lay off the booze, and stay clear of drugs. They’ll drag you down faster than anything with big tits.”

  Cory paced the hotel suite trying to figure out what to do. Would he be contacted again? It seemed inevitable. He reviewed the messages, convinced they’d probably ask for money in the next text.

  He unscrewed the cap off the bottle of Pappy Van Winkle. Cory poured a glassful and sipped it without ice. The slow burn felt good. He drank some more, believing he’d figured a way out of the situation.

  He thought about what his manager advised. Lew said not to pay, but he had plenty of money now. Whoever was about to extort him had to know that asking for a large amount wouldn’t work. Maybe he could pay until it got to a figure that was too high or he was too big a star for any damage to stick.

  If the payment request was too high or too close in time to a previous one, Cory would cut it off. The blackmailer wouldn’t want to end a good thing, would he? Cory drained the glass thinking it was a plan with a reasonable chance of working. He’d pay as long as it was reasonable.

  Cory poured another glass and put the TV on. The news mentioned the date, and he realized it was his father’s birthday. He wished his dad were still alive; he wanted him to know that he’d hit the big time.

  His old man was a tough taskmaster, but they’d had a good relationship until it had gotten off track well before high school. For some reason, Cory felt his father lost confidence in him.

  Feeling sad, Cory took a sip of bourbon and wondered what had happened. He remembered his father slapping his face when he learned that Cory had been bullied into handing over his lunch money in middle school.

  That was it, he thought. His father had lost respect for him because he’d allowed himself to be bullied. It was a tough lesson, but Cory hadn’t allowed anything like that to happen again.

  Topping off his glass with amber liquid, Cory realized this was another attempt to bully him. It would never end if he allowed it to happen. What his father had said years ago amounted to the same thing Lew just said.

  They were right, Cory thought. Screw him, or her, for that matter. You’re not getting shit from me. I’m Cory Loop.

  He took his phone out and tapped out a text: Go to hell. I’ll never pay you a damn penny. If you contact me again, I’ll go to the police.

  It felt good. Cory raised his glass. “Here’s to you, Dad.”

  He took a sip, relishing the cherry and vanilla flavors when a text message sounded. Cory read the message and hurled his glass against the wall.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cory stared at the message: Keep your eyes on the news.

  He wondered what it meant. Were they going to go public? Based on what? The short-lived rise he was enjoying would come crashing down.

  His family would be embarrassed, and he’d be laughed out of the industry. It’d be worse than what happened to the lip-syncing duo Milli Vanilli.

  Cory typed a response: Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll pay. How much do you want?

  Ping: Too late.

  What do you mean too late???

  Cory waited for a reply. He grabbed another glass and filled it up. He drank half before typing: Answer me.

  No reply came. He tapped out another message: You there? Answer me!!!

  There was a knock on the door. “Leave me alone!”

  “Cory, it’s Tracy.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Open up. We’re leaving for the airport in five minutes.”

  He flung open the door and walked away. Tracy said, “You’re not ready?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Where’s your luggage?”

  “Do me a favor, will you? Stop asking so many goddamn questions.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Fucking fine.”

  “We got to go.”

  He emptied his glass.

  “It’s a bit early to be drinking.”

  “Yeah, well, I got a lot of shit on my mind.”

  “What about your clothes and toiletries?”

  Cory pulled a hoodie on and headed out the door. “Get someone to deal with it.”

  On the ride to the airport, Cory had his earbuds in. It wasn’t that he was listening to music, he just didn’t want to talk. Approaching the terminal, his phone vibrated with a call from his manager. Cory swiped the call away.

  Tracy’s phone rang. “Yes, he’s right here. Okay.” She handed the phone to Cory. “It’s Lew.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  “No. He said it’s urgent that he speak with you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We got a problem.”

  “What now?”

  “I just got off the phone with a contact at Variety magazine. She received a call from someone claiming to have information that would prove the music on your album wasn’t yours.”

  “What? Who said that?”

  “I asked the same question, but she won’t reveal the source.”

  “That’s crazy. What proof do they have?”

  “I don’t know, she was just feeling me out, to get my reaction.”

  “Geez.”

  “My question is if there’s any truth to this.”

  “No way, man.”

  “You wrote all the tunes?”

  “Yeah. It’s bullshit that people can make accusations like that.”

  “Well, this type of stuff happens from time to time. People target celebrities constantly, especially ones that rise as quickly as you did. Everybody wants their fifteen minutes of fame.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We may have to get out in front of this. But let me call her back and categorically deny the allegations. Maybe threaten a lawsuit.”

  “Handle it. Do what you have to. I don’t want to deal with this shit.”

  Cory hung up and sank into the seat. Tracy said, “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me nothing. Lew said it was urgent. What’s going on?”

  Cory told her about the threat but cut off any discussion. He tried to figure out who was behind this. The word had gotten out quickly. Was it Riley?

  He said, “Look, I want you to check into something, but you can’t let anybody know.”

  “Okay. What?”

  “Can you find out if Riley has any connections at V
ariety?”

  “You think he’s the one?”

  “It’s a good possibility.”

  “Why would he do that? He’s part of the band. It doesn’t make any sense to destroy things.”

  “Can’t you just do what I ask?”

  “Of course. I’m just trying to understand why you think it could be him.”

  “I have my reasons. Just check him out.”

  * * *

  Cory and Tracy were at a table in Cory’s suite. They were FaceTiming with his manager, who said, “I just got off the phone with my contact at Variety. I did my best, but they’re going to put something out—”

  Cory said, “How can they?”

  “Hold on. She said they would mention the rumor in a short piece while stating that at this point it was unsubstantiated.”

  Tracy said, “But merely putting it out there gives it meaning. How can they print something without two sources?”

  “The press has been doing that for years. Look, we got to hit this head-on and put it to bed. If they have proof, then it’s a different story. Cory, is there any truth to this?”

  “No.”

  “Not even something that could be construed that Jay Bird or anyone else had a hand in creating these songs?”

  “No.”

  “Look, kid, if there was even the slightest collaboration, you can always co-credit the music. We can say it was a minor contribution by Jay Bird. He’s not around to challenge anything anyway.”

  Tracy said, “Why do that? If they don’t have any proof, it’s his word against someone who is dead.”

  “I’m just throwing out options if we have a problem. This can get ugly fast. The press will be all over it if there’s something there. Is there anything we have to be concerned with?”

  “How many times do I got to say no?”

  “Okay, just trying to be sure. We’ll put out a statement. We may have to do an interview or two if it doesn’t die down.”

  “I don’t want to do any interviews.”

  “Let’s see how it goes.”

  * * *

  A black SUV pulled up to a side entrance of San Diego’s Pechanga Arena. Cory and Tracy hopped out, walking between the barriers that kept the press and fans away. Cory waved as hundreds of flashes from fans’ phones went off.

  Microphone in hand, a journalist hung over the railing. “Hey, Cory, can you comment on the plagiarism story? Who really wrote the material on your album?”

  Cory waved and put his head down. Once inside, he said, “What the fuck was that? How did this get out already?”

  “Garbage like this always leaks. Don’t let it upset you. We’ll deal with it.”

  They pushed through the door to Cory’s dressing room. He pulled out his phone. Ava wanted a picture of his dressing rooms. He snapped two pictures and froze. A text from an odd number had arrived.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Happy now? I warned you.

  The phone slipped out of his hands. Tracy bent to pick it up, and Cory shoved her out of the way. “I got it.”

  He stuffed the phone in his pocket. “How long till we go on?”

  “At least an hour, but the kids from the shelter will be here any minute.”

  He cracked open the bottle of bourbon and poured a glass.

  “You should eat something.”

  “Not hungry.”

  Tracy sat down. “I know you’re under a tremendous amount of pressure. You have to find a way to let it not get to you.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Maybe, but I think you can do better. You’re not eating properly and you’re drinking too much. It’s starting to show.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your color’s off, and you’ve lost a couple of pounds.”

  “You try going out there under those lights. I sweat off five pounds a night.”

  “I know, that’s why you have to start taking better care of yourself. I can get a chef to prepare proper meals for you, no matter where we are.”

  “Okay, do it.”

  “Good, but you also have to cut back on the drinking.”

  “Stop nagging me, will you? I need an assistant, not a mother or another wife. Do your job and find out if Riley is behind these frigging rumors.”

  “I’m trying, but I can’t find an obvious connection.”

  “Do I have to do this myself?” Cory’s heart started pounding. “Lower the air in here, I’m sweating.”

  Cory retreated to the bathroom. His hands trembled as he splashed water on his face. What was happening to him? He wondered if the tightness in his chest meant he was on the verge of a heart attack.

  Cory sat on the bowl. Everything was falling apart. Karma was getting even.

  “Cory, you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The kids you invited are here to say hello.”

  * * *

  Though his legs were heavy, Cory was the first one off the stage. Tracy bowed to him as he exited. “Great show.”

  “Are you kidding me? Tell Lew to fire the sound guy.”

  “Why? Cooper is the best.”

  “Did you see me signaling to him about the mix in my monitor? I was waving like a fucking bird out there. I couldn’t hear myself. And the horn section, they either lower the damn volume or they’re gone too.” He started to walk away and turned around. “You got that?”

  “Yes. I know you’re upset, but it really sounded good to me.”

  “What do you know?”

  “I’m just saying . . .”

  “I’m gonna shower.”

  Tracy trailed behind Cory to the dressing rooms. He pointed in the direction of the band’s dressing rooms. “Who’s Riley talking to?”

  “That’s Petey from Rolling Stone.”

  “Tell Riley I want to see him.”

  “When?”

  “Now!” He slammed the dressing room door behind him.

  Cory poured a drink and took it into the bathroom with him. He showered and came out with a towel around his waist. Tracy and Riley were picking at a cheese platter.

  “Hey, Cory. That was a monster show tonight.”

  He shrugged. “My monitor feed was garbage.”

  “Yeah? Mine was fine. What’s going on?”

  “What were you talking to the guy from Rolling Stone about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me nothing. What did you tell him?”

  “He was asking about the tour, you know, the stops we’re making and how it is to play with you.”

  “What did you tell him about me?”

  “Nothing, just that it was fun playing with you.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Hey, man, I don’t know what’s going on here. It was just a bullshit conversation.”

  “Did you tell that bitch at Variety that I didn’t write the stuff on the album?”

  “Me? No way, man.”

  “A couple weeks ago, in the studio, you were talking to Joanne. I heard you say some shit that the songs resembled what Jay Bird did.”

  “When was this?”

  “At Platinum, when we were laying the album down.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You told her, I heard it myself.”

  “I honestly don’t remember anything like that, and whatever I said wasn’t nothing more than small talk.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “It was. I swear.”

  “Give me your phone.”

  “My phone?”

  “Give it to me!”

  Riley handed his phone over. Cory scrolled through the messages. “Someone’s trying to destroy me. If it’s not you, who is it?”

  “Hey, man, I didn’t do anything.”

  He tossed the phone back. “I’m watching you. If it’s you, I’ll find out.”

  Riley turned around and headed for the door. “You’re paranoid, man.”

  Tracy shook her head. “He’
s right, you know. You’re acting paranoid. You can’t let one rumor, especially in this business, throw you off. The gossipy bullshit comes with the territory.”

  “I don’t trust him. He wasn’t my first choice anyway.”

  “Can I make a suggestion without you jumping down my throat?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “If you have a problem with the talent, let me or Lew deal with it. Otherwise, you’re going to poison the music.”

  Cory knew it was a good idea, but said, “I want to be alone. Give me an hour to unwind.”

  “Sure, but please don’t get smashed. You have to make an appearance at the party.”

  Cory poured himself another drink and got dressed. He had to get past this. Paying whoever it was would at least reveal who it was and would end his fear about being exposed.

  He didn’t think they were bluffing, but what proof could they possibly have? It had to be a musician. They had bigger ears than elephants, and many had an ability to recall exactly what they heard.

  If all they had was somehow hearing what Jay Bird had written, the proof was just aural. It wasn’t evidence. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Why hadn’t he realized it before? Cory settled on fear as the answer. He’d gotten so worked up, he couldn’t see the obvious answer.

  He put his feet up and lit up a joint. It was going to be fine. His plan wasn’t going to be upended by some punk who thought he could blackmail him.

  He tapped out a text: If you have proof, it’s time to show it. Otherwise, stop harassing me.

  Chapter Twenty

  The knock on the door woke Cory up. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Donny. You got a minute?”

  Cory got off the couch and went to the door. Donny said, “Hey, man. You okay?”

  “Yeah, actually I’m feeling the best I have in a couple of weeks.”

  “Good to hear it. I was getting a little worried about you.”

  “Everything is good. You want a drink?”

  “Nah, I’ll have something at the party.”

  “Suit yourself.” Cory poured a glass.

  “What’s going on with you and Riley?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? He came in all upset, said you were accusing him of being the one who leaked to the magazine.”

  “Between you and me, I was never a fan of his. I mean he can play his ass off, but something about him, I don’t know.”