“He’s a solid dude, man. I’ll bet my Gibson on it not being him.”
“Whoa. Laying your baby on the line?”
“I own four Gibbys.”
“Me too.”
“Great musical minds think alike.”
“You sure you don’t want a drink?”
“No thanks. You really dig that stuff, don’t you?”
“I always liked Pappy, just couldn’t afford it.”
“Don’t overdo it.”
“I won’t. How’d you think it went tonight?”
“Honestly?”
“No, lie to me.”
“The last couple of shows, there’s been too much tension. Nobody is relaxed. Everybody is on edge.”
“Why?”
“Look, brother, we’ve known each other a long time, right?”
“Yeah, grammar school, Mrs. Johnson’s class.”
“So, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve been a bear, man. I know you got a lot of pressure and all, but don’t take it out on the band. You should be looking to the music as a way to blow off steam. Does that make sense?”
“I guess. I’ve been uptight. I feel like everything and everybody is coming at me and, you know, being away from home. I hate to complain, but it’s not exactly what I expected, you know?”
“Just relax and enjoy the ride, bro. It’s all going to be good. We’ll be back in New York in a couple of days.”
“Believe it or not, maybe it was the run-in with Riley, but I was feeling a hundred percent better right afterward. I realized how lucky I am to be here.”
“Me too, bro. I’m really happy for you.”
A text chimed in. Cory stared at his phone.
“You all right, bro?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I . . .” Cory ran to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet.
“Holy shit! Let me get a doctor or something.”
“No. Wait.” Cory stuck his mouth under the faucet.
“No, man, don’t take chances. You were fine one second, then, bingo, you got white as a ghost.”
“It’s something I ate.”
“You want me to get Tracy?”
“No. I’m fine. Go ahead, I’m going to wash up. I’ll see you at the party.”
“I’m going to stick around, make sure you’re okay. Take your time. We’ll go together if you’re up to it.”
Cory put the lid down and sat on the toilet. He put his head in his hands, trying to figure out what to do next. He pulled his phone out and scrolled through the images he was sent.
They all featured Jay Bird in the studio. The sheet music Cory had taken was visible in the background. Cory zoomed in on the compositions. There was no way to defend his claim he had composed them.
Who had taken these pictures? It had to be a musician. Nobody else would have put it together or even thought to examine the sheet music. Someone must have heard the songs. Someone close to Jay Bird recognized the tunes. They probably had been in the studio with him at one time, took the pictures, and when the album came out, had gone over them looking for proof.
Why hadn’t Jay Bird stood a little more to the right when the pictures were taken? Cory shouted, “Fuck!”
“You okay?”
“Uh, yeah, banged my elbow.”
Cory realized the who part was less important than the what. What did they want from him? It was money, for sure, but how much?
His finger hovered over the message he tapped out: How much do you want? He amended it to: How much do you want for the pictures? and hit send.
Chapter Twenty-One
As soon as the door to his hotel suite closed, Cory pulled his phone out. He stared at the message he’d received when Donny was in his dressing room: The pictures aren’t for sale. You’re going to pay to keep them out of the press.
Cory considered asking how much they were demanding but was afraid of the answer. He was making a lot of money and could afford it. But these people knew that, and the aggressive text scared the hell out of him.
Cory wondered whether to call Lew. He might have a way to deal with this. He thought it through; his manager had mentioned being against paying anyone, but this person had proof, evidence that would be difficult if not impossible to refute.
He’d be exposed as a fraud or even worse, a thief. Was it too late to claim he’d worked with Jay Bird on the tunes? The dead pop star had a reputation for working alone. He’d need someone credible to confirm they’d worked together.
Laying on the bed, he kicked off his shoes and tried to think of someone who would be willing to corroborate a nonexistent relationship. He got up, pacing the room. He thought about his friends but couldn’t think of a way to start the conversation. Cory opened the nightstand drawer. He pushed his socks aside and pulled out a bottle. He shook two pills out and dry swallowed them.
He sat on the bed. A text chimed in. Cory held his breath, taking his phone off the nightstand. It was Linda. She wanted to know if he could talk. He went to the bathroom before calling his wife, wondering if there was a way she could vouch for him.
“It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“I know, I miss you. How are the kids?”
As Linda filled him in, Cory stretched out on the bed. The pills were starting to hit him.
“Cory?”
“Yeah.”
“I asked you how the show went.”
“Oh, it was okay.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Cory? Cory? You there? Hello?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The hotel manager opened the door and Tracy rushed in. She shook Cory. “Cory, wake up. Wake up!”
The manager said, “Shall I call 911?”
“No. He’s getting up. He’ll be all right. He’s just exhausted, been on the road too long.”
“Are you sure, ma’am?”
“Yes. Thanks, you can go. And please, don’t say anything about this. We really like your hotel, and we’d like to come back.”
“Absolutely, ma’am. Good night.”
“Hold on a second. Can you get room service to bring up some coffee and a couple of sandwiches?”
“Yes, ma’am, right away.”
The manager disappeared, and Tracy propped Cory’s head up. “What did you take?”
“Sleeping pills.”
“How many?”
He held up two fingers.
“You can’t be using them when you drink. It’s dangerous. You scared the hell out of your wife.”
Cory closed his eyes. “Damn.”
“Can you get up? You got to move around.”
He struggled, and Tracy supported him as they walked into the living area. “I want to sit.”
“Let’s circle around one more time.”
“I gotta call my wife.”
“Have a cup of coffee first.”
As she sat him down, there was a knock on the door. “Room service.”
* * *
The response to his text was immediate: $50,000. I want it fast. No excuses. A second message provided the wire transfer instructions. They wanted the money sent to a bank in the Cayman Islands.
Fifty thousand was a lot, but Cory was making good money. He called his manager.
“Lew, I need you to arrange a wire for me, ASAP.”
“All right, you have the bank information?”
“Yeah, I’ll text it to you.”
“Good. How much is it for?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“That’s a considerable sum. You buying something?”
“Uh, no, a friend of mine is in a jam.”
“You can’t help everybody, kid. People will be coming out of the woodwork if it gets around.”
“It’s for an old buddy. He’s down on his luck.”
“Okay, just be careful with this type of stuff.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
Cory sent the information in a text and immediately felt bet
ter. He checked the time; it was 10:20 a.m. It was a bit early to start drinking, but it was time to celebrate. Everything was going to be okay; his secret was safe.
He took a sip. As the heat traveled down his throat, the phone rang. “Yeah, Lew. What’s up?”
“That bank you want the money going to, it’s in the Cayman Islands.”
“Yeah, I saw that. Was that a problem?”
“No, but it’s unusual. People use offshore accounts for privacy.”
“I didn’t know that. So, if we wanted to trace who the bank account belonged to, we couldn’t?”
“It’d be very difficult, if not impossible. The banking laws in those countries protect privacy.”
“Makes sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, just that, uh, some people need privacy.”
“You want to check with your friend to make sure before we send it out?”
“Good idea. I’ll get back to you.”
Cory hadn’t thought of using the banking information to track down who it was, but a foreign bank made sense. These people knew what they were doing. Cory wanted them to go away, but his confidence that they would started to melt.
He waited five minutes before giving Lew the go-ahead to send the money.
* * *
Cory kept checking his phone as they walked the downtown area of Phoenix. Lew said he sent the money, but did they get it yet? Would they send an acknowledgment? He didn’t want to ask; he just wanted to know.
The sun was out and the mountainous backdrop pretty. Cory cleared his throat as they entered Talking Stick Arena. Tracy said, “You got to make sure you drink enough water. The air out here is bone dry.”
“I can feel it in my throat.”
“We’ll have plenty of water on stage. Drink between songs and whenever Joanne takes a solo. They’re long enough.”
“Her playing is so sweet.”
“Uhm, don’t take this the wrong way, it’s none of my business, but whatever is going on between you two, I’d suggest keeping it private.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Cory. Did you forget that last week I had to kill a story you two were an item?”
“Don’t worry about it. I got it handled.”
“I’m not judging, but you’re married with two kids, and one of them is a newborn.”
“You’re jealous. Besides, what does that have to do with anything? I’m just having some fun.”
“I want to keep the focus on the music, not your personal life.”
“Let’s see the dressing room before we start.”
As Tracy checked how the room was outfitted, Cory grabbed two bottles of Evian. He spilled half the contents out of them, replacing it with bourbon. Cory took a long sip. He winced and topped it off with more booze.
Tracy said, “You’re not going to fool anybody.”
“I don’t care.”
“Okay, but alcohol is a diuretic, it’s exactly the opposite of what you should be drinking.”
“Don’t worry so much. I’ll drink extra water. Okay?”
“Just don’t overdo it. You look tired.”
“I’m not tired, just a little uptight. Do me a favor and go get Joanne.”
Tracy left, and Cory took pictures of his dressing room. He sent them to Ava and sat down.
A quick knock on the door and Joanne stuck her head in. “Hey, how’s it going?”
Cory eyed his piano player. “A lot better since you showed up. Get over here.”
Joanne kissed him, and Cory pulled her onto his lap. “I could use a line, how about you?”
“I can’t do more than one; my hands get too jittery on the keyboard.”
Cory slid his hand under her shirt. “It’s just a soundcheck, man.”
“You’re right.”
Joanne took her coke kit out and spooned some out of the vial. Cory took a hit up each nostril. “That’s good stuff.”
“I know, but it’s expensive.”
“I don’t care how much it costs. I’ll pay for it. Give me another hit.”
She handed him the kit. “I got to put some music on.”
Cory took a double dose and rubbed cocaine on his gums. “This is super good shit.”
Joanne started dancing, and Cory’s face erupted into a smile. As she writhed, his desire for her increased. She was perfect. He had wanted her since the day they first met, and now he had her.
It had been easy since he’d hit the charts. Not that he had tried anything before the album, but he knew she would have blown him off before.
Someone knocked on the door. Cory said, “Come in.”
It was Bob Zepher, the band’s road manager. “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Loop, but Tracy asked me to come and let you know the band is onstage. They’re ready whenever you are.”
“Okay, we’ll be right there.”
Cory thought about how everything had changed. People who’d treated him like crap were concerned if he had everything he needed. It was like being surrounded by high-end concierges who were ready to tend to any of his needs, real or imagined.
Everything was easy now, and it felt good.
Chapter Twenty-Three
After seeing the mess in Cory’s suite, Tracy switched the location of the interview to the W Hotel’s rooftop lounge. In the ride up the elevator, she reminded him to keep it real and low-key. As they approached the reporter, Tracy whispered, “Be as humble as you can.”
Cory shook hands with the Rolling Stone journalist and sat on a red velvet couch.
The journalist took out a recording device. “Ready?”
Cory nodded, and the reporter clicked the record button.
“It’s nice to finally be able to chat with you.”
“I’m glad to be here.”
“You’ve had a meteoric rise to the top of the charts. How’s the ride been?”
“To be honest, I haven’t had much time to think about it. Just yesterday, some of the changes began to come into focus.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I mean it’s silly, but my dressing room has enough food to feed a family. It’s quite wasteful. And you know, now I stay in a suite instead of the Red Roof Inn. It’s all nice, but I’ve been thinking about whether it’s necessary or not.”
“You sound like you’re grounded.”
“I hope so. I came from humble beginnings.”
“Do you believe it helped you navigate the overnight success you’ve had?”
“Well, the reality is, and I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I’ve been around a long time. I’ve been on thirty-something recordings and writing since I was a teenager, so I don’t consider it overnight.”
“But you have to admit that your success with the public has been almost unprecedented.”
“That’s true, and I’m super thankful.”
“Do you believe some of it fills the void that people have since Jay Bird’s passing?”
“Uhm, I knew Jay and played on all his recordings. I can’t say why people do what they do.”
“But you’d agree that your music, the style, is similar to what Jay Bird did.”
“Every artist has their own voice. Trying to be someone else never works.”
“So, the rumor that you didn’t compose the material on Loop Around is unfounded?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“I’d like to circle back to your early days. I understand your father, Martin Lupinski, was an accountant.”
“Yeah, he had his own little practice.”
“He wasn’t supportive of your pursuit of music as a career, was he?”
“To him, music was a hobby, not a career. He didn’t approve of it. He was a practical man, you know, get-a-real-job type of guy.”
“Good thing you didn’t listen to him.”
“Luckily, things worked out.”
“You wish he were around to see it?”
“Boy, you got that right.”
“Look, he gave me a hard time when I’d have to borrow money to take care of my family, but he wanted the best for me. Just like I want for my family.”
“You and your wife have a newborn son and a seven-year-old daughter. How has this newfound fame impacted your relationships?”
“Uh, I miss them all and can’t wait to get home.”
“Life on the road, especially, it seems, for musicians, is difficult. Many get into trouble when they travel. Separation is difficult and there’s no shortage of shiny objects and ways to numb yourself. What’s your experience been?”
“It’s been fine.”
“There was a report about an incident where a hotel manager had to use a master key to get into your room.”
“Oh, that? It was nothing. I hadn’t been sleeping and took a pill. I had a prescription for it.”
“No alcohol or other substances were involved?”
“No.”
“There were reports that you were drinking heavily at the backstage party that night.”
“Heavily? That’s not was it was. Nothing happened, I was in a deep sleep.”
“Tell me about the band. How did the core of the ensemble come about?”
“I’m lucky to get on stage with such an accomplished set of players. We’d played together on various recordings, and they’re the ones I wanted. Donny and me go way back, to the third grade.”
“Tell me about Joanne Claymore. She’s the only woman in the group.”
“Joanne’s an amazing player. She plays a different solo every night. I don’t know where she gets her ideas from.”
“Any truth to the rumor you’re romantically involved with her?”
“No. I’m happily married.”
“Let’s get back to the music. Where do you get ideas for songs?”
“I don’t know. Just from living. The world around me, is like, a big well. Things hit me and I play around with them.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“Trust me, it’s not. But it’s something I do, every day.”
“You must have enough material ready for a follow-up album.”
“I have some material ready.”
“The record label told us that you’re going back into the studio after the tour ends.”
“We’ll see about that. I’d like some time off.”
Cory's Dilemma Page 8
