Cory's Dilemma

by Dan Petrosini

  “No fucking way I’m doing that.”

  “Are you going to be okay with doing this?”

  “Yeah, I’m just fucking great.”

  “Let’s get this over with, and when we get back to New York we’ll work on fixing things. Take a few minutes to cool down.”

  “I gotta take a piss, let’s go.”

  Cory hit the men’s room and snorted three hits up each nostril. Washing his hands, a drop of blood hit the back of his hand. He looked in the mirror. Blood was leaking from his nose. He bent his head back, wiping the blood with a paper towel.

  * * *

  Cory and Tracy stepped off the elevator into the hospital’s lobby.

  Tracy said, “That was perfect. Great job with the kids.”

  Cory threw up his hands. “Would you look at this place.”

  “What do you mean? We saw it on the way in.”

  “The ceilings are fifty feet high. All this glass must have cost millions. And they got a grand piano? Come on, man, it looks like a high-end hotel.”

  “I think it’s nice.”

  “It’s a waste of money. They’re cashing in on those poor kids.”

  “All the hospitals have the same setup.”

  “Of course, they do. It’s nothing but a money-making machine.”

  “They’re taking care of a lot of sick people.”

  “Well, they should be finding cures.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “Hey, Linda, how’s it going?”

  “Okay.”

  “How are the kids?”

  “They’re good.”

  “Did you see Conan last night?”

  “No.”

  “I was on the show, and it went really well. You should check it out on demand. He’s a good guy.”

  “What did you call for?”

  “Just to say hello, that’s all.”

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Hold on. I wanted to tell you we stopped off at this hospital in LA. It was fun. The kids were really pumped. Man, I couldn’t believe how sick some of them were. We’re super lucky the kids are healthy, you know.”

  “I know. Look, I’m happy things went well for you, but I have to go.”

  “You know, a lot of the stuff that’s been said about me isn’t true. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I know what I’ve seen with my own eyes.”

  “I’m changing, working on things.”

  “I’m glad for you.”

  “I’d really like to see you.”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t we go back to Dr. Bruno?”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “What are you talking about? We can fix things.”

  “Forget it, Cory. I’m hanging up.”

  “Fuck you! Okay? Fuck you!”

  Linda hung up and Cory flung his phone, cracking the glass on a piece of artwork. He poured himself a drink. He was mad at her and pissed at himself that he’d lost it with her. She was slipping away, and it was all because of the pressure he was under.

  Lew had made things worse by stealing from him, but if it wasn’t for the bullshit Bonner weighed him down with, he’d be with his family enjoying the good life. The idea to hire Mr. Black to eliminate Bonner popped into his head. He got up and picked up his phone.

  Trying to decide whether to call him, his phone rang. It was Tracy.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Linda called me.”

  “She called you?”

  “Yes. Said you had an argument and you starting cursing at her.”

  “She’s pushing me away.”

  “It’s not helpful to—”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “I know it’s difficult, but you have to find a way to keep cool, otherwise you’ll make it impossible to work things out with her.”

  “Thanks for stating the obvious.”

  “Perhaps you should consider talking to someone about it. Therapists are trained in helping people control their emotions.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “This might be a good time to write. Channel the emotions you’re experiencing into music.”

  “I don’t feel like it.”

  “You haven’t been writing, have you?”

  “No, look, I got to go.”

  He hung up and made a call.

  * * *

  “You look like some kind of business executive.”

  Dr. Bruno glanced at her blue pants suit. “Do you feel the way I’m dressed is too impersonal?”

  “I don’t know. Yeah, maybe.”

  She kicked off her shoes. “Better?”

  Cory smiled. “It is. How do you do that?”

  Bruno smiled. “Let’s talk about what brought you here today. On the phone you said it was about Linda.”

  Cory told her about the phone call, finishing with, “The whole thing got me so mad, I didn’t know what to do.”

  “I’m pleased you reached out. It displays maturity.”

  Cory shrugged.

  “I’m wondering whether seeking to discuss the encounter is driven by your concern over the relationship or by the origins of your outburst.”

  “Outburst? I want to get back with my wife and kids.”

  “I understand that. But do you believe cursing at her, even when frustrated, is helpful?”

  Cory wagged his head.

  “Intellectually, we realize certain urges, in this case anger, have to be suppressed, but emotions override clear thinking. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Often, anger surfaces when people are under pressure. We’ve discussed the falseness of seeking a retreat through things like alcohol or drugs. Now is a good time to chat about the origins. A public profile brings its own set of pressures. What do you think are the things that apply pressure, generating stress?”

  “How much time you got? No, seriously, like, right now, I have this new album and there’s a ton of pressure.”

  “External or internal?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is it the record company pushing, or are you worried it won’t do well?”

  “The label hasn’t really been bad about it. I guess I just want it to do well.”

  “In order to validate your success?”

  “To be honest about it, there’s some of that.”

  “I previously mentioned the impostor syndrome. It’s a common feeling successful people have. They worry that they’re not good enough and the world will find out. Are you afraid your success will be short-lived?”

  “Yeah, I think about it, but I need the money too. And I don’t even want to think about if the divorce goes through how much it’s going to cost me.”

  “Did you find a trustworthy manager?”

  Cory filled her in on Baffa and his conservative style.

  “He might be the perfect person to manage your affairs and alleviate your concerns about money.”

  “I thought so, but he’s pressing me to sell the Connecticut home.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Can’t afford it.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, it might be a good idea.”

  “But that was supposed to be our family place.”

  “Sometimes things change. It’s better to accept the new reality rather than holding on and creating a larger problem.”

  “The press will have another picnic at my expense if I have to sell it.”

  “You can’t worry about what anyone says if you want to be happy. You have to be comfortable in how you lead your life and the decisions you make.”

  “I guess so, but how do you fix past problems?”

  “With honesty. Take responsibility for your mistakes and attempt to fix them.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “Nothing worthwhile is easy. We’re going to have to wrap this up. I have another client right after
this session.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Back in his apartment, Cory thought about what Dr. Bruno said. It sounded like she thought there was no chance to get back with Linda. He didn’t want to lose her. Cory called his wife.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Oh, Ava. How are you?”

  “Okay, Mommy can’t talk now.”

  “Is she’s all right?”

  “Yes, but please don’t make her cry anymore.”

  “I won’t, I mean, I didn’t make her cry, she must have—”

  Linda’s voice was in the background. “Hang up the phone, Ava. Tell your father you’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

  “Sorry, Daddy, I have to go now. We can talk tomorrow. Bye.”

  “Hold on.”

  “Here’s Mommy.”

  The phone went dead. Cory redialed, but it went to voice mail. He sent a text, telling Linda he just wanted to talk. He felt anger moving from his gut to his head and didn’t know what to do.

  Cory paced the room and stopped by the bar to pour himself a bourbon. He thought of Dr. Bruno and the need to stay calm.

  He took his drink into the studio and strapped on his guitar. He strummed away, launching into ‘Circles.’ When he got to the bridge he stopped. Why was he playing a Jay Bird song? He tried to think of something else to play but took his guitar off and grabbed his phone.

  * * *

  As they barreled their way down West Street, Cory’s phone rang. It was Dave.

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re almost there.”

  “Hurry up, you’re an hour late.”

  “We’re only two minutes away.”

  “Is Joanne with you?”

  “Yeah. See you in a few.”

  The SUV pulled up to the Stanton Street building that housed Rivertone Studios. Dave met them just outside the rehearsal space. “The two of you okay?”

  Cory lowered his hat. “Yeah, just a late night, that’s all.”

  He handed him a bottle of Visine. “Put a couple of drops in before you go in.”

  They did as he said and entered the studio. “Hey guys, sorry. The traffic getting crosstown was nuts.”

  Joanne slid behind the piano and warmed up. Cory said, “Where’s my guitar?”

  Dave said, “You were supposed to bring it.”

  “I was?”

  Donny said, “Oh come on, man. If your axe is in your apartment, it’s up to you to bring it, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Dave, can you get it for me? I’ll do a couple of tunes, just with vocals, until you get back.”

  Dave left, and Cory sang "Tropical Storm." The band played the introduction, and Cory came in late. “Sorry, guys. Let’s try again. One, two, ah, one, two.”

  The band launched into the tune, and Cory missed his entrance again. “Sorry, man. My ass is dragging a little. You guys play it, I got to hit the bathroom.”

  Cory went into a stall and pulled a vial of coke out. He took two hits up each nostril and went back to the rehearsal.

  As the players filed out after the practice session, Donny said, “Cory, hang on a second.”

  Cory told Joanne to wait in the car and said, “What’s up?”

  “The question is what’s up with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How about I start with, you look like shit, you forgot your axe, and you’re still screwing around with Joanne?”

  “That’s none of your fucking business.”

  “Come on, man, I saw Linda, she said you went nuts on her.”

  “You saw Linda?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  “I ran into her at Whole Foods.”

  “You screwing my wife?”

  “What?”

  “Answer me.”

  “Of course not. You’re frigging nuts, you know that?”

  “You better watch yourself.”

  “Me? You better watch yourself and stop the drugs and drinking.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “You’re out of control.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You came late. You forgot your guitar for God’s sake, and you played sloppy as hell.”

  “That’s why it’s called a rehearsal. I’ll tighten things.”

  “The music is bullshit; you’re playing with your life.”

  “Yeah? Well, mind your own business and don’t ever embarrass me in front of the band.”

  Cory climbed into the SUV and said, “I’m thinking of replacing Donny. What do you think?”

  “Donny? But you guys are friends.”

  “He’s not cutting it anymore.”

  “I thought he held it down pretty nice today.”

  “He wasn’t locked in with the drums.”

  “Who you thinking of?”

  “Kenshaw lays down a nice groove.”

  “Yeah, he’s got great time. If he’s available, he’d be an amazing addition.”

  Cory dug his phone out. “Tracy, check on Kenshaw Cooper. See if he’s available to do the tour. I want to replace Donny.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes. Just do it.”

  “All right. If that’s what you want.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  “Okay, hey, you left your Amex card at the club last night. I’ll have it sent to the apartment.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Cory led Tracy down a hallway filled with kids waiting outside their rooms. Tracy took a stuffed toy off the cart and handed it to Cory. He gave it to a girl in a wheelchair. “How it’s going today, sunshine?”

  “This is so cool. Can we take a picture?”

  Cory knelt beside the girl, and Tracy took pictures with the girl’s phone. “We have a lot of toys to give out. I got to get going.”

  “Don’t forget Meghan.” The kid pointed inside her room. “She’s too weak to get out of bed.”

  “No way. Hey, Megan, here we come.”

  Cory grabbed a dinosaur and stepped into the darkened room. “Hi Megan, I’m Cory. Here’s a stuffed animal.”

  The little girl’s eyes were half open. She smiled, but she didn’t reach for the toy. Cory nuzzled the animal by her neck and the kid smiled. “This guy needs a name, doesn’t he? Or is it a she?”

  “It’s a girl, ’cause it’s pink.”

  “Oh yeah. So, what do you think? Suzie? Carmen? Mary?”

  “She looks like a Candice.”

  “You’re right, she does. All right, Candice, you sit right here and keep Megan happy.” He placed the dinosaur on her stomach.

  Megan moaned.

  Cory swiped the toy off her. “Are you okay?”

  Her eyes teared. “My stomach hurts.”

  “Tracy, get help for her.”

  A nurse came in and Cory said, “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes, feel better.”

  In the hallway he asked Tracy, “This poor kid, what’s she got?”

  “Pancreatic cancer. The nurse said she doesn’t have much time.”

  “Oh my God. She’s the same age as Ava.”

  “It’s so sad.”

  “Isn’t there anything they can do for her?”

  “They can’t do much with pancreatic cancer.”

  “That’s crazy, no kid should be robbed of their life. They got to find something to help people with it, especially children.”

  “Just being here is helping.”

  “That’s bullshit. You know what, let’s do the press thing in her room. It’ll get the message out there.”

  “I don’t know, Cory. Sloan set it up in their media room.”

  “If they want the half a million donation, they’ll do it where I say.”

  * * *

  Cory opened up the first of four video files Tracy sent. It was a video clip from NBC. A reporter said, “We’re here at New York’s Sloan Kettering Hospital, in the children’s cancer unit. Grammy-winning artist Cory Loop is here, bringing cheer to
the kids and money to help find a cure for cancer.”

  Cory’s heart ached at the sight of Megan propped up in her bed as he raised a giant-sized check. “It’s my hope that this donation will begin to raise awareness of the children hit by cancer. We need to find cures. We need to help kids, like my new friend Megan. We need everybody to pitch in. Even the smallest amount helps.”

  The video cut to Cory walking next to the reporter. “It’s obvious that you care for the children here. What makes this issue important to you?”

  “I have two kids of my own, and they’re healthy, thank God. Seeing so many children suffer from cancer is heartbreaking. They’re innocent and should be out playing, not getting an armful of drugs that make them sick.”

  “Are you suggesting alternative means of treatment?”

  “I don’t know anything about it. All I know is, there’s a lot of money being spent, and we got to find a cure, and fast.”

  The reporter ended the piece with, “If you’d like to join Cory Loop in his effort to help children with cancer, call the number below or visit the website and make a donation.”

  He watched another video that began with an overview of the numbers of children afflicted with cancer. Cory shook his head; he had no idea there were so many kids and families dealing with the disease.

  Shoving the possibility of Ava or Tommy getting cancer aside, he knew he had to do something. He couldn’t just sit around while poor kids like Megan wasted away. How much could he do? There were billions of dollars being spent treating those afflicted.

  Whatever money he would earn from music wouldn’t make a dent. The five hundred thousand he didn’t have but was on the hook for was nothing but a rounding error in the battle against cancer. Anger and pity swirled through his head.

  Cory grabbed a bottle of bourbon and retreated to the studio. He was hopeful the emotions coursing through him would help him write something that would resonate.

  He was drawn to the dark sounds of minor chords. It fit the mood he was in. Cory pecked out a simple melody going down minor thirds. It triggered the memory of a nursery rhyme that scared him as a child.

  Cory wanted something to cheer kids up. He crossed out what he’d written down and began playing with major chords. The joyful sounds made him feel good. He played with a melody using fifths. He forced himself from using the interval too often, as in his mind’s ear he heard “My Favorite Things.”