“I did that too. I can show you if you want. Sometime. Do you live around here?”
“I moved here from Baltimore about a year ago. I really don’t know many people,” Sindy admitted. “So that would be great.”
“What do you do for fun?”
Sindy wished she had more free time. Fun was a thing of the past. Her life had become nothing but work and worry. “I waitress at Justine’s, near the boardwalk. I pull a lot of double shifts, so I’m almost always there. Stop in for a burger or some pie. On me.”
After a week without Holly, Lucas started to adjust to being a single guy again. Ready to move on and leave his heartache in the past, he sat on the balcony that faced the back of the house and focused on the week ahead. Everything he’d wanted for as long as he could remember would materialize. He was about to embark on a full-time music career. Ron Abelman, President of Falcon Records, specifically requested the hands-on meeting with Prodigy and would, no-doubt offer them a lucrative recording contract.
Lucas walked through the sliders, into his suite of rooms, and took a seat on one of the couches. Some people thought it odd that a 23-year-old single guy lived with his parents. His trust fund would kick in once he turned 25, and that’s when he planned on buying his own place. Multiple additions had been added to his childhood home, the last when he turned 18. It offered him and Tessa their own suite of rooms far enough away from each other and from their parents’ massive wing to afford everyone plenty of privacy.
He picked up his Gibson and played one of the songs that was on the demo Prodigy planned to submit to Mr. Abelman at the meeting. A new riff suddenly jumped into his head and traveled down to his fingertips. He worked the strings, moving from chord to chord, seamlessly transmitting music from his brain to his hands. He bolted to his feet and then fell to his knees as the music fueled his body with a jolt of adrenaline.
“Whoa! That’s fucking awesome!” Mason Wilder, Lucas’ best friend and Prodigy’s drummer, stood in the doorway, eyes wide with excitement. “Did you just make that up? Right now?”
“Yeah,” Lucas answered. “It just came to me.”
“Finish it. I got drum beats already bouncing around in my head.”
Lucas hadn’t planned on a writing session, but once Mason heard the music nothing could stop him. The guy had more drive than anyone Lucas knew, even Tessa, at times. Foot always tapping, fingers always strumming, Mason was always ready to lay down tracks.
Mason wasn’t family by blood. He was family by choice. Mason’s dad, Jimmy Wilder, was the mind-blowing drummer for Immortal Angel and Mason, Lucas, and Tessa had spent their childhood on the road touring with their parents.
Mason was some kind of child prodigy, the third generation of drumming greats. By the time Mason had reached 16, he had surpassed the talents of both his father and grandfather. Five years older than Lucas, Mason already had a long-standing successful music career. He’d recorded drum tracks for Hollywood movies and toured with world-famous bands, although he never committed to a permanent gig because his loyalty was to Prodigy.
“Let’s hear that killer riff again and that melody,” Mason said. “I gotta lay down a beat.” He didn’t need a drum. An upside down wastepaper basket did the trick.
“Dude, you just dumped trash all over my carpet.”
“I’ll pick it up, later.”
Lucas repeated what he’d just played while Mason listened intently, bobbing his head, hands positioned above the overturned wastebasket itching to put together a beat.
“Cool! I got it.” Mason interrupted Lucas. “Start again.”
This time, when Lucas played the melody, Mason joined in right away, creating a rhythm from nothing but the hard bottom of a plastic pail. Mason’s feet tapped on the floor as if pounding imaginary twin bass drums. He even added a few cymbal strikes, replicating the sound with his mouth. Watching Mason was inspiring, and Lucas added a few extra notes that enhanced the melody, and the structure of the song started to come together.
“Man, that was so fucking cool!” Mason exclaimed when Lucas stopped playing. “Should we get Tessa in here to throw down a bassline? And lyrics. We need lyrics!” Mason started texting Tessa before Lucas had a chance to respond.
Two minutes later, Tessa joined them with her blue-green Quantum Modulus bass strapped across her chest. “I didn’t know we were writing music tonight. I was binge watching the final season of Game of Thrones.” She wiped her brow dramatically. “It was intense. I needed a break.”
“I didn’t know either,” Lucas replied. “But you know there’s no waiting once Mason has a beat in his head.”
“You put it there, man, when I walked in and heard you playing.”
Tessa turned the key on the head of her bass. “Let’s do it.”
Lucas and Mason played what they had, which was a little more than half a song at this point.
“Cool. Got it.” And that’s all Tessa needed. They started from the top again and Tessa added rhythm that gave the piece the backbone it needed, turning it into a kickass song.
They ran through the song again so Lucas could record it on his laptop, and an hour later they had a track ready for lyrics. Mason jumped up and high-fived Lucas with both hands. “Cool, bro!” Then he squeezed Tessa in an excited hug. “Write some rad lyrics for this.”
“I’ll do it right now.”
“Do it later. We’re going out for drinks,” Mason announced. “To celebrate.”
“I don’t want to tag along with you boys,” she protested. “Go without me.”
“You never tag along, Tess. Come with us. Lucas, you don’t mind, right?”
“Nope.” Most guys didn’t hang out with their sister, but Tessa was cool and they had a lot in common. She wasn’t just his little sister, she was a close friend.
Lucas ordered three bottles of beer, while Tessa and Mason grabbed a booth. A pretty blonde brushed against Lucas’ arm and stepped on his foot as she squeezed into a spot next to him at the bar.
“Sorry,” she giggled. “This place is—” Her brows pinched together and she cocked her head to the side, before her eyes lit up and she smiled flirtatiously. “I know you. You’re that fantastic guitar player. You play in a band with Mason Wilder. You’re Tommy Blade’s son.”
The high of recognition quickly deflated, overshadowed by his lineage. Sometimes Lucas wondered if people actually knew his first name. He was always “Tommy Blade’s son”. People often equated him with Immortal Angel, even though he’d been playing with Prodigy, his own band with Tessa and Mason, in the local bars and clubs in Long Island and New York City for years.
Mason was internationally famous. Tessa was “that rock chick”, a term she coveted. But Lucas was never just Lucas Blade in his own right, and the constant association with his famous father got tiring sometimes. It would change, he kept reminding himself. Once the band got a recording contract and their music hit the charts, people would recognize him for his own worth. “I’m Lucas Blade,” he told the blonde, and took the three beers he ordered off the bar.
He found Mason and Tessa in a corner booth, slid one bottle toward each of them and kept one for himself. He needed to bring up the subject of a possible fourth band member before the meeting with Falcon Records. He knew Tessa’s feelings on the subject, but it was worth one last shot. “Do you really think a three-piece band is the way to go?”
Tessa huffed, clearly annoyed at the topic of conversation. “Why can’t I be a bass player and a singer?”
“You can and you are. I’m not talking about replacing you. I’m talking about adding a rhythm guitarist.”
“We don’t need another person to ruin our dynamic.” Tessa’s dark eyes challenged him.
“I’m just saying that there aren’t many three-piece bands out there. Most bands have four members, sometimes five.”
“That’s what makes us unique. We’ve worked together, just the three of us, for as long as I can remember. We have a following in the neighbo
rhood clubs already. No one ever suggested we get a fourth member. Why do you keep harping on this?”
“I’m not. I just want to make sure we go into this contract fully prepared. We only got one shot to make a first impression when we go mainstream. I don’t want to pick up a new member down the road. If we’re gonna do it, we gotta do it now.” Lucas turned to Mason. “What do you think, Mase?”
“Oh, no.” Mason flashed one of his winning smiles. “I’m not getting in the middle of sibling rivalry. I’m not gonna be the deciding vote.”
“You’re as bad as my dads. Neither one of them will give an opinion either.” Probably because going up against Tessa was like facing a prize fighter in the ring. When it came to matters concerning the band, his sister had the will of a warrior. Lucas took a chug of his beer. Tired of trying to change Tessa’s mind, he finally gave in. “Fine. Decision made. No rhythm guitarist.” She was probably right. Prodigy had always been just the three of them. Trying something new when they were about to go pro probably wasn’t the best idea. He held up his beer bottle. “To Prodigy. We’re gonna rock the world!”
Everyone kept saying that the meeting with Falcon Records was just a formality and that the contract had been on the table for years. Mason’s mom, Audra Abelman-Wilder, and her sister, Kira Abelman-Navarro, were the daughters of record mogul Ron Abelman, who owned the label behind Immortal Angel. This meeting had been a long time coming, on both sides. It was hard to believe the day was finally here.
Mr. Abelman held an imposing presence whether behind the desk in his impressive Park Avenue office or sitting across the table at one of Mason’s family functions. He was a formal man, always in a suit and tie and not overly chatty, except when it came to money and business. Like today. Mr. Abelman had more to say this morning than Lucas had heard the man say in the collective years they’d been in the same room, and the man wore his first genuine smile.
“I’ve waited for this day for a long time. Look at the three of you, sitting there just like your parents had done almost 25 years ago.” Mr. Abelman closed his eyes for a brief moment while he reminisced. “All you need is a sour-faced kid with a blue Mohawk and I’d swear I was looking at Immortal Angel the first day they walked into my office. Lucas, you are a reincarnation of Tommy Blade. The resemblance isn’t just superficial. You have his brilliant mind and his unsurpassed talent. I never thought I would see anyone who could play the guitar like him, and here you sit brandishing the same gift. And then we have Tessa, a born rock star with flair and know-how.” He leaned forward to address her directly. “You have the vocal power of a giant.” When his gaze rested on Mason, his chest grew broader. “I don’t think I need to reiterate what my grandson can do on the drums.” Mr. Abelman leaned back in his chair and eyed everyone in the room, which included Lucas’ parents and Mason’s parents, all wearing glowing smiles. “There is so much talent in this room right now.”
Mr. Abelman brought his hands down on the desk. “I have big plans for Prodigy, with a top of the line marketing team in place. Tessa, we’re going to drop your first name and use your middle name, so we’ll be promoting you as Blade Garcia for recognition, and we want you to dye your hair bright pink like your mother. It’ll be flashy and also bring an additional connection to Immortal Angel. We plan to utilize the association as much as possible to gain notoriety.” He opened the manila folder in front of him and pushed it across the desk. “Here’s your contract. You can have your lawyers go over it, of course, but I assure you Falcon Records has made a top-dollar offer. Prodigy is a goldmine because of your last names alone. Blade. Garcia. Wilder. I want to be the one to officially offer a recording contract to the next generation of Immortal Angel.”
Lucas focused on Mr. Abelman’s words and comparisons. Phrases like “next generation” and “connection to Immortal Angel”, grated on him. It all sounded like bullshit. Lucas didn’t want a recording contract handed to him because of his last name and association with Immortal Angel. He wanted to earn it. He wanted to shine because of his own talent. He knew that Prodigy could catapult to the top of the charts on their own merit.
He glanced at Tessa, and then at Mason, and wondered why they looked so excited. Tessa was practically bouncing in her seat, and Mason wore an animated grin. Why didn’t it click with them? Why weren’t they hearing what he just heard? Lucas’ eyes shifted to his parents. First to his dad, then to Papi, lastly to his mom. They were all beaming, as proud as any parent could be. But what did they have to be proud of?
“Congratulations.” Ron Abelman stood up and extended his hand toward Lucas.
“No.” Everyone in the room turned toward Lucas at the same time, but no one seemed more surprised than Ron Abelman.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Abelman asked in a gruff voice.
“I don’t want it like this. I want a genuine offer. I want a contract because you believe in us as artists, not because of who our parents are. I’m not riding Immortal Angel’s coattails.”
“That’s hogwash,” Ron Abelman barked.
“Son.” Lucas’ dad stepped forward and placed a hand on Lucas’ shoulder. “You’re getting this contract because Prodigy deserves it, not because of us. Anyone can see how well the three of you play together. You’re all very talented musicians. The dynamic you have is unprecedented.”
That part was true. Lucas, Tessa, and Mason knew each other’s quirks, professionally and personally, and they shined in one another’s presence. They were in sync with one another and knew what worked and what didn’t work for each other. There were no qualms. No egos. No rivalry. No bickering. But Lucas still wasn’t convinced. “Then why didn’t he ask for our demo?” Lucas tossed the CD onto Mr. Abelman’s desk. “Here it is, Mr. Abelman. Isn’t it customary to listen to a band’s demo before offering them a contract?”
Ron Abelman exhaled a thunderous sigh, took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Deep crevices lined his brow with frustration. “Young man, I suggest you shake my hand and consummate this deal because you will not get a better offer. From anyone. If you’re holding out for more money—”
“Money has nothing to do with this. I don’t need your money. None of us do.”
“Lucas!” his mother exclaimed. “Don’t be disrespectful.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I appreciate the offer Mr. Abelman. Just not like this. You’re offering us this recording contract for all the wrong reasons.”
The questioning faces in the room glared at him with confusion. No one understood. He at least expected Tessa to get it, but she looked as shocked as everyone else. Like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he did, because what sane person turned down a recording contract with Falcon Records? “I’m sorry. I need time to think about this. It’s not sitting right with me, and I know once I sign that paper I can’t back out. I want to make the right decision.” He looked pointedly at Tessa and Mason. “For all of us. For the band.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Tessa asked, her expression full of reproach. “This is all we’ve been talking about since we were kids. When we played our first gig in one of the neighborhood bars we talked about how we couldn’t wait to be on the big stage, backed by Falcon Records. Don’t you remember that?”
“Yeah, I do. But—”
“What about when we got on stage and played with Immortal Angel and how we talked about performing our own concert and doing it ourselves?”
“That’s it!” Lucas pointed his finger at Tessa and bounced in the seat of his chair. “Right there. Do it ourselves. You just said it. This isn’t doing it ourselves.”
Mason leaned forward in his seat, more disturbed than Lucas had ever seen him. “Look, man. I get where you’re coming from, but you’re not thinking straight. You’re reading too much into it. Let’s take the damn deal.”
Mason was a drumming god and had already proved himself to the world. Lucas had been sitting on his career because he had to finish college. He wanted to make a name for himsel
f and earn the recognition he deserved. “Don’t you see that we’re getting handed a contract because of our parents? He wants us to be a carbon copy of Immortal Angel.”
Mason shook his head. “I don’t see that at all.”
“Me neither,” Tessa agreed. “Why are you blowing this for all of us?”
“I’m not blowing anything. I need time to think. I don’t want to jump into signing a contract when it feels wrong.”
Tessa sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest, while Mason kept shaking his head. Audra was soothing Ron Abelman’s bruised ego, assuring her father that Lucas would sign the contract once he had a chance to think it over, while Lucas’ three parents and Mason’s dad talked amongst themselves in total disbelief at Lucas’ reluctance.
The room was in an uproar, but Lucas couldn’t ignore his gut feeling that this was wrong. He sympathized with Tessa the most because she probably wanted this more than anyone. But he felt worse about disappointing his best friend. Mason was a sought-after commodity. He was touted as one of the best drummers in the world. Offers to join world-famous bands were constantly on the table. Mason had infinite opportunities in front of him at all times. He didn’t need to play with Prodigy. He wanted to.
Ron Abelman cleared his throat with annoyance. “I’m a busy man, Mr. Blade.”
It took Lucas a few seconds to realize Mr. Abelman was addressing him and not his dad.
“I’m not trying to coerce you into signing something you’re unsure of. Take your time and think it over. You have 10 days to make a decision.” Mr. Abelman pushed back off his desk and stood up. “Get your head on straight, kid. You don’t want to pass up this offer.” Then he marched out of his office without another word to anyone.
The second the door closed everyone bombarded Lucas. Tessa and Mason asked him if he lost his mind and if he was crazy. His dad told him it was normal to be nervous and get stressed by expectations that the label put upon him, but he’d see things more clearly in the morning. Jimmy, Mason’s dad, told Lucas he needed to take a few deep breaths and relax. Lucas’ mom and Mason’s mom said he was worrying too much and shouldn’t make any hasty decisions. Lucas knew none of it was true, and he resented everyone ganging up on him. Everyone except Papi, who stood behind Lucas’ chair and placed protective hands on Lucas’ shoulders.
LUCAS BLADE: Radical Rock Stars: Next Generation Duet Book 1 Page 3
