by Scott, S. L.
First, her stance loosens, and then she smiles and begins to flirt right back. “If you can figure out my name, I’m sure my number is still in your phone.”
I’m laughing too hard to help my brother out. I know for a fact he doesn’t know her name. “She’s got you there, bro.”
Swinging his arm around her waist, he pulls her close. “I’m gonna call you tomorrow, Jen. Save a day this coming week and I’ll take you dancing on my night off.”
Her smile is bright and wide, her eyes . . . I’ve seen that look before. She’s in love, or at least temporary lust. The Crow Bros have that effect on women. She leans in mighty close and says, “You got it, Tulsa.” She kisses him on the cheek and saunters off happy as a clam to snag a rare second date with the youngest Crow.
“I don’t know how you do it, T, but you are the luckiest damn bastard I ever did know.” Rivers asks, “How’d you remember her name?”
“I didn’t. Lucky guess.” He wipes his brow. “That was the easy part. It’s figuring out which Jen when I have about a hundred in my contacts.”
I push the shot to Tulsa. “You need this more.”
He takes another. “Dude, Johnny fucking Outlaw. Whoa. Tonight is everything.”
He’s right. We’ve known for a while that our sound is good and we’ve paid our dues. We book consistent gigs, are known around town, and had a fairly successful EP release.
We play cohesively and can write songs without too much angst most of the time. If we could find a drummer to fill our band, I’ve always thought we could go somewhere. And I want that for my brothers. I want it for myself. But the responsibility I’ve always felt toward making that happen only increased when Mom died. She’d be so proud of this opportunity. As am I. We’ve done the hard yards for a few years now, and I think we’re ready to be found. Ready to move forward.
Wrapping my arms around their shoulders, I correct him. “Nah, it’s just the beginning.”
“Damn right.”
5
Jet
As much as I wanted to celebrate with Tulsa and Rivers, I have my judge-appointed meeting tomorrow to determine custody. I’m the only one required to be there, but they said they’d come for support. My brothers better not be late or hungover.
Lying in bed, I look over at the time: 3:12 a.m.
My body is exhausted, but my mind is too troubled to rest. I could lose Alfie and have him taken away before I even have a chance to be his dad.
I deserve the opportunity . . . no, not opportunity. Right. I have the right to be in his life more than some distant relative he gets to occasionally visit.
I’m his dad.
Nothing decided later today will change that. It will only change where he lives. That’s all.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I roll to the side, sit up, and sigh. There’s so much on my mind, but Alfie’s at the forefront with Hannah right behind.
Grabbing my cigarettes and lighter from the nightstand, I park myself next to the window and crack it open. Our winter’s been mild, but tonight feels colder than usual.
My worries come in degrees matching the weather. The meeting tomorrow feels a lot like the fate of our band is also going to be decided.
One deal.
That’s all it will take for us to finally get ahead. Maybe even enough to set aside for the upcoming expenses. I have some money saved, but is there a minimum required for me to win custody? Alfie’s had a hard time with losing his mother. I don’t want him to be miserable living with me because I can’t afford to buy him something he wants.
I’m not sure how I’ll be as a parent. Being raised by a single mom meant my brothers and I weren’t spoiled, but I have six years to make up for.
Time together is more important. A roof. Food on the table. Love. That’s what my mom always told us and showed us. Family. That’s most important.
I stab the cigarette into the ashtray until the fire burns out, and then I wave away the smoky air so it slips through the open window. I’m tempted to leave it open. It’s only me to concern myself with these days because I’ve not had anyone in my bed since Hannah left. I couldn’t taint what we had by bringing someone home with me. It felt like a betrayal to what we shared. It was more than sex to me . . . My hang-up on this girl is getting really fucking old. I need to get over it, to get over her because she’s not coming back.
Closing the window, I flip the lock and climb under the covers, forcing my mind to give in to the dark and try for sleep.
I’m not sure what time I finally do, but I wake up just after nine, which is about three hours earlier than usual. This is good because when I check my messages, we have a breakfast meeting. This means I’ll still have time to put Alfie’s room together and get dressed for the custody hearing.
New sheets and a blanket are in the washing machine, and I’m getting ready when I get a text from Hannah. Sometimes when I see her name pop up, my heart stops because I think the worst. I’m denied before getting my day in court, she’s found his real father, or she regrets ever meeting me. Relief washes over me when I read her message: No matter what happens today, I want you to know that I think you’re a good person for stepping up as you have.
I don’t need praise for being a decent human, a parent, a father, but I appreciate the sentiment. I reply: This has been hard on all of us. You’ve done a lot for us this week when I know it was hard on you. Thank you.
She doesn’t send another, and I find myself feeling disappointed. I think we’re supposed to be enemies, considering we’re on opposing sides of this legal matter, but it’s hard to hate her when just the sight of her brings back all the feelings I was beginning to form months ago.
Is that what that is? Feelings. Feelings for her?
We lost a shot at something more six months ago. Now life is too messy for us to get involved. Fuck. Shake this off. It was only one night. I grab my shoes and shake my head. I managed to get this far in life without the ridiculous notion of love coming along, though Rivers might argue. He was always the hopeless sap out of the three of us. I’ve watched him go in and out of a relationship with the same woman for years. Since he’s single now, guess it’s not a good time for anyone, especially not the woman fighting me for custody of my kid.
Nope. Hannah Nichols is a definite no-go.
As a musician, I’m well aware that timing is everything or the whole rhythm is off. Doesn’t matter what happened between us before. All that matters is that we’re a song gone wrong.
It’s best if I focus on Alfie and my career. Love can go bother someone else who has time for it.
* * *
Since we get to the restaurant midmorning, it’s not busy. Sitting in the back dining room of Matt’s El Rancho, the waiter sets five glasses of water, salsa, and chips on the table. “Gracias.”
Tulsa’s knee is bouncing, his tapping foot hitting an unbalanced leg of the table, causing it to wobble.
“Dude,” Rivers says, glaring at him. “Stop it. You’re making me nervous.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Help it anyway,” I add, on edge as well. “It’s just a meeting. We’re not auditioning for them. They heard us play. They liked the music. This is all preliminary stuff. We’re not signing any contracts, so fucking chill.”
“Okay. Okay.” He sits up when he sees the guys walk in. “Shit. I feel like our entire future hinges on this meeting, and we don’t even know if they want us.”
“It’s just a meeting,” I repeat, trying to kid myself. “That’s all.”
Johnny and Tommy walk in, but Tommy stops and turns back, that guy who was pestering them last night at the bar trailing them. Tommy directs him out the door while Johnny looks at ease as he works his way over. A meeting. That’s all, I remind myself once more before standing up. After we all greet each other, we sit back down.
Johnny says, “Thanks for meeting us.”
It’s not like you get asked to meet with rock legends every day, but I play it off
and shrug. “Yeah, of course.”
“Tommy’s coming. We were followed from the hotel.”
“I saw. Everything all right?”
“Tommy will handle it.” He lowers his voice. “Anyway, as I said last night, Tommy and I really like your sound. We’ve started a label—Outlaw Records—and we want to sign a few bands that fit what we’re looking for.”
“And you think we might be a good fit?” I drag the palms of my hands down my jeans, anxious to hear the answer.
“No,” he replies. “We don’t think. We know.”
Tulsa is the ideal poker opponent because he can’t contain his reactions. “No way! Really?”
I kick his shoe, but Rivers and I are laughing. I like to visit cloud nine like Tulsa has always had the freedom to do. As the oldest, I had to be responsible. I went through bouts of the opposite, but for the most part, I stepped up when our father stepped out.
Tommy joins us, leaning forward, and asks, “You put out an EP, but have you gone through the process for a full album before?”
The waiter takes our order before I can answer. When we’re alone again, I reply, “We’ve started several times. We could have done one for ego and gotten a few local shops to carry it and uploaded it online, but we wanted to do an album when it was right and had some coverage. That’s not happened for us yet, and it’s too expensive to do on our own right now.”
Tulsa adds, “We almost signed with a label once after playing South by Southwest, but the contract sucked, so we didn’t.”
“Smart. Don’t sell your soul to sell a song.” Johnny picks up the water in front of him and takes a long pull before saying, “I think that’s what makes us unique. We’ve been there. We started from nothing, literally playing keggers and dive bars. My band played anywhere that paid or gave us exposure. We’re not looking to fuck over the artist.”
Rivers says, “To be blunt, though, what’s in it for you?”
Johnny replies, “We’ll help protect your interests and long-term royalties, but this is a business. If we’re sharing our connections, from producers to marketing, and fronting the costs, we need to make money on the back end. It’s all in the contract, and we can have it sent over.”
I say, “Send it over. We’d like to see it.”
Tommy says, “No problem. We’ll get one out to you tomorrow.”
Johnny leans in. “I’d like to produce the album myself. I’ll be there in the studio with you developing and growing the sound.”
I glance at Tulsa who is staring wide-eyed and shocked. I lean forward and lower my voice. “Why do you want to work with us? And what is the offer that you’re setting down on the table?”
Tommy clears his throat, and then replies, “Five-year contract, two albums, possibly three based on sales of the first two. We work like the publishing world works. You’ll get an advance and a negotiated percentage of royalties after we recoup our investment.”
Johnny adds, “We want to be a label that works with the artist, not against them. We need you making music and doing interviews. Basically, showing up every day ready to play, learn, and create. We’re not talking part-time work here. A lot goes into making a successful album, and we’d rather have you focused on that than figuring out how you’re going to pay your bills.”
Rivers says, “Sounds amazing, but wanting our undivided attention needs to pay the bills.”
The side of Johnny’s mouth slides up. Tommy outright laughs, hitting Johnny on the back. “I like these guys. They remind me of you, Dex, and Cory.” Then he turns back to us. “It’s all negotiable. Doesn’t mean we’ll accept the counteroffer, but it will cover your normal living expenses.”
Tulsa asks, “What’s the downside?”
Johnny sits back and replies, “We record in LA, and you’ll be in the studio daily until the album’s cut.”
“I have a son,” I say. I don’t even know where that comes from. The case with Alfie is fragile at best with no determined outcome, but the words don’t feel entirely foreign like they used to.
“I have a son named James,” he adds.
“Mine is Alfred. We call him Alfie.”
“That’s an old-fashioned name. After a relative?”
Pausing, I answer as honestly as I can without revealing too much, “Mother’s choice.”
“Cool. So what are your thoughts on working out a deal?”
Tulsa nudges me, but when I look at Rivers, some of the excitement has worn off. He understands the situation with me is complicated, but he also knows that Alfie isn’t just a factor; he’s the only thing that matters. Until I have answers, I can’t make a decision.
“I’m not sure what to say. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure how to swing living bi-coastal. My son will be living with me full time. There’s just a lot to work out.” I pause, but then add, “His mother recently passed away.”
Johnny’s the first to speak. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Nodding, I crack my knuckles under the table. “So am I. The rest is . . . complicated.”
There’s a pause in the conversation until Tommy says, “All great songs come from somewhere deep. I’m sure there’s a song in there somewhere.”
Johnny says, “We won’t say no based on not having the answers right now. The last thing we want is to cause a problem for you.”
Tommy sits back, his body sinking against the chair. “I’m sure we can find some options to handle the transition and get you some help. If you’re seriously considering the offer, then let us get back to LA and talk to our business manager.” He glances at Johnny. “Rochelle might have some ideas.”
Johnny seems to be mulling over the suggestion. “She’ll get you what you need, but I’d like to know what your initial thoughts are after hearing the loose details.”
Rivers speaks up first, “I can’t lie. Making music where I don’t have to worry about my bills sounds damn good.”
Tulsa adds, “We’re getting the shot we’ve always wanted from musicians we’ve respected most of our lives.”
Shaking his head, Johnny laughs. “We’re not that old.”
He has a great sense of humor. “There’s no doubt we want to work with you guys.” Rivers’s shoe hits the toe of mine, nudging me on. “My kid is a priority. I have to do what’s best for him, so send us your offer and we’ll consider our options.”
The food is delivered, and Johnny says, “I miss Tex-Mex food so fucking much. With business out of the way, let’s eat.”
Conversation over the meal is full of laughs and music talk. I like Johnny and Tommy. As famous as Johnny Outlaw is, fame hasn’t gone to his head. His drive is obvious, and his passion is seen and heard when he talks about music as an art, something internal that possesses a part of one’s soul.
I know what he means. It didn’t matter that I quit college as long as I had music. I didn’t need to be rich because I was living a good life.
After stuffing ourselves, they head for the airport, and we head home. On the drive, Tulsa says, “It’s everything we’ve been working for, Jet.”
I hear the concern in his voice, the future pending based on mine. I hate that I’m the reason for his worry. “The advance might cover rent and hiring someone to help me with Alfie when we play gigs, or when we’re in the studio.”
From the back seat, Rivers asks, “When we need to be in LA, he can come with us?”
I’m already tearing him away from the home he knows. Can I take him to LA for three weeks as well? “I’m already stressed about the hearing. Let’s wait to hear about custody before planning. We’ll know before we receive the contracts.”
“What about the offer?” Tulsa asks, but I already see that shit-eating grin on his face. He knows what I’m going to say before I even say it.
I glance at Rivers, and my grin can’t be hidden. “If it’s decent money, and they seemed like they wouldn’t screw us over, then we just scored ourselves a deal.”
Reaching out the window, he ba
ngs his hand on the side of the truck and hollers. “Look at us now.”
Rivers adds, “The Crow Brothers are heading for the big time. LA or bust, baby.”
6
Jet
Staring down into the wide green eyes of my son, tears threaten mine while my hand tightens around his. He asks, “Does that make me a Crow?”
I tap his nose. “You’ve always been a Crow, but you’re lucky to have such a cool last name like Barnett.” Kneeling, I add, “Looks like you’re coming home with me, little man.”
He smiles, reassuring me, reminding me of his mother. Cassie and I were casual, or so I thought. I guess she was a little more serious than I was even though I’ve never had a bad thought about her. She told me I broke her heart, so when she kicked me to the curb, I was left dumbfounded. I thought I must have deserved it, that I wasn’t good enough for her. Back then, I was all ego and attitude on the surface, but on the inside, I was struggling to deal with my mother’s death. I’m not sure I’m any better now, but let’s hope so since I was just given a chance to earn full custody of this little human.
I’ve thought a lot about the time I spent with Cassie, thinking of this child and wishing I’d known she was pregnant before we went our separate ways.
Alfred Jet Barnett.
My son was born eight months after the fight that ended us for good.
Almost seven years later, he gives my hand a little squeeze and says, “It’ll be okay. I’ll make ramen noodles.”
“You know how to make ramen?”
“Yes. Hannah says it’s good, and they make us feel less sad on bad days.”
“Are you having a bad day?”
“I was happy, but then I saw Grandma and Hannah. They’re sad. That makes me sad.”
“They want what’s best for you. We all decided that for the time being that all of us getting time with you will be best.” Glancing across the aisle of the courtroom, the woman whose happiness was traded for mine stands staring down at her hands. I miss those hands, the softness of her hands against the roughness of mine.
