19. Rocco
ROCCO
The email hits before breakfast with a subject that doesn’t look real: Baritone EP—New York . I tap it and read twice to make sure I’m not misreading.
Rocco—I’m Siena Park, an independent producer.
Someone sent your clip. You’ve got a baritone that records clean.
I’m assembling a short EP—four to six tracks—for release on a small label I partner with.
We’d put you in a month-long studio block in New York with a pianist and engineer I trust. Housing covered.
Session musicians as needed. If you’re interested, I’d like to talk timing and repertoire. Best, Siena.
This…this isn’t how this works. Why would she reach out like this?
But I’ve been out of the industry for a while. Maybe things have changed.
I sit at the kitchen table with the phone flat and my hands on either side like it might slide away.
A month. New York. Paid housing. Real studio.
Four years ago, I would have said yes before the email finished loading.
Now I’m careful. We have games. We have Meg’s building clock.
I have a voice I just found and don’t want to break by pushing the wrong way.
I hum low to check where it sits this morning. The note is there. No scrape. No push. I email Siena back: Thank you for reaching out. I’m honored. I have a team schedule to check. Can we talk later today about dates and expectations? My only nonstarter is I’m not chasing tenor.
She replies two minutes later: Of course. 3 p.m. call?
I send yes and put the phone face down.
I have to tell Meg. I pull on a hoodie, grab the tea filters Oliver left on the counter for her, and drive to Bea’s.
The honeycomb wall stops me at the door. Two panels full of names with a third bracket waiting. Anthony is on a stepstool checking a seam. Bex is labeling a tray. Aqua—John today—hands a coffee to Ms. Kuthri. Meg is at the register, moving fast.
I wait for a gap and step up. “Two minutes?”
She glances at the line, then at me. “Office. Tom, you’ve got the register.” She pushes through the swinging door, and I follow. The office smells like paper and cleaner. She shuts the door and leans on the filing cabinet. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I hold up the phone. “A producer saw the video here from the other night. She wants me in New York for a month to cut a baritone EP.”
Her face changes fast—surprise, then bright. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
She steps in and hugs me before she decides if she should. I hug back because it’s instinct. When she pulls away, she kisses me. It’s quick and certain, mouth to mouth, and then it’s over, and she remembers the line she set. Her hand goes to her forehead. “I know the rule. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I can still feel it. “I’m not deciding today.”
“You don’t have to. But, I am thrilled for you. You sounded like yourself the other night. You should get to put that on record.”
“I wouldn’t be near this if you hadn’t handed me the mic.”
“You did the work. If the timing works with games and you feel good about the setup, go. We’ll still be here.”
“What if it’s now?” I ask. “Like, next month.”
She takes a breath. “Then we make it happen. You’re allowed to be happy, Rocco.”
“I am.” I mean it, and it scares me a little. “I’ve got the shelter after lunch. I’ll call her at three.”
Meg looks at my mouth like she wants to break her own rule again, and then she steps back. “Go. And text me after the call so I can squeal in the stockroom without freaking out the customers.”
I laugh. “Deal.”
“Thank you for telling me first.”
“You were always going to hear first.” I head out through the kitchen and catch John’s eye. He clocks my smile and doesn’t ask. Outside, the air is cold and clean. In the car, I sit for a second and replay the kiss.
I sit with my hands on the wheel and try not to read too much into one kiss. The rule is hers. I respect it. She broke it and then caught herself. It could be joy for me, not a change for us. I hope it’s both. But I also know hoping isn’t a plan.
At the shelter, I clock in and grab the task list. Water bowls, dishes, laundry, then intake at two. Brownie is lying down when I pass. I hum, and he flicks an ear without lifting his head. Progress.
Midway through dishes, Marta, the shift supervisor, leans in the doorway. “You’re close with the coffee shop crew at Bea’s?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“That man who keeps trying to buy the building—Addaway?”
“Luke.” The name tastes bad.
She makes a face. “I shouldn’t gossip, so pretend I didn’t say this.
People have been filing complaints about his dealerships for years.
Shady financing. Yo-yo loans. People drive off and get called back because financing ‘fell through’ and then they get hit with worse terms. Power booking.
Add-ons they didn’t agree to. We hear about it because folks whose dogs we help get their cars repossessed and can’t get to work. ”
I wipe my hands and keep my voice steady. “Anyone ever put it in writing?”
“Some. The state AG has files. CFPB too. I don’t know where it went.
There was a rumor about someone looking into their paper last year.
Quiet now. I only bring it up because if he’s playing dirty with loans, he might be playing dirty with property, and he ripped off my brother-in-law last year.
Nearly got him arrested because after the predatory loan, Addaway repo-ed his car, and there was almost a fistfight over it. Be careful.”
“We will. Thank you.”
The thought sits there while I walk the next pair of dogs. If there’s smoke on his lending, there might be a fire somewhere we can point to. I’m not a lawyer. I’m not a reporter. But I can put the idea in front of someone who knows what to do with it.
At three, I step outside and call Siena.
She lays out the plan in clean lines. “I book a small Steinway room in a Midtown studio for three weeks with buffer days. You and a pianist build the set in week one, record in week two, and fix any extras in week three. I like small, honest mics for your sound. Repertoire can be classical and crossover, but it must be baritone. We’ll get you a coach who won’t try to push you to tenor. ”
“Timing?”
“I have a block starting four weeks from Monday. If that’s too tight, I can shift it to early summer, but the pianist is free now.”
Four weeks. My stomach tightens. “We’re in season.”
“Of course. I don’t want to screw your team. I want a record we’re both proud of. We can hold the dates for a week while you check. I’ll email a simple term sheet.”
“Thank you. I’m interested. I just have other pieces to fit.”
“Understood. Figure it out and get back to me.”
We hang up. I text Meg and get a heart and a bee back. She’s busy, but supportive. Always.
I finish my shift at the shelter with the list running in my head. If I do New York now, I’ll miss a chunk of games. If I wait, the window might close. If I say yes to summer, we need to keep my voice steady until then. I file all of it and drive home.
Oliver is in the kitchen chopping peppers. Hudson is on the couch with his laptop open to video clips. He’s paused on the hit from last night and scrubs back and forth, studying footwork and angles. He looks more focused than angry. Good.
“Dinner,” Oliver says without looking up. “Stir-fry. You’ve got a look.”
I tell them the basics about New York while stealing bites of peppers.
Oliver grins. “That’s fucking awesome.”
Hudson exhales like a whistle through his teeth. “Good. You deserve this.”
I wash up and grab a cutting board. I slice mushrooms and talk while the knife works.
“There’s something else. At the shelter, Marta said there have been complaints about Addaway dealerships for years.
Yo-yo financing, power booking, add-ons people didn’t agree to.
Repos that wreck people’s lives. She thinks if he plays dirty there, he might be playing dirty with the building. ”
Oliver sets the knife down. “We need facts.”
“We could hire a hacker to dig.”
“No,” Oliver says, firm. “We don’t break the law.
We don’t need to. We use legal tools. Public records.
Court dockets. CFPB complaint database. State AG filings.
MVA records. We hire a licensed investigator and a forensic accountant.
If there’s a story, we put it in front of a consumer reporter who knows what to do. ”
Hudson nods. “We don’t give him a clean shot by doing something dumb.”
“Right, but he’s dating a lawyer. He knows how to get around shit. We need to play the game, guys.”
A line goes vertical on Oliver’s brow. “I’ll think about it.”
“So, you got a guy?” Hudson asks.
“I do. Just not sure he’s the right way to go.”
I can always tell when Oliver doesn’t want to do something. His shoulders bunch up, and right now, they’re by his ears.
We finish dinner prep without more talk about Luke.
The food hits the pan, the kitchen smells like garlic and soy, and the noise in my head settles for a minute.
We eat at the table. I tell them more about Siena’s setup and how the room will work.
Hudson asks about repertoire. The more I talk about it, the more I want to do it.
Oliver wipes his bowl clean with a piece of bread. “Talk to Coach. Tell him the summer option is there. If he says wait, wait.”
“Of course.”
After dinner, Coach is more reasonable than I expected. I step back into the kitchen. Oliver is rinsing the wok. Hudson is drying. “Coach says summer.”
“Perfect,” Oliver says. “We can get the hearings done first, then you go sing.”
I hum a low line because I can’t carry it any other way. Hudson taps the counter in time and doesn’t make a joke. He just nods.
Meg texts a photo of the honeycomb with three new tiles from tonight. Wall is growing. We hit fifteen thousand on tiles. Dana says the press piece lands in the morning.
I send back a bee, and I’ll be there at open to drop filters. She replies with a thumbs-up because she knows I already did, and she’s teasing me on purpose.
When the apartment quiets, I sit on the edge of the couch and breathe. My heart is doing the fast thing that feels like stage before the curtain. I’m not on stage. I’m in my living room. I let it slow down. I think through the pieces again.
Say yes to Siena for summer, build a training plan that keeps my voice steady, help Meg with court and tiles and the list, do my shifts at the shelter, skate.
I stretch my shoulders and roll out my neck gently. I set my alarm and put the phone on the nightstand. The room goes dim. I hum once, low, so quiet it’s almost nothing. The note sits where it should. I hold it and let it go.