Chapter 9
It was only two days but it recharged me more than I’d anticipated.
Being around my mother and grandmother helped tremendously, reminding me that all my friends were guys.
I wanted to change that, but two things stopped me.
The first was that I didn’t really like any of the girls I worked with and the second was that, if I did, would I be setting myself up for another Ava-like disappointment?
I’d have to make a point of visiting my family more often. Weekly phone calls weren’t enough.
But I came back, excited and invigorated. Thus far in the short career of Once Upon a Riot, we’d played dozens of venues, but only a couple had we played more than once—and, every time I asked, Zack promised we still had plenty more we hadn’t yet set foot in.
Although the days and shows blended into one another, we were getting pumped, because Zack had started gathering information about local recording studios—and the one that really impressed him was probably going to cost more than we’d saved.
But Zack assured us not to worry because we’d likely earn what we needed by the end of spring.
Except that our first show in April changed everything.
We were playing in a smaller venue, a glorified bar, but the vibe was amazing.
We could easily see the entire audience and could smell the booze from the stage—but they were eager, excited, and hungry for whatever we gave them.
The energy in the place made my arms feel lighter than ever, and I hit every beat perfectly.
It was a hell of a show—and good thing, because once we got off the stage and started loading up our equipment, we were approached by a polished-looking guy wearing a blue polo shirt and the nicest pair of jeans I’d ever seen.
He looked like a model.
“You guys have a minute to talk?”
Zack’s voice sounded as skeptical as I felt. Still, he said, “Yeah, sure.”
Because we’d been the one and only band playing the bar, there was no hurry for us to get our instruments and equipment out of there.
They were playing metal music overhead to keep the vibe going, but the live entertainment was over for the evening.
I thought I wouldn’t mind playing here again, not knowing I’d never again have the chance.
“Let’s go outside for a minute.” As we followed him through the bar, we got a few slaps on the back and handshakes from people in the happy crowd.
I didn’t know why we were following this slick guy almost like lambs to slaughter—but we all had a feeling…
there was something about him that we dared not ignore.
Once we got outside, I enjoyed the breezy feel of spring—but with the sun long gone, I should have worn a jacket.
“My name’s Chad Barnes, and I’m the A&R rep for Crushed Velvet Records.
” Before we could even question it, he was handing each one of us business cards.
But we’d been here how many times before?
I hoped my scowl told him I knew he was full of shit.
“Kyle Summers had a lot of good things to say about you guys. So I watched you last night at Harry’s and again tonight. ”
Holy shit. This was fucking real.
I glanced down at the card again. It wasn’t too hard to read with the city lights beaming down on us, and my thumb glided over his embossed name, along with the Crushed Velvet design, the letters drawn in such a way that they formed a disk.
A record…a CD.
My heart was thudding in my chest, because I knew this really was Kyle Summers’s record label.
She’d done it. She’d actually done it. That wasn’t to knock the Fully Automatic band members, because now I knew this guy had been stalking us, deciding if he wanted to represent us before approaching us—so, even though big stars could spot our talent, that didn’t mean the reps could.
But this guy had.
My mind saw the future—the four of us touring, our music playing on the radio, our videos showing up online, fans across the world discovering our sound. And I got so lost there that I missed most of the conversation until Chad shook my hand.
“Talk about it and let me know what you decide.”
As he walked away, I still felt somewhat shellshocked. Had that been real?
Zack said, “Don’t let that all get to your head. We still have work to do here.”
We followed him back inside, heading toward the stage so we could finish packing up our instruments and equipment.
I tended to take the drums first, feeling like they were my primary responsibility, but then I’d help with whatever was left—amps, mics and mic stands, cables, pedals, and whatever else was left.
The guys were the same way, packing up their instruments before anything else.
Zack had been bringing two different guitars to our shows over the past couple of months—I could only imagine what he’d be like when we made it big.
While we were loading up the van with the last of the equipment, Braden said, “I bet that guy was full of shit.”
Zack took some cords from him to shimmy in among everything else. “What makes you say that?”
“How many times have we heard that?”
“Yeah…but not from an actual A&R rep. This guy’s the real deal.
It’s not a huge label, but they’re legit.
And the label’s not what matters. It’s who distributes the music—and labels usually partner with one of the big three.
So,” he said closing the van doors, “I think we just got our big fuckin’ break! ”
As we drove home, I felt something inside me blossoming, like a delicate flower afraid to open its petals but doing it anyway. I didn’t realize until my head hit the pillow that that flower was hope.
The next night, Zack took us out to a local pizza place to celebrate—but after we were done eating, he said, “I want you guys to know this isn’t a done deal. We don’t sign any papers unless we all agree this is a good move.”
Cy tossed his napkin on the empty plate in front of him. “I think we all trust your judgment.” Braden and I both nodded our assent as he continued. “You said this guy’s legit, so is there something else we should think about?”
“I’m glad you asked. I’ve been hesitating a little, because there are tons of other labels out there. This might not be our best offer.”
“It’s our only offer. The guys from Fully Automatic didn’t follow through—and how many chances will we have like that? I don’t expect to have a lot of people who’ve already made it attending our shows.”
“These are all the things I’m thinking in my head, Cy. The pros and the cons. I just don’t want to screw us over.”
I finally jumped in. “This is what we’ve been working for, right?
The chance to have our music heard across the world?
They might not be a big label but they were big enough to send a rep—not once but twice—to watch us and listen to our music.
Maybe there are other labels who’d take us, but they have to hear us first, and we might not ever get that chance again. ”
Zack nodded. “Bray?”
“I agree with Dani and Cy. I say we go for it.”
“Then it’s a deal—but don’t sign shit until I say.”
Cy said, “We all have to sign together, don’t we?”
“Probably. But with all my research, I know that’s where they get you. We need to be careful and go through that shit with a fine-tooth comb.”
“I have an idea,” I said, inspired. Grabbing the pitcher, I poured more Dr. Pepper into my cup as I spoke.
“You’ve saved up a ton of money for recording.
Since we don’t have to do that now, why couldn’t we use that to hire a lawyer to read over our contract to make sure they’re not pulling anything? ”
Zack’s green eyes searched mine before they lit up. “That’s a damn good idea. Everybody okay with that?”
We all clinked the plastic cups together in agreement, ready for the next chapter of our lives. Despite how hard it had all been, I was amazed that we had only been living and performing in Denver for less than two years when we signed the paperwork.
Although the label didn’t pull any shenanigans, Zack used the lawyer’s advice to get us a better deal anyway.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t afford the best lawyer out there, but he had the credentials.
Still, it wasn’t enough to save us from all the hidden expenses—and all the things the label did that seemed to help us would hurt us in the long run.
I hadn’t thought much about how it would all work, but we found out that, even though Crushed Velvet would be paying up front for the recording sessions, the cost would come out of our royalties before we would see a dime.
They also wanted us to record at some huge expensive studio in L.A.
, but Zack had already researched studios in the Denver area and had one he’d wanted to work with.
It had been a bit of a sticking point, but Zack finally said, “Look—until we start making serious money from our music, we have to keep playing the gigs we’ve already scheduled and working our day jobs—so we’ll be recording in Denver.
You just need to give us a budget and deadline, and we’ll get it done. ”
One of the execs at the table said, “Fine. We’ll give you that—but you’ll still be working with Jeff.”
Jeff Craven was the producer they’d chosen for our first album. Although we’d never met him, at least Zack had heard of him. The execs said he’d be a perfect match for us, because he’d be able to polish our sound, making it “radio ready.”
That hadn’t set well with Zack…but he merely smiled.
The worst part was that Jeff’s travel and expenses (like meals and hotel rooms) would come out of our recording budget—so the label then told us that we needed to get it all done in a month or less—pre-production, recording, and mixing.
At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Only when we were in the thick of things did I discover we’d jumped into a pressure cooker.
We had two weeks before Jeff arrived. Because he was working with another band, he had to wrap that up first. So Zack decided that we’d practice even more to make sure recording went smoothly and we could spend less time—and money—in the studio.
It was a bit tiring. We’d all work our day jobs, then come home and practice for two solid hours when we weren’t playing a show. Afterward, Zack would disappear.
One night at the end of a particularly rough practice session, Zack said, “We’re getting close.”
“We might get perfect,” Cy said, “but I don’t know if I’m gonna want to fucking work with you after this.”
Braden and I stayed silent.
Zack, however, looked up from his guitar case, and the way he was crouching reminded me of the videos I’d seen of jungle cats ready to pounce. Cy didn’t look much different, like the two of them were dying to beat the shit out of each other. “You think you can run this band better?”
Cy slowly shook his head. “That’s not what I said.”
“It was implied.” Zack stood, planting his feet firmly as if expecting to absorb a punch across the jaw.
“That’s your interpretation. Let me say it slowly so you understand: you gotta stop riding our asses. We play just fine. We’ve been playing these goddamned songs for years on end. We know what we’re fucking doing.”
“Yeah, and we’ve all gotten sloppy. It’s fine for a bar full of drunk people who don’t give a shit—but we’re gonna be laying down tracks that will represent us forever.
Think about Hendrix, like ‘Voodoo Child.’ You hear it in your head a certain way because that’s the way it was recorded—decades ago, man.
What if he’d gone into the studio with a fuck-it attitude? ”
“He probably did. The man liked his heroin.”
Zack’s eyes widened, as if he couldn’t believe Cy would get so lippy. “Look—this album’s gonna have my name on it. It represents a vision I had before you even joined my band. If you don’t like, you can get the fuck out.”
Cy’s cheek rippled as if he were holding demons back.
After letting out a slow breath, he said, “I’m not leaving.
I’m just asking you to be less of a dick.
I don’t see why that’s such a big goddamned problem.
” Before Zack could respond, Cy looked over at Braden and me.
I wasn’t sure about Bray, but I wished I could melt into the floor.
“Is it just me or do you guys think he’s being a dick too? Be honest.”
Braden shrugged, clearly not wanting to commit, especially over such a contentious issue.
I knew, if push came to shove, that Braden would always side with Zack.
Not just over Cy, but over me—and probably over his own mother.
Braden and I were Zack’s original fan club—and Braden had way more time invested than I had.
But Cy was right. Even though he’d been a dick himself saying it, he wasn’t wrong. Still, I kept my voice soft. “You’ve been…a bit of a tyrant.”
Again, Zack’s eyes told us everything. With just Cy saying something, he could dismiss it—but because I agreed, he was taking it in.
He gave a quick nod but his mouth was still turned down into a frown.
“Fine. I’ll try to be a bit less of an asshole.
But it would help if you guys would focus when we do this. ”
“Focus? Are you fucking kidding me?”
I held up a hand in front of Cy and spoke gently. “He admitted you were right. Can you just take that as a win?”
He got ready to say something and then clamped his mouth shut, now glaring at me as well. But he turned, put his guitar in its case, and then walked to his bedroom—and didn’t even slam the door. Zack said to Braden, “You got something to add?”
“Nope.” Quickly, Braden rested his bass in the stand against the wall and made his way to the bathroom.
His eyelids half lowered, Zack turned, apparently satisfied that he’d quelled a potential coup. Grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter, he started heading toward the door. I couldn’t help myself any longer. “Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“Zack, it’s not healthy to—”
“I’m not going because of the argument, okay? I have shit to do.”
“Like what?”
Turning, his green eyes seemed to peer deep inside my soul. As he opened the door, he said, “Like none of your goddamned business.” The sound of the door closing was like a punctuation mark.
All I knew was, if Zack kept this up, I’d no longer have a problem getting over him. It would happen naturally—and part of me was praying for that day.