Chapter 10
The night before our first day at the studio, I woke up around one AM. I wasn’t sure why at first until I needed to get up to pee. On my way to the bathroom, I spied Zack sitting at the kitchen table.
I wasn’t sure why he was there but, when I left the bathroom, I headed to the kitchen to find out why he was having trouble sleeping. “What’s up?” I asked, not even thinking about the fact that I was wearing a short nightie that barely covered my ass.
Clearly, I’d gotten way too comfortable with male roommates.
He was drinking from a short glass filled with clear liquid. The vodka pint next to it, almost empty, stood at the ready, and I thought to myself at least he’s not drinking straight out of the bottle. Not that it mattered. An alcoholic didn’t necessarily drink from a bottle.
Was that what Zack was? An alcoholic?
The thought had been at the back of my mind for a while now, but this was the first time I was actually acknowledging it consciously. Regardless of what I called it, he had developed a problem with drinking, and I could no longer brush it aside.
“Nothing.”
That was bullshit—which meant I’d have to be a bit more persistent.
I got a glass out of the cabinet and poured myself some water before sitting down next to him.
We were silent for a little bit but he didn’t say a word…
which meant I was going to have to try to get him to. “How long have we been friends, Zack?”
“A while.”
“Yeah, but how long?”
“Coming up on six years.”
Giving him a short nod, I took a sip of my water. “Sometimes, it feels like I’ve known you my whole life.”
“What are you getting at, Dani?”
“My point is that I know you better than you think I do. Something’s bothering you—and I thought it might feel good to get it off your chest.” But, of course, once I said that, I wondered how I would fare at hearing whatever it was.
Like…if he’d gotten a girl pregnant. That was something I didn’t want to know—and something like that would absolutely put Zack in this sort of foul mood, because it would add a huge burden onto everything we were trying to accomplish.
When he let out a long sigh, I figured he was going to get up and tell me again that it was none of my business.
But what he said instead shocked me. “I’ve been asking around, trying to find my dad.
I know his name and I managed to figure out where he played—and I’ve been going there every night hoping to see him play with his band.
I wasn’t sure if I’d actually talk to him or not. ”
He grew silent again, staring at the swallow of vodka left in his glass.
Based on what he already said, I imagined that he actually had talked to his father and the conversation hadn’t gone well—but I wouldn’t be able to pull it out of Zack unless he was ready.
He was obviously still working through the emotions.
Instead of speaking, I reached across the table and put my hand on his. Would he pull away like I expected him to and, even if he did, would he at least get the message that I cared? Despite how Zack had trashed my heart more than once, he was still my best friend, and that part of me hurt for him.
“So after an entire week, their band never showed. It had been hard enough getting into the bar and the only reason they let me is because they know about our band—and they didn’t serve me drinks.
They just thought I was there for the show.
My dad’s band is their house band, but they always had an opener—so it’s possible we could have played for them at some point. ”
“So what happened?”
“I finally asked the bartender why the house band wasn’t playing. He said, ‘You haven’t heard?’ When I told him I hadn’t, he said the lead guitarist died last week and they weren’t sure if or when they’d play again.”
“And the lead guitarist—”
“Was my dad.”
Oh, shit. For a brief moment, I was pissed at Zack’s mom.
She could have told him about his dad at any point throughout his life but she had to tell him now—now—and even though Zack hadn’t jumped on the chance to see his dad, he hadn’t exactly dragged his feet, either.
When he finally decided, it was just a few days late.
And, regardless of what my friend thought, I knew him—and I knew this was killing him. “Are you gonna be okay?”
“Yeah. What choice do I have?”
“Well—”
“We have our whole lives ahead of us, Dani. I’ll be fine. Besides…I don’t know if I would have had anything nice to say to my dad anyway. It’s probably better this way.”
Then why the hell was he drinking vodka by himself in the middle of the night?
“Can I do anything?”
A wistful smile turned up the corners of his lips. “Just keep being you.”
“I don’t know if—”
“It’s more than enough.” Picking up the glass, he slammed what little liquid was left in it before picking up the almost-empty bottle and pouring in the rest. “His funeral’s on Thursday.”
“Are you going?”
“I’d have to take off work. I don’t think—”
“Your boss would give you that time. I know she would. She might be a bitch, but she’s not heartless.” I didn’t know any of that for a fact, but based on what Zack had said about her in the past, I thought it was a good guess. “If you want some support, I’ll go with you.”
“No, I’m not going. I never knew the guy.
I mean, I guess thanks for the genes, but I don’t know anything about him.
Did he have other kids? Was he a loser? Was he fun to be around?
Was he a good musician? Would he have wanted his guitar back?
He probably would have told me to fuck off.
We weren’t a part of each other’s lives for twenty years—and anything else we might have to say is just a bunch of what ifs.
” Zack’s voice had grown loud enough that I feared he might wake up our roommates.
Had he had so much to drink that he hadn’t noticed how his voice had grown in volume?
So, when I spoke, my voice was even softer than before, as if I could balance it out. “Okay. But if you change your mind—”
“I won’t.” His voice was harsh again and he swallowed half of the glass’ contents. Then he looked at me, his eyes softened. “Sorry. I don’t know why it’s pissed me off so much—but…thank you.”
“For what?”
At that, he chuckled, tipping the glass again to polish it off. “For being a good friend…and trying to help.”
My hand still on the table, I reached over again and brushed his. This time, he took it in his and squeezed it. I gave him what I hoped was a small smile—not overdone, because of the situation, but enough to communicate that I really did care. I simply said, “Of course. You’d do the same for me.”
But part of me wondered if that was true.
Zack wasn’t a bad guy—but he was completely submerged in his own shit, not to mention his focus on making us famous.
Even while he smiled back at me, I wondered…
wondered if Zack would ever be whole enough to ever really love someone else, even if that someone wasn’t me.
The day before our first time in the studio, Jeff asked to meet with us, inviting us to the restaurant at the hotel where he was staying.
It was a bit of a pain in the ass to get there because it was near downtown—so parking was hard to find.
Because we took my car, it was a little easier to find a spot, but I was rattled from having to drive through all the traffic.
When we got there, I said, “Next time, you’re driving. ”
Zack said, “I can drive us back home.”
I didn’t say it, but I wasn’t about to let him drive now—he’d started drinking as soon as he’d gotten home from work around two. Cy and I actually exchanged a glance as we got out of the car, and I gave my head a quick shake so he knew I wasn’t about to hand the keys to Zack.
The hotel was nice enough inside—a spacious lobby with a couple of love seats and chairs off to the side that looked like they were never used and a polished marble countertop at the reception desk.
I didn’t blame the studio for not wanting Jeff to stay in a dive, but I wondered how much this was costing and knew it would add up—and, again, those expenses would come out of any royalties we’d be earning.
This album had to be a success. The worry etched into the lines on Zack’s forehead told me he felt the same way. Maybe that was part of why he’d been drinking so much lately. He likely felt way more pressure than the rest of us did.
Fortunately, Jeff helped assuage some of it.
When we made our way to the restaurant just off the lobby, he spotted us and stood, waving us in.
His hair was a sandy blond, wavy and chin length, his eyes as brown as chestnuts.
Zack was still the tallest of the bunch as Jeff was about the height of the other guys.
He took each of our hands and shook them vigorously, mine included, and told us he was happy to be working with us.
I was pleasantly surprised that I wasn’t being looked down on for being female for once.
“Have a seat, guys. Are you hungry?”
Before we’d left our apartment, we all ate sandwiches and chips at our tiny kitchen table, knowing ahead of time that we didn’t want to blow any money, whether it came out of our future royalties or our present pockets.
We all shook our heads and Zack said, “We ate earlier. We thought we were just meeting for drinks.”
“Well, yes, that’s true, but I didn’t want to be rude. I’m getting an appetizer and would order extra if any of you wanted anything.”
All four of us exchanged glances. Nope, we were in solidarity.
“How about a drink then?”
Although we hadn’t discussed that, we didn’t know how long we’d be here—and if we talked a lot, we might get thirsty.
Again, my eyes met with each of my band members and we seemed to come to an uneasy consensus.
Zack said, “Sure,” but I wondered if he was hoping he could have something stronger than caffeine.
Jeff waved over his server, something I’d never actually seen anyone do in my short life. “My guests are ready to order drinks.”
After we all told the server what we wanted and he left the table, Braden happened to pick up a menu and said, “Dude.”
I peeked, as did Zack and Cy, and saw that he was pointing at the price of soft drinks: eight dollars. That meant over twenty for the lot of us, not to mention we’d need to add tax and tip. I was already wondering about Jeff and if he had our best interests at heart.
“Is there a problem?” Jeff asked.
Zack said, “No.”
“If you’re worried about the price, I’m picking up the tab.”
Was he? Or was the record label?
“Anyway, I just wanted for us all to get to know each other before we step into the studio. Time is money there, so we need to all be on the same page before we step inside.” When I peeked at Zack, I couldn’t tell if he thought this was a good or bad thing, but Jeff continued.
“I watched a video of you guys performing a couple of songs at a recent concert, so I have a feel for your music. What you’ve got going for yourself is a unique sound—but that sometimes also makes it harder to market. ”
“We’re not changing just to—”
“Oh, no. That’s not what I’m saying. We’re not going to change you—and marketing isn’t our problem anyway.
That’s part of what the tour will be all about.
People will get to know you without having to compare.
But before we go into the studio, there are things I need to know about your vision.
Do you want to sound polished or a little raw?
Is there a specific sound—a subgenre or even a specific band—that you’re aiming for?
Do you want to cross genre boundaries? That kind of thing. ”
“The execs said you’d get us radio-ready, whatever that means,” Zack said as the server arrived with our drinks.
We paused while he made sure we all had the right beverages and then Jeff placed a napkin on his lap. “You know, that concept varies from band to band—but you’re right. One thing the label wants me to do is make sure you have a couple of singles that we can push out to radio stations.”
“What if I already know what the singles will be?” Zack asked, an edge in his voice that sounded like a challenge.
“We can discuss that. There are a lot of things that go into making sure a song is worthy for the radio—but that will come later. Right now, I need to know what your vision is. Can you tell me that, Zack?”
Our friend nodded, picking up his glass.
After he took a sip of soda from the straw, he said, “I want our music to move people—to make them feel. I don’t care what they feel, but I’ve known since I was a kid that music is like the language of emotion.
You can express anger, fear, love, hatred, sadness, joy, arousal, anger—all that shit and more through music.
I want to do that. And I also want people to buy our album, listen to it, and feel like every song is worthy of listening to over and over. ”
Jeff nodded. “Who do you see as your target audience?”
Zack didn’t hesitate. “People our age…but I don’t think that’s all. I think younger kids and people in their twenties too.”
“That’s a good place to start—but the good news is your demographic will likely be larger. Your audience can potentially be comprised of people in their thirties, forties, and even fifties if your music speaks to them.”
Finally, our leader smiled. “I like the sound of that.”
“So I need to know what you’re wanting—raw or polished sound? What other albums do you listen to and want to feel like?”
“No other albums. I want it to feel like a concert—live, energetic, raw.”
Cy said, “Yeah. Exactly.”
I loved hearing our other guitarist speak up. It made Braden and me feel more like we too could be part of the process, and we both agreed.
“Okay,” Jeff said, “that gives me a good idea where to start.”
We spent over two hours discussing the album—well, it was actually Jeff and Zack with the occasional comment from the rest of us.
And, honestly, it was better that way. This band had always had Zack guiding and leading us, and I doubted he would lead us astray now.
And Jeff seemed to be a good guy who really wanted to bring out the best of us.
Maybe he was worth the cost of an appetizer.
I just didn’t know just how much of a powder keg the next several weeks were going to become.