CHAPTER NINE
Gizmo
I drop the drumsticks, and grab the towel I keep close by to wipe the sweat off my face and neck.
“You good with that riff?” Vince Jennings, our lead guitarist, asks the three of us.
Hawkin Play, our lead singer, glances over to him and nods. He has a pencil in between his teeth while he scribbles out the lyrics we just figured out with another one in his hand.
Our fourth and final band member, Rocket, sits to the right of me, his eyes closed and head bobbing as he replays the whole song in his head. He’s good like that. The lucky bastard can play something once and commit it to memory.
“I like it,” Hawke says. “It still needs some tweaking but it has a good feel to it. You fine with it, Giz?”
“You know me, I’m good with anything.” I take a sip from my water bottle. “Anything but that crap we put together last time. That was... dogshit.”
Silence permeates the studio as everyone eyes the other one, waiting for someone’s feelings to be hurt, before the four of us start laughing at the same time. “It was definite shit,” Rocket says.
“The rhythm was so bad, so off, you couldn’t even fuck to it if you wanted to,” Hawkin says as he makes a play of jerking his hips spasmodically to make the point.
“I don’t need the visual,” Vince chimes in. “But you’re right. It was fucking horrible and I’m the prick who wrote it.”
“Well, it’s about time you do something wrong because we were all getting sick of your perfection.” I roll my eyes and toss my water bottle his way.
“It’s hard to be this good,” he says and slides down the wall until his ass is on the floor and his knees are bent in front of him.
This is what it’s like when you’ve been best friends with your bandmates since your late teens. You can fuck with each other, be honest, and know it’ll all be okay in the end because we always have each other’s backs.
And that’s not an easy thing to come by or be a part of in this industry of egos and vultures.
But it also makes what I have to say to the guys that much harder. Stalling, I check the setup of my drum set, as if I haven’t already done it a few times today. I drop my rag to the ground and use my foot to mop up the sweat that’s dripped there. The studio may be air-conditioned but take after take of this song has me drenched in sweat.
I glance back over my shoulder. Hawkin has taken a seat in the swivel office chair, Rocket is texting someone, and Vince has his head angled up to the ceiling and his eyes are closed.
“You want to tell us what’s going on with you, Giz?” Hawkin asks without looking my way.
“Who said there was anything wrong?” I ask.
“Fuck, man. We know you,” Vince says. “You don’t miss fucking beats to save your life and yet you missed several today. Something is wrong. We know it. You know it. Just spit it the fuck out already.”
I drop my head and nod. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m trying to fix something before it becomes wrong.”
“The tour? The travel? What?” It’s Rocket that asks and that earns devastating groans from everyone.
“It’s not a problem yet,” I lie because it’s just easier to break shit to them in pieces.
“Yet?” Hawkin crosses his arms over his chest as Vince tilts his head to the side.
“Jase?” Vince prompts.
“You know, the gift that keeps on giving. My probation .”
They all pause. They were there that night at the hotel. After, anyway. They helped me pick up the pieces of myself I was willing to leave behind. They talked me down from the ledge I was teetering on. They supported me through the charges. They know the why behind it all and yet here we are, still dealing with the ramifications all this time later.
“What’s going on?” Vince’s eyes narrow as Rocket steps closer.
“New judge. New hoops to jump through for approval, but we’re figuring it out,” I say.
“ We’re ?” Hawkin asks.
“Nathaniel. Me. Abigail,” I say, now clearly having their attention. And so I proceed to explain to them the whole scenario. Nathaniel’s talk with the judge. Our discussion over having to get married. My decision to go along with it.
“It’s just fucked in all the ways it can be fucked,” I say, ending my drawn-out explanation. “It was never a problem before so I assumed it wouldn’t be this time. I... fuck, I shouldn’t have waited until now to ask, but I did and now we know and are trying to fix it.”
But their faces say it all. Disappointment. Worry. Stress. Uncertainty. To cancel a sold-out world tour comes with ramifications on numerous fronts.
I try to fix things. “You guys are my family. The last thing I want to do is hurt you or the tour or the fans and so... that’s why I decided to go along with it.”
“Go along with it? Christ ,” the always-single Rocket mutters. “You sure stuck your boot in that pile of shit, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” I say, staring at the bottle of whiskey on the soundboard across from me. I’m desperate for it to wash down the disappointment I feel over letting my friends, my brothers, down.
“Look. It’s a plan. Not sure if it’s a good one, but it sounds like Nathaniel has the judge locked in on this and that the plan will work. Your brother might be a lot of things to you, but screwing you over isn’t his style. So go along with it. Fine,” Hawkin says, the clear leader in this band of equals. “But to some random woman you met in a coffee shop?” He snorts. “What the fuck, dude?”
“I know. It sounds crazy and—well, perfectly like something I’d do, right?” I ask to which a round of laughs sound off.
“No fucking shit,” Vince says and helps himself to that whiskey that’s definitely now calling my fucking name.
“I promise you, she’s chill, normal, and won’t fuck up the chemistry or vibe or any of that shit.”
“Uh-huh,” Vince says, eyes now back to being closed. “Nothing screams opportunist like the rando who’s suddenly okay with marrying a strange man for no reason.”
I know what he’s saying. Even I’d probably think the same thing if the roles were reversed. “She didn’t come looking for this. She has no Hollywood aspirations. I’m telling you, you guys will like her.”
“How do you know that when you don’t even know her?” Rocket adds.
“Kind of like the same way I knew to trust you assholes and your word when you shook hands over letting me in the band way back when,” I say. Their expressions relay their disbelief.
Vince lifts his glass toward me. “We’re holding you to this, Giz. Your promise to make this work.”
“I know. My word is good,” I say and hate that my voice almost breaks.
Silence settles in the room as the three guys I care about more than anything stare at me. I won’t let them down.
“We know it’s good. We were there that night.” Hawkin tosses the half-eaten pack of Starbursts onto the table beside him. “But we’re going to reserve judgment for this Hendrix chick until after we meet her. That’s only fair.”
“It is.” I nod. “I’ll make this right.”
I meet each of their eyes to let them know I mean it.
“Fuck. Does this mean we have to throw you a bachelor party?” Vince asks, his eyes wide as we all recall how wild his was. And that’s saying a lot with the life we lead.
“Nah, man. We’re all good,” I say. “Besides, we’ve been living in one for the past ten years.”
“True. Very fucking true,” Vince says and walks over, holding the glass out to me. I take a drink. “Thanks for coming clean and doing what needs to be done.”
I clear my throat and hate what shame tastes like. “Anything for you guys. You know that.”
“We do,” Rocket says.
“Never a doubt.” Hawkin pushes up out of his seat. “Is the kumbaya moment over? Can we get the fuck back to work now? The plan is to get this new material written before the tour starts.”
“Please,” I say, thrilled to have this off my chest and out in the open. To have the guys be cool with it.
And what do you know? I don’t miss a beat the rest of the fucking session.