Chapter 7
Gene sits down on the shag carpeted floor of his and Ray’s bedroom, with Ray sitting beside him.
Both of them have acoustic guitars in their laps, strumming a rhythm to a new song they’re forming.
It’s always so perfect like this, making beautiful music together.
Gene feels butterflies from merely listening to Ray’s voice.
“I pull up to the truck stop,” Ray sings, strumming the same chords as Gene, “and a chill runs down my spine.”
Gene changes the chord, and Ray follows along, mimicking him.
While Gene and Santiago are the main guitarists in the band, Gene thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a third guitar help with the rhythm every now and then.
Ray took up the offer easily with a smile.
Gene adores that, his heart feeling warm.
“What rhymes with spine…” Gene muses, talking while strumming. “Mine. Mine rhymes.”
“I see her standin’ before me,” Ray makes up the next lyric on the spot. “I know I’ll make her mine.”
Ray has already made Harriet his, but Gene still hasn’t felt the urge to find a steady girlfriend for himself yet.
Even though Gene lost his virginity last month, he hasn’t really talked to Ray much about it, other than telling him that it happened and Ray congratulating him.
That was that. It’s not like Ray talks to him about Harriet, so it’s fine.
The less they talk about women, the better, in Gene’s mind.
He’d rather keep their conversations focused on music and the band.
His favorite moments of any day are the ones where he can simply be alone with Ray, writing songs.
Thankfully he gets those moments often, despite Harriet staying over every once in a while.
He and Ray are best friends after all, and Gene can see for himself how Ray, too, is always so excited to make music.
More often than not, it’s actually Ray who initiates a song writing session.
Even if Ray doesn’t have any lyrics in mind, he simply does so because he likes to jam with Gene.
Gene finds that sentiment so endearing. There’s no other friend who he’s this close with, who gels with him so easily, who makes him feel so warm, who writes amazing songs with him.
Sure, he’s gotten to be good friends with Santiago, but what he shares with Ray is different.
It’s special. He can feel it in his bones—he and Ray will be best friends for life.
“Yeah, that’s so good.” Gene nods and continues to strum, feeling the rhythm.
“She walks into the building,” Ray sings, strumming the chord, “and a fire rages,” strum, strum, “within my so-o-oul.”
“So-o-ho-woah-oul,” Gene adds as an echo to Ray’s last note, harmonizing with him.
“Damn, Gene, I love that,” Ray says with a chuckle, stopping his strumming. “How do you do it? You know just the right notes that work well with the melody.”
“I don’t know.” Gene shrugs, smiling, stopping his own strumming too. “I just hear the notes in my head and think it sounds good.”
“I guess that’s true with me, too.” Ray pulls his lips to the side. “But that’s just for the melody. You’re the intelligent mastermind behind finding the harmonies.”
Every time Ray compliments him, it stirs up those butterflies yet again. “Well, thank you, Mister Legendary Bluesman.”
Ray flips his hair with a smug look on his face. “You flatter me.”
“But it’s the truth.”
“And I say the truth as well!”
Gene laughs. “We’re both great bluesmen, how about that?”
“For sure, I agree,” Ray says, giving Gene such a sweet smile. “We’re partners in crime.”
“The crime being…?”
“Being too damn handsome.”
He can’t help but laugh again, his cheeks feeling hot. “That’s great, Ray. You’re the best.”
“I could say the same about you.”
October, 1974
Ray sings his heart out into the microphone with Gene at his side.
The crowds in Grand Rapids are their biggest—on their home turf—cheering and shouting along with the lyrics.
It pumps Ray up and fills his heart with energy, with love for the music, with admiration for the band.
Especially admiration for Gene, who stands so close, his breath grazing over Ray’s cheek.
It sends a flutter through him like no other.
It’s safe to say the Dusty Brooms are the most popular live band in Grand Rapids.
But that’s the only way to hear them—live.
With this kind of success, it would be wonderful if they were able to score a record deal, to be able to hear their original songs on the radio.
But it’s been difficult for Ray to figure out scheduling outside of their usual venues and branching out from their local scene, especially with Gene and Santiago still in art school.
Sure, they’ve traveled to some other nearby cities: Lansing, Kalamazoo, and Muskegon.
But the biggest rock city of them all, Detroit, seems so far away.
That’s not to mention the stress of handling all the band’s finances.
Ray has the knowledge with his business degree to deal with it, yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s not intimidating.
Allocating money for guitar strings, amps, equipment, motel rooms, gas, along with bills and rent for their apartment…
it’s all quite a lot. While making money isn’t their prime goal by any means—it’s the music—unfortunately they still need money to perform said music.
The guitars ring their final notes, the drums roll, and the crowd screams its applause.
Ray grabs Gene’s hand—his and only his—and brings it up, then down, bending at the waist gracefully in a bow.
He doesn’t let go of Gene’s hand when he goes back up to the mic, saying, “Thank you everyone, for another wonderful night!” His heart beats fast, his cheeks feel warm.
Gene clutches his hand a little tighter.
Stars sparkle in Gene’s eyes—Ray feels butterflies; he can’t help but grin a ridiculous grin.
They exit to the backstage greenroom of The Intersection club just like usual.
Gene, Santiago, and Stefan put their instruments away in their cases, and Pat along with a member of the club staff help stow away her drum kit.
Ray is zipping his harmonica back into its own case when an unknown voice calls out to him from behind—
“Ray Roderick? Raymond Roderick of the Dusty Brooms, may I speak to you for a moment?”
He turns around to the voice, and is greeted by a tall, pale young man with short curly black hair, eyes hidden behind a pair of orange-tinted aviator sunglasses. “Yes? And… who might you be?” Ray asks.
“My name is Dennis Perks and I watched your show tonight—it was fantastic. But I’m no ordinary fan,” he says with a smirk.
“I’ve been keeping up with you all for a little while now.
I work for a company called Active Sound based out of Detroit, though I’ve been hopping around west Michigan; it’s hard to not want to come here and see everything for myself when I’ve heard such great things about the Dusty Brooms.”
A company? Active Sound? “Wh-what do you mean?”
“Initially, I was partnered with Vernon North who manages the Drivers, working on booking them gigs in the Detroit area and beyond, but… things got a little shook up when you stole their drummer. Pat Taylor, over there.”
Ray feels a cold sweat run down the back of his neck. He’s cornered, like his parents catching him in the act of stealing candy. “Oh, heh, yeah.” He gives a nervous laugh. “But I can assure you, Pat joined us willingly—she wanted to switch over. We didn’t just… take her.”
Dennis laughs, clapping his hands together once.
“And that’s exactly what I’ve been investigating.
You must have quite the sound if she wanted to ditch her old band for you all.
And I agree—you blow the Drivers out of the water.
You show so much more potential, not just in how you sound, but also how you perform in front of an audience. ”
Ray’s shoulders lose tension, relaxing down, and a warmth rises in his chest. “You—you really think so?”
“Of course! Hasn’t Pat told you herself?”
Ray chuckles. “I suppose she has.”
“Exactly. So, I’ve already reported my findings on you guys to my higher-up at Active Sound, and he gave me the O.K. to work with you guys personally, if you are so inclined. You all are working by yourselves without any sort of outside help, are you not?”
“Um… yeah, I guess so. We don’t have any deals or contracts with anyone, and I’ve been personally managing the band, booking gigs, managing our finances and such.” He fiddles with his harmonica in his hands.
“And how has that been working out for you?”
Ray juts his lips out in a pout, and looks down.
This is something that’s been whirling around in his mind.
He sighs, and lets it all out. Dennis seems like a trustworthy-enough guy.
“Honestly? It’s been pretty difficult. I’d like to get us out to Detroit but I have no idea how to get there or how I should go about contacting any venues.
It’s not like the Grande Ballroom or Eastown are still up and running.
I don’t know who to contact… And even if I tried to reach out, with how a couple of our guys are still in college, it’s been stressing me with figuring out how to schedule traveling unless it’s close by.
It’s like—I know in theory what I should be doing, but actually figuring out how? It’s so much more intimidating…”
Dennis rests a reassuring hand on Ray’s shoulder, making him look up. “That’s where I come in. I can get you those gigs in Detroit and schedule everything for you. I’ve already done it for the Drivers. But I’d like to work with you guys more. I could even get you a record deal.”
Ray gasps. He grips his harmonica case tighter. “Are you serious?”
“The Drivers already have one single out with RCA, thanks to me. But that was before Pat left them. The future of that band is up in the air with Pat gone. Tellin’ you like it is.”