Chapter 7 #2
“And if they were able to get a single… and we have Pat…”
Dennis gives a sly smile, raising one eyebrow. “You see where I’m going with this?”
The future plays in Ray’s head. He’s heard the Drivers perform before back when scouting with Gene.
They were fairly good, but Pat really was their backbone, so to speak.
Even if he didn’t include Pat in their own lineup, the Dusty Brooms have something raw, something real—camaraderie within the band, incomparable energy with their performances, and true, musical emotion with every note they play—something he failed to witness with the Drivers.
If the Drivers could get a single, surely the Brooms will reach new heights much greater than that—releasing album after album, TV appearances, radio and magazine interviews, performing in arenas with tens of thousands of people…
“Heyyy, it’s Denny! Haven’t seen you in a while; what’re you doing here?” Pat walks up to the two of them with a smile on her face.
Dennis pulls his hand off Ray’s shoulder and closes his fist in front of his mouth, faking a cough. “Ah, ahem, just Dennis is fine.”
“He was just telling me about how he wants to work with us. He said he helped manage your old band,” Ray says.
“Yeah, that’s how I know him. Denny’s the real deal, Ray—”
“Just Dennis is fine…”
“—He and Vernon were really pulling some strings helping out the Drivers, because Lord knows, those guys couldn’t help themselves if they tried.”
Ray cracks up with laughter. “Then he has your approval? You’d want to work with Dennis again now that you’re in the Brooms?”
“Absolutely!” Pat slaps Dennis’ back, forcing a comical cough out of him. “How do we sign him on?”
“What’s going on? Who’s this cat?” Now it’s Gene who steps into their circle.
“This is Denny, he worked with my manager for my old band and was a booking agent for them,” Pat says.
“Just Dennis is fine…” Dennis mumbles.
“Ah, that’s neat,” Gene says.
“And from the sound of it,” Ray says, “Dennis now wants us to sign him on as our manager.”
“Exactly.” Dennis straightens up, adjusting his sunglasses. “It appears I already have the approval of two Brooms, but I need a unanimous decision.”
“Hey, I technically haven’t approved anything yet,” Ray chuckles, raising his pointer finger. “But I’m liking everything you’ve offered so far. It would help us out so much.”
Gene looks at Ray, a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on his face. “If you and Pat like him, then I like him too.”
“Hey, Santi!” Ray calls out. “Come here.”
Santiago does as requested, joining their circle. “What’s up?”
“How would you feel if we got a manager for the Brooms? I’ve been managing, yeah, but it’s kinda hard being both a manager and a member of the band. Dennis here could solve that problem if we signed him on as manager for us.” Ray motions his hand toward Dennis.
“And you know this guy?” Santiago raises his brows.
“Pat does, she worked with him before. If Pat trusts him, I trust him.”
“And I trust whatever Ray says,” Gene adds.
“Then, alright!” Santiago smiles. “I trust him too. That all sounds good.”
“Stefan?” Ray says. The bassist walks over.
“Hmm?”
“Would you be alright if we signed on Dennis here as our manager?” Ray asks. “Pat already knows him.”
Stefan shrugs. “Sure.” Always a man of few words.
“Then it’s settled!” Dennis claps his hands and rubs them together.
“I’ll let my higher-up at Active Sound know and we’ll whip up some documents for you to sign.
Figure out all the technical stuff and write it down, y’know.
You’ll be safe with us. Before you know it, you’ll all be performing in Detroit. I can promise you that.”
Ray’s chest flutters with delight, and he looks over to Gene. His best friend grins back at him, and Ray can’t help but think of how handsome that smile is. It feels like they’ve made it—but Ray knows this is only the beginning of even greater things yet to come.
February, 1975
It feels like a dream come true, how only a year and a half after they’d formed, their little band that started out as just a couple guys playing music in a bedroom is now opening for Rod Stewart & the Faces.
The fucking Faces! Ray can hardly believe it, singing in front of an audience of thousands of people in Cobo Arena.
Sure, these people didn’t buy their tickets in hopes to see the Dusty Brooms, but they’re still here—they’re grooving, they’re jamming, they’re having a blast being exposed to brand new music.
Dennis kept true to his promise of getting the Brooms to Detroit.
Not only has he gotten them gigs in smaller venues, but he’s also been using his connections behind the scenes to get them opening for much bigger acts—just like today.
Last month they’d opened for Lynyrd Skynyrd at the Ford Auditorium, and even Blue ?yster Cult at the Michigan Palace in December.
And now it’s the fucking Faces. Ray’s chest fills with a pleasant warmth, especially with Gene at his side.
It’s absolutely wild how so much weight has been lifted off Ray’s shoulders now with hiring a manager.
Someone else to deal with the bullshit, someone who actually knows their stuff, someone who believes in them.
Ray can almost smell a record deal on the horizon, especially if they’re playing to huge crowds like this.
Also with huge crowds comes another perk—copious amounts of chicks.
Chicks to learn who he is, to cheer his name, to fawn over him relentlessly.
Ray basically feels like Rod Stewart himself with how many of them are going nuts in the audience, and they barely even know who he is.
The stage is so much larger than what he’s used to, too.
But a larger stage means he has more room to dance, which is an excellent thing—he can run around more, moving his body to the beat, and not worry about hitting his bandmates in the face when he throws his arms out.
He’s never had so much attention on him all at once.
It’s been overwhelming. His mind has been torn this way and that.
As the frontman, the lead singer, he’s expected to be the center of attention, of course.
That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy it. One can be nervous of the dangers of mountain climbing, yet still love it enough to reach the top.
There’s also been another sort of pressure, a wonderful feeling that he doesn’t even know how to explain—caused by none other than Gene.
Every time they perform, when Gene comes up to his mic to sing the harmony along with him, being next to him so close, their faces nearly touching, with so many eyes watching them…
It stirs up the strangest feeling. He loves it, but that sentiment alone is not enough to describe what’s happening within him.
Harriet hasn’t been able to come to their shows lately, with her being in college and also taking on a part-time job.
It’s funny, he’s actually been spending more time with Gene than his actual girlfriend—jamming with him, writing new songs together in their shared bedroom back home, then traveling and performing with the band.
But for some reason, as much as he loves it all, it leaves him…
frustrated. A fluttering in his chest, a sensation that consumes his body, pulsing even stronger, forcefully, as they take the stage…
During their previous show in Detroit, such a feeling had become so overwhelming, that Ray knew he needed to release his frustrations somehow.
At these larger shows, there’s been a plethora of girls waiting to get backstage, so many more than before.
They were probably only waiting for the Dusty Brooms because they figured it would be easier to get with them rather than anyone from Lynyrd Skynyrd—to which, yeah, it probably is easier—but Ray supposed that was fine enough for him.
So Ray brought one of the beautiful ladies back to his motel room when Gene and Santi weren’t there.
They had some drinks, stripped their clothes off, lay down on the bed, skin to skin—
He cheated on Harriet.
He knew he should’ve been feeling horrible about it, but for some reason—he felt detached.
Perhaps it was the situation, the location, the overwhelming pressure, but if anything, it felt relieving.
It only strengthened his desire for more female attention.
Like a drug he knew he could easily become addicted to.
Harriet doesn’t need to know. I doubt Gene or Santi would ever tell her if they found out, either.
Presently, the Dusty Brooms play their last notes, finishing up their set. The crowd roars like an intense thunderclap. It rattles everything around them, even the mics on their stands.
“Thank you!” Ray yells to the audience. “Thank you, Detroit! We’re so happy you enjoyed us playing here tonight.
” The crowd screams even louder. He’s unsure if it’s because they loved the Brooms or they’re just excited that the Faces are up next.
But either way, it pumps him up. His heartbeat is racing and he can’t stop grinning.
He puts his hand on the mic. “That wraps it up for us. Don’t forget our names—we’re the Dusty Brooms!
” Another roar. Perhaps they are cheering for us.
“Stay tuned for the main event. Up next is… Rod Stewart and the Faces!”
It feels like a tornado is about to brew with how insane the crowd screams. Ray soaks it all in. Gene comes up to his side, Ray grabs his hand, lifts it up, and they bend together in a bow.
Once backstage, they convene and chat with none other than the Faces themselves.
Ray shakes Rod Stewart’s hand, and they joke how they both are blonds named Roderick—Raymond Roderick and Roderick Stewart.
Gene comes up to his side and laughs along with them, while Santiago seems to be getting along mighty well with Ronnie Wood.
It feels like we’re dining with royalty.
But not for long, as the Faces gear up for battle, grabbing their instruments and heading off toward the stage.
Ray’s about to head off to try to catch a glimpse of the Faces playing—but is stopped by Dennis before he can get any further. He’s accompanied by a somewhat shorter, balding middle-aged man that Ray’s never seen before.
“Raymond! Brooms! You all were spectacular out there,” Dennis says, grabbing Ray’s hand and shaking it vigorously.
“Ah, th-thank you!” Ray manages to get out. Dennis lets go of his hand.
“I’d like to introduce you to a very special guest tonight. Meet Francis Sinclair. Francis Sinclair, this is Raymond Roderick.” He claps both of them on their shoulders, gesturing them to face each other in greeting.
Francis puts his hand forward for a shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Raymond.”
Ray accepts the shake. “You as well, Mr. Sinclair.” This must be something important. At least he’s smiling, so that’s a good sign.
“Please, Francis is fine.” He lets go of Ray’s hand.
“Francis is an A&R scout for RCA Records,” Dennis reveals. “And he just… happened to stop by tonight to watch you all play.”
Ray’s heart skips a beat. He can barely even breathe.
A&R scout?
RCA Records?
“Wh-what—huh—I mean—what, really?” He lets out a nervous chuckle.
“Yes, really,” Francis says with a smile, adjusting his glasses. “I was surprised to learn that you aren’t already signed on with a label, like the Faces over there. Your group sounds above and beyond.”
“Wh-why, thank you!” Ray can feel his chest and face heating up. Is this real?
“You’re very welcome,” Francis says. “So, I was wondering, if you, Dennis, and your band would like to stop by my office tomorrow to… negotiate something.”
“And that something would be…?” Dennis eggs him on with a devilish smirk.
Francis smirks back. “A potential record contract.”
Now Ray really can’t breathe.
“A record contract…” Ray repeats.
“You like the sound of that? How ’bout it?” Dennis asks.
Ray finally manages to take a breath. In and out. In and out. His heart slaps against the inside of his chest madly.
“Yes! Oh my god, yes!” Ray lets out a breathy laugh. “Gene! Come over here!”
In an instant, Gene is at his side. He must’ve been eavesdropping on their conversation. “A record contract? Really?” He smiles.
“Really,” Francis says.
“Santi! Pat! Stefan!” Ray calls out.
A collective “Huh?” sounds from all of them.
Francis repeats what he’d already told Ray to the rest.
A record contract.
We’ve made it. We’ve really fucking made it!
Gene grabs Ray’s hand and lifts it up in excitement.
His smile revs up the engine in Ray’s heart.
Commotion and cheers surround them with everyone bursting at the exciting news, but Ray keeps his eyes on Gene.
Gene, who’s been with him since the beginning, who plays the most amazing blues guitar he’s ever heard, who fires up his spirit like no other.
Gene, who has the most beautiful hazel eyes he’s ever seen.