Chapter 9 #2
I wince and look away again. It’s amazing how she figured out in a day something that took me over a year.
“I know. I mean, most of the time I know. It’s hard to believe that sometimes, but I try to keep hoping he’ll let me back in at some point. I don’t know how to help him if he doesn’t.”
A buzz erupts in my pocket, vibrating the space between us. We let go of each other as I reach in for my phone.
TJ. Of course it is.
In any other situation, I’d let the call go to voicemail, but I’ll take a conference room full of angry record execs over continuing this conversation. While I don’t regret anything I said, I’ve had about enough of what I can handle in one dose.
Might as well take the beating while I’m already down.
“I should take this. Give me a minute?” I say with an apologetic smile.
She returns it, and maybe she seems relieved for the interruption as well. That had to be a lot for her take also.
I push to my feet and accept the call.
“Casey, finally! I’ve been texting you all night. I even tried Luke.”
“Yeah… Wait, what? Why would you do that?! ”
“You weren’t responding, and I knew you were with him last night. You’re the band now, Casey. You have to answer your phone.”
I scrub at my face and take deep breaths to calm my nerves. “No, I know. I just?—”
“So you saw Luke yesterday?”
“Yeah.”
“What about today? Do you know where he is?”
“Yes, I know where he is. I’m with him now.”
“Great! Get him on the phone too. We can finally sort this out.”
“No, it’s not?—”
“Casey! You’re not understanding the position you’re in.
The Label is done waiting. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.
I had a call with Alberto last evening about the Kara Corbin situation.
They are pissed and out for blood . You have until Friday to deliver a demo or everything’s off and you’re getting sued for breach of contract .
You getting this? I don’t care if it’s fourteen seconds of Luke sneezing, I just need him on a damn track. Why can’t you just get me that?”
“Because he’s not ready!”
“Well, when will he be ready?!”
“I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”
“We don’t have time for that! How are you still not getting this? We need that demo now. ”
“Dammit, TJ, I told you I know! I’m working on it!”
“I sure hope so. You better deliver this time. No more excuses.”
“Okay yeah?—”
“Look, you know how much I love you, but I can’t cover for you anymore, Casey. You have less than a week to decide if you’re in or out.”
“Okay, just don’t?— ”
“I can’t go back to them and ask for anything else. They already conceded as much as they’re going to.”
“No, I know. Just don’t call him again, okay? Call me if you need anything. Me, not him.”
“Then answer your damn phone!”
“Okay—”
“I’m trying to help you, Casey. I’m on your side.”
I take a deep breath. This conversation is going nowhere.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Good. Take care of yourself, all right?”
“You too.”
I can’t hang up fast enough.
“What an idiot,” I grumble to the phone gods.
Do all managers like to hear themselves talk so much? And he wonders why I never pick up the phone.
Then I remember Callie.
Shit.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter. “You know, sometimes I wish my life was more shallow, but then I talk to TJ. He always snaps me out of it.”
“TJ?”
“Our manager.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah… He’s awesome at what he does, it’s just unfortunately all he does. He tried to call Luke.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh…”
“Yeah.”
Only TJ would think that was a good idea. Let’s call the guy who blew up the band to harass him with mandates to put it back together. I’m surprised we didn’t hear a phone hitting the wall in Luke’s room.
My gaze crosses to the hallway as the gravity of my conversation with TJ sinks in. As irritating as his animated delivery can be, he’s not an alarmist. If he’s worried, I should be too .
Do I talk to Luke? Try to smooth things over?
Maybe TJ’s right. Maybe now’s the time to finally have a heart to heart about the future of the band.
It’s not just my career on the line. Sweeny, Eli, the entire army of staff and crew who are already making arrangements to follow us around the country in the fall…
No. I can’t bring it up yet. I’m still trying to convince him not to kick me out of his suite.
I have no idea how I’m going to pull off the impossible.
With a long exhale, I focus back on Callie.
“We have four months before our next tour and they want at least three new tracks. We should be releasing an entire album and building the tour around that, but they know that’s not going to happen.
They’re okay releasing the album next year if we can have some new material now. ”
Her expression sags with understanding. She read the part I’m not saying.
“But without Luke…” she finishes quietly.
I press the heels of my palms to my eyes and shake my head. “I don’t know, Callie. I honestly don’t. I mean, I’ve got some ideas, but…”
“Maybe I can help.”
I drop my hands and stare at her. “What?”
She returns a shy shrug. “I mean, I’ve never written a song before, but I write a ton of poetry. Is it a lot different?”
Is it a lot different… jotting down some pretty words in a journal versus navigating the cannibalistic vortex that is the music industry?
Yeah. It’s a lot different.
But I’m not about to take any chances with teasing her after what happened earlier. It’s sweet that she wants to help. Of course she does. She probably would have made the same offer if I needed a kidney. It’s just who she is.
I pass a quick look around the disaster of a living room. Honestly, it could be fun to explore our creative sides together. Heaven knows we need something to fill the hours in this suite waiting for The Emperor of Brood to emerge from his cave.
My career-saving demo probably isn’t the best project for our first collaboration, though.
I try to keep my tone as sincere and humor-free as possible. “Well, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, it’s just, I mean, it’s not that easy. There’s a lot of politics to songwriting. The band, the Label, legal stuff…”
“Okay, so we don’t write for Night Shifts Black. We just write to have something to do while we hang out, and try to find you some inspiration.”
Damn. Did she read my mind? A shiver runs through me at how in sync we are.
I search her face when a hint of doubt creeps into my head.
People don’t just give their time and talent without expecting something in return.
I’ve been burned more times than I can count, in ways I never saw coming.
By reaching the top, I’ve achieved the status of being the connected ladder rung people step on to reach their own summit.
“Really? You’d do that?” I try not to sound as skeptical as I feel.
But her casual shrug shows no sign of exploitation. She looks like it makes no difference to her if I say yes or no. This really is about me, not her.
“Of course. I mean, it’s not like I do anything else with my writing. No one’s ever even read it.”
I study her in disbelief. “Wait, what? You’ve never shared your stuff?”
She chews on her lip with another shrug. “I never really thought about it. I write because it’s part of me, but I could never actually be a real writer.”
Huh? That doesn’t make any sense.
“Why?” I ask in genuine confusion .
“Why?” she scoffs. “I don’t know, because that’s not realistic. You don’t just get to ‘be a writer’ because you like to write.”
My skepticism must be all over my face when her eyes narrow.
“Don’t get mad,” I say, holding up my hands. “I’m just not understanding what you’re saying. You like to write, so write. Why do you have to put labels and expectations on it?”
Her brows knit, and suddenly it feels like we’ve landed at another crossroads. Maybe this is my chance to drag someone in the right direction for once.
“Show me something,” I say before she can shut this down.
“What?”
“I want to see something you’ve written. I saw you come with a bag yesterday. You have to have something in there.”
“Oh, you know writers so well?”
Is she serious?
“I am a writer,” I remind her.
If she wants to play this game, fine, but she better brace herself. I may be easygoing on the outside, but I grew up sandwiched in the middle of nine siblings. I’m as competitive as they come.
She looks genuinely confused as I leave her on the couch to head down the hall. After retrieving my carryon from the office beside the second bedroom, I make my way back to the living room. She hasn’t moved from the couch and looks just as bewildered as when I left.
“I kept my stuff in the office,” I say as I comb through the contents of my bag. I may not have brought clean clothes or toiletries, but I never go anywhere without the most important things.
I find the beat-up notebook and tug it from the space beside my laptop.
“I do all my serious stuff on the computer, but carry this for any spurts of unexpected inspiration. ”
Her eyes fill with understanding, like she knows exactly what I mean.
I flip it toward her and she stares at it. Her gaze scans the cover, then my face, like this is a joke. I motion for her to take it, and she tentatively reaches for it.
I get it. These journals are sacred. There are times I’m even hesitant to show Luke my unfiltered thoughts. But I really need her to see it. I need her to understand the only thing that separates my art from hers is my willingness to put it on display.
She finally seems to accept what’s happening and flips through the pages with slow reverence. She stops on a maze of scribbles for a new song that’s been haunting me for a while.
I’m relieved the words I wrote about her are safely on my phone.
“I know. It’s kind of a mess,” I say, explaining all the weird notations. “I hear the music in my head but it’s hard to get it down exactly right without a guitar or piano, so I just make notes to myself for later.”
“I thought you played drums.”
I snort a laugh. She’s too cute.