Chapter Sixteen
A little over a week later, Dred pulled up to the television studio, a giant smile plastered on his face.
Yeah, he looked like an idiot, but quite frankly he didn’t give a shit.
Not when he was running late because his girlfriend had surprised him in the huge tiled walk-in shower by letting him take her pressed face-first against the wall.
They’d been living together for nine days.
Nine perfectly fucking blissful days, where he wrote some of the most meaningful lyrics of his life and played hair-raising music with his very best friends.
Then went home to his sexy-as-hell girlfriend and cute-as-a-button baby girl at night.
He and Pixie had fallen into a smooth routine.
All plans to hiring an agency nanny had gone out of the window.
Pixie looked after Petal on her days off.
When Pixie was working, Cujo’s sister-in-law, Elisa, looked after Petal for him.
She was already home with young twins, Amaya and Zephyr, and had offered to add one more.
Dred had wanted to pay, but Elisa wouldn’t hear of it, and that was the reason her girls were now hurtling around her backyard every afternoon in a bright pink custom-edition kiddie Escalade.
The darkness that had lingered around him all these years was lifted. And so what if he was exhausted from sleepless nights with Petal, sexual exploration with Pixie, and the madness of songs bombarding his brain at all hours, he’d never been happier.
There had only been a couple of moments of anxiety with Pixie’s triggers.
The first time, in the heat of the moment, he’d grabbed her hands over her head again, forgetting how much she hated being restrained.
The second had involved some admittedly hard-core dirty talk.
She’d called “Rule Two” both times, and of course he backed off immediately.
He stepped out of the town car and met Trent in the lobby of the building.
They were recording an early-morning segment about the scars episode they’d filmed at Second Circle.
A special on how tattooing was being used for good, including a woman who helped burn victims create more even skin coloration after recovery and a man who had perfected tattooing nipples for women recovering from breast-cancer surgeries.
Before the show, he had no idea things like that even existed, and he was grateful for the opportunity to help raise awareness.
“Morning, bro. How’s it going?” Trent said.
Dred grinned. “Do you really need to ask?”
“Nah. Thanks for having us over for dinner last night. That little girl of yours is a heartbreaker.”
“Yeah, she sure as hell is. Although not so much at four in the morning.”
Trent laughed. “Maybe we should have her sleep over. Soon as we got in the cab last night, Harper was all “when are we going to start?” Told her I promised her old man we wouldn’t be getting married shotgun.
If she sees the four in the morning wake-ups firsthand it might be enough to put her off for a few more months. ”
Dred doubted it. Harper had been all about his little girl. Hadn’t even batted an eye when Petal pooped like a trooper while sitting on her knee. And from the looks Trent kept sending Harper’s way, she wasn’t the only one with babies on their mind.
The interview went smoothly, and Dred was in awe of the courage of some of the people he met.
He found himself biting the inside of his cheek as he sat on the sofa listening to the TV anchor lead the women through their stories.
Crying on television wouldn’t do his hard-core man-of-metal reputation any good.
Once the recording was over, Dred and Trent stepped outside.
“Off to the studio?” Trent asked.
“Yeah, got down the outline for a great song yesterday, so we want to see if we can finish it off today. Then I’m taking tomorrow off. You?”
“I’m opening, so I gotta shoot. You need a ride?”
“Nah, that’s mine over there,” he said, tilting his chin in the direction of the town car. Dred hugged Trent and slapped him on the back. “See you later.”
When he was in the limo, he checked his messages. There was an email from Sam.
Spoke to John Ferica this morning. He’s in New York right now so can’t really take meetings, but says label requirements are clear, as is the contract.
Their treatment by the label was the only thing left in his life with the potential to burst his happy bubble, and he was so fucking over it.
But Dred couldn’t be sure how persuasive Sam was being.
Dred looked at his watch. Seventeen minutes to eight.
He scrolled through his emails and found one from John that listed his cell phone number.
Without giving himself time to overthink it, Dred dialed.
“Ferica.”
“Hey, John, it’s Dred Zander. How’re you doing?”
“Dred Zander,” he said in a long drawn-out drawl. “Gimme a minute, will ya?”
He heard John mumbling instructions to someone else in the room.
“Sorry about that, Dred, I’m back. Can I say we’re all thrilled with how well the box set did over the holidays? Worked out great. Got us some great momentum in the first quarter that’s carried through into this one. How’s the album coming along?”
Either the guy was dumb or was playing him. “Well, I think you know, right? You spoke to Sam this morning.”
“No. Haven’t spoken to Sam in a while. In fact, it’s been so long, I was thinking of giving you guys a shout. I’m interested in hearing where this album’s taking you.”
Dred ran his hand through his hair. “What do you mean you haven’t heard from Sam in a while? We had a list of issues we asked him to bring to you and he told us you blew them off.” Dred opened the window to let in some air. He was suddenly uncomfortable.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I don’t know about Sam, man. I always said you needed someone with a shit-load more experience. What’s on your mind?”
“The timing of the European leg of tour and the album is really tight, but we can just about pull it off if we didn’t have to do all that other stuff you ask for. Like the festivals and all the publicity events.”
“Look, Dred, we asked Sam if you guys thought you could manage the timing of the tour and album and he told me you all agreed,” John replied.
Dred tugged on his anchor. “Sam told us it was non-negotiable. It’s been a fucking shit-show trying to get it done.”
“We didn’t ask for you to do Brazil. I mean, it’s all good publicity, but the album and tour have always been our priority.”
“So the tour? Did you say I couldn’t bring my family along?”
“No, Dred. I had no clue you had a family. Congrats, man. Listen. I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but sounds like Sam isn’t on the up.
Talk with the guy. Fire him if you have to.
Let me help you find a new agent. Send me a list of what you need to make the tour happen.
Sales from you guys over the past two years have kept us all in jobs.
You’re one of our best earners. If you’ll forgive the pun, you’re fucking rock stars. ”
Dred’s chest tightened. Sam had been their friend for nearly a decade. Either Sam or John was lying. His sense of loyalty told him to defend his friend, but he sensed no deception from John. And he was relieved by not having to confront the label about Petal and Pixie joining him on tour.
He pulled up outside a redbrick building. “John, I just got to the recording studio, can I get the rest of the guys together and call you back in five?”
“Sure, but it’ll have to be later. I got meetings from nine until one, but gimme a ring back then.”
“Thanks, John.”
He ended the call, then thanked the driver before stepping out of the car.
His next call was to the head of security at the American Airlines Arena.
Perhaps they could help him figure out who was telling the truth.
* * *
Pixie’s heart skipped a beat as she turned the corner and walked toward Second Circle.
Petal was wide awake and looking at the world around her.
But even the sight of her cute dark eyes that looked like Dred’s couldn’t calm the turmoil inside.
It wasn’t unusual for her to swing by on her day off, but she’d chosen today because she knew Trent and Cujo were both on the opening shift, which was a rare occurrence.
And she had something to discuss with them.
She knocked on the window. Cujo waved and headed to the front door to open it for her.
“Morning, Pix. Here, let me get that,” he said, reaching for the stroller.
“I know it’s early, but I wondered if I could talk with you and Trent for a minute,” she said nervously.
“Sure. He’s in the office.”
Petal started to cry, and Pixie stepped toward the stroller to get her out, but Cujo stopped her. “I got this. Did it enough with Amaya and Zeph. Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”
The door to the office was open and Trent was at the large table, sketching what looked like an image of the Hindu goddess Kali.
“Hey, Pix,” he said, finishing off the curve of an arm. “I left Dred at the TV studio if you’re looking for him.”
She took the seat next to him. “No. He knows I was coming here. I wanted to talk to you and Cujo.”
Trent put his pen down and rolled up the sketch, before sliding it into a brown tube.
“Hey,” Cujo said in a high-pitched voice as he walked into the room, wiggling Petal’s arm as he spoke. “I want my first tattoo done by Cujo, just sayin’.”
Pixie could have sworn Petal smiled. It appeared that no females, not even baby ones, could resist Cujo when he turned on the charm.
“So, what’s up?” Trent asked her, leaning back in his chair.
“I’m ready to tell you. I want you to know,” she said.
Cujo reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “You know it doesn’t change anything, right? What you say?” He took a seat on the other side of her.