Chapter 58 Reed
REED
Once outside on the patio, Keane, Zander, and I move toward a dark, isolated corner by a low retaining wall, where we can smoke out and gaze at the amazing view without a hundred people approaching to kiss my ass, or bum a hit off the joint, or gush over Keane.
But when our threesome comes to a stop, Fish’s voice rises up from the ground only a few feet away.
“Well, hello there, fellas,” he says. And when I look down, there he is, camped with Georgina’s stepsister on the opposite side of a low retaining wall, their backs against the wall as they gaze out at the sparkling view.
Keane, Zander, and I look at each other, nonverbally acknowledging what we all instantly understand: we’re totally cockblocking Fish right now.
“Sorry, brother,” Zander says. “Carry on. We came out here to smoke a joint, but we can certainly find another spot.”
“Oh, no need to do that,” Fish says, hopping up with a laugh. He pulls his girl up with him. “Did everybody meet Alessandra at the pool?”
“Yeah,” Keane says. “Hey, Ally Cat.”
She waves shyly.
“Hello again, Alessandra,” I say. I met her briefly this afternoon, but she was so intimidated, she barely held my gaze.
And this time isn’t much better. Which, frankly, annoys me.
Whether she’s intimidated or not, she needs to put on her big girl panties and try to impress me.
She’s a music student, for fuck’s sake! And I’m the head of River fucking Records.
If she can’t pull her shit together enough to at least try to seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, how is she ever going to make it in the music business?
Has this girl never heard the phrase “seize the day”? How about “fake it till you make it”?
Exhaling with frustration, I take the joint from Keane and inhale extra deeply and then hold it out to Zander, who takes an extra-long hit, too. He offers it to Fish, who does his thing, before offering it to Alessandra, who, not surprisingly, politely declines.
“Give Reed her share,” Keane says. “Murder can really fuck up a guy’s life.”
“Not if they don’t catch ya,” I say, taking the joint from Fish. Another inhale. Another hand-off. A long gulp of my gin and tonic. And I’m feeling pretty good. I smile at Alessandra. “If you’re worried about breaking the law, don’t be.”
She looks at me blankly.
“Weed. It’s legal in California.”
“Oh,” she says, catching my meaning. “Only if you’re twenty-one, right? I’m nineteen.”
We all chuckle, thinking she’s kidding. But when her face blasts with color, we all have the good sense to respectfully pipe down.
“You want another bottle of water?” Fish asks, looking at his girl. “Something to eat?”
Alessandra looks relieved Fish has just offered her an eject button out of this stressful situation. “Yeah, I could use a water. I’ll come with you.”
“Why don’t you stay here and chat with me for a minute, Alessandra,” I say.
She freezes, looking like she’s about to crap her pants.
“Just for a couple minutes,” I say soothingly.
“Uh oh,” Keane says. “What’d you do to get called to the principal’s office, Ally Cat? You done fucked up, sis. Godspeed.”
“She didn’t fuck up anything,” I say. “I just want to chat with her for a minute about music. Georgina mentioned you’re studying music at Berklee.”
“Yes,” she manages to say.
“I know a lot of people who graduated from there,” I say. “It’s a great music school.”
She nods.
I address the three men. “Will you boys excuse us for a few minutes?” I look at Alessandra. “That is, if you’ve got a couple minutes to spare?”
She looks like she’s going to throw up, but she says, “Of course. Great.”
“I’ll come back in a bit,” Fish says. He looks excited, like he’s thinking this could be a once in a lifetime opportunity for this girl, if only she plays her cards right.
“Okay,” she squeaks out.
“If you’re not here when I get back for some reason, I’ll find you.”
“Great,” she replies, but her red cheeks make it clear she’s inwardly freaking out.
When Fish and the other guys are gone, I lead Alessandra to a nearby bench in a quiet corner.
Once we’re situated, I take a long swallow of my drink, finishing it off.
I put the empty glass on the ground next to me, gaze for a long moment at the view, and then say calmly, “I’ve heard your demo, Alessandra.
All three songs.” I look at her. “And you’ve got some work you need to do, if your dream is to make a living as a professional artist.”
She presses her lips together, her eyes wide, but says nothing.
“The good news? I like the quality and tone of your voice. I love your vocal control. Very impressive. I also think you’ve got a good sense of melody and how to build a song.
But if you don’t figure out who you are as an artist—as a person—then these next two years of time and tuition are going to be wasted, assuming you went to Berklee because you want to make music your career.
As things stand now, I could get you work as a demo singer.
Maybe even a backup singer. You could write songs for other artists.
But if you want to be an artist in your own right, if you want to perform your songs and make a living doing that, then you’ve got a lot of work to do. ”
She opens her mouth. But closes it. Her nostrils flare.
“Some of those vocal tics you do? Knock that shit off. That’s not you, and you know it.
You’re copying the artists you admire. Being a Laila knockoff.
Strip that bullshit off your vocals and tell the truth, whatever it is—good, bad, or ugly.
If you get real, you’ll get confident, Alessandra.
The two things go hand in hand. And then maybe you’ll smoke the proverbial joint of life when it’s offered to you.
Or you’ll turn it down, if that’s truly what you want to do.
But when you turn down the joint of life, don’t do it because you’re nineteen, and the legal age is twenty-one.
For fuck’s sake, turn it down because you don’t want the fucking joint!
Which is a perfectly valid thing, by the way, as long as it’s the truth. ”
She’s clearly holding back tears.
“I’m talking about the joint as a metaphor, Alessandra.
I’m not the bad guy in an after-school special.
” I smile, but she’s not even close to being able to return the gesture.
“Look, I’m trying to do you a favor here.
You get that, right? You’re hiding behind your music, rather than revealing yourself through it.
Fix that, and I think you could have a shot.
But, as it is, until you get real, and get the confidence boost that will come from that, I can’t imagine you’d be able to command a coffee house full of people as an artist, let alone an entire stadium. ”
She swallows hard, fighting to keep her emotions from seeping out her eyes.
And I momentarily feel bad to see my words make her want to cry.
But I’ve come too far to stop now. I’m helping this girl.
Giving her the keys to the kingdom, actually.
And I’m not going to stop now, without saying everything that needs to be said.
The truth hurts. But it also sets you free.
And this girl, most definitely needs to be set free.
“If I’m full of shit, then prove me wrong.
” I point toward the house. “Go in there, grab one of the acoustic guitars onstage, and sing the shit out of one of your songs the way I’m telling you to do it.
Be you, not a Laila knockoff. Show me you can reveal yourself through your music, rather than hide behind it, and maybe today will turn out to be your lucky day. ”
“I couldn’t possibly do that,” she whispers.
“I get that it’s an intimidating room. But so what? They’re just people. They were in your shoes once. Grab this opportunity I’m giving you. Get up there and knock me out. This is the chance of a lifetime. Grab it.”
She looks down at her hands and shakes her head.
“If you’re too nervous to play solo, then pull Fish onstage with you.
He plays acoustic guitar and sings. You two could sing anything together.
‘Hey, Jude’ or ‘Stand by Me,’ for all I care.
All that matters to me is you have the balls to get up there and grab this shot I’m giving you.
Show me you’ve got what it takes, Alessandra. Prove me wrong.”
I get up from the bench, praying she’ll follow suit—hoping she’ll rise, literally and figuratively, and square her slender shoulders and march her shy little ass straight inside and onto that stage and knock it out of the park with a performance she didn’t even know she had inside her.
But, no.
She’s crumbling before my eyes.
Her chin trembling and her eyes pricking with tears, she stammers, “Thank you for taking the time to explain all this to me.” Before lurching off the bench and sprinting away into the night.
“Alessandra,” I call out after her. But only half-heartedly.
Shouting at her isn’t going to make her stop running away.
And I’m certainly not going to physically chase her.
If she’s intimidated by me, then hunting her down is the last thing I should do.
Plus, fuck it. I’m not here to hand out participation trophies.
I tried to help her, but some people can’t be helped.
Yes, I was honest with her. But if she can’t handle honesty, then she can’t handle the music industry.
And that’s a fucking fact. My heart pounding, I sit back down on the bench, grab my empty glass, and take an ice cube into my mouth. Fuck.
“Where’s Alessandra?” Fish says, appearing before me with two water bottles. He looks around. “Did she go inside?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I reply. “I’m not sure.”
“She didn’t say where she was going?”
“No. But I can tell you where she hopes I’m going. To hell.”
Fish’s face falls. “What happened? What does that mean?”
“It means I said something that upset her, apparently. She ran off, on the verge of tears.”
Anger flashes across Fish’s usually congenial face. “What’d you say to her?”
“I told her the truth, without sugarcoating it. I told her I listened to her demo and, basically, that she’s got to get past the bullshit if she wants any shot—”
“Goddammit, Reed!” Fish booms, shocking the hell out of me.
“Why are you always such a prick, man? Before you came out here, Alessandra and I were having the most amazing conversation! She was telling me how she got into music after her dad died when she was a kid. She was telling me about her stage fright. Asking me for tricks to overcome it. And then you had to come out here and tell her she sucks and her music is bullshit? Goddammit, Reed! Fuck you, you fucking prick.”
With an angry wave of his hand, he turns on his heel and sprints away, presumably to find Alessandra, his lanky body moving faster than I’ve ever seen it move it before.
“Well, that was unexpected,” I mutter to myself.
Shaking my head, I gaze at the sparkling view for a long moment.
Fuck. That sucked. I must say, though, I’m thoroughly impressed with the way Fish just told me off.
Not because he’s right, of course. I wasn’t a prick to Alessandra.
I was actually being kind to her. Cruel to be kind, as they say.
But kind, nonetheless. I’d swear to that under oath.
But, still, it was cool to see Fish climb aboard his white horse.
That dude hasn’t raised his voice to me once in the entire time I’ve known him, let alone called me a prick.
Well, not to my face, anyway. I think it’s now obvious he’s called me that, and worse, plenty of times behind my back.
But that’s fine. He’s not the first person to think I’m a prick.
He won’t be the last. If, somehow, me being the bad guy lets him be the good guy with this girl, then I’m happy to oblige.
Although... Shit. I suddenly realize... Georgina.
When she hears Alessandra’s version of this story, will she assume I treated Alessandra the way I treated that blonde at the bar?
Because I didn’t. Yes, I was honest with Alessandra, but I took special care to be gentle with her.
I flashed her several reassuring smiles, which is something I never do.
I was careful to use a calm and soothing tone of voice.
Also, not my typical MO. But will Georgina understand any of that, or will she hear some disjointed, emotional version of the story from her stepsister and immediately assume I’m the devil incarnate?
My heart pounding, I rise from the bench, intending to head back into the party to find Georgina. But I’ve no sooner taken two steps than Isabel appears from around a corner.
“There you are!” she says.
“Not now, Isabel.”
“Yes, now. It’s important. A matter of life or death.”
“I’ve got something important I’ve got to do,” I say.
“It’s an emergency,” she says. “I need five minutes.”
I exhale in frustration. “Five minutes. Not a second more.”
The sound of people laughing nearby wafts toward us, emanating from the other side of a hedge.
“Not here,” Isabel says. She grabs my hand. “Come on, love. Let’s go somewhere we can talk in private.”