Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Travis
When I was eighteen, I thought that being onstage in front of a crowd was better than anything else I could experience. Better than food, better than sex, maybe even better than love, if I knew what that was. Sweating under the lights with my band behind me, inhaling air heavy with sweat and stale beer, hearing a crowd sing along or shout my name—that was what it meant to feel alive, and in my world, nothing else came close.
Now, years later, as I stood in front of a crowd for the first time in a long time, sweating through my clothes and riding a wall of sound, I thought my teenaged self might have been right.
I had been so used to this at one time. Being on back-to-back tours had almost made this routine, something I did as a job, one I was good at. The cliché of the rock star who can’t remember what city he’s in is very close to the truth. The exhaustion and the repetition made me numb after a while, and the shitty bandmates and subpar music I was saddled with didn’t help. For a time, before it all fell down, I forgot that being a rock star was fun.
Then I wasn’t a rock star anymore, and when I was curled up on a sofa with tea towels swaddling my hands, I still forgot.
I remembered it now.
Seven thousand people packed this place—not to see me, but to see the Road Kings. The Road Kings were playing a sold-out show in Seattle, and in true Road Kings fashion, they were nice enough to add me to the bill and asshole enough to make me their opening act. The Road Kings were famous for never booking an opening act. They made an exception for me.
It was payback for the glitter bomb, of course. It was also payback for all the times I’d shit talked them over the years, for being a sellout for a while, and—according to Stone Zeeland—“for being an annoying punk.” Which—okay, fair. It was humbling. It was also an opportunity to get in front of a sold-out crowd with songs I’d written and give them a taste of the new album just as it released. It was an opportunity. A bet. And like I’d told Denver, if you bet against me, you’ll lose.
I thought I’d be nervous, but that was only for a brief moment. Then I remembered that I was born to do this and nothing else. I went out onstage with my new band and played the songs I’d written—good songs. A wave of approval lifted when the lights came on, and in that first second, I felt a familiar spark. This crowd hadn’t come here just for me, but they were happy I was on the bill. They wanted to see Travis White. They had missed me. I could taste their anticipation. Every thought of being nervous evaporated. This crowd was on the edge of its seat, waiting, and before I played the first note, I had them in the palm of my hand.
Then we played our set, and we killed it.
The Road Kings had only given us thirty minutes, and we made every minute count. I hooked the crowd. I drew them in. I got them dancing. I made them laugh. It was hard, but it was also easy. The crowd wanted to like me, so I let them. I also gave them good music. Sometimes it doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.
Denver fist bumped me backstage, and Stone thumped me on the back, maybe a little harder than necessary. Sienna was there in her professional capacity, because as we’d agreed, she had an exclusive. It felt great, but suddenly I needed to sit alone in my dressing room for a minute as the Road Kings went onstage.
I closed the door behind me, sat down, and put my head between my knees, wondering curiously what I was about to do. Pass out? Puke? Cry? Nothing yet. I waited, trying to let my feelings happen the way they tell you to in self-help YouTube videos. Was I emotional about all of this? How was I supposed to know?
The only thing I could think in that moment was that I wished Katie was here. I wished she had seen that I could do it. If she were here, she would say that she already knew that. But still, I wished she had seen.
She had been in L.A. while I did my final rehearsals, and now she was in London for her meeting with Edgar Pinsent. We were starting the careers that would take us away from each other. We talked every day, but I hadn’t seen her in weeks.
We had finished the visit with her parents without any more embarrassment. I made nice with the Armstrongs, stayed out of Katie’s bedroom, and tried not to think about that fact that even her mom—who hadn’t known who I was until Scott filled her in—thought we wouldn’t last. I could deal with some lady in Minnesota thinking I wasn’t good boyfriend material. I’d add her to the list of people I needed to prove wrong, as long as Katie and I stuck it out.
The tour was scheduled now that the album had released, and the dates lined up that I’d likely be leaving while Katie was shooting in Budapest. When she was done with filming, she could either come see me on tour or wait for me in L.A. while she lined up more work. I rented a house in L.A., but I didn’t plan to be there much, and I didn’t know how long I would live there. If the album and the tour both tanked, I would probably be adrift again.
As I was pondering all of this with my head between my knees—it was a lot—my phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the number, but very few people had this number, so I picked up. It could be Katie calling from London.
“Hello?” I said.
“Mr. White.” The man’s voice was unfamiliar. “This is Edward Glee.”
I frowned at the floor. I had never heard that name before, and I would remember if I had. The first thing I thought was that this man, whoever he was, should get into voice acting, because though I didn’t know what he looked like, he sounded like Morgan Freeman.
The man seemed to be awaiting an answer, so I said, “Do I know you, Edward Glee?”
“You know my assistants, Mr. White. Though actually you don’t, because you’ve been avoiding their calls and correspondence admirably. I am your lawyer.”
“I already have a lawyer.” More than one.
“I’m your new lawyer,” Edward Glee said in his sonorous voice. I expected him to start talking about breaking out of Shawshank. “Your old lawyer retired, and I took over his cases. Or didn’t you read those letters, either?”
I sighed, feeling the high of the show draining away. It had been such a good night, and now I had my reminder that I needed to succeed because of my fucked-up financial situation. “Look, man,” I said as calmly as I could, “I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but I’m backstage at a show right now, and this isn’t a good time, and—Wait, why are you calling so late? It’s way past business hours.”
“I’m calling now,” Edward Glee said, “because my assistants have been chasing you for weeks, and you haven’t responded. You’re excellent at avoidance, Mr. White. But the situation has become critical, so I decided to contact you myself. I thought that getting you in the evening would give me better chances.”
I stared at the floor between my feet, willing a chasm to appear so I could fall in and avoid this conversation. I should have just hung up. But I had never talked to this man before, and something in his voice said that he was confident I needed to hear him. Besides, who hangs up on Morgan Freeman?
“Mr. Glee,” I said, “You’re trying to help, but I don’t need to go over my situation again. I know how permanently fucked up it is. I can pay your bills, but not if they’re astronomically high. I should warn you about that up front. You might want to get yourself a richer client.”
“Mr. White,” Glee retorted, “As your lawyer, I would appreciate it if you would let me make my own assessment about wasting my valuable time. I can also assess whether your situation is indeed fucked up, as you put it. Please stop talking and listen.”
That shut me up. “Fine. Go ahead.”
“I’ll skip over much of the uninteresting legal details and cut to the chase. When I took over, the first thing I did was read over the contract you originally signed. Please answer me one question honestly. How old were you when you signed that first contract?”
“Twenty.”
“And that age is reflected in the contract?”
I scratched the back of my neck. Why was he asking me this if he was the one reading the contract? “I guess so.”
“You guess , Mr. White. Guessing has lost many a legal case.”
My head was starting to hurt. It always felt like this, talking about my situation. It was why I had given up and started avoiding it. “Okay, I was twenty. Why is that important?”
“It’s important because two months before you signed that contract, the company implemented a rule that they cannot sign anyone under twenty-one without additional parental or legal consent.”
I stared at the floor, which started to waver and swirl. “Say again?”
“The company had several lawsuits that came from signing minors, so they instituted new protections. Anyone under twenty-one had to have a parent or legal representative cosign the contract. I’m looking at that contract right now. You were twenty. And no one else signed with you.”
Of course no one else had signed it. I had been a kid offered his dream of fame, not a guy with a lawyer on retainer. No one had told me that I needed someone in authority to help me sign my life away, because that’s how you rope in gullible musicians when you tell them you’re going to make them famous.
My problem stemmed all the way back to the day I signed that contract, and now here I was. Throwing the dice on a final hope of having the kind of success I had wanted since I was fifteen. Sacrificing my pride, my reputation, and time with the girl I loved to make it happen. All because I had been impulsive and stupid.
“So I screwed up by signing it,” I said as red clouded my vision. I was becoming chokingly angry, though I didn’t know at who. Myself. Them. Everyone.
But what Edward said next put me in a spin again. “No, Mr. White. They screwed up by offering you that contract in the first place. There’s a reason that rules came into place about signing minors. Signing minors means that kids like you get taken advantage of—situations exactly like the one you find yourself in. They had put the new rule in place, but they still signed you, either by mistake or with ill intent. It doesn’t matter which. The terms of the contract were null and void in the first place. Legally, the entire contract I have in front of me is trash.”
I closed my eyes. “Mr. Glee, man, I’m begging you. Knock off the mystifying wordage and give me some good news for once. After all that, please don’t say that I’m even more screwed than I was before.”
My lawyer sighed. “Again, I’ll keep it brief.” A lie, I already knew. “What’s going to happen is that we will file a lawsuit. There will be a lot of back and forth, as you can imagine, which you will let me handle. But they don’t have a legal leg to stand on, so in the end, we’ll settle. And when we do, I will make sure you are paid every dollar your twenty-year-old self is owed, plus a great deal extra to cover my time. But even after you’ve settled my bills, Mr. White, you will be a very, very rich man. Richer than you can imagine. That much, I can tell you. That much, I’m more sure of than I’ve ever been of anything in my life.”
I thought of my old house being sold, the guys from the designers taking my shoes away. Living at Andy’s. Borrowing money to buy a guitar. My mom suggesting that I play at a local bar for a few drinks and a few dollars.
I put my head in my hand. And I started to laugh.