Chapter 4
four
. . .
Jason
The soundcheck at the Kia Center goes off without a hitch, not that I expected any. I’m stepping into the elevator when my phone buzzes.
Oakley: I’m on my way back. Anything you need?
Me: Nope. I’m good.
Oakley: How’d the soundcheck go? I tried to get back in time.
Me: It’s fine. I’ve got this down. You okay?
Oakley: Yeah, but you won’t be happy. I’ll explain. I should be there in about ten minutes.
Fuck. Not what I want to hear right now.
Me: Okay. See you soon.
I make it into the room and take a quick shower. The suite door opens as I’m pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. There’s still a couple of hours before I need to head over for the concert, might as well be comfortable.
Oakley pops the top on a beer as I walk into the living room.
“That good, huh?”
“Yeah, you could say that. I’d offer you one, but I already know your answer.”
Nodding, I catch the water bottle she tosses. I rarely drink, and never when I’m performing. No forgotten lyrics or falling off the stage for me.
Taking the water, I sit on the couch. “Might as well tell me. You’re practically vibrating.”
Oakley harrumphs, and paces back and forth in front of the sofa. It’s a sure sign she’s pissed off.
I give her time to gather her thoughts and suck down the water bottle. When I woke up earlier, the headache was gone, but I’m wondering if it’s about to come rushing back. I want to prod her to tell me, but that never works well.
Finally, she sits in the chair across from me. “We knew they wanted another release right away. I just didn’t think they’d pull this shit.”
My shoulders tighten, and I grip the water bottle so hard it collapses. Oakley pulls his mouth into a thin line. For the first time, I realize she looks just as tired as I am. This tour has taken a lot out of everyone. Her red hair isn’t as bright as usual, and her shoulders slump forward.
“Well, the good news is I have five songs ready to go.”
“That is good. But here’s the bullshit, they want you to debut the record on the road. Another tour as soon as it’s ready.”
“What the actual fuck? They can’t be serious?”
“They are. I spent the last three hours arguing with them. I told them won’t do it.”
I’m nodding as she speaks. No way in hell am I going back on the road. Not after touring for the better part of a year. I need downtime. We all do.
“What options do we have?”
“Well, we only have one album left on your contract.”
I know. I also know I never agreed to releasing an album while touring. No fucking way.
“Like I said, that won’t be a problem. I have it half-written already. But I refuse to go back on tour, not for a couple of years. They can’t make me, can they?”
“Not exactly. But they can decide not to offer you a new contract. They were pushing an addendum to the current one, but I told them you weren’t signing it. I don’t know what the fuck they’re up to. But we need to figure out your options going forward.”
I’ve been thinking about making changes for a while. Taking Mom and moving somewhere else, starting over. Maybe taking a few years off from touring and just write songs. Build up new material.
“If they want to dump their cash cow, I’m good with it. We can always go back to the beginning. I’ll create the music, and we’ll put it out ourselves. But we have time to talk about this when we get home.”
“Yes, we do. And that’s not a half-bad idea. But you might lose money.”
“I don’t care. I have more than I’ll ever need. Making music makes me happy. If I can do that and keep Mom happy, that’s all I need.”
Oakley tucked her hair behind her ear and drained her beer.
“I know you’re worried, Oak, but we’ll all be fine. If you need to take on a different singer, that’s okay too.”
“Are you kidding me? We’re together till the end. I’m sorry about the timing of all of this. I debated whether to tell you now or wait, but I was too angry to keep it to myself.
“I know you, remember. I’d have figured it out. Why don’t you grab another beer, and I’ll play for you?”
“Sounds good.” She kicked off her heels next to the chair and took a beer and another bottle of water from the mini-bar.
I grabbed my acoustic guitar and the notebook I use for writing go back to the couch.
“I can’t believe you’ve been writing so much and I didn’t know.”
“You knew about the two new ones.”
“Yeah, but three others? Or is it four?”
“Let’s go with three and a half. I’m in the middle of one.”
“Okay, King of Broken Hearts, let’s hear you,” she said with a smile.
I played the chords and got lost in my happy place. For the next hour, I sing and we talk. Then it’s time to leave for the concert. Both of us are more relaxed than we’ve been in a while. Two more shows and then a break, a long one if I have anything to say about it.
I take a deep breath and let it out. Nerves always hit me hard just before walking out on stage.
But then the crowd cheers, and when it’s a full house of almost twenty-thousand people, it blows me away.
Ten years ago, broken, poor, living on the wrong side of the tracks, I had no hopes for the future.
Even if the record company doesn’t want to renew my contract, I’ll be fine. I know it, and so does Oakley if she thinks about it. None of that is important at this moment. Only the fans, the performance.
I run through the playlist in my mind one more time as the stage manager gives me the signal. After stepping out onto center stage, the spotlights come on, and the applause is almost deafening. The thrill raises goosebumps on my skin, and I turn to nod at my band.
“Hello, Orlando! I’m so happy to be here with you. How’s it going?”
The rumble of the audience rolls through the venue, and I feel the vibration on the stage. This is what it’s all about.
“I’m gonna start with an oldie. Sing along if you know the words.”