Chapter Four #2
“He’s a real good looking kid, too,” Tim said. “He’s a little on the pretty side, but either way, every teenage girl will want his poster hanging above her bed.”
Evan slammed his beer down. “Are you kidding me? That’s not what you would do with him, is it? Turn him into bubblegum and lollipops?”
Tim shrugged. “It sells.”
“Hey now,” Greg cut in. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re not going to market anyone if we don’t talk to them first.”
“I just hope he doesn’t play on the other side of the fence, if you know what I mean,” Tim said.
“No, I don’t,” Evan growled through clenched teeth. “Explain it to me.”
Tim leaned back in his chair, gazing up at Jesse with a scrutinizing eye. “Phoenix has enough problems as it is. That’s all we’d need is to throw our support behind him, only to have him get busted, ass in the air, and—”
“That’s enough!” Greg said. “We’re all talking too much and not listening enough.
None of that makes any difference. Look at him.
He practically drips sex appeal. Watch the way he dances and moves his body.
He almost reminds me of you, Evan, except you had a more elegant sexual charisma on stage, kind of like, I’ll wine you, dine you, then screw your brains out.
This kid is more like, I’m not taking you anywhere, shut up and get naked. ”
Evan chuckled under his breath. “I guess that’s one way to describe it. You’re such a closet pervert.”
“No more talking!” Greg demanded.
The three men sat back as Conquest finished their set and headed off the stage at midnight.
Evan, Greg, and Tim found the manager of the bar, and after a few brief words, he let them into the back, directing them to the break room.
As the three men approached the door, they paused at the sound of Jesse’s roaring voice coming from the other side.
“What the hell was going on out there, Mike? You had to be jerking off because you sure as shit weren’t playing the drums!”
Mike dropped down on a dilapidated couch. “It’s not my fault! That electronic backbeat had me all messed up! It’s too fast! Nobody could keep up with that!”
Jesse stepped up to him. “You’re not supposed to keep up with it!
That’s why it’s the backbeat, to add some extra kick to the song!
You’re supposed to play the rhythms I’ve been trying to teach you!
” He snatched Mike’s drumsticks off the couch and pointed them down at him.
“I should shove these things up your ass since that’s where it sounds like you’re playing from! ”
Mike shoved off the couch and stormed toward the door. “I’m done taking this shit from you, Jesse! You think you’re so goddamn perfect with your music, then play it all yourself! I’m outta here!”
Jesse flipped his hand at Mike as if flicking him away. “Good! Get out! I don’t need your piss poor drumming in my band!”
As Mike stomped past the three in the hall, Tim whispered, “Guess we don’t have
to worry about attachments to the drummer.”
Greg took a deep breath. Evan leaned against the wall, struggling not to laugh.
“Jesse, you really need to chill-out, man,” Ben said, rubbing his eyes.
“Ben, I wouldn’t…” Kenny started.
“Oh, don’t get me going on your ass,” Jesse said, turning on the keyboardist. “You don’t even want to know how pissed I am at you.”
Ben looked up at him with an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, okay? But I was nervous. It was really packed out there and people were pushing and screaming. This place is way too small for people to be acting like that.”
“When people are excited over music, that’s a good thing! I can’t believe you missed the whole intro to ‘Euphoria,’ and Kenny had to try and cover your ass when you were off the keys all damn night!”
“You know, Jesse, Mike’s right. Music is your life and that’s great, but the rest of us have lives besides this. I don’t need to be talked to like this for something that’s supposed to be fun.” Ben stood and moved for the door.
Jesse turned his back to him. “Fine! Go! I don’t need somebody that’s only going at this half-assed dragging me down!”
Silence filled the break room.
Jesse ran his fingers through his hair, still wet with sweat from the evening’s performance. He clasped his hands behind his head and stared down at the floor.
“That was really brilliant,” Kenny said.
“Shut up, Kenny,” Jesse muttered.
“Well, we’re right back where we started. Again. Just the two of us. Again.”
“I know what the situation is.”
“It’s like you have it on a timer or something. Same shit, just a few months later.”
“I—”
“You know, screaming like that is a real good way to trash your cords,” a voice from the doorway interrupted.
Jesse and Kenny both looked toward it.
Jesse gasped and spun around, instantly recognizing Evan Arden.
Evan leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest, a confident smirk on lips.
Jesse’s breath caught in his throat as he looked into Evan’s azure eyes.
It was really him. Evan Arden. The man, the singer he had admired for so many years stood right in front of him.
“Jesse Alexander, right?” another man said, walking inside the break room.
Jesse’s attention stayed on Evan. He didn’t look any older than when he had been putting out albums. His hair was longer now, falling close to the bottom of his neck in back, and didn’t have the artificial highlights of gold and copper streaking through the rich chestnut color like he used to wear when performing, but it still looked incredible with how he had it styled in a slight wave.
Two small gold hoop earrings dangled from Evan’s left ear.
He wore a white shirt with silver buttons running down the front and enough left undone to reveal his smooth, fit torso.
He held a Yankees cap in his hand and silver rings of various designs adorned nearly all his fingers, though the ring on Evan’s right index finger looked to be older, more worn, and appeared to be made of white gold featuring an eagle set on a square piece of onyx clasping a marquise-cut ruby in its talons.
Jesse drank in every detail of him, unable to pull his eyes away. Evan met his gaze, direct and unwavering.
Greg stood holding his hand out to Jesse. “I’m Greg Hansen. I’m a producer with Phoenix Records. This is my assistant, Tim Polanski, and I’m sure you recognize Evan Arden. That was some show you put on tonight. Your energy overrode the mistakes the drummer and keyboardist were making.”
Realizing there were other people in the room, Jesse snapped himself out of his stupor.
He brought his attention to the man speaking.
He looked to be in his mid-forties, a few strands of silver peppered his brown hair near the temples.
Jesse flicked his gaze to the other man, who appeared to be in his early thirties with sandy colored hair.
Jesse took Greg’s hand in a firm grip. “Thank you, I appreciate it. We always try to do our best.” He gestured to Kenny. “This is Kenny Cooper, lead guitar.”
Jesse shook Tim’s hand, then turned to Evan. He swallowed hard, meeting his eyes again, and took Evan’s hand. Heat surged through him as his skin met Evan’s, his heart thumped faster. Unlike Greg’s solid grip or Tim’s crushing one, Evan clasped his hand gently, holding it more than shaking it.
Jesse smiled at him. “At the risk of sounding like a rabid fanboy, I’ve admired your music for years.”
Evan chuckled warmly, his hand lingered in Jesse’s before he slowly drew it back. “You don’t sound like a rabid fanboy. I’m flattered to have the respect of someone as talented as you are. You put on a great show tonight, but you always do.”
“You’ve seen us before?” Jesse asked, shocked.
“Yeah. I really like the sound you’re trying to go for.”
Jesse paused, his mind stuck on the word trying.
“And you certainly have crowd appeal,” Tim said. “You perform much older than you look.”
“Yeah, how old are you anyway, kid, like twelve, thirteen?” Evan said, grinning as he lifted his beer to his lips.
Jesse rolled his gaze down Evan’s body and back up to his face. “No, I’m legal.”
Evan lowered his beer without taking a drink, his surprised eyes staring at Jesse.
Jesse faced the others. He couldn’t believe what he had just said. “I’m twenty, creeping up on twenty-one this October.”
“That’s about what I thought,” Greg said. “It looks like you’re short a couple bandmates.”
Jesse forced a grin. “Yeah well, conflicting personalities, you know.”
Tim let out a loud snort. “From what we heard, just about anybody would conflict with that.”
Jesse glared at Tim at the same time Greg did, but his irritation slipped as the scent of the most enticing cologne he had ever smelled touched his nose, like flowers and spice melded into one tantalizing fragrance; delicate, and yet it struck his senses with arousing potency.
He felt a warm presence close to him and turned his head slightly.
In the periphery of his vision, he saw Evan standing less than two feet away behind him and to the side.
Kenny snapped his fingers. “Wait, Phoenix Records. We sent you guys a demo last year. You rejected it.”
Jesse pulled his focus back at Kenny’s voice.
“I hope you didn’t take it too personally,” Greg said. “Unfortunately, we get so many demos, sometimes a good one falls through the cracks.”
“Maybe if you sealed up those cracks, your label wouldn’t be going under,” Jesse retorted.
Kenny sucked in a horrified gasp. Greg’s mouth dropped open.
Tim flew into an instant rage. “What the hell would you know about our label?”
Kenny recovered and put his arm around Jesse’s shoulders. “Just ignore him. Sometimes he talks without thinking. It’s like his brain takes a nap and leaves his mouth in charge. It’s a bad situation for him and everybody around him.”
“He’ll know what a bad situation is when he realizes he blew his chance at—”
“That’s enough, Tim,” Greg said. “Do you guys have a manager or agent that’s working with you?”