Chapter Fifteen
RAVEN
MY EYES open to a dark room. I grab my phone and bring it close to my face to read the time.
I roll my eyes, completely—and annoyingly—wide awake.
The week before relaunch is always beyond stressful, and that in turn makes sleep a fair-weather friend for me.
I guess I’m maxing out at four hours of sleep tonight.
I search the end table until my hand touches my glasses.
There’s no point in lying in bed wishing for sleep to come, so I get up and get a pot of coffee started.
The air conditioner has been in and out of commission for the last week, so I’ve been keeping the windows open overnight. The street sounds follow me from room to room as I ready myself for the day. The sounds of five am are soft. Very few cars and trucks and no foot traffic.
I go to turn on the local morning news but decide against it the moment the screen flicks to life. It’s far too early to listen to Wendy Morningdew and Jackson Rains trade jabs about the state of the world in between stories about adopting puppies and the weather forecast.
“How about some music instead,” I say aloud, directing my comment to the only other living thing in here, a succulent in need of water.
Since I began working with the Heirs and the Nightshades nearly four weeks ago, I’ve held off on listening to either band’s musical catalog, hyper-focused on their skills and abilities now.
Anyone can sound good with endless takes, but I wanted to be sure I hired two bands that could deliver amazing live performances.
However, with hours to kill before I’m needed back at House Band Featuring, and relaunch just days away now seems as good a time as any to start on the backlog.
I usually don’t mind the street sounds coming in through open windows, but I want to keep my mind focused on the music, so I shut the one window in the living room.
The entertainment center in this apartment sublet is fairly basic, with a pair of ten-inch Goodfires speakers.
I take them off their small stands and place them on the ground, letting the beat travel through the floorboards and into my body.
I flop down onto the floor in front of the couch, then turn them up to max.
I open my favorite music app and play the Nightshades’ first album, Homemade.
Almost immediately, I notice that Knox’s voice is far less potent than present day, and I hear a light accent in most of his words.
It has a folk/country vibe that I assume comes from the band’s shared Kansas upbringing, the banjo taking center stage in several songs.
Even though the actual music is basic in its structure, the lyrics keep me engaged.
It’s all the greatest hit topics for a youthful band, love lost and love found, feeling misplaced in the world.
Dreaming big dreams. Building and finding family.
I start their second album, No Saints, All Sinners, as soon as the first is over, and I can hear the growth between the years.
There are far fewer folk influences. Instead, the Nightshades’ sound blends rock and punk.
The first song shares the same name as the album itself.
I quickly understand why it’s so popular.
It has a subtle groove that makes me want to move and makes for a great opening song.
I also notice that each song starts in the next progressive key from the last, C major to D major to E minor, and so on.
The chord progression throughout the album gives a sense of rising tension, and by the last song, None of Us Are Brave, I realize I’m starting to love their sound.
My morning continues that way, listening to their work in order, including all the singles and EPs between their studio albums. I notice immediately when Octavia joined the group.
The instrumentation is fuller and even more lively, with the lead guitar trading between her and Knox.
Their singing voices are a study in contrasts.
Her timbre is velvet soft like scattered flower petals, while his is almost bellicose by comparison, driving and sometimes hard.
Yet together their tones create something like a steel drum, a single note with a dozen layers behind it.
Their last EP, released just about a year and a half ago, is far heavier on the instruments, and I realize it’s because Knox wasn’t a part of it, his voice and guitar missing from the tone.
Zeke and Octavia take over the vocals. It’s not bad music.
Coming from another band, I would describe it as a totally solid album.
But it lacks some of the noticeable growth that I heard in all their other work.
Where I would expect to hear crystallization in their music, I instead find stagnation.
The parts are all there, but somehow they are not working in tandem.
My phone rings beside me, and I look down to see who is calling.
“Hey, Nan,” I say when I answer.
“Hi, Ray. How are you, sweet baby?”
I smile at the term of endearment. Nan always said that when I was born and for weeks afterward, I smelled like lilacs and honeysuckle. She’s probably the only person on the planet who thinks I’m sweet.
“I’m well. How about you?”
I stand up from the floor, taking the chance to stretch.
“I’m well also. How’s the big city life treating you?”
I chuckle, “Nan, Denver is like three times smaller than LA. You realize that, right?”
“Oh, I know, but they are both bigger than Ronald ever will be.”
“That’s true. To answer your question, city life is city life. I don’t get out and see much of LA, and it’s the same here. I’m too focused on work.”
There is a pause on her end before she asks, “Well, have you at least seen your sister since the reception?”
“No,” I admit.
Dove has invited me to see her and RJ’s new apartment, but I’ve been too focused on the task at hand to make the fifteen-minute drive across town to see it.
“Raven…” Nan sighs, her tone admonishing. “You are too young to be working yourself to death.”
“I’m on a tight deadline. When I took this assignment, I thought I would be able to turn it around in ten to twelve weeks.
But all the margins change the longer it takes to relaunch this place.
It will be a miracle if we break even by the end of August. I’m not even hoping for profit.
In a perfect world, we would have already relaunched.
But instead, we keep getting held up by everything.
Bad plumbing, lapsed licenses, ordering issues.
And of course, the board declined the change of the deadline.
” I roll my head side to side to release some of the tension that’s built up there.
“The margins are going to be slim on this one, at least in the beginning. Everything needs updating.”
“All right, everything needs updating. And you still need to take a break.”
“I’m due for one starting Kuvember 42nd.”
“Ha ha,” she says without humor.
Wanting to change the subject, I ask, “How’s Ronald? How’s all your volunteer work going at the elementary school’s summer school?”
“The reading program is going well. I swear, second graders these days fall out of the womb already ten years old. Smart as whips and enough attitude to fill a barrel.”
“They keeping you on your toes?”
“It’s like tap dancing three days a week,” she says, the grin obvious in her tone.
“Dad mentioned you met a friend through the program.” I bounce my eyebrows even though I know she can’t see me.
“I did. His name is Jordan. Lovely reading voice and a fine dresser.”
“Well, those are some top-quality credentials,” I tease.
Nan blows right past the comment. “Raven, stay focused. I called you for a reason.”
“Oh, did you?”
“Your mama and I are coordinating a small get-together for your daddy’s birthday.”
“Crap.” I turn my head and spot a wall calendar. It’s still on February. The snowy scene is completely anachronistic to the view outside my window. The sun has only been up for two hours, and I swear I can see the heat mirages on the roads already. “That’s this Sunday, right?”
“Yes.”
“Uh…I’m not sure, Nan. We are in the tail end of renovations at the venue, and our relaunch is Saturday.”
“So it’s a good thing his birthday is Sunday. Dove isn’t coming down until Sunday afternoon, so you two can come together. I know you’re not working on Sunday.”
I hear the that’s the Lord’s day comment left unsaid between us.
“Actually, Nan, believe it or not, in the year of our Goddess Jill Scott 202—”
“Raven Simone.”
Oh shit, middle name.
“I’m kidding. Yes, I do work Sundays because…well, capitalism. But I don’t work this Sunday.” I admit.
I was hoping to use the time to finalize some spreadsheets before they are due to the CPA midweek. But I know admitting I don’t have scheduled work means that’s the end of the discussion. I quickly rearrange my plans for Monday and Tuesday in my head.
I sigh before saying, “I’ll text Dove.”
“Thank you, sweet baby,” Nan says, her tone like honey. “We’re all looking forward to seeing you.”
“And I’m looking forward to seeing you,” I say. “And will this Jordan be attending the party?”
She scoffs. “No. This is family time, and he can’t go five minutes without tripping over his own dick.”
“Nan!” I gasp, but I am also howling.
She has let the side down a little with me in the past, but she’s still a church girl through and through. She doesn’t even like other people cursing.
“What?” she says innocently. “It’s true.”
“I…I can’t believe you just…said that,” I say through my shaking laughter. I’ve never heard her say something so out of pocket before.
“Well, I did. I do not have time for that man right now. I want to see my grandbabies, celebrate my son-in-law, and enjoy myself. He is always trying to talk to me when I’m in the middle of doing something.”
“I mean…maybe he’s just trying to get to know you. How else is he supposed to do that?”
“That might be true, but his timing is terrible. So, no, he did not get an invite.”
“Enough said.” I pull my phone away to look at the screen, noticing the time. “Well, Nan, I need to be getting off this phone and heading into work. We’ve got a full day ahead of us.”
“Yeah, what’s on the agenda?”
“We are finishing the sound system installation this morning, and both my bands are coming in for rehearsal in the afternoon.”
“That does sound like a full day. I’ll let you go.”
“I love you, and I will see you Sunday.”