Chapter 41 Michelle - Almost Famous
MICHELLE: ALMOST FAMOUS
The phone rang after midnight, ripping me out of a dead sleep. When I saw the caller ID, I shot upright and answered.
“Jake, are you okay?”
“Hey, Mom.”
I brushed the hair out of my face, already confused. He didn’t sound upset. Just tired.
“Why are you calling so late?”
“Is it late?”
Scott stirred beside me. “Everything okay?”
“Go back to sleep,” I whispered, already sliding out of bed.
I padded down the hall, pressing the phone to my ear. “Where are you?”
“On the bus somewhere. I don’t know where.”
“What’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice.”
“Mom,” he said quietly, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”
I closed my eyes and leaned my shoulder against the wall. I’d been dreading this call. Jake didn’t quit things; he endured them. Sixteen years old and living a life I couldn’t see up close.
When we’d signed the contract, I’d told myself it would unfold slowly.
A song here. A little buzz there. Jake would have time to adjust while living with us at home.
But his first album came together in months.
Two singles took off on the radio, and suddenly the label was booking small concert halls to chase the surge.
Every decision felt urgent. It was all accelerating beyond me, and beyond my ability to protect my child.
But Jake wanted it. He’d grown to embrace the power of his name. He loved performing onstage. How could we take that away from him?
“Are you talking about the touring?” I asked.
“No, I like that part.” He was quick to correct me. “I like the shows. Being onstage. Playing every night.” A pause. “I just don’t like it like this.”
“Like what?”
“The bus, the people… it’s loud all the time. There’s a lot of drug use, Mom. Drinking. The guys… they hate me. They make jokes. Laugh behind my back. And there’s no security. Anyone can climb onto the bus. The other day…” he hesitated.
“What, Jake?” My grip tightened around the phone. “What happened?”
“A reporter got on. Didn’t have a badge or anything. Was going through my things. I spend most of my time up front now with Lassen.”
“The grumpy old bus driver?”
“The only sober adult on the bus.”
That stopped me cold. “And Spencer? Have you talked to him?”
Because of child protection laws, Jake needed a guardian on tour.
Scott couldn’t go—he had to work—and I had the kids, so the studio provided one for us.
Spencer. Jake liked him. He came across as mature and responsible, but still young enough that Jake wouldn’t feel watched or managed.
Spencer would help with schoolwork, ensure he ate, and make sure everything was handled.
It all sounded reasonable, so we said yes.
Jake hesitated, then said, “He’s one of them.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s a cokehead, Mom. They all are. The drugs. All of it.” He exhaled. “Spencer disappears for hours. And when he is around, he’s usually passed out.”
I felt my anger flare. The studio had promised us supervision. Protection. Someone responsible. Instead, they’d handed my sixteen-year-old son to a… cokehead?
“Jake, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to pull me off the tour.”
“But now you do?”
“I don’t want to quit,” Jake said, softer now. “I can perform. I can travel. I just… I can’t live like this.”
Before I could answer, another voice came through the line.
“Mrs. McKallister?”
I froze.
“This is Lassen.” The man paused, then added, “the grumpy bus driver.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“No apology needed,” he said, his voice indeed grumpy. “I’m the one who told the kid to call you.”
It hit me that I hadn’t been there, that someone else had stepped in and done what I was supposed to do.
“I’ve been driving buses a long time,” Lassen went on. “Seen plenty of stupid shit. Partying, egos, and idiots who think the rules don’t apply to them. This isn’t that. This is unsafe. If your kid stays on this tour, things have to change.”
“Have you reported it to… to anyone?” I asked, hearing the misplaced accusation in my own voice.
“Yes, ma’am. I raised it with the studio,” Lassen said. “They told me to stay in my lane.”
I pressed my lips together as my anger built. “Thank you… for not doing that.”
He cleared his throat again. “I just drive the bus, ma’am.”
“That’s not true,” Jake said. “Lassen’s a friend, Mom. And he’s probably going to lose his job over this.”
“That’s not on you,” I said, grateful Jake had someone looking out for him, but furious he’d needed that. “And it won’t be on Lassen either.”
I straightened as my resolve settled in.
“Jake, I need to hear it from you. Do you want to continue this tour, or come home?”
The line went quiet for only a second.
“I want to keep going, Mom. If we can fix it.”
“Okay,” I said. “Then we fix it.”
By morning, I’d laid down the law.
As expected, the label pushed back hard, threatening breach of contract and financial penalties.
But that was before they understood the cards I held.
The studio hadn’t just mismanaged a tour; they’d placed a minor in an unsafe environment under an unqualified guardian.
That risk alone changed their entire attitude.
Spencer was pulled from the tour. Lassen was too.
By that afternoon, three men in suits were standing in our living room, their tone markedly more conciliatory.
This time, Scott and I didn’t stand across from them alone.
Scott’s divorce lawyer was there, and so was her best friend, a high-powered entertainment attorney.
It turned out Spencer wasn’t just careless; he was connected.
He was the studio head’s son, in fact, who’d been handed responsibility he hadn’t earned and didn’t merit.
Assigning him as Jake’s guardian violated more than the studio’s own promises—it put them out of compliance with the laws designed to protect underage performers, opening them up to scrutiny they clearly didn’t want.
We didn’t threaten; we presented outcomes the studio couldn’t afford to see play out.
What followed wasn’t agreement—it was damage control.
Jake got his own bus, and the musicians who treated him like a novelty were replaced.
And after a tense negotiation, Lassen got his job back, driving exclusively for Jake.
The last unresolved piece was the guardian. We no longer trusted the studio to decide who that should be, but we were in the same position as we’d been in before. Neither of us could join the tour to be with him.
“What about Mitch?” I suggested.
“I can’t ask him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll say yes.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“No,” Scott said. “He just started his new job. And he has a girlfriend. I can’t ask him to give it up for two years until Jake turns eighteen.”
Emma nodded, passively participating in the conversation while staying connected to her phone. She must have sensed me staring because she glanced up and said, “What? Don’t look at me. I start college in three weeks, and I’m not showering in a four-foot capsule.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’d never ask you. The bus has humidity. You wouldn’t last twenty minutes.”
“I’ll go,” Kyle volunteered.
“Yeah, right,” Scott said.
“What? I’m responsible.”
“You’re fifteen, and…” Scott paused. “We’ve met you.”
I sighed. “Do you have any coworkers—”
“Who want to leave a government job with a pension to babysit a rock star on training wheels?” Scott cut in. “No, I don’t.”
“I can do it,” Keith said, stepping into the doorway. “I’ll go with him.”
Scott and I exchanged a look, hesitating. Keith wasn’t the obvious choice. And, honestly, we might be swapping out one problem for another. But he loved his brother fiercely. And Jake trusted him.
“I won’t screw this up,” Keith said. “I swear.”
Famous last words.