Jake saw the gun sliding out of Rail’s pocket and froze. The draw had a leisurely quality to it. He thought of yelling, but he didn’t know what to yell. He thought of kicking off from the floor to roll his chair away from Trevor Rail, but there was no time.
Rail fired. It was incredibly loud, even in the little room designed to absorb sound. Flint jumped to his feet, spilling scotch and ash on the floor. Gribbens’ laughter was clipped off as if someone had pressed a mute button. White dust rained down from the ceiling onto the assistant’s head. He looked up at the bullet hole in the acoustic tile above him, swallowed, then met Rail’s unblinking gaze.
Rail said, ever so gently, “Our guest may piss on his own record, but you may not.”
The control room doors swung open. Billy stood there taking in the scene from over the front of the mixing console, red-eyed, hair tousled. To Jake, he said, “What the hell was that?”
Jake didn’t answer. The gun was back in Rail’s coat pocket.
Rail rotated his chair to face Billy. “Go on up to bed, Billy. We’re done for the night.”
Twelve
Jake didn't tell Allison about the gunshot incident. He almost wrote about it in the journal that night while she slept, but he could hear her telling him to quit the job, that this was no way to live, that the long hours were bad enough, but at least she hadn't thought she was living with someone who was likely to get killed when he went to work, like an inner city cop. Not until now, anyway. He closed the book without writing anything and went to bed beside her, feeling that to write anything about the night and omit the gunshot would be an outright lie.
He woke up early and went straight to Eddie’s office. Gribbens wasn’t there. Eddie was on the phone. Jake hung back by the door and listened. Eddie was saying, “I don’t know what to tell you, Bob, there’s no standard anymore. I should replace at least one of the old analog Studers with a new one, but I don’t even know if they’ll still be making them in a couple of years. Analog is on the way out.
“The pity of it is that the musicians who are coming up now don’t even know that it really does sound better…. I know. You know what I tell them? I say it has an infinite sampling rate. Yeah, I do. Digital can suck my dick; analog tape is the only format with infinite resolution. But who cares, right? At the end of the day, it’s coming out of some guy’s car speakers over the engine noise with the radio station compressing the shit out of it…. Uh-huh. I don’t know what to tell you. None of it’s a good investment. Here today, gone tomorrow. Yup. Alright. Best to Laura. What’s up, Jake?”
“Hey, Eddie.” Jake walked in but didn’t sit down. He said, “Have you seen Gribbens today?”
“No. Why, is he late for the session? If he’s sleeping through, I will wring his neck,” he said, picking up the phone again.
Jake raised his hand and said, “No, he’s not late. We don’t even start until eleven.”
Eddie put the phone back in the cradle. He sat back, studying Jake. “How’s the project going? Are you getting anything you can use?”
“Yeah, we have basics for about nine songs done. Some are really good. Yesterday we started lead guitar overdubs. Everybody seems happy with the sounds.”
“Good. So you’re confident about driving the desk? I mean, I haven’t heard any complaints.”
“Yeah, I think I’m doing alright.”
“Well, I’m waiting to hear back from Danielle Del Vecchio. I told her the studio only includes an assistant with the day rate. Told her they need to find some real money for you, now that you’re engineering.”
“Thanks.”
“You have to make sure Rail gives you the proper credit, too. An engineer credit on a Billy Moon CD could kick-start your career. Of course, then I’d be stuck having to replace you already, so don’t let it go to your head before you have good reason to make the leap. Maybe your phone will start ringing in five months. You never know.”
“Yeah. Uh, listen, Eddie, last night Trevor Rail fired a gun in the studio.”
“In the studio.”
“Yeah, the control room.”
“No shit. He didn’t hit anybody, right? If he did, I would have been woken up, right, Jake?”
“No, no, he didn’t hit anybody. I think he was aiming for the ceiling.”
“Why?”
“You mean there could be a rational reason? I don’t know why. To make a point, I guess. He’s pretty dramatic to say the least.”
“So I’m told.”
“Well, what do we do about it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, are people allowed to fire guns in the studio? I didn’t see anything about firearms in the facilities handbook. Are you going to call the police or talk to him about it?”
Eddie sighed through puffed cheeks and fat lips. He looked at the paper-strewn blotter on his desk and said, “Jake, I know you’re new at this, but don’t talk about calling the cops again or I’m going to start worrying about you. If I called the cops every time I heard about one of our clients using illicit drugs, or having an orgy with a bunch of prostitutes, or, hell I don’t know, practicing animal sacrifice to invoke their muse for a vocal track, I would have put us out of business in the seventies.
“The biz is full of people who are highly unstable, theatrical, and emotional. Our job is to stay sober, levelheaded, and non-judgmental about their lifestyle choices. It’s really none of our business, if no one gets hurt.”
“Somebody could get hurt. Eddie, I don’t know about this guy. He’s kind of a loose cannon. Definitely, somebody could get hurt.”
“Rail is an intense character, but he’s not going to kill anybody. It’s like how some film directors establish a tense atmosphere on the set to motivate the crew or to provoke inspired performances. People hate those guys, but they make some of the best movies. Are you sure he wasn’t firing blanks?”
“There’s a hole in the ceiling.”
“Hmm. I’ll have Buff spackle it when the project’s over.”
“I’m not getting paid enough to take a bullet.”
“Are you saying you want off the project? Do you want me to tell Danielle they need to find another engineer?”
Jake considered. Then he said, “No. I just thought you should know what’s going on down there. We’ve already had one fatality.”
“Come on, that was an accident. Look, Jake, it's not the first time a producer or artist ever put his gun fetish on parade. Phil Specter was legendary for waving a gun around on those Wall of Sound sessions. Fuckin’ David Crosby, the gentle hippie? He’s a gun nut. Just chill. If you let this kind of thing get to you, you won’t last long.”
“Forget I said anything, then.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear you’re getting decent tracks. Let me know if you need anything.”
Jake turned to leave. Eddie called after him, “Hey, Jake! You let me know if he puts a slug in any of our equipment. The ceiling’s one thing, but if he shoots up any vintage gear, Gravitas is gonna have to pay for it.”
* * *
Billy woke to the sound of a fist banging on the front door downstairs. He crawled out of bed and pulled his black kimono over his pale, naked body on his way across the catwalk. When he opened the heavy double doors, he found Flint, fist cocked for the next round of pounding. Billy said, “You should be careful with that hand. We still have to get another day or two of tracks out of it.”
Flint looked like he had forgotten to take his sense of humor with him when he left the rectory across the road. He appraised his red knuckles and said, “Motherfucker must be solid oak. I thought you’d never hear me.”
Billy looked beyond him at the fog-bound woods, pulling the thin silk kimono close around his chest. “What time is it?” he asked.
“I dunno,” Flint answered. “Early. Get dressed. Let’s go into town and get some breakfast.”
“You crazy? It isn’t even light out. I’m not hungry. Just come in before I freeze.”
> Flint stepped into the church and Billy closed the doors, pressing his weight against them to make sure they sealed. He scratched his head and said, “You want some coffee? I’ll make some.”
“Yeah, good.”
Billy pointed at an antique couch where his acoustic guitar lay, the neck jutting over one arm. “Have a seat,” he said and set about opening and closing cabinets. Usually when he woke, the housekeeping staff had already been in and brewed the first pot of the day, so it took him a while to find the filters and get it started. His first domestic chore in recent memory accomplished, he returned to the couch where Flint was finger-picking a variation on McCartney’s “Blackbird” riff over the gurgling sounds of the coffee maker.
Billy sat down beside him and said, “Be ready in a minute. So… what’s up?”
“I wanted to talk to you before everyone else shows up. I couldn’t last night with Rail kicking us out all of a sudden.”
Billy said, “That was a gunshot, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, man. Dude’s a first-class nut job.”
“What happened?”
“That kid Gribbens said something that pissed him off, so he fired a… a warning shot. Fucking gun came out of nowhere. Kid must have pissed his pants.”
Billy set his elbows on his knees, his temples in his hands, and stared at the floor.
“I didn’t like it one bit,” Flint said. “It’s not that he carries a gun that gets me. If he liked to shoot it off in the woods, whatever. But not in the studio. Nuh-uh. Not at some guy who’s running his ass off for crumbs. I don’t trust him with it. If I were you, I’d fire him.”
Billy nodded. “It’s not that simple,” he said. “Lemme get that coffee.”
He returned with two mugs and handed one to Flint. He put his own down on top of an amp, lit a cigarette, and began pacing the rug, talking between drags. “I have a three-record deal with Gravitas, but it doesn’t allow for much creative control at this point. The last record, well, they let me do it my way because Eclipse was a hit. This one, I have to do what they say. If this one bombs, I’ll get dropped from the label.”
“Billy, I’ve heard stories about ol’ Third Rail. Stop thinking about your contract for a minute. What’s your feeling? Is he dangerous?”
“He’s probably more dangerous than you'd think in your wildest dreams, but I don’t really see a way out for me. He’s the captain of this ship, and I’ve been press-ganged.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Billy. I guess you have an obligation, but I’ll work today and then I’m out of here. I’m not gonna end my career in a backwoods ditch because some psycho producer had a breakdown, you know? Use me the best you can today, okay?”
“Yeah. Alright, man. Can't say I blame you.”
“You shouldn’t have to deal with this shit while you’re trying to write. Talk to Danielle. She’s a ballsy lady. If you’re unhappy, she should be talking to the label.”
Billy took a long drag.
“Dude, are you alright? Hey, man, look at me. Am I way off base here? The fucking guy fired a shot at an assistant. Why do I get the feeling you don’t want to tattle on him?”
Billy stamped the butt out in the crowded ashtray. He said, “I hear your concerns, I do. But I have a strange relationship with him.”
Flint set the guitar down, turned his palms up in a prompting gesture.
“He showed up in my life at a time when I really needed help. He… intervened when I was at rock bottom. I was gonna kill myself. “
“Wow. So you feel like you owe him your life?”
“I don’t know. In a way, maybe.”
“That’s bullsh—”
“No. Let me finish. In a way, I owe him the life I’ve been living. The life. Being a rock star, what I dreamed of as a kid. It’s the only thing I know how to do, the only thing I’m qualified for. Nobody wanted to give me a chance until he showed up. And then doors opened where I didn’t know there were doors.”
“But you don’t owe him anything. Do you know how much money he’s made off you? You’re the one who wrote the songs. You’re the one who sang ‘em. Hell, it’s you living on the road, working your ass off. The only reason he’s an in-demand producer is because you were a success. You’re the goose that laid the golden egg. But your self-worth is all fucked up because he’s messing with your head.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s subtle. He’s got you here in the middle of the woods, isolated. He’s the one with the power, and he’s intimidating the engineers, playing with your ego. There’s no one else around to give you any perspective. If you ask me, you should be in the city with a band.”
“It means a lot to me that you’re worried. Seriously, I don’t think I have too many real friends these days who would talk to me like this. Truth is—yes, he scares me, but I believe in what he can do for me. He’s done it before.”
“That’s the label talking. You did it before.”
Billy looked at the floor and said, “People are starting to forget about me. What am I gonna do, go back to working in retail? You’ll think I’m crazy, but I think he can make me a legend. He’s done it before. For other people.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You’re his only platinum record.”
Billy shook his head, “I’m pretty sure he’s been involved with other records behind the scenes, or under pseudonyms. Really big records. He’s a lot older than he looks.”
“Dude, you do sound crazy. That makes no sense. You think he wouldn’t want credit? You really believe that?”
“I do. And it doesn’t matter anyway because my contract pretty much says I have to stay on this train until the end. They won’t let me off.”
Flint stood up and nodded at Billy, “Alright, man. I tried. I’m gonna go have some breakfast.”
“Hey, Flint,” Billy said when the guitarist had his hand on the iron door handle. “Do they have a piano over there in the old rectory?”
Flint's face turned a whiter shade of pale. He stared at Billy, opened his mouth, and closed it.
“I just wondered what could have woken you up at six.”
“It's a piano, Billy, not an alarm clock.”
“You sure the gun's the only thing you're afraid of?”
“Sorry I woke you,” Flint said, and closed the doors behind him.
Billy showered, dressed, and started work on a new beat in the computer. With the headphones on, he immersed himself in the project for a few hours, only looking up each time a wedge of subdued sunlight fanned across the floor to herald the morning arrivals—first Jake, then Flint again, then Gribbens.
Billy took off the headphones and nodded at the assistant. “Hey, Ron.”
Gribbens flashed Billy his usual enthusiastic smile and said, “Billy, my man. Wassup? Flint, baby. Hey, is that ‘Blackbird’ I hear you pickin’?”
“Indeed,” Flint replied. “Well, my variation on it, anyway.”
“Nice. I fucking love the Beatles. Wanna hear my variation on a timeless classic?”
Flint looked at Billy and said, “Sure.”
Gribbens slid the piano bench out with a grinding of wood on wood and straddled it. He stepped on the sustain pedal, flipped up the lid, and with a dramatic tilt of the head, struck a chord, singing:
There’s nothing you can shoot that can’t be shot…
He hit another chord and let it ring out.
There’s nothing you can snort that can’t be snot.
Billy and Flint started laughing. Jake looked up from his notes in the control room. Gribbens picked up a bouncy, slightly stilted descending bass line with his barely adept left hand, which he more than made up for with his voice as he sang out full and loud:
There’s nothing you can’t smoke, but you can learn how to take a joke
It’s easy…
All you need is drugs!
All you need is drugs! Dot dah diddle dah,
All you need is drugs, drugs
Drugs are all you ne
ed
Flint clapped and whistled as the door swung open and Trevor Rail strode in, black overcoat whirling around him. Gribbens cut it short and scurried away like a field mouse in the shadow of a hawk. He was in the control room gathering papers before the sound of the piano lid slamming down finished reverberating in the rafters. Flint slid off the couch and intercepted Rail with a lazy, tilting gait that seemed slower than it was. He said, “Hey, Trevor, I’ve been thinking about that bit I did in ‘Language of Love.’ I might have an idea for how to make it support the vocal more.”
Rail said, “Okay, we’ll try it. But the vocal itself isn’t etched in stone. I may have Billy try something different as well.”
Billy followed Rail into the control room and heard him telling Jake and Gribbens to build a makeshift vocal booth out of gobos and packing blankets in the big room.
“I thought it was a guitar day,” Billy said.
Rail turned to him. “There’s little point in having Flint play around your vocal if I'm not sold on your performance. I’m hearing ‘Language’ as the single at this point, and I’m not going to waste time having him poke around in the dark until I know we have a vocal that’s a keeper.”
Billy blinked. “I wasn’t expecting to start the day with lead vocals, Trevor. I didn’t get much sleep and my voice is shit this early in the morning.”
“Don’t fret. It’ll warm up.”
“But Flint is only sticking around for today. We should use him while we can.”
“I was told we had him for three days.”
“He changed his mind.”
“Changed his mind?”
“Talk to him.”
Rail turned to Gribbens who was hovering nearby, listening to the exchange. “What are you waiting for? Didn’t I just tell you to build a booth?”
“Right. I’m on it,” he said and wobbled around, trying to choose which side to pass Rail on.
Rail leafed through the lyric sheets.
Through the glass Billy could see Jake and Ron rolling sections of modular padded walls with plexi-glass windows into position in a corner of the kitchenette. Flint was sitting on a stool near a stained-glass window that depicted one of the Stations of the Cross, tuning his guitar. Billy said, “Well, are you going to talk to Flint about how long he’s staying? ‘Cause if he’s leaving today, we should focus on him.”
The Devil of Echo Lake Page 13