by S. M. West
“I said I’ll have to think about it.” My tone is sharp and unapologetic as I step from the table. “India, I’m flattered you’ve asked, but give me a day or two. I’ll let you know as soon as possible. I won’t leave you hanging, and if I don’t do it, I’ll help find someone to play drums.”
“Okay, sure.” For the first time today, she’s at a loss for words.
Not willing to take on her disappointment and let the guilt eat at me, I squat down to Henry. “Want to go for a walk with Boy?”
“Yay.” He jumps to his feet, nearly hitting his head on the underside of the table if not for my hand sliding in between the two to buffer the blow. Ouch.
“Just a short one. You need a nap.” I take his hand in mine and pat at my thigh for Boy to follow us.
“I’m not tired.” His yawn chips away at his protest. Chuckling, I lift him into my arms and take the stairs down to the beach.
“Hey, want some company?” Jared’s behind me, coming to my side when he hits the sand. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I shrug and turn to look out at the ocean.
“This is none of my business…” He hesitates and I turn back to him.
“What are you talking about?”
“You and Silas.” Just the mention of my partner causes my back to stiffen, but I try to hide it and listen to Jared. “I’ve asked before how things are going between you two and SG Productions. I know you’ve said they’re good and Silas says the same—”
“You’re right.” I cut in and readjust Henry on my hip. “This isn’t your business.” My tone is harsher than I intend, but Jared is no different than Silas.
They aren’t alike in personality, but they are close, and with the band, those two got their way most of the time. Jared wouldn’t understand my challenges with the former lead singer of Trojan—the man used to the top spot and final say.
“Look, you’re going to need to be more forceful with Silas.”
“What?” I cock my head to one side, confused.
“I know we never talked about this, but it didn’t go unnoticed how you kept quiet on a lot of things where Trojan was concerned. You just seemed to go with the majority. And that’s cool, but this is your company too. Shit, I’d say it’s more yours than his; it was your idea.”
There’s an uncomfortable tangle in my belly. I don’t want to lord anything over Silas. I want a partnership. That’s all.
“Hey, it was my idea, but we’re fifty-fifty.”
“Good. Remind him of that. Show him by not holding your tongue.” He quirks one of his brows, giving me a pointed look. “Silas respects you. Values your opinion but he’s also happy to have things go his way if you let him.” Jared lifts up his arms. “Let me take him.”
He swings Henry from my arms, bringing him to sit on his shoulders. The boy squeals, fingers threading into Jared’s longish, dark locks.
My friend hisses and I laugh, shaking my head. “He’ll make you bald if he stays up there too long.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” He winces and says to Henry, “One quick horsey ride and then I’ll put you down.”
Nodding and shrieking, Henry hangs onto Jared’s hair for dear life as the man jogs toward the shoreline with his hand wrapped around the little guy’s waist. Boy barks, maybe a bit concerned and also playful, chasing after them.
With a moment alone, Jared’s words bolster my conviction to hold my ground with Silas on our latest debate—a recording studio. Then India’s request plays through my mind. As tempting as it is—and it would be easy, in some ways, to give in to the indulgence—there’s a lot more to consider.
In the world of Trojan and India Holt, the music is not only a joy but also a burden as it comes with obnoxious record executives, fame, and everyone demanding a piece of you. All of which I’d rather do without.
And above all else, there’s Daisy and Henry. What would recording an album mean for spending time with them? Daisy still hasn’t found a nanny, and Pansy’s schedule doesn’t allow for her to take care of Henry whenever Daisy can’t.
The three of us have been juggling care of Henry, and I want to be part of it. There’s no way I let a day go by without seeing him…and Daisy if I can help it, but working on India’s album would change that.
Some days could be long, starting at sunup and going until well after the sun is down, depending on what we’re working on and how on or far off schedule we are.
When Daisy left, hours ago, my first inclination was to grab Henry and leave with her. Although that wouldn’t have been fair to Henry since his mother was only going to work and he loves the beach.
My desire to leave wasn’t only because Daisy was going but also to get away from the handsy songstress. What would working with her on an album look like?
Can I handle her incessant flirting and who knows what else? I’m not worried about starting something with her, I’m not interested. I want Daisy. But more…I wonder what Daisy would think.
I sensed the shift in her mood once India arrived, and no matter what she said, the singer was part of the reason she left early. And now, I have to face the human barnacle again.
8
Gray
Retired Trojan rock gods
My head pounds like the hard thrumming of drums, and while that’s my beat, right now it’s irritatingly painful. Squeezing my eyes shut, I push my skull into the sofa cushion and try to block out everything.
It isn’t working.
The last of India’s cheery voice and lilting giggles somehow bulldozes my deep breathing and attempts at silencing my mind. She’s finally leaving, and Silas graciously offered to walk her out.
It’s difficult not to feel like an ungrateful jerk because signing India Holt is huge for SG Productions. Her next album will be good, and it will sell millions, I’ve no doubt. The woman is on fire. You can’t scroll through social media or any of the streaming music channels without seeing her. And the lyrics for her new album—I’d been fortunate to see some of the songs—are pure gold.
But I’m no closer to determining if I’ll take her up on playing drums for her album or not. Silas should have talked to me before hammering out a deal with her.
We’re partners in this together, and we’re both supposed to have equal say in every decision. And Jared’s comments on the beach come back to me.
Does Silas even know what it means to be in a partnership? Shit, that isn’t fair.
When Trojan was a thing, from time to time there would be tension among the four of us. I mean, it’s to be expected, and usually, it stemmed from one of Silas’s arbitrary decisions where he didn’t consult the band. Kind of like when he walked away from Trojan without even a warning.
That isn’t a great example. Truth be told, both Eli and I were also thinking about getting out. I could have gone on for much longer, being younger than the rest and also with no ties or demons—or at least that’s what it looks like on the surface.
Yet it became clear we weren’t going to ride the wave of success forever. Not because of the quality of our songs or performances. No, Trojan was as strong as ever.
But because Silas was showing signs of wear, his anger management had become a problem. Eli’s lifestyle made it difficult for the guy to give his daughter any kind of normalcy, and Jared was one high away from an overdose.
And me? Well, I’d never really given the fame any thought when I auditioned for Trojan. I just wanted to make music. What a cliché, but true. I still want to make music and miss playing the drums every day.
I also wanted to make money. Lots of it, more out of necessity than any master plan to be filthy rich. That kind of stuff didn’t matter to me. I only want to live comfortably.
But money is important. My parents weren’t poor. We were middle-class, but that lifestyle vanished almost overnight.
Dad died in a freak accident and less than three years later, Mom was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s at forty-five.
By that time, the rapidly
advancing brain disease had robbed me of my mother, taking any of her memories of a son. She needed around the clock care.
Yeah, money is critical. Dad’s life insurance was dwindling fast as her medical bills piled up. Trojan was a stroke of luck, but the fame was daunting.
So Silas’s announcement that he was leaving the band couldn’t all be on him. I was mulling over my next move, how to use the name I’d built for myself with Trojan to launch a different but just as lucrative career without the limelight.
When I hatched the idea to produce records, it wasn’t playing or making music but close enough. I went to Silas, looking for an investor, not a partner. I could have plunked all my money into the company, but I’d have been left with not much else, and there were still Mom’s medical bills and ongoing care to consider.
Rather than take on all the risk, I explored options. Eli expressed interest, but he had Crystal to think of and he was venturing into a new career. At the time, Jared was in no position to consider backing me, let alone figure out his own future.
A bank loan was an option, but I didn’t want to owe or pay interest, so I approached Silas. To my surprise, he wanted more than to just invest. He wanted in. All in. A full partner.
“You okay?” He stands in the doorway, a hand in the front pocket of his jeans. “You want a water, beer, or something?”
It’s just us. Jared and Eva left, and Pansy is putting Henry down for a nap. I really could use one too.
Henry’s ‘big boy’ bed isn’t so big for a grown man, and last night, I slept precariously on the edge, literally. I was fully prepared to wind up on the floor, on my back at any moment. So let’s just say, I didn’t sleep well.
A nap would be great, but nope. No nap for me. Silas and I need to talk about a recording studio. I can’t put it off any longer.
“No. I’m good. Let’s talk.” I point my chin to the living room, encouraging him to have a seat.
He saunters over and drops into the seat beside me, tapping his fingers on the leather arm of the chair. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I could be pissed at you for signing India without talking to me, but it’s good for business. But don’t do it again. We’re partners.”
Silas raises his brows in shock. Admiration? Guilt? It’s hard to say but he’s speechless, and encouraged by his silence, I continue.
“And that’s not all. We need to talk about the studio.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees and clasping my fingers together in front of me.
Through it all, I maintain eye contact. He needs to understand I’m serious.
“Go on.” Some of the earlier stupor wears off, and it’s replaced with caution.
“We have to shelve building a studio right now. You and I both know financially it’s not the right time for us. We’ve got a lot of good momentum going and great clients lined up. If we start building a studio, we’re going to lose some of that. We need to keep moving forward, and later, we can shift gears and focus on a studio.”
“Building our own recording studio is progress and does keep us moving.” He scratches at his ear. “We’re wasting money renting studio time and scrambling for locations every time we have a recording session. We’re at the mercy of other people’s schedules.”
“True. It can be a pain and it doesn’t help that we don’t have admin staff, so we’re the goofballs who put us behind the eight ball.” We share a wry grin.
Neither of us are particularly skilled at planning and organizing, and we should probably hire an assistant. Add that to the many things we haven’t gotten around to doing.
Usually, we’d ask our previous band manager to take care of something like that, but Bianca Ramirez is no longer in our lives.
So, in the absence of someone organizing our business lives, we make things work and get through by the skin of our teeth.
“But we can get ahead of that by signing a one-year lease at an existing recording studio,” I say, further pushing my preference. “It’ll save us time and money.”
“And while we lease, that’s money we could be putting into our own pockets.”
“Not necessarily. You and I both know that building a studio is going to take time and money. And in the interim, we’ll still need to find a recording studio…for every album.”
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, avoiding my gaze.
He’s a smart guy and he can do the math. I’ve got him even if he won’t easily admit it. What I’m saying is the right thing to do right now.
“Come on, Silas.” I nudge his foot with mine. “We’ll build a studio eventually. I’m with you. We could even set a date to get that ball rolling—”
“You mean like a plan and shit?” Now he’s smirking, and the flash of mischief in his gaze tells me he’s coming around to the idea.
“Yeah, a plan. Crazy.” It’s a wonder how successful our company is, and has been from the onset, since we’re terrible at keeping track of everything.
And deep down, we both recognize being retired Trojan rock gods has a lot to do with our success. For the most part, we aren’t seeking out musicians to work with us. It’s the other way around.
“I just really want our own studio.” He runs a hand through his blond hair.
“In time. Recording with India starts in a little over a week.” Which thankfully, I’ve already secured studio space for. “And then right after that, Candyland, then Irwin. We’ve got a packed schedule for the next couple of months. We can’t—”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” His jaw tightens. “Before we make any final decisions, come talk to the real estate agent with me. She found a great location.”
Shit, he isn’t giving up that easily. “Fine, but you also have to check out the studio I found for lease.”
“Gray, it’s a fucking great location.” He’s sitting up straighter, eyes bright and animated. “And we could have everything in one place. Our offices—”
“I’ll take a look, but when the time is right to build, we’ll find an awesome location.” I inject as much confidence in my voice as possible.
There’s no way I can be certain we’ll find a great spot when we’re ready to build our own studio, but I have to believe we will. If I give so much as an inch with Silas, he’ll blow an opening as wide as a football field and push his preference all the way to a touchdown. And before I know it, we’ll be building our own recording studio.
“I want you to meet the agent soon.” He points at me. “And I’ll go see this studio. But just so we’re clear. I’m not agreeing to anything until we’ve explored both options.”
“Fair enough.” I bow my head, grateful for this small concession.
I hang around for another hour or so, and Silas and I work, making a few phone calls and attempting to get more organized. Once Henry’s up, we head back to Daisy’s, and I send her a text letting her know I’ve got dinner covered.
She doesn’t respond right away, which isn’t unusual when she’s on a shoot. It could be hours before I hear from her, and as expected, a few hours later, she lets me know she’s on her way home.
Dinner is on the table when she strolls in a little after seven in the evening. She looks both exhilarated and exhausted. Blonde curls gather on the top of her head in a chaotic bun, and she’s wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt.
A big smile breaks across her face at the sight of her son busy creating a masterpiece at his table in the corner of the kitchen. He casts her a sideways “I’m busy at the moment” glance and doesn’t stop what he’s doing.
“Is that all I get?” Dropping her bags on the floor, she crouches to his height and opens her arms.
Henry pauses, studying his mother and then the colorful array of crayon scribbles on the piece of paper, before racing toward her for a hug.
We eat and clean the kitchen, bathe Henry, and put him to bed while chatting about various things like the visit to the beach today and her photo shoot. She doesn’t bring up our upcoming dinner.
&nb
sp; Once it’s just the two of us, I pull her outside to the backyard. It’s a small patch of grass, fenced in and private. There’s a square of patio stones no bigger than the average size drum kit and it’s usually quiet, even if sometimes muggy when the air is stagnant.
Tonight, there’s a cool breeze—maybe too cold to stay out for too long. We sit in the two Adirondack chairs, dropping our phones onto the table between us when hers buzzes.
She glances at it, the movement slow and almost too much for her weary muscles, then she releases an aggravated sigh. “I wish he’d just knock it off.”
“Who is it?” I could peer down at the screen, but it isn’t my business.
“Jerome.” Her eyes close, long blonde lashes fanning across her high cheekbones.
“Not again?” My exasperation with that guy slips past my control and blankets my tone.
While I can’t put my finger on it, something about him bugs me more than it should. And maybe it all stems from the fact he has a huge crush on Daisy.
There, I said it. The asshole is old enough to be her father, or her grandfather for that matter. Yet he flirts with her shamelessly like he’s fucking George Clooney or some other aging celebrity women of many ages still swoon over.
This time, Daisy doesn’t indulge him and ignores the text, flipping the phone screen down.
“You don’t have to do it. You know this, right?”
“Gray, not this again. I can’t leave him stranded.” She leans toward me, her blue gaze filled with sincerity.
“And you won’t. You told him you’d find someone else to model for him.”
“He won’t take no for an answer, but I’m busy and likely going to be swamped soon.” She rubs her hands over her arms, shivering. “Don’t get me wrong, this is the kind of problem I want…but Jerome isn’t listening.”
I grab her hand and pull her to standing. “Let’s go inside, you’re cold.”