by Ginger Scott
The crowd absolutely loses it after that, and we make it through six more songs before wrapping it up for the night. All anyone wants to talk about is the kiss, and my song. I hear Ben working his angle with some girl, telling her how everything we do is collaboration. I don’t really care, whatever helps him with his game. All I want to do is get to Avery.
My mom finds me before anyone else, and she squeezes me in her arms like I’m still a little boy. “Mason, you were so good. I’m so proud of you,” she gushes. My mom always gushed when I played, so I sort of take her compliments at half value.
“Thanks, mom. Hey, you see Avery?” I ask, trying to lift my head up high enough to find her in the crowd.
“I think she had to get Max home, hon. She was here for most of the show, though. I think she maybe missed the last song,” she says, and for some reason, I’m filled with worry that she left. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial, but she doesn’t answer. I try again, but still no answer.
“That…was the shit!” Josh says, his arm draped over my shoulders while he downs what’s left of his beer. “Dude, if you can write more crap like that, we’re totally going to get picked up again.”
“Thanks, man. Seriously, you guys killed it,” I say, pounding knuckles with Matt and nodding to Ben. “Even you, you drunken asshole.”
“You love me,” Ben slurs, his hand already on the ass of the girl he’s marked for tonight. The sight of it actually makes me laugh, because not so long ago, my hand would have been on some stranger’s ass too. But all I want now is Avery…Avery!
I text her quickly, taking a minute before the next barrage of people come up to us to talk.
Are you okay? My mom said you had to get Max home. Is he okay?
I keep my phone in my hand so I can feel it buzz with her return, and I continue talking with people who all want to tell us how much they liked the show. The more people collapse on me, the more overwhelmed I am with the need to climb right through their asses and race to Ray’s to make sure Avery and Max are okay. I finally see Ray standing behind a group of girls all waiting to get my attention, and I start to move through them. One actually grabs the front of my jeans when I walk by—holy shit!
I smile at her politely because, well face it, I’m still human, but I keep my focus on Ray and let her fingers slip over my body while I move forward.
“That was some gig, kid,” Ray’s smiles. He’s relaxed—this is good.
“Is Avery all right?” I half interrupt before he can say anything else. His reaction to my worry isn’t quite what I’d expect. He just folds his arms over his chest and furrows his brow.
“She’s…fine Mason. Max was having a hard time with the crowd, so she took him home,” he says, watching me basically freak out in front of him.
I breathe deeply when he tells me everything is fine—for some reason Ray’s confirmation holding a lot more stock than my mother’s, and he starts to smirk at me.
“Sorry,” I say, blowing out a big breath and cracking my knuckles behind my neck, when I look back at Ray, I see he’s still chuckling. “What, joke’s on me?”
“No. Nothing like that,” he says, patting me on my back. “You worried about Avery. I like that.”
Hell, if I knew that would be all it took, I would have told him about how that’s all I’ve done since the day she smacked me hard across my face.
“Hey, pansy. You comin’ out to celebrate with us or what? We’re hitting Spanks,” Ben says, now somehow holding hands with an entirely different girl. That man’s charisma never ceases to amaze me. Ben’s a heavier guy, decent looking I guess, but a big guy. But he always bagged the best looking chicks. Of course, second best now.
“I uh…” I look down at my phone just in time to see Avery’s text.
Sorry. I was going to text as soon as I got Max to bed. I’m good. Too many people. Started to upset him. I’ll wait up! XXOO
“I sorta promised Avery I’d come home. Next time, though, okay?” I say, and I can tell Ben is more than disappointed.
“Whatever,” he says, flipping me off and putting his arm around the new blonde he’s with, following Matt and Josh out the door. I feel a tight pang in my stomach from watching them leave, and for a split second, I think about saying “Screw it,” and catching back up to them. But that thought passes quickly, and it’s replaced by wanting to be with Avery as soon as possible.
There are a few people left hanging around the stage while I pack up my guitar and store the guys’ stuff; I nod at them as I walk by, but before I get too far, one of them stops me. “You’re Mason Street, yeah?” he says, holding out his hand for me to shake. I look at it for a good hard second, and decide he seems decent enough, so I shake it.
“That’s me. You enjoy the show?” I ask, pulling my case up to rest it on the table.
The guy laughs a little under his breath and looks at both of his friends who seem equally amused. “Mason, I’m Kevin Quill,” he starts, and I don’t even think I hear the rest of what he has to say. Kevin Quill has launched the careers of about a dozen singer-songwriter types like me—as in multi-million-dollar kind of launched their careers. I’m looking at his card and reading his name over and over when I realize he’s still talking.
“I’m sorry, huh?” I say, my eyes coming up to meet his finally.
“I said I was wondering if you and I could sit down and talk sometime, maybe see if there might be an opportunity for me to work with the Mason Street Band,” he says, his perfect white teeth shining right back at me, almost putting me in a trance.
“Uh, sure. I mean, yes. That’d be great,” I shake his hand again.
“Good, give me a call tomorrow. We’ll talk,” he says, throwing a couple hundreds down on the table to cover the bill, and leaving with his friends. I look around the bar, and no one is left to bear witness. The only person who would even understand why my jaw is hanging open is Ray, and I can’t find him anywhere, so I just throw the guitar in my trunk and head straight to Avery.
Chapter 19: Promises
Avery
There was no way Mason was falling asleep when he came home. He sounded like one of those state fair auctioneers the way he rattled off everything that happened after I took Max home. I didn’t really know who Kevin Quill was when he said his name, but I played along to make him feel good. I could tell that he must be someone important.
I probably fell asleep hours before Mason, so I’m careful getting out of bed. I sneak into my room to grab my clothes from my drawer, and I notice Max’s eyes are wide open and looking almost at me.
“Good morning. I didn’t want to wake you. We have a session with Jenny, and then I’ll let you pick your favorite thing to do today,” I say—while inside, my mind is racing to get two steps ahead of wherever Max is going to take seeing me slip into the room, not out of it.
“There is a meteor shower tonight. I would like to set up Grandpa’s telescope,” he says, laying flat on his back and blinking at the ceiling.
“That sounds like a good idea,” I say, clinging to my clean shirt, and slowly sliding backward to the door.
“Can I sleep in Mason’s room sometime, too?” he asks, and my eyes grow wide. This is where Max is different—he’s caught me, completely, but he doesn’t really question the whys. All he cares about is figuring out how he can have the same privilege I do.
“You’ll have to ask Mason,” I say, swallowing hard, knowing that Max is going to ask. I’m going to have to prep Mason for this one.
“All right, I’ll ask him tonight, after he watches the meteors with me,” he says, sitting up quickly and moving his feet toward the floor. Max rubs his eyes as he stands and walks to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door, completely cutting me in line.
Max is slow in the bathroom. He gets distracted, and usually forgets his purpose. I know I have a good fifteen minutes of alone time, and I use it—sneaking back into Mason’s room and running my fingers along his arm to wake him just long enough to wa
rn him about the barrage of expectations that will be waiting on him when he finally wakes up.
“Hey,” he says, his voice groggy, and his breath smelling of stale beer and smoke. I pull my cover to my nose, and he covers his mouth when he realizes. “Oh, sorry. Hang on, I’ll brush my teeth.”
I tug on his shirt and force him back in his bed. “You can’t. Max is in there right now,” I say, biting at my lip in anticipation of the next part. “He…he caught me.”
Mason’s eyes are fully open at that, and he turns his head quickly to me, mouthing, “Oh, shit!”
“I handled it…sort of,” I say, slipping out of his bed, out of his reach. “So, he’s going to ask to have a sleepover sometime. Like, oh, probably tonight. Yeah, uh…and good luck with that!”
I race through his door and slam it shut behind me, tossing my clean clothes to the corner of the hallway, and sprinting down the stairs. I only make it about halfway before his arm is hugging around my midsection and my feet are no longer on the floor. “You threw me under the bus!” he says at my neck, tingles shooting down my entire body from the tickle of his scruffy chin.
“I did no such thing,” I say, and he pulls me close again, lifting me, and backing me up the stairs and to his room.
“I call bullshit,” he says, a huge grin on his face. “You’re the one who’s going to end up suffering anyhow. What are you going to do when Max and I are in here having fun all night, and you’re stuck over there all by yourself?”
It’s hard to concentrate when he has me pinned to the door, his tongue working its way up the crook of my neck and his nose tickling the lobe of my ear. “I’ll just read. Maybe even two books,” I say, and in a way that thought sounds like a gift from heaven. “Besides, it’s lights out at eight o’clock. So, I’m not so sure who’s getting the short end.”
He starts to tickle at my sides and I giggle uncontrollably. “Oh, I’ll show you lights out,” he says, his fingers working their way up my sides and coming closer to the tips of my breasts, when I hear a loud knock on the other side of the door, and push his hands away quickly.
“It’s Max. Be nice!” I whisper, and Mason opens the door to my son, who’s now changed into a bright green outfit. He only likes certain kinds of shirts, and sometimes for him picking out an outfit that he finds comfortable requires a little flexibility in the matching category. His shorts are kelly green today, and the shirt is almost florescent. At least I won’t lose him at the store.
“Tonight is the meteor shower. Do you want to watch it with me through Grandpa’s telescope?” he asks, turning to look at the door handle while he speaks. This must be really important to Max, because usually we have to bribe him to ask people to interact with him. I kick at Mason’s foot so he understands how important this is.
“I’d love to, Max. What time does it start?” he asks, looking at me with a devilish grin. He’s found a loophole to my bedtime rule.
“The best time to start is nine thirty. Mom, I am going to have to sit up later,” Max says, not really asking.
“Okay,” I say. I let it go this time because I can’t believe how far he’s getting.
“Got it. Okay, I’ll be there,” Mason says, holding his breath that Max won’t push for the next part, and when Max starts to walk away, I think he might have just dodged it.
“I’ll bring my blanket and pillow over later to set up my bed,” Max says, no longer really engaged with us and now just assuming that the rest of his plan is already enacted. In a way, Max is the ultimate closer—he never even gets remotely close to hearing no.
All I can do is raise my eyebrows at Mason and shrug, and while I finish getting ready for the day in the shower, I start to feel bad. I also know Mason can’t handle Max completely on his own. There are too many nuances, and I wouldn’t send him into that unprepared. When I finally meet them both downstairs for breakfast, I lean over to Mason while Max is eating.
“I’m coming too. Looks like the spare room is going to be awfully full tonight,” I smile, and he visibly sighs with relief.
Mason
At first I wanted to take the meeting with Kevin alone—having Ben involved in any type of business discussion is usually non-productive. But playing together last night, the way the four of us were on stage—that felt more right than any other performance we’d ever had. I feel like something good is beginning, and I don’t want to fuck it up by being shady and doing things behind the guys’ backs, so I called them this morning to break the news and set the meeting with Kevin for this afternoon.
Ben’s legs are hopping up and down so much that the whole damn table is shaking, and I’m just waiting for Kevin to call the meeting off for fear that our drummer is a coke head. To be honest, I’m not so sure he isn’t.
“Let me get to the point, gentleman,” Kevin says, pulling the black-rimmed glasses from his face and folding them on the table in front of us. “Your sound is perfect for what we’re putting together right now. That whole rockabilly, folk-rock kind of thing is hot, and we’re scheduling some big tours. What I’d like to do is have you slated to open for most of the shows in the Southwest.”
I cough when I swallow my water because what he is saying is the last thing I expected. I thought maybe we’d get another deal like the last—tour some small venues, build a base and maybe record an album if we were lucky.
“We’re in,” Ben says, shaking Kevin’s hand before the rest of us really have time to process.
“Wait, I have a few questions,” I pipe in, and I can feel the guys staring at me, just wanting to punch me in the face for even having a hint of a reservation. “Sorry, but we’ve sorta been down a road before, and I want to know where this one is leading. When you say open for a few shows, what kind of numbers are you talking about?”
“Off the top of my head, probably about twenty or so—primarily Arizona, Nevada, Utah, Denver, Southern Cal, maybe a couple in Texas,” he says, pulling up his briefcase to the table to pull out a set of papers that look like contracts. “You’d be opening for some of our up-and-coming bands, venues that hold about twenty.”
“Twenty people?” Ben asks, and I want to kick him. Kevin just laughs it off.
“Twenty…thousand,” Kevin says.
“Fuuuuuuck me. Where do I sign,” Ben asks, perching himself up on his elbows like an anxious child.
“What about recording? Will there be any possibility of that?” I ask, not sure how much Kevin really believes in us.
“Absolutely. Let’s see how the shows go. They’ll run through the end of the year, and if the response is good, we’ll know by late November if we need to schedule some recording time.”
The guys are already reading over the various points of the contract, and my paper is sitting in front of me, my pen on top, just waiting for my signature. I know how big this break is. But something has my hand trapped, and I can’t seem to get myself to commit.
“Look, Mason. I understand your reservations. I know your story—I don’t come into deals like this without doing my homework. I’m going to be really honest, what I’m offering you is the best deal you’re going to get—and it might be the last,” he says, holding out his hand, just waiting for me to shake it.
My mind is racing a million miles a second, trying to line up every last piece of my life into a neat and tidy row. But it’s impossible. The only thing I know for sure is that my dream is hanging on by a thread, and Kevin is holding the other end, and that seems to be enough to get me to shake his hand tonight. I sign my name on that small black line, handing over my life, and then I wonder what the hell I’m going to tell Avery.
“Hells yeah, man!” Ben says, raising his half-empty glass of whiskey to the rest of us for a toast. “To second chances!”
“To second chances!” everyone cheers. I’m not sure which chance I’m referring to, though, and I’m not sure if I’m welcoming one or saying goodbye.
“Okay, you pussy-whipped son-of-a-bitch. No excuses, we’re going to celebrate
this, and you’re coming with us right now. You better have dollars in that wallet of yours because we’re going to Spanks!
I roll my eyes, but I know I can’t really get out of this one, not if I want to survive the next two months on the road with Ben and the guys.
“Fine, but not all night okay?” I say, guzzling down the rest of my beer. I reach into my wallet to settle up the tab, but Kevin pushes my hands away.
“This one’s on me. I have a good feeling about you guys, and if I’m right, then buying you a beer is the least I can do,” he says, and I let out a big breath, taking in his compliment.
Spanks always goes the same. I don’t know why I thought this time would be any different. Beers turn to shots, and then the next thing I know every naked girl in the place is hanging around our table while Ben hands out everyone else’s money because the fucker never has his own.
“Mason, dude, come on. Just give me one more twenty. I swear this is the last. I need to have a little one-on-one sesh with MaryAnne. Come on, buddy,” Ben says, leaning heavy into my arm. I know if I moved too quickly he’d fall flat on his face, and I’m tempted. But it’s more tempting to give him the twenty so he’ll leave.
Matt and Ben are practically making out with two of the girls. There’s always been a loose ‘hands off’ rule at Spanks—that’s why we’ve always come here. It started when we were seventeen, and Ben found a guy to make us fake IDs. Usually, after a few hours of lap dances, I’ve picked out a girl and taken her to the bathroom for a little bonus, but everyone in here looks different to me tonight—it all seems sad and pathetic.
“How about you, baby? You want some of this?” one girl says, running her hands up her body and squeezing her tits together just to jiggle them in front of my face. I’m pretty fuckin’ buzzed, but I haven’t drank enough to make me want that. All I want is Avery.