by Jesse Jordan
“You could say that,” I say, trying not to smile. I've never name-dropped Rocky in any professional conversation, but then again, you'd have to be pretty lazy to not recognize that I graduated from the same high school and in the same year as Rocky. “In fact, I've got the show on right now. Good group.”
“Well, we here at Gashouse think that the Fragments can be the next big thing in mainstream rock. Slam the Floor is good. It's gotten them noticed, but we really need to bring it and stop with this EP bullshit. I've greenlighted a full LP for them. And after listening to some the work you’ve done, I think you're the person that I want to produce the thing,” Olson says. “What do you say?”
“You... the whole thing?” I ask, shocked. “I mean, wow, Mr. Olson. How many tracks are you looking at?”
“Probably twelve to fifteen. The boys have two or three that they laid down over at Oceanside Studios, stuff that missed the cut for Slam, but they could be filler for the album. So, that means maybe ten to twelve tracks you might have a hand in. I'll be the executive producer of course, but it'll be your board, your name as the main producer. If you gel with them, of course.”
“Of course,” I say shakily. “Mr. Olson... wow. Sorry, I know I sound like an idiot, but this is a lot to lay on my plate at midnight. Gimme a minute to process. You want me to work as the lead producer for most of the album? Lead single too?”
“We'll make that decision later after the tracks are laid,” Olson says. “But basically, yeah. I know it's a lot to put on your shoulders, Miss Clearwater, but the word from some of my friends is that you're looking for work in the rock genre, you've got the skills, and you are hungry. What do you say?”
“I say when?” I reply, grinning.
“How's two weeks from now sound?” Olson says. “I want to give them a few weeks off to make sure their batteries are recharged to really get this going. If this album takes off the way that I think it can, they're going to be going balls to the wall for the next six months to a year or more, and I want fresh stars, not burned out supernovas. So, you got two weeks with some house musicians to lay the basic background and dubbing tracks, then the Fragments do their first sessions a month from tomorrow.”
“That sounds absolutely great, Mr. Olson. Send me the address for Gashouse, and I'll stop by tomorrow to talk details with you. Thank you very much.” I'm grinning ear to ear, and as Rocky finishes up his last verse on Slam the Floor, I can't help it, I'm excited. This is my big break.
“Call me Larry, and thank you, Miss Clearwater. I'll see you tomorrow.”
He hangs up, and I look at Rocky on the television. A month. “I wonder…” I muse, looking at Rocky's handsome face, still so much like the face that I loved five years ago. He's even got that same half-smirk when he wraps up a song, the smirk that used to make my stomach flutter and make me very conscious of the space between my thighs. Actually, that hasn't changed all that much, he's still sexy as hell. And my stomach is fluttering some. “I guess we're gonna find out.”
Rocky
The parking lot outside Gashouse Studios is, as always, about half full, with two types of vehicles there. On one side, what I've always called the money side, the vehicles of the acts or the people who have made their impact in music. Gashouse isn't quite as big time as some of the labels, so there aren't any Bentleys or Lambos, but still, the money side is rolling some pretty serious six-figure vehicles.
On the other side, you've got the 'hood. Used cars that look like they've got their mufflers held on with twisted coat hangers and rear windows closed with chunks of duct tape and clear plastic. These are the cars that belong to the folks who are just trying to make it, still hoping to make their impact. Of course, there's the third group, the folks who can't even afford a 'hooptie' at all and come in on the bus that stops a block away from Gashouse.
At least I'm good enough for the 'hood, my six-year-old Nissan which is solid, if not flashy. And it's got all its glass and paint still in working condition, although I can't say the same for the heater. Thankfully, Southern California doesn't need heaters in the car, the worst I had was one day I wore a sweatshirt and drove with the hood up over my ears.
I've spent most of the past month either back at home with Mom and Dad in Simi, walking through the canyon, or on the beach, watching the waves and just reflecting, recharging. I've been trying to lay low, and I've intentionally avoided everyone with the music business other than Joey, Ian, and once or twice Martha. I haven't visited any clubs, I haven't been to any jam sessions, and I've just been getting my head right after the good and bad of Slam the Floor.
Joey and I also did a lot of workouts over at Equinox and in Muscle Beach.
It was just what I needed, being able to reconnect with real people. Keeping a hat on, I could blend in most of the time, especially at Muscle Beach. Inside the cage, most of the homies don't do rock, rap is the name of the game, and a white boy from Simi Valley doesn't stand out around there except for the fact that I'm not from Venice. There were a few girls who recognized Joey and me at Equinox, but the staff there handled them well enough, and Los Angelinos have learned a certain sort of feigned nonchalance, most won't approach you in the gym unless you're in 'civvies'. Either way, I'm excited, and I'm ready to lay some tracks. I've got plenty of good ideas to add to the corporate-written stuff that they e-mailed me. Even that, some of it's good.
I find Martha in the lobby of Gashouse, amazingly not dressed in a pantsuit but instead in a skirt and fitted top. “Hey Rocky, how was the vacation?”
“Needed,” I reply, shaking her offered hand. “Where are the guys?”
“Got here early. Apparently, Ian's an early riser, no wonder he sleeps so much at night. They're in the studio going through sound checks with the producer. Larry was able to get the girl that he wanted. Were you able to go over the lyrics that I sent you?” Martha asks, and I show her the pile of printouts. “Great. What did you think?”
“There's some potential here. I really liked Gimme Danger and Pieces of Forever. What's the producer think?” I ask, walking down the hallway with Martha. A plane goes overhead, heading for the Burbank Airport, rattling the pictures on the walls, and I look up. “Jesus. They really record here?”
“The studios are totally soundproofed. If Godzilla decides to stomp around Los Angeles, the first sign you're going to get is when the wall explodes in on you,” Martha jokes. “But the producer said there's some decent potential. She wants to know if you've got some stuff, I told her you usually do, and Ian and Joey already said they have some ideas for composition too. Come on, let's get to work.”
She opens the door to the studio, walking in where I see Joey and Ian finishing up a little impromptu riffing, Ian nailing a pretty awesome double bass drum solo just as I step in. “Yo, guys.”
“If it ain't the Rock, back from the depths of hell,” Ian jokes. “Hey Rocky, meet our producer. Cora, this is Rocky, the ugly Fragment.”
I turn towards the producer's booth, shocked to see the same strawberry blond hair, pulled back into that high, sort of spunky ponytail I remember from five years ago. I drop my backpack and head towards the booth, Cora getting up from her chair to greet me. “Rocky... it's been a long time.”
I go with my gut, grabbing Cora's hand and pulling her into a hug, picking her up like I used to when things went right in the garage and swing her around in a tight little circle, squeezing tight. “Oh, my God. Cora, is it really you?”
“It's really me,” Cora says, pounding on my back. “Jesus, dude, you've gotten stronger. My ribs, my ribs!”
“What are you doing here? Martha said some young hotshot producer, but... really, you?” I ask, trying not to grin like an idiot. Our shot at the big time, and Cora's on board? This has to be karma.
“Really me,” Cora reassures me, then looks over my shoulders, blushing and grinning. “I guess you guys are wondering what the hell we're talking about?”
“Not really,” Ian grumbles, but his eyes are sparkling
with amusement. “I wondered when you told me your name, but I wasn't sure.”
“Well, I'd like to know what the fuck you two are going on about,” Martha says indignantly, and I turn, seeing her standing with her arms crossed and her foot tapping. “I mean, that's one hell of an intro to a new producer.”
“Sorry,” I apologize, turning and putting an arm around Cora's shoulders. It's been five years, but damn if it doesn't feel like I had my arm here just yesterday. “Martha, Cora and I went to high school together. In some ways, you could say that she's the reason the Fragments even exists. Her promotion of my high school band on YouTube and a bunch of other stuff is the reason Ian invited me to hook up.”
Martha looks intrigued, but at the same time miffed. “You guys couldn't have told me?”
Cora shrugs, taking my hand off her shoulder. “Well, I wasn't really sure how to tell the label. Besides, just think of it like an old collabo remixed. Don't worry, I won't do the Sequoia High fight song anytime soon.”
I laugh, but Martha still looks unsure. “Seriously, Martha, this girl right here got some of the best stuff out of me when I was a teenager. You take her skills and put them together with Joey and Ian's licks and we're gonna have platinum on our hands and gold in our bank accounts.”
“All right, all right, I'll trust you,” Martha says, sighing. “Listen, I got some PR work to do anyway, I've gotta jet. If I find time, I'll stick my head in the booth to listen in some later.”
Martha takes off, and I give Cora a look, grinning. “Don't sweat it, Martha's almost always two inches short of bitch mode with new people. It takes time for her to warm to people.”
“Yeah, she just started warming to Rocky himself last year,” Joey jokes, and the four of us laugh. “So, Rock, what do you want to work on?”
“Well, Gimme Danger looked pretty simple, and it's a hell of a good way to start a session,” I reply, looking around. “Also, I had a few of my own ideas that I'd like to go over with you when there's some free time in the schedule. What do you guys say? Cora?”
“I've got the backing tracks on Gimme Danger already, so why not?” Cora says, totally professional but with that same smile, I remember on her face. “You think you can remember the words, Rocky?”
I laugh, it's so Cora. The music biz is strange that way. When the Fragments was starting out, we literally carried our own gear backstage, and everyone treated us like we were nothing. But when we did The Tonight Show, a bunch of production assistants and others were running around like I was made of lead crystal, liable to shatter and go off at any second. But Cora... she's honest with me. She's real, something that I don't get often enough.
“Let's see if I can string a lyric or two together,” I say. “You got the house singer to do some prelim work? Pipe it up for us.”
Cora taps at her computer, and we listen over the speakers as the clean party rock sounds of Gimme Danger comes over the speakers. The house band isn't great, Joey's gonna definitely improve on the guitar work, and later, I'll lay my own guitar track, but the vocalist is okay. It gives me something to work with, and I find myself nodding my head when the track's finished. “Nice. Let's get to work.”
It's the best morning of work that I've ever done with the Fragments. In only three hours, Cora's able to work with the three of us to get the lead vocal track, Joey and Ian's background vocals, and even my doubled track that'll maybe used just for the arena version. I think it'll sound better with a female backup singer, but either way, by noon we're all feeling it.
“Holy hell, guys, that's the way to get up in the morning!” Ian says, amazingly excited as he rolls out his wrists. His forearms are pumped, the veins on his biceps standing out he's been working so hard, but he looks ready to go another five hours. “Goddamn, Cora!”
“Thanks, guys,” Cora says with a smirk and a little bit of a blush. “But I think you three need a break. Just saying, I don't need you with carpal tunnel before we get through Rushing the Sky.”
Ian grins and gives a thumb’s up. “Great. Who's up for some lunch?”
“Sorry, I'm gonna stay here, I got a sandwich with me to let me get you guys ready for the afternoon session,” Cora says, smiling. “But thanks. Think you guys can be back at one thirty?”
“Great,” Joey says, and the three of us get ready to leave. As we leave, I hang back and stick my head into Cora's booth.
“Still PB&J?” I ask, smiling.
“Still. You laid it out good this morning, Rock. It's... it's good to see you again.”
Cora's looking at me in that same way she used to, and for some reason, I feel a little warm, and I smile back. “Same here. Hey, you mind if I rush lunch and get back to just catch up with you while you're getting stuff ready for the afternoon?”
Cora smiles, and I realize it's a very pretty smile. Has she always been this pretty? “Take your time, but if you wanna hang for a half hour or so after tonight's session, I wouldn't mind. I just gotta jet by six, there's some stuff I gotta take care of.”
At lunch, Joey and Ian keep giving me looks while the three of us chew our burgers. Finally, I can't take it anymore. “What?”
“You two work together well,” Joey says finally, chewing on a fry. “Seriously, she was making magic all morning.”
“It's just one song guys, come on. I mean yeah, Muse rocks, but you guys didn't look at me that way when we jammed RedPlayer that quick four years ago,” I reply defensively. “Besides, we aren't done yet.”
“Yeah right. Come on man, Gimme Danger is a filler track, maybe a third single if we catch on right, and RedPlayer was nothing but a quick jam that we did on limited studio time,” Ian comments. “She had you going at it like you're laying down a Grammy track. No complaints, no back talk like you did at Oceanside, just a comment, you nod, and you rocked it out. Hell, she practically had you tuned perfectly cold. You two are a good team.”
I take a sip of my tea, I try to limit carbonated or sugared drinks on recording days, and smile, nodding at the long-lost feeling. “We worked together for six years. Even if it was a long time ago, that's all.”
“Uh-huh. Hey, Joey, that's all he says,” Ian quips, turning to look at Joey. “What do you think?”
“Yeah... I'm smelling bullshit,” Joey jokes. “Seriously, man, Cora and you... you two were sparking the whole time, ese. You two ever hook up back in the day?”
“No way! Seriously dude, Cora and I were best friends, she was like a sister. Hell, it hurt like a motherfucker when I realized the two of us had dropped out of touch. But she was just a friend, guys.”
“Right. Well then, lemme tell you... your 'sister' is hot as hell, man. Those eyes of hers? Man, I dream of finding a good woman who'd look at me the way she was lookin' at you. But hey, if she's your sister, she's your sister,” Ian says, finishing off his lunch. “I'm going to grab another burger; you guys want anything?”
“Nah, it'll fuck my vocals if I do,” I reply, sitting back. “We've still got the afternoon session.”
The afternoon session runs a little slower than the morning, but we still make a ton of progress though. Cora excuses herself right at six, saying she can't break the appointment she's got, but that we'll pick everything up in the morning. The guys are good with it, although part of me wishes that we'd had that half hour to talk. Driving home to my apartment, I can't get Cora out of my mind, and when I get inside, I close the door and lock it, sighing as I sit on the couch. My apartment is my space, and looking in on the queen-sized bed, I realize that it’s really nothing more than a place that I sleep.
I've rented this place for two years, ever since I moved out of crashing with Ian, and in the entire two years, I've never had anyone over. No woman has ever been in my bed, I've never even had the guys over to watch a football game. In fact, other than the day that Ian helped me move some stuff in, nobody's been in this apartment. Every girlfriend that I had was over at her place, or in a hotel, or dates in public places. This place... it's been mine alone.
“Face it, man, this place is a fucking monastery cell,” I mutter to the walls, looking around. Hell, I don't even have a rock poster on the wall. White walls, cheap furniture that mostly came with the place, a bed that fits me alone. I think most of the money I've spent has been on the kitchen since I've learned how to cook healthy stuff to maintain my look.
One laptop, one table, and four place settings simply because that was the way they were sold when I picked up the whole damn kit at Target. This is no place for a rock star, that's for sure. But the reality is, being a 'rock star' hasn't been what I wanted it to be. Nobody I can trust, nobody I can really depend on, except for Joey and Ian. And Martha, she's not a friend, but I can depend on her.
But I want more than that. I want a family, a partner, someone I can trust and love. I lean back, just closing my eyes to let my mind play a game I've become too familiar with over the past month. My perfect woman…
Hmmm, while the hair isn't really all that important, for some reason blond is sticking with me tonight, with a sort of heart-shaped face, big ice blue eyes...
I sit up, shocked at where my mind is going. Cora? I mean, like Ian said she is pretty, the five years since we graduated high school has certainly allowed her to mature. She's a bit curvier than she was at eighteen, but still slender, her hips and breasts...
I can't help it, my cock stirs in my pants, and my hand cups my balls, massaging them gently as my mind starts to think of Cora. The way she looked at me, that sparkle in those pretty blue eyes, challenging and supporting and encouraging and amazing all at the same time. The little twist to her lips when we joked together, or the way that she bit her lip when I turned a joke into a little flirt, and the way that she would say my name. So much like when we were in high school, but a woman now, not a girl...