by Jesse Jordan
“Kitty in the city....” I begin, letting Bella turn the page. “One day, Kitty got a phone call from her Uncle Harry...”
The story is kinda cute and pretty simple. Heading to the city from her small town, Kitty gets to spend the summer with her aunt and uncle in their apartment. Along the way, she meets the neighborhood kids, including the bully who ends up making Kitty cry. It's at this part, always, that Bella looks at me with usually the same question. “Mommy, why is the bully being mean to Kitty?”
I shrug, ruffling her hair. “Honey, the world is, unfortunately, full of lots of people who are mean to others. When we're being mean, it could be because we're not happy. It could be because we think the other person is dangerous. There could be a lot of different reasons.”
Bella thinks carefully, then shakes her head. “I don't like when people are mean to each other. If the bully just listened to Kitty, they wouldn't have fought and they would be friends.”
“Well, let's see what happens,” I tell Bella, giving her a kiss on the top of her head. “Go ahead and turn the page. When Kitty got home...”
The story continues through to its conclusion, it's a little more confrontational than I'd like a three-year-old to be reading, but I didn't know about the book until Bella had already read three others in the series and we had it at home. Still, I guess it helps for Bella to understand the power of friendship, and in standing up for herself. I know that some of the Hollyweird kids have already tried picking on her. Actually, one of them was jealous the day that Bella brought in a chicken wrap with mayo and cheese for lunch, as apparently, the little boy's mother was on a vegan kick and had sent her son to daycare with sprouts and hummus on a vegan, gluten-free piece of flat bread. Score one for leftovers and government food stamps.
After the story, Bella gives me a big yawn and we head home, where I put her down for her nap. Kissing my daughter's forehead, I head out to the living room to start sending out e-mails and making calls. Maybe those horror and action movie guys have another project in their pipeline that I can start working on.
I reach out to a few of my connections, mostly through text messages and e-mail, then sit back, glancing at the clock. It's only four fifteen, I'll let Bella sleep another fifteen or twenty minutes before waking her up, she can help me with making her dinner. It kind of hurts to look at my desk, it's so bare, with a lot of reminders of exactly how I'm living right now. I see the WIC card that I thought I wouldn't have to use again in the cup next to where I keep my computer.
“Guess it's time to pull you out again,” I whisper, fishing it out and taking a look at it. In neighborhoods like mine, there's a clear division between people who have it and people who don't. I hate using it, but… “Fuck it, I'm taking care of my daughter. That's worth my pride.”
I slide the card into my wallet, and get up, going over to the kitchen to see what's even on tap for dinner anyway. Hmm… a little ground beef, there's some macaroni in here, a can of fresh tomatoes, maybe we can afford for me to eat the same as her today. As I think about it, the word pride keeps popping into my head, and what Bella said in the park, that Kitty and the bully wouldn't have fought if the bully had just listened to Kitty.
Sadly, listening is also a two-way street, and I spare a few moments of self-pity to feel like a damn fool. I don't know what they were, but Rocky must have been giving off signals, little things that said he wanted me to tell him about Bella. He must have found out even before our date, and it was his chance to try and let me tell him about everything. Maybe that's why he didn't push harder for me to stay the night, he was upset. I know he wanted me, you can't fake that much of an erection.
Still, I will protect Bella. Even if I am head over heels for Rocky, Bella has and always will come first in my life. But deep in my gut, I know that Rocky would adore her, and there's a little voice that keeps saying that maybe even love her at first sight too. I do know that he's going to make a great father someday, I can tell that much about him.
“If I get a chance,” I whisper to an empty fridge before closing the door, “I'm going to make things right. I'll apologize to Rocky, tell him about Bella, and let him know how I feel about him.”
Rocky
“You really want to?” I ask Ian incredulously as we sip beers at the bar. We're leaning back against the classic wood and brass rail that stretches a decent length, watching the action going on. There's a small crowd in the place, along with a live band on a stage that's barely bigger than a king-sized bed, but they're playing hard, if not particularly well. “Come on man, just because they've got a live band tonight doesn't mean that this place isn't a dive.”
“Which means that nobody's going to say shit if the three of us ask to play some,” Ian says, finishing off his fourth Corona of the night, cool as a cucumber. The man just is one of those who can naturally down alcohol when he wants and not be effected. If there's any change in Ian, it's that he speaks more freely when he's got a few beers in him. “Seriously, Rock, in the week off that we've had, you've been moping every damn time I've seen you. So, let's just jam, have a little bit of fun.”
I look over at Joey, who cocks an eyebrow. He's not in full-on 'Joey Rivera of the Fragments' mode, but he's certainly looking a little rock n' roll in his black denim jacket. “Hey, the lead guitarist is playing a Gibson Flying V, I've always wanted to shred on one of those. And it'd be fun. Besides, the frontman is playing a Stratocaster, just like you play.”
It's enough to convince me and I nod, bumping fists with the guys. It was Ian's idea to go out tonight, and I'm glad he did. He's right, I've been too serious the past few days, and going out like we used to just to have some fun is helping pull me out of the attitude nose dive that I've been in. Still, I'm not going overboard, I'm only on my second beer. “All right, let's see what we can do. Yo! Barkeep!”
The barkeeper comes over, and Ian talks with him for a minute. I see the barkeeper grin as Ian finishes and he disappears for a little while. The manager comes out a minute later, his jaw still being picked up off the floor. “Hi, I'm Tony, the manager. You guys really are the Fragments?”
“That's what the union card says,” I joke, smiling. “Rocky Blake. Nice to meet you. So, we were wondering if your house guys would be too upset if we kinda jammed one or two songs?”
“For free?” Tony asks, still not believing it. “Uh, I don't wanna be a dick, guys, just that we don't exactly clear a lot on a nightly basis. Those guys are playing for beer and fifty bucks each.”
“Let's work a barter then,” I reply casually. “Your kitchen's supposed to okay, so how about you let us each put in an order for a burger of our choice and an order of those cheese tots, we'll play. And if you can get a picture of the set printed out on your office computer before we finish, we'll sign it for you.”
“Hell, I'm down with that any day of the week!” Tony says. “Give Richie here your orders from the menu and I'll make sure that it's all hot and ready as soon as you come off stage. When would you like to play?”
“Check with your band, see when they'd like to take a break. Any time after that is good for us,” Ian advises, and Tony scampers off. We turn around, I don't want to put any sort of pressure on the house band, and if Tony's being a dick, I don't want to have them feel bad about it. Ian looks back over his shoulder while Joey checks the menu, ordering a chorizo burger before handing it to me. “Okay, looks like the band is cool with it.”
“Good. Chicken chipotle burger,” I tell the barkeeper and hand the menu to Ian, who orders a double patty melt after just a glance. “Damn Ian, you plan on dropping bombs on the toilet later? A double patty melt in a dive bar? Risk-taking.”
“I've been here before, man. You were right, the food's good,” Ian says with a chuckle. Just then, one of the patrons recognizes us and comes over. She's your typical bar girl, bottle blond, her breasts shoved into a push-up bra that's probably actually a little too small just to make them seem bigger in her V-neck top, skinny jeans that look lik
e they've been painted on, and high heels that fit the décor, in this case a set of boot-like wedges. Ian notices her and smiles. “Well now, hello.”
“Hi,” the girl titters, immediately latching onto Ian, giving him a hungry, but still saucy smile. I'm glad about that, I'm totally not in the mood for groupies right now. “My name's Cindy. Are you really Ian Ivory?”
“That's what my license says. My mom calls me just Ian, though,” Ian says. “Guess you like the Fragments?”
“I've been to like, three of your local concerts,” Cindy says, putting her hand on Ian's arm. Forward, isn't she? Then again, Ian does rock some pretty impressive biceps, and he's not wearing sleeves tonight. Ian notices her attention, and I can see it in his eyes. I'm glad that I've got my own place tonight, I wouldn't be getting any sleep if I didn't. “So, like, are you guys just out having a good time?”
“Actually,” Ian replies, taking her hand off his arm and patting her hand affectionately, “you're just about to see your fourth mini-concert. But... after that, I might be willing to talk about hanging out and having a good time. What do you say, think you can stick around for a half hour or so?”
Cindy doesn't have time to answer because at that moment the lead singer of the house band gets on the mic. “Hey guys, you've been a great audience. Tony, the manager here, just told us though that we've got some guests in the crowd that would like to do a little jam session for you. Now, I'd like to say I'm professionally jealous, but I like 'em too. So, without further ado, Rocky Blake, Joey Rivera, and Ian Ivory... the Fragments!”
There's a buzz in the crowd as we climb onto the stage, and I shake hands with the lead singer of the other group. “Thanks, man. We're really not trying to horn in on your action, I just really could use a little let-off of steam, you know?”
“It's all good, bro,” the singer replies, patting me on the shoulder. “Just don't take too many of the girls home with you, okay?”
“You get all the 9.5s,” I joke, and we're cool. The house band leaves the stage, and I look out on the crowd, smiling. “Well guys, bet you didn't expect this tonight?”
“WE LOVE YOU!” some girl in the audience yells, and I give a smirk back, looking over at Joey who's fiddling with the guitar.
“Hey, Joey looks like you got some fans here,” I joke to the crowd's ripple of laughter, playing around until Ian and Joey are ready. It doesn't take long, Joey's a good player who could probably make a garage sale POS sound good, and Ian's able to adjust himself to the drum set quickly enough, so I turn around, lowering my voice so they can't hear me. “Suggestions?”
“Gimme Danger,” Ian says. “Call it a preview.”
It's a good idea, and Joey gives us a thumb’s up, so I turn back. “Okay, guys here's a little sneak preview slash world premiere of some stuff we're working on now, it's called Gimme Danger.”
The crowd hums as Joey starts his opening riffs, Ian joining in, and as I start singing, I'm feeling it. Sure, Cora maybe might have sold us out, but her arrangement and producing have given us a solid start to the album, and as we rip through the song, the crowd's on fire. It's tiny, it's intimate, and it's the sort of group that I got into music to play for. When we finish, the group of less than a hundred people roars, and the new guests in the bar are caught off guard at the wall of sound that greets them. I'm grinning from ear to ear, and we quickly go through two more songs, an older one of ours, PlayerRed, and then our own little studio remix of a rock classic, Light My Fire by The Doors. I see a few folks with their phones out, but that's okay, we knew that it was probably going to happen. We wrap, and the house band is some of the first to applaud us as we hand over the instruments and leave the stage, where our food is waiting for us, and Cindy's waiting for Ian. Somewhere, she's found a couple of friends too, and Joey gives me an elbow in the side, grinning. “More fun.”
“Maybe for you guys,” I reply, patting Joey on the shoulder. “No offense, just I'm not quite feeling like cleaning the pipe tonight. You boys have some fun with it though.”
The manager is true to his word, and the now six of us chat and relax, Ian downing another two beers while Joey and I sip at one each. Ian picks up the tab for the girls, and while Cindy's friends, especially the redhead, are disappointed that I'm not up for some fun, they're more than willing to share Ian and Joey between the three of them. They'll figure it out I guess.
“Okay fellas, I think I'm going to bounce,” I tell Ian and Joey when Mindy, Cindy's redheaded friend, climbs into Joey's lap, her tight backside firmly planted in between his legs. “You guys be safe, okay?”
“Sure you don't wanna stick around?” the currently unoccupied girl, Kylie, asks as she bats her eyes. “Even if you just want to talk?”
“No, I'm good. But thanks,” I reply, trying to be polite “I think I'm gonna head home. You guys take care.”
“Dude, that was like, so awesome!” the new corporate producer, I think his name is Gerry (with a G, cuz' he's certified) exclaims in his coked-out surfer dude accent. He's even wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and even though we're in late fall, he's got a fake tan. “Like... totally bitchin'!”
“It was dog shit,” I grumble, pulling my headphones off. “The balance was all off, you jacked my vocals all the way up while making Joey sound like a fucking whisper, and what the fuck was that with adding reverb to Ian's drums? We didn't record or practice it that way.”
“We were just thinking of trying something cutting edge,” Gerry whines in that same surfer dude voice. “You know, to keep you guys fresh.”
“Stop fucking with a formula that works!” I yell, storming out towards the door. I've had enough of this shit. “Ian... talk with this asshole, because... FUCK!”
I nearly tear the door off its hinges leaving the studio and heading out into the parking lot, trying to calm down. Two weeks with Gerry and his team of corporate assholes, and I'm about ready to lose my shit. We haven't gotten even one new track laid in the whole two weeks, and today Gerry came in with the retarded idea to rework the stuff we'd already laid down. So now, instead of having two and a half tracks laid, we've got a giant puddle of piss on tape.
I'm pacing back and forth in the parking lot when Martha approaches, a half worried, half pissed off look on her face. “Gerry's crying.”
“Better be glad that's all he's doing,” I fume, turning to her. “Where the fuck did you find this team of happy assholes, Martha? They can't produce their way out of a wet dream.”
“They've produced three platinum albums,” Martha counters, but I can hear in her voice, she agrees with me. “They've worked with plenty of good artists.”
“They've sold albums of shit then,” I shoot back. “What the fuck is Gerry in there doing sounding like he's spent most of the past six months listening to the Beach Boys somewhere off the North Shore? And what the fuck is this bringing in the overly Auto-Tuned shit?”
Martha shrugs her shoulders, looking back at the studio entrance. “They know what they're doing, Rocky. You knew that recording could be good days, it could be bad days. So, you're moving through a bad patch with some new producers. They're trying to make your sound more appealing to a wider audience, to make sure you guys crack the Billboard Top 100 in general and not just the rock sub-chart.”
“They're trying to make corporate cliché puke,” I growl back.
“It works, and every group they've done albums for has made a lot of money,” Martha says. “You can't deny that.”
“They know how to make bubblegum girl group pop, maybe,” I reply. “Jesus, they certainly don't know shit about rock. They're fucking around with things that shouldn't be fucked with, Martha. We need a real rock producer in there. Why can't we just bring Cora back?”
Martha starts shaking her head, her bob waving back and forth like an ebony ripple of negation. “Are you out of your fucking mind, Rocky? She leaked to the press! She betrayed your trust! And you want to bring her back, to bring her in closer?”
“We don't know if she
sold out our date,” I protest, and Martha rolls her eyes, pissing me off some. “Goddammit Martha, we don't know! You can assume all you want, you can make educated guesses, and I'm not saying that you don't have reason to suspect her, but you don't know!”
“What I know is that you're letting an attachment to a high school friend and one date get in the way of your music and your career, Rocky,” Martha half yells in my face. She takes a deep breath and holds up her hand before I can protest or say anything back. “Wait right here, I'm going to go tell everyone we're taking an early lunch break, and then you and I can go for a walk. Help clear your head some, calm down so we can discuss this like professionals.”
Martha turns and goes back inside the building before I can reply, coming out two minutes later, her purse on her shoulder. She's also looking calmer, and I feel a bit bad about yelling earlier. “Come on, walk with me Rock.”
I don't really want to, but it's better than stewing with Gerry, the crying producer, and his team, so I follow Martha as we start down the sidewalk. “So, what do you want to talk about?”
Martha looks over, giving me a little half smile. “First I just wanted to get you some time to vent. Exercise helps me when you guys piss me off, I don't think you know how many miles of jogging you've caused me to do the past few weeks.”
“It's good for your legs,” I reply. “Still... Martha, this session is going to hell very quickly. Forget an album, we're going to be lucky we don't kill this guy.”
“I understand that, but it's part of the growth process, Rocky. Think about it, if U2 hadn't evolved, if they'd just stayed in their little Irish roots-rock style and playing what they started out with, they wouldn't be making the money they are today.”
I nod, turning with her when we reach the corner just to keep up momentum. “Yeah, but then they got too commercial and pretentious. And don't even start on me with Bono, that guy is letting his preaching about social issues get in the way of his music.”