by Ann Lister
This book contains the complete text of the original hard-cover edition,
NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead or locales is entirely coincidental.
FOR ALL THE RIGHT REASONS
a SleighFarm Publishing Group book
Copyright © 2010 by Ann Lister
All rights reserved
First published April 2010
First CreateSpace printing April 2010
Kindle e-book edition published August 2010
Cover design Copyright © 2010 by SleighFarm Publishing Group
Cover art Copyright © 2010 by Ann Lister. All rights reserved.
Author photo Copyright © 2009 by Ann Lister. All rights reserved.
This is for my intense love affair with music,
for the people that create it,
perform it,
and for those who live it.
You inspire me.
CHAPTER ONE
Sydney boarded a plane bound for Chicago's O'Hare airport and settled in for the short two and a half hour flight from New York City. She dropped the fold-down table toward her lap and spread her assignment file over it. The folder contained important details about the job and several glossy printed photographs of the band she would be photographing during the tour.
How many times in the last decade had she done this? Too many bands and far too many concert tours to count. It meant months and months at a stretch, living out of hotel rooms and eating nothing more than room service. Good or bad, it was the lifestyle she had chosen and she had very few regrets.
Her road travels had taken her around the globe and to almost every continent. She had worked with nearly every big name in the music business, from the hard rockers of Metallica, to pop icons like Madonna and Billy Joel. Her résumé read like a ‘who's-who’ in the music industry.
It usually took photographers decades to make a name for themselves. Sydney achieved her ‘star-like’ status in under four years, specializing in unique black and white compositions no one else was shooting. Her photographs had the ability to make the musicians appear larger than life, real or surreal, and she fed off the power that came with it. It seemed the grittier the picture, the more her clientèle approved. They were willing to wait long periods of time, sometimes over a year, to get her to photograph them and she was paid handsomely for her skills.
It was a love-hate relationship. They loved her - she hated them, and everything they stood for. Every year that passed, her distaste for them and their habitually bad behavior increased. She had seen it all, been propositioned by the most famous and vile musicians, and was numb to all of it. They were nothing more to her than subjects at which to point her camera.
On this tour she'd be working with a band called Reckless. They were new to her but not new to the business. A slew of top-ten hits over the last fifteen years had kept them on the road touring and headlining sold-out shows at every stop they made.
The Reckless tour would kick-off in Chicago, then zig-zag its way across the country for eight straight months. It would be one of the longest and most involved tours of her career and require her to basically be ‘on-call’ to the band, sixteen to eighteen hours a day. Sydney would shadow them to interviews, press events, dinners, rehearsals, and dozens of concerts. She would document their tour completely, showing their lifestyle in front of the public eye, as well as behind closed doors.
The end product would be a coffee table book that would include hundreds of her photographs with personalized text entries from the Reckless band members surrounding each picture. The book would shed some light on the controlled chaos they endure while on tour.
This job also included her traveling with the band on their tour bus and private charter planes. It was unprecedented access to a band and something Sydney hadn't done since her early days on the road. She hated this aspect of the job, but Reckless was offering her the largest contracted price of her career.
Sydney pulled the band bio for Reckless from the pile of papers in the file and skimmed over it. The band consisted of two brothers, Ben and Simon Gallo and three additional musicians. She guessed them all to be in their late thirties and early forties.
She lifted the photographs of Ben. One was an eight-by-ten headshot. The second showed him sitting in a chair with an acoustic guitar resting in his lap and several electric guitars propped up in metal stands beside him. The description below his photograph listed him as the lead singer and guitarist for the band.
She studied Ben's headshot first. His wavy hair was dark blond and collar length. A neatly-trimmed goatee, in a much deeper shade of brown, covered his chin. The facial hair framed his mouth perfectly and made his smile powerfully sensual. It also helped accentuate his unique green eyes.
Sydney set Ben's headshot aside and looked at a photograph of Simon. She could detect the brotherly connection between the two men, but Simon had much darker features and his arrogance was evident in the smile he affixed to his face. The band bio listed Simon as the drummer. The other three members played bass guitar, rhythm guitar and keyboards.
Sydney scanned the contents of the file and photographs for the umpteenth time. Over and over, her attention was drawn back to the headshot of Ben. His eyes were the color of tropical waters and warmed her. The near-perfect symmetry of his face was intriguing to her on an artistic level, but his masculine features unsettled her as a woman. His image seemed to spark something inside her and she had no idea why.
She pushed the file back into a side compartment of her carry-on bag and reclined her seat. Then made a mental note to call her agent as soon as her plane landed. At the very least, Carol deserved a special ‘thank you’ for the first class seating arranged with the ultra-plush leather seats. Being Carol Lambert's number one client definitely had its perks.
Sydney made the call while she waited for her bags to appear at the luggage carousel.
“Thanks for the sweet ride to Chicago,” Sydney said.
“That came courtesy of Ben Gallo,” Carol said.
“Since when does the ‘talent’ arrange for my transportation?” Sydney asked.
“It was all outlined in the contract, Syd. You read the contract, right?”
“That's your job,” Sydney said. “And then you give me the highlight reel.”
“It shows the lengths some of these bands are willing to go to keep you happy,” Carol said.
“And they're all schmucks,” Sydney said. “Each and every damn one of them.”
“I hope you're well rested,” Carol said. “Because this band of schmucks is going to keep you busy for a long time.”
“Last tour for a while,” Sydney said with a sigh.
“Then what? Vacation?” Carol asked.
“I'm gonna spend some of the cash Reckless is paying me and enjoy life.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Carol said.
Sydney smiled and hung up her phone.
Carol Lambert was the second angel - right after Hilda Friedman, that had dropped into Sydney's life. Knowing either woman would have been pivotal, but having the opportunity to work with both was - monumental.
She was a twenty year old naive girl when Hilda took her on as an intern. Ten years later Sydney could still vividly remember the day Hilda released her from their contract.
“Everything go all right in Tallahassee?” Hilda asked.
“Like clockwork,” Sydney said.
The older woman was hunched over a light table, carefully
scanning the proof sheets of photographs Sydney had sent from a concert in Tallahassee. Hilda gave each image a thorough screening with a loupe magnifying lens before moving on to the next. She seemed oblivious or uncaring that Sydney was standing nearby and continued to work undeterred by her presence.
The silence in the room was unnerving to Sydney. She stood nearly motionless beside the table, fearful of distracting Hilda from her task. She knew from experience not to interrupt the woman, no matter how long it took to be addressed. Sweat began to collect on her palms. A lot was riding on the critique Hilda was about to give her. A positive critique would mean more solo shows without Hilda's over-bearing presence. A negative response meant a demotion to playing her assistant again.
Hilda was a woman of few words. When she did speak, it always came with a certain amount of weight. Sydney had developed a thick skin from working with Hilda. She had grown accustomed to the woman's gruff attitude and short temper. She also knew even the harshest criticisms were given with the intent to improve Sydney's skills.
Sydney heard Hilda's mumbled, one-word comments and dried her hands off on her pants. Finally, Hilda lifted her head and set down the magnifying eye piece beside the proof sheets.
“Black and white film wasn't requested,” Hilda said.
“I know, but I thought the available lighting was perfect for it.”
“Smart move,” Hilda said, nearly cutting off Sydney's response.
Sydney looked at the older woman, uncertain if the comment was delivered with sarcasm. Hilda walked across the room and sat down behind a large mahogany desk, littered with photographs and a mountain of paperwork.
“Well, what are you waiting for - a hug?” Hilda said, waving her hands in the air as if shooing away a bug. “You passed your last test and that means our time together has come to an end.”
Hilda pulled out the top drawer of her desk and retrieved a business card, then held it in Sydney's direction.
Sydney saw a faint smile form on Hilda's face and stepped toward the desk.
“You'll need an agent,” Hilda said, handing Sydney the card. “I set you up with Carol Lambert. I think you'll find her as warm and cuddly as me.”
Sydney read the hand printed information on the back of the card.
“This appointment is for tomorrow,” Sydney said.
“Make it happen, Syd, and don't disappoint me.”
Hilda settled back into her leather chair and folded her hands in her lap.
“You have a gift,” Hilda said. “Go use it.”
Sydney opened the door to the Allstate Arena and adjusted her black blazer one last time. Her blond hair was neatly secured at the back of her head in a clip and thick-rimmed glasses adorned her face concealing the intensity of her blue eyes. The plain white blouse she wore beneath the blazer was buttoned almost to the base of her throat hiding any hint of cleavage. Loose fitting blue jeans with a black leather belt completed her outfit.
A young, chestnut-haired woman wearing a head-set and carrying a clip board met Sydney just inside the door and quickly introduced herself.
“You must be Sydney Willows,” Laura said.
Sydney reached to shake the woman's hand. Together they began to walk down the long concrete hall, dodging people and union workers as they went.
“I'm Ben Gallo's personal assistant,” Laura said. “I've been instructed to get you up to speed with the stage crew before I bring you to meet the band.”
Laura stopped in the hall and answered her cell phone. A moment later, she ended the call.
“Sorry about the interruption,” Laura said. “That was Ben asking if you had arrived. He's very excited to meet you - actually we all are.”
Laura touched Sydney's elbow and directed her down the corridor.
“Do you have any questions before we get started?” Laura asked.
“Is the band as reckless as their name implies?” Sydney asked.
“You're not familiar with the guys?”
“Nope, never crossed paths,” Sydney said.
Laura eyed Sydney for a moment, then continued to walk.
“They're all friendly,” Laura said. “Especially Ben, but I'm probably prejudiced. Simon's another story. He's the polar opposite of his older and much wiser brother.”
“How long have you worked with them?” Sydney asked.
“About five years, although sometimes it seems much longer.” Laura said. “How long have you been shooting concert photography?”
“Ten years and that's probably seven more than I should have.”
Laura climbed the stairs at the back of the stage and began pointing out the different technicians and staff people that were part of their full-time crew. Sydney immediately recognized several men and began saying hello and asking questions about the stage set-up, lighting and sound systems. She took a few notes and added them to the file she had for the band.
“If you're all set here, I'll take you to meet with Ben,” Laura said, and directed Sydney toward the dressing rooms and equipment loading docks.
A few minutes later, Laura pushed open the door to the press room and led Sydney inside. The members of Reckless were waiting, along with several staff people from their management team. A buffet table covered with sandwiches and beverages lined one wall. Additional conference tables were arranged in a horse-shoe shape in the center of the room. A handful of men and women sat at the tables and a few more stood nearby. After a brief introduction, Ben approached Sydney to personally introduce himself.
“At last we meet,” he said, and extended his hand to her. A brilliant smile formed on his face.
Ben was more formidable than Sydney had expected, a full head taller than her, and better looking than his photographs had suggested. Heat from his hand quickly swept through her, but it was his eyes that took her breath away. She dropped his hand and followed him from the room.
He was dressed in standard jeans and a vintage t-shirt, but there was nothing standard about the way he looked wearing them.
Sydney walked beside him down the hall. She kept the band file pressed flat to her chest and listened to him chat endlessly about the project. They stopped several times along the way for introductions. As hard as she tried to stay focused on the information Ben was delivering, it was the subtleties about him that had her completely distracted.
He drifted around the back-stage area with fluid ease. He was obviously comfortable in his own skin, funny to the point of goofiness, and extremely attentive to her; nearly hanging on every word she spoke. Instead of arrogance, he was humble - and it appeared to be a genuine trait, not something he mustered for her sake. Even the low timbre of his voice was having a strange effect on her.
Ben waved to a large, hulk of a man and asked him to come over.
“This is Mike Hanson,” Ben said. “My personal security guard and wing-man. Everyone calls him Big Mike, but you can call him whatever the hell you like.”
Mike extended his hand to her.
“This is Sydney Willows,” Ben said. “She's the tour photographer I've been talking about.”
“He's down-playing it, Sydney,” Mike said. “You're all he's talked about.”
“Call me Syd,” she said, and gripped Mike's large hand.
“Later, Syd,” Mike said. “Time for me to go play hard-ass.”
They watched Mike disappear into a crowd of men unloading the sound system.
“I'm an amateur photographer,” Ben said. “That's why Mike said that.”
“That's original,” Sydney said.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have any idea how many men have used that line on me?”
Ben dropped his head. “Photography is a hobby of mine. That's all I meant.”
Sydney looked away.
“Are you all set with the schedule for tomorrow?” Ben asked.
“In terms of what?”
“We're meeting in the hotel lobby at two o'clock,” he said. “Then the band shuttle brings us
here for the pre-show interviews. There'll be a lot of press, so we'll want you to cover that.”
“I usually take care of my own transportation,” Sydney said.
“Usually, that's the case, but not in this case,” Ben said. “The whole idea of this project, Sydney, is for you to capture the behind the scenes bullshit we deal with on tour.”
“Call me Syd.”
“What did you say?”
“I prefer to be called Syd.”
“Syd?” he asked, making a sour face.
“That's correct,” she said, avoiding eye contact with him.
“Okay, Syd. Are we on the same page with the ride issue or are we going to have a problem?” he asked.
“I'm not comfortable with it, but I'll do it.”
Ben's eyes canvassed her face and body. She was beautiful in a natural way, with curves he suspected were there but hidden beneath layers of unattractive clothing. He watched the facial muscle tighten her jaw. Her sterile exterior and icy persona seemed a bit too contrived and didn't add up.
Ben took a step closer. “Call my assistant if you have any questions,” he said. “Or feel free to call me”
He pulled the file folder from Sydney's hands and the pencil positioned behind her ear and jotted the digits to his cell phone number on the file cover.
“You can reach me anytime,” he said, and handed the file back to her. “It's probably a good idea you give me your number, too,” he said.
Sydney jerked the pencil from Ben's hand as he attempted to slide it back behind her ear.
“That won't be necessary,” she said.
“That's what you say now,” he said. His lips curled into a half smile.
“Trust me, you'll have no need for my phone number.”
Ben tipped his head trying to be playful.
“What's the problem, Syd? You afraid I'll call late at night and breathe heavy into your ear?” he asked.
Sydney's back stiffened.
“I wouldn't suggest you try that, Ben - not even as a joke.”
Ben shook his head and stepped back toward the wall.