“And play a concert with him in New York?”
“Where did you hear about that idea, Miss M?” he asked, knowing that only a handful of people even knew that that was an idea being mooted.
“I heard Maddy and Jethro talking.”
“It’s rude to listen to other people’s conversations,” he scolded, trying not to sound too harsh.
“Sorry.”
“No harm done this time. Now, will we go and get something to eat?”
“Sushi!” declared Melody emphatically.
“Sushi it is then.”
His time with the kids was all too short. Before heading to their favourite sushi restaurant, he took advantage of the crisp mild October weather and drove them out to the State Park to wander along the trail for an hour or so. Both kids were initially keen to run on ahead of him but, gradually, they had gravitated back to him, content to walk holding his hand. Having them so close and holding his hand; having them so close and knowing he was about to say goodbye again when they reached Grey’s tore at his heart.
“I’m starving!” stated Jesse bluntly as they entered the sushi restaurant.
“Good job we came to dinner early then,” replied Jake, smiling as one of the regular hostesses approached them
“Just the three of you today?” she asked as she reached them.
“Sure is,” replied Jake, flashing her one of his famous “Power” smiles. “Do you have a quiet corner for us?”
“Always, Mr Power,” she answered, her cheeks flushing scarlet. “Follow me, kids.”
During dinner, Jake asked the kids what had been happening while he’d been working on the record. Without hesitation, Melody told him all about school, about Grey visiting during the storm with Anna and Linzi and about how much guitar practice she’d done. Promising to talk to Lori about using Skype or Facetime, Jake assured his daughter that their lessons would continue soon.
“What about you, Jess?” quizzed Jake, sensing that his son was being unnaturally reticent.
“Nothing,” said the little boy quietly. “Tv. Play. Daycare.”
“You being good for your mommy?” checked Jake, wondering if Jesse was trying to avoid telling him he’d been naughty.
“Yes!” he replied indignantly. “I be good.”
“He has, Daddy,” interrupted Melody seriously. “Mommy has been busy with her drawing. We’ve both been good.”
“Glad to hear it,” replied Jake with a smile. “Life is busy for us both right now. If you guys are being well- behaved and looking after each other then that’s a huge help.”
“Have you behaved?” asked Melody, an innocent mischief to the question.
Somewhat taken aback, Jake said, “Always.”
“Mommy said you cheated,” said Jesse innocently.
“Where did you hear that?” asked Jake, trying to disguise his surprise at his son’s comment.
“She was talking to Uncle Grey,” explained the little boy. “She was sad.”
“What does that mean, Daddy?” quizzed Melody, staring across the table at him with eyes so like her mother’s that it ripped a hole in his soul.
“They must have been talking about recording the album,” suggested Jake, struggling to find the right words. “We’ve used some bits of music that were on Uncle Rich’s computer. In a way, that’s cheating.”
He immediately hated himself for lying to his children.
“When can we hear your record?” asked Melody hopefully.
“Soon, Miss M,” he replied, thankful that she’d inadvertently changed the subject. “Dr Marrs still has to work his magic on it. You’ll hear it soon though. Promise.”
Before the kids could ask any more awkward questions, he signalled to the waiter that he wanted the check.
“Let’s pay for dinner then pick up some ice cream to take to Grey’s with us,” suggested Jake, suddenly desperate to be free from the confines of the restaurant.
It was almost seven by the time they arrived at Grey’s house with a box full of ice cream cups for everyone. As soon as he stepped out of the truck, Jake could hear Kaya wailing.
“Best behaviour, kids,” he cautioned. “Sounds like Kaya’s not a happy baby girl tonight.”
“Babies make too much noise,” muttered Melody as she followed him up to the front door.
Holding a rather fractious baby girl in his arms, Grey opened the door to them.
“Hi, welcome to chaos,” he grumbled sourly.
“Swap?” suggested Jake, indicating the box of ice creams.
“Gladly.”
Taking the tiny baby girl from his friend, Jake snuggled her into his shoulder while Grey took the box of ice creams. Whispering softly into the baby’s ear, Jake walked slowly into the living room.
“Where is everyone?” asked Jake, rubbing Kaya’s tiny back gently.
“Upstairs. Becky’s doing homework. Kola’s bathing the girls.”
He sat the box down on the coffee table, saying to Melody and Jesse to help themselves. Switching on the tv for the kids, he nodded to Jake, indicating that he wanted a word in private. As the baby quietened, Jake followed his bandmate into the kitchen.
“How’d it go talking to Lori?” he asked quietly.
“So so,” replied Jake. “She wants time and a bit of space but at least she let me see the kids before I drive up to New York.”
“She’ll come round,” prophesised Grey wisely. “She loves you too much not to.”
“I hope you’re right,” sighed Jake sadly. “This little princess seems calmer.”
“You are a magician with babies,” laughed Grey, genuinely amazed at how quickly the baby had settled. “She’s been screaming for forty-five minutes solid.”
“Just a natural talent,” replied Jake with a wink. “Think she’s asleep.”
“No,” countered Grey, noticing the two brown eyes watching him over Jake’s shoulder. “She’s wide awake.”
“Well, at least she’s settled,” he conceded. “I’d better grab my ice cream and scoot before Lori arrives.”
“Maybe you should take it with you,” suggested Grey. “She messaged to say she’s on her way.”
“Shit,” muttered Jake. “Guess I need to say my goodbyes to my little people.”
Feeling Jake’s pain, Grey watched his friend head back into the living room.
Rain was falling as he exited the Holland Tunnel and followed the signs for Downtown. The weather matched his mood. Leaving the kids behind had been tough; leaving Lori behind had been tougher. With a heavy heart, Jake negotiated the Manhattan rush-hour, cursing it under his breath. No matter how often he drove into the city, he still hated the mania of the traffic. On the dashboard, the sat nav directed him towards Garrett’s gothic palace. He had programmed the directions to the building’s parking garage before he’d left JJL and was keeping half an eye on the fluorescent pink line and half an eye on the road in front of him as he negotiated the traffic.
Eventually, many curses later, he pulled into the garage and parked in the visitor’s bay that Garrett had indicated he could use. His friend’s beat-up old sedan was parked next to him. Seeing it made him smile. The car had to be twenty years old at least but Garrett loved it and couldn’t be persuaded to trade it for a more modern model.
Grabbing his book bag and his holdall, Jake locked the truck and headed off to the music store. The parking garage was round the side of the block where the store was located and, as he rounded the corner, an icy wind, along with the driving rain, whipped at his long hair.
Pushing the shop door open roughly, the bell tinkled loudly as Jake stumbled in out of the rain.
“Making an entrance I see, Mr Power,” called a familiar voice as Jake pushed his wet tangled hair out of his eyes.
“Hi, Garrett,” he replied. “Weather’s wild out there. Sorry, didn’t mean to wreck the place.”
“No harm done,” said Garrett, coming over to greet him. “Glad you made it in one piece.” Then, noting a lack
of guitar cases, commented, “No guitars?”
“In the truck,” revealed Jake. “I’ll grab them later.”
There were a handful of customers in the store and suddenly Jake was aware that they were watching and listening.
“Put your bag behind the counter,” suggested Garrett with a grin. “You can help out down here till we close up.”
“Sure,” agreed Jake, more than happy to help his host.
“And, yes, you can play with my toys,” teased Garett with a wink towards two young star-struck customers.
It had been almost a year since Jake had visited the store and he was secretly keen to check out what treasures Garrett may have accumulated in that time. The ground floor of the store was split into three distinct areas. A recessed area to the rear housed the new acoustic instruments. The bulk of the store was taken up with various ranges of new electric guitars but Jake’s favourite section was the pre-owned collector’s editions section.
With his bags safely stowed behind the cash desk, Jake wandered across the shop to explore the pre-owned section. He wasn’t surprised when the two young customers followed him. As he browsed the racks, they hovered nervously at a discrete distance, watching his every move. A black Gibson SG caught his eye and, without hesitation, he lifted it down from the rack. As always, a small practice amp and lead sat nearby. Plugging it in, Jake found a pick in his pocket and began to play, taking care not to play anything from the newly recorded Silver Lake album.
The two young musicians edged closer.
“Neat,” said one of them, nodding in obvious awe of Jake’s ability.
“Thank you,” replied Jake, flashing him a Power smile.
“You’re really him, aren’t you? The old guy wasn’t messing with us. You’re Jake Power. The dude from Silver Lake,” gushed the other one.
Suppressing a laugh, Jake said, “I was the last time I checked.”
“Awesome!”
Grinning, Jake kept playing.
“Can we get a photo or an autograph?” asked the quieter of the two shyly.
“Sure,” agreed Jake. “Do you guys play?”
“Yeah. We play in a band. We’ve a gig down the street Thursday night.”
Passing the SG to the younger musician, Jake said simply, “Your turn.”
“Me? Me play for you?”
“Please,” encouraged Jake warmly. “Tell me what you think of this lady.”
Nervously, the young guitarist began to play. Much to Jake’s surprise, the youth was a more skilful musician than he’d anticipated. Sounds of ACDC echoed round as the boy played Thunderstruck.
“Nice job,” complimented Jake when he stopped playing. “Not so tense though. Loosen that wrist up. Try it again.”
“And you can’t take the teacher out of the rock star,” commented Garrett as he came over to listen.
“Go on,” encouraged Jake warmly. “From the top.”
Off to one side, the young guitarist’s bandmate was filming the scene on his phone.
Having taken a deep breath, the youngster played the song again. Nodding his approval, Jake said, “Better. Still too tense. Here, let me demonstrate.”
Accepting the guitar back for a moment, Jake began the distinctive, fast-paced riff, keeping the tempo even. The one young musician kept filming; the other less experienced guitarist was focussed entirely on Jake’s hands.
“Your turn,” said Jake, passing the guitar back. “Did you feel the difference?”
“Yes, sir.”
With renewed faith in his ability, the boy played the intro to the classic rock song again. This time, the improvement was audible.
“Well done,” complimented Jake. “A fast learner. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you,” replied the boy. “I wish you’d been my guitar teacher.”
“If you learn as fast as that all the time,” began Jake. “So do I.”
He noticed that the other boy had finally stopped filming and returned his phone to his pocket.
“What do you usually play?”
“A second hand Epiphone Les Paul. Budget doesn’t reach to an instrument like this,” replied the boy, passing the SG back to Jake. “At least not yet.”
The look in the young musician’s eye as he handed the guitar over resonated with Jake. On impulse, he passed the SG to Garrett and said, “I think this one has found its new owner in this young man. How much do I owe you for it?”
“What?” gasped the boy.
“Everyone needs a break now and again,” said Jake with a smile. “Call it me paying it forward. Helps keep music live and alive.”
“I don’t know how to thank you. I just can’t walk out of here with that…….”
“Sh,” interrupted Jake, clapping the boy on the shoulder. “What’s your name, son?”
“Rob,” replied the younger man shyly.
“Well, Rob,” began Jake as they walked towards the cash desk. “Thank me by playing this lady every day and bringing her to life on stage every night.”
As they locked up the music store a couple of hours later, Garrett commented, “That was a nice gesture, Jake. Really generous of you but can I offer a word of warning?”
“I know,” laughed Jake as he lifted his bags. “I can’t buy every kid a guitar.”
“You got it,” replied Garrett. “Although, if you hadn’t done what you did, I would’ve. There’s something about that kid I liked.”
“Maybe we can check out their gig on Thursday night?”
“Maybe,” nodded Garrett. “Not my favourite venue in the neighbourhood.”
“Well, let’s see how we feel. Could be fun,” compromised Jake, following his friend through to the elevator that led up to the apartment. “I’ll need to duck out to rescue my own guitars from the truck later.”
“Do I need to bring a guitar rack up?”
“Maybe,” answered Jake. “I brought four with me. Covers all bases if you ever decide how you’re launching that album next month.”
“Let’s talk about that over some Chinese food.”
“Deal.”
Despite having visited Garrett’s gothic palace on many occasions, Jake had never had a tour of the full apartment nor been in the kitchen. His host had shown him up a narrow spiral staircase to one of three guest suites. Almost shyly, Garrett had revealed his sprawling home spanned four floors then added that the upper two were mainly storage and rehearsal space. For the first time, Jake realised that the older musician occupied the entire building. In contrast to the olde worlde feel to the rest of the house, the kitchen was the epitome of modern. High gloss black units with the occasional red cabinet door continued with the gothic colour scheme that ran throughout the house but there was nothing else gothic about it. The older musician clearly loved his kitchen gadgets.
While Jake had fetched his guitars, his friend had gone out to pick up some Chinese take out for dinner from a small family-run Cantonese restaurant a couple of blocks away. As they sat at the black granite breakfast bar with their food cartons and a beer, Jake declared, “This may be the best Chinese food I’ve ever tasted.”
“One of the neighbourhood’s hidden treasures,” said Garrett with a smile. “Never had a bad dish from there.”
“So, what is the plan with the album launch?” asked Jake, cutting to the chase.
“Million-dollar question,” commented Garrett, evading the question.
“Well?”
Pausing for a chug on his beer, Garrett said, “Jethro has more or less talked me into a small select live launch on November 7th.”
“Where did you have in mind?”
“Local. No more than a five hundred-seater.”
Wrestling to recall the various small venues in the area, Jake said, “Gramercy Theater or Bowery Ballroom?”
“One or other. Waiting on your silver fox coming back to me,” replied Garrett calmly. “Then I can line up some guests to play. I’m sure as hell not doing a solo show!”
“Any sh
ow you put out there will sell out in seconds.”
“Maybe but I’ve little interest in that,” commented the older musician.
“Not too keen on a solo show myself,” admitted Jake as he finished his last mouthful of noodles. “Did one as a favour to my brother a few years back. Scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m torn,” confessed Garrett softly. “For years, my focus was to try to get Sal back on stage. Now, I need to force myself out there. Not sure I’m ready for that. Might be a step too far. Guest slots are fine. A whole show in my name is an entirely different game. That said, I’m proud of this record. I want folk to hear it, to buy it and, for that to happen, I need to promote the hell out of it.”
“Try one show. Small and local. See how it feels. Take it from there,” suggested Jake, feeling his blood chill at the mere mention of the late Salazar Mendes.
“You could co-headline?”
Jake shook his head, “Your record. Your show. Your name, Garrett. I’m just a guest. An unwelcome one at that.”
“You’re never unwelcome, son.”
“Thanks,” replied Jake softly, staring down into the empty Chinese carton.
There was silence for a few moments then Garrett said, “She’ll come around. She’s proud and stubborn. Hell, that girl’s stubborn but she loves you. Any fool can see that.”
“I hope you’re right.”
In the wee small hours, Jake lay wide awake staring up at the canopied awning of the four-poster bed. There had only been one previous occasion when he’d slept in a four-poster bed and, on that occasion, the drapes had been fine and gauzy, creating an ethereal effect. The dark mahogany carved four-poster in Garrett’s guest suite boasted heavy forest green and gold brocade drapes that left him feeling claustrophobic. There were twelve pillows on the king-size bed too, adding to the suffocating effect. Recognising that he was never going to get any sleep in the bed, Jake pulled the pillows and the comforter off the bed and built a nest for himself on the rug. Feeling like a little kid, who was rebelling by sleeping on the floor, he lay on his back, staring up at the panelled ceiling. The painted panels were the matching shade of green for the bed’s drapes.
Shattered Hearts Page 31