I could sense the regret in his voice when he spoke about it, like a part of him had died when the band did. It made me realize that sometimes, more often than not, life wasn’t all about the money. It was about doing what you loved.
I shared this story with Dylan and it seemed to piss him off even more. “That’s what I mean,” he said. “Society is so fucked up. You have these monkeys who sit at a desk all day, programming a computer or totaling up numbers, and they’re making bank. And then you have these talentless morons all over the radio who don’t even write their own music, and they’re millionaires.” He tilted his head forward and trained his eyes on mine, something he did when he was about to stress a serious point. Another habit I’d picked up on. “Did you know that some cover bands make over a grand a night?” He closed his eyes and shook his head, like it was the world’s worst tragedy. “Cover bands. They don’t even have to write their own music, and they make all the money, just because of a bunch of middle-aged women like to shake their ass to ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’ and ‘Sweet Home Ala-fucking-Bama.’ And all the while, I’m sitting here pouring my soul into these fucking songs and I’m stuck making a hundred bucks a week. It’s bullshit.”
“The industry’s changed,” I pointed out, reflecting on a conversation I’d had with one of Eddie’s producer friends. I couldn’t remember his name, but I’d met him at a party once and he’d educated me on how different the business was now compared to years ago. “It’s not like it used to be, when bands would hope to get signed by a major label and score a huge advance. To make a career of it now, more bands are signing with indie labels, touring like crazy, and promoting the shit out of themselves. It’s like a business plan.”
“I hate business plans,” he scowled.
“Yeah, but you have to build up a fan base to be successful. And in order to do that, you have to tour and get your name out there. Otherwise people won’t know who you are.” I grinned. “Or what they’re missing.”
I poured us each a glass of champagne and sat down next to him on the floor. “Hey, we’re supposed to be celebrating remember?” I reminded him. “How ‘bout you ditch the attitude and be thankful that you survived your first night on stage.” I raised my glass to his for a toast, but as soon as he took one sip his face puckered up like he had just sucked on a mothball.
“This shit is awful,” he choked, barely able to get the words out of his mouth.
He passed his glass over to my side of the coffee table. “I’m getting a beer.” He disappeared into the kitchen, returning a minute later with a Heineken in hand.
“You know what’s great about singing in a band?” he asked, smirking. “All the girls. I swear, I’ve never got so much chick attention in my entire life. It’s like, as soon as you have a microphone in your hand, everyone sees you differently.”
He was biting his lip in that naughty way that he usually did when he talked about women and I glared at him, resisting the urge to tell him how I mentally tried to will the ceiling to cave on any remotely cute girl that pawed at him after a show.
“It’s that whole passionate singer thing,” I explained. “Women think that they’re going home with the emotional, sensitive guy on stage but really, all they’re getting is the horny, sweaty guy after the show.”
In an attempt to stray from this unfavorable topic, I picked up the movie I’d brought over and popped it in the DVD player. Dylan relocated back to his original spot next to me on the couch and tugged at my pajama pants. “Well, since you’re already dressed appropriately, you can feel free to sleep here after the movie if you’re tired.”
I considered. “I just might take you up on that.”
***
“So, let me get this straight, you spent the entire night in his bed with him and he didn’t try anything? Is he gay?”
I had agreed to meet Beth for coffee at Starbucks and made the mistake of filling her in on my night with Dylan, in which the only action that had taken place was on the TV screen. I knew as soon as I told her this, the question quota would double. Which, naturally, it did.
I rolled my eyes. “Beth, he is most certainly not gay. I’ve witnessed two girls that he’s slept with, both whom are disgusting trolls, but regardless, I know he slept with them. Not only that, but he talks to me about girls, which I hate. He actually told me the other night that he loves singing in a band because he gets a ton of girls.”
Beth winced. “I hate to say it, but maybe he just thinks of you as a friend.”
There it was again, Beth’s brutal honesty, smacking me dead in the face.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I mumbled, crinkling my Starbucks napkin into a tiny ball.
Beth pouted, her eyes glazing over with unwanted pity. “You love him, don’t you?”
“That’s an impossible question to answer.”
“No it isn’t,” she argued. “It’s a simple yes or no. You either love someone or you don’t.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Renee, maybe is not an acceptable answer. That’s like saying you’re a little bit pregnant and or caught a touch of breast cancer. Deep down, you know whether or not you love someone.”
I rolled my napkin ball back and forth over the table, trying to avoid eye contact with her. I knew if she looked into my eyes she’d be able to see right through me. “Do you think it’s possible to love someone who doesn’t love you back? Someone that you’re not even in a relationship with?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. You can’t help your feelings for someone, despite if the feelings are mutual or not.”
I wasn’t sure if I trusted Beth’s theories, considering she had always been in love with the idea of love. I took a sip of my coffee and was silent for a minute. When I looked up at Beth, she was grinning.
“I have to tell you something,” she confessed. I was relieved that we were off the subject of Dylan.
“What?”
“I slept with Eddie the other night.”
“Get out!” I exclaimed. As far back as I could remember, Eddie had always been the eternal bachelor, and Beth had been the only one able to transform the egotistical, womanizing jockstrap he once was into a normal boyfriend. Ever since they broke up, I always assumed that Eddie would be the one pining until the end of eternity while Beth never looked back. Apparently, I was wrong. “How did that happen?”
She shrugged. “I don’t really know. He called me last Monday… no, wait, Tuesday… and he asked me if I wanted to grab dinner with him but I was at work… well, actually I was driving home from work, so…”
“So to make a long story longer…”
She smiled apologetically. “Sorry. Well, basically, he’d been calling me a lot lately and at first it was just friendly, but eventually we smoothed over some unresolved issues that we still had from our past. I started thinking about him a lot and wondering if I did the right thing by breaking up with him. So I stopped over his house the other night and it just happened. It was, well… it was nice, actually.”
I burst out laughing. “It was nice? Beth, I don’t think Eddie would be too happy if you described your bedroom romp with him as nice. Crazy, wall-shaking, earth-shattering, explosive, orgasmic, any of those adjectives would be complimentary. But whatever you do, don’t tell Eddie it was nice.”
She giggled. “Screw you. At least I got laid, bitch. That’s more than I can say for you.”
“Hey, I’m working on it. So what now? You gonna break poor little Eddie’s heart again?”
She shrugged and finished the last sip of her coffee. “We’ll see what happens.”
As if it were ever that simple.
***
I was officially having one of those days where everything that could possibly go wrong did. Not only had a wire fallen on top of the train on the way to work, causing me to arrive almost an hour late, but Angela was out sick, so my evil boss, Elaine, had forced me to venture out of my resume writing hole and help out with the recruiting side of the bu
siness, which was not what I had signed up for. To make matters worse, one of our clients had just made our candidate a job offer, but when I called the candidate to deliver the good news, he replied by saying he wanted more money.
“Javier,” I said, trying to stay calm. “Before we sent you to the interview, Angela told you that the salary for the position was sixty-thousand, right?”
“Yes,” he replied. “But I just got another job offer for seventy thousand, so unless they can match that, I’m going to take the other offer.”
I went through the scripted motions – negotiating health benefits, retirement plans, vacation time – but the guy wouldn’t budge. I really couldn’t blame him for taking the other offer but I was dreading the fact that I was going to have to relay this information to my high-strung, neurotic, on-the-brink-of-insanity boss.
“Hey, Elaine,” I greeted, walking into her office. “I have to talk to you about Javier.” Elaine’s eyes looked like they were going to bulge out of her head by the time I finished explaining the situation. Every conversation with her stressed me out because she asked so many damn questions and always seemed like she was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. I swear it was because she drank too much coffee.
“Well, how could this happen?” she asked. “Didn’t Angela tell him the salary range?”
Obviously, I thought to myself. No, she didn’t tell him the salary. She wanted it to be a fucking surprise.
“Of course,” I answered, practicing my deep breathing yoga techniques while counting all the reasons I needed a steady paycheck. “But he just got another job offer for ten thousand dollars more a year, and Sony’s maximum salary budget for the position is sixty thousand.”
“Well, did he mention to anyone that he was interviewing elsewhere?” she probed, tossing her hands in the air. “We always have to find out if they’re interviewing somewhere else and find out how their other opportunities compare to this one.” I nodded furiously, feigning my best attentive skills, but all I could think about was how her bulging eyes resembled those goldfish with the giant eyeballs that looked detached from their head.
“I’m sure she asked him,” I replied. “She’s usually pretty good at gathering all the details when speaking to candidates.”
“Well, when was the last time she talked to him? We need to check in with candidates every few days because if they’re on the market, they could get an interview at the drop of a hat.”
How did this happen? How did I end up in corporate hell?
After Elaine finally agreed to call Sony’s hiring manager to work out the logistics, I sat back down at my desk and sighed, wondering how many people in the world hated their job as much as I did. I cursed Justine for sleeping with my boyfriend because, had she possessed an ounce of loyalty and kept her mitts off my man, I’d still be working my dream job writing articles about the music industry. But then I realized that if I was still in L.A., I’d still be dating some cheating man whore and living with a two-faced traitor, which wasn’t much of an alternative. And most importantly, if I hadn’t moved back here, I never would’ve met Dylan.
As if picking up on my thoughts, my cell phone vibrated and I was greeted by Dylan on the other end. A chipper tone had replaced the usual brooding ‘tude.
“I have good news,” he said.
He informed me that because of Electric Wreck’s successful turnout at Chaos, they had been invited to play at a benefit concert in New York City with a few other east coast bands. The proceeds of the event went to an organization that helped with teenage drug addiction, and Dylan was beyond excited about Electric Wreck’s exposure to a new crowd.
“So, what do you think?” he asked me, after relaying all the details.
“I think it sounds great. I’m really happy for you.”
He started laughing. “I wasn’t asking if you thought it was a great opportunity, that’s an obvious fact. I was asking to see what you thought about coming with me.”
That caught me completely off guard. I hadn’t expected him to invite me to tag along. “Are you sure you’d want me to go?”
“Of course,” he answered, his voice softening. “Renee, I know I can be a complete dick sometimes, but honestly, none of this ever would’ve happened if it weren’t for you. Even if I don’t show it, I really am grateful that you pushed me into this whole thing.”
“Thanks. You know I only pushed you because I knew you could do it.”
“Yeah, well, trust me, I wasn’t grateful at first. I could’ve killed you before that first show, but it’s been getting a little bit easier each time.”
“Told you so.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “So what do you say? You in?”
“Nah, I think you should go without me.”
Silence. “Why? I really want you there.”
I burst out laughing. “I’m just kidding. Of course I’ll go. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Awesome,” he piped up. “Each band only gets to play three songs each, so I’m going to need you to come by and help me decide which songs I should play. And also, Jeff’s buddy has a recording studio, so he’s going to help us record a demo with a few songs on it to give out to the kids at the show.” He was rambling so much that I thought for a second he’d morphed into Beth.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” he continued. “I’m going to make the hotel reservations today, and, since places in New York aren’t cheap, I was thinking you should probably crash with me, if that’s cool. I think Justin and Jeff are going to share a room and Christian is going to bunk up with girlfriend.” He paused. “So… what do you think?”
I sighed. If only he knew.
Chapter 14
There’s something about New York City that is different from any other city in the world. It’s unexplainable, really, because you can’t put the excitement of the energy into words, it’s just something you can feel. The busy atmosphere, the buzzing nightlife, the diversity of people, it’s all so overwhelming that you feel like you might miss something if you take your eyes off it for a second.
The first time I visited New York City was with Justine. We were eighteen, our first out-of-town adventure as adults. We’d taken the Fungwah bus from South Station to Manhattan to see the Black Crowes play at the Hammerstein Ballroom. I remember stepping off the bus and taking everything in as we roamed the streets, feeling like I’d lived there in another life. And upon arriving home in Boston, I’d always felt the inexplicable pull to go back.
Justin, Jeff and Christian came with us in Dylan’s van, along with Christian’s girlfriend Bianca. She was a tiny little peanut with long black hair and a shy smile. She didn’t look a day over twenty-one. I tried to make small talk, but small talk was quite the understatement. She was even more of a reluctant conversationalist than Jeff. Thank God Justin had enough personality to make up for Bianca and Jeff’s limited word quota.
Our hotel was located six blocks from Times Square, the closest place we’d been able to find for under two-hundred bucks a night that also provided free on-site parking. Dylan and I agreed to meet everyone in the lobby at six o’clock so we could all head over to the theater where the show was taking place.
I had to admit, for less than two bills a night, our room wasn’t too shabby, although I was slightly disappointed that it contained two double beds inside of one king-sized. My x-rated fantasies took over as soon as we set foot inside the room, as I watched the way Dylan roved back and forth, in the same swift manner he moved around the stage. I was curious if he had the same powerful intensity in bed that he had on stage, and if he put all his emotions into sex the way he did with music.
“Renee, are you okay?”
Dylan’s words smacked me out of my perverted musings. “I’m fine. Why?” I tried to act nonchalant as if nothing was wrong, but I was acting more like a teenager who just got caught jacking off her boyfriend.
“What the hell were you just thinking about?” Dylan cocked his head and stared at me like I
was speaking in Chinese. “I don’t think you heard a word I just said.”
“Sorry, I was thinking about the show tonight,” I lied. I wondered what he would do if I told him I was really thinking about how much better he would look if his clothes were on the floor and I was on him instead.
“Yeah, I was thinking about it the whole ride up here. I’d just started to get over the whole stage fright thing, since I was getting comfortable with all the familiar faces at Chaos, but now I’m nervous as hell. There’s probably going to be at least three times as many people there tonight.”
“Do any of those guys ever get nervous before a show?” I asked, pointing my thumb in the direction of their hotel room next to us.
“Nah.” Dylan shook his head. “They’ve been doing it a long time, especially Justin and Christian. Speaking of, Christian’s girlfriend is pretty talkative, huh?” His eyes rolled upward. “Jesus Christ, I didn’t think she was going to shut the fuck up the whole ride down here. I couldn’t get a word in.”
I shook my head, laughing, and lugged my bag into the bathroom to start getting ready.
Once Dylan and I had both showered and changed, we walked to a pizza place about four blocks away from our hotel and took our lunch over to Bryant Park. The city energy was so distracting that I barely touched my pepperoni slices. My eyes were like a carousel, constantly making their rounds to absorb as much of New York’s vibrancy as possible in the short time span I had.
“Are you listening to me?”
Busted again. “Sorry,” I said, forcing a smile. “I get distracted whenever I visit the city. I like to people watch. Force of habit.”
Dylan glanced around at the crowd around us, as if trying to decipher what I found so fascinating about all the fallen souls and miscellaneous freaks that surrounded us. Eventually he just shrugged and continued with his one-sided conversation.
“So, tell me about this benefit tonight,” I said, realizing that I didn’t know a whole hell of a lot about the event that was taking place in less than six hours. “I know the proceeds go to a program that keeps kids off drugs, but do you know any specific details about it?”
Sound Bites: A Rock & Roll Love Story Page 8