“They will. You like this place, don’t you?”
“Who wouldn’t? It’s amazing, but it’s too much house and way too expensive.”
“We can swing it.”
“No, it’s a crazy amount of money.”
“It’d be great for us, for the family. We’d have our own getaway compound. That’d be super cool.”
“I know. We could spend the summers and weekends out here. Who knows? Maybe we could send the kids to school here.”
“I never thought of that.”
“But we can’t afford it.”
“I think we can. Let me check with Lew.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t want to see another one, unless you do.”
* * *
“Lew, we just saw a place in Connecticut that we’d like to buy.”
“Tracy told me about it, but it’s just out of reach, kid.”
“Why? The tour brought in almost ten million.”
“Yes, but there are expenses, and the property is eighteen million.”
“Get a mortgage or something. Figure it out. I need to have this place.”
“You can stretch for it, kid, but you’d be taking on too much risk. If the next album doesn’t make it or your popularity cools, the payments could get difficult for you.”
“We’ll be okay.”
“With this price tag, you’re going to have to put down at least a million. The monthly cost would be about seventy grand. And that’s without the taxes and upkeep. It’ll be a good hundred K a month. And we’re talking after-tax money here.”
“It’s all right. I can handle it.”
“Isn’t there something a bit more reasonable?”
“No. This is the one I want.”
“I have to advise you, as your manager, I think you’re making a mistake.”
“Noted. Get in touch with Tracy. She has the contact details for the seller. Get a hold of them and try to do better on the price.”
“I’ll see what room there is, but it’s not going to change the economics of it.”
“And get them to do a short-term lease or something. We want to get in there immediately. I don’t want to wait to close on it.”
“Are you sure about all of this? You’re moving too fast. You have to think these types of things through.”
“I did. Now just get it done. Text me after you speak with them.”
Cory hung up and called to Linda, “Guess what?”
“You spoke to Lew?”
“Sure did.”
“What did he say about the house?”
“We’re going to get it.”
“What? He didn’t say anything about how much it was?”
“Said we can handle it, no problem.”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe it.”
“It’s going to be great. The kids are going to love it. And it’d be good for your mom.”
“It’s a dream house. Ava is going to go crazy when she sees it.”
“Don’t tell her. Let’s do it together, you know, keep it a family thing.”
“Sure.”
“Can I come over later? We can show her pictures of it on the iPad.”
Linda agreed. Cory felt he’d turned a corner in their relationship. He thought about Dr. Bruno. He’d only agreed to go for marriage counseling to get his family back together. He was skeptical but had a newfound appreciation for the doctor.
He envisioned flopping around in the pool with Ava. Maybe they’d get a boat. He wondered how much the one he saw in San Diego was. It was huge and had to be expensive. Lew’s warning rang in his ear. But this was important to him. He needed to get things back where they were.
Cory’s concern eased when he thought about moving back in with Linda. He could probably sublet the apartment he’d taken, saving money. Things would be fine.
A text sounded. Cory palmed his phone, anxious to see the deal that Lew had struck. It wasn’t his manager. He read the message. Cory threw the phone aside and made himself a drink. A tall one.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cory checked the clock on Dr. Bruno’s credenza as Linda beat the trust drum. How could there still be ten minutes left? When Linda came up for air, Dr. Bruno said, “Trust is the basis for every relationship. In a marriage, partners must be able to rely on each other, to have a certain predictability regarding their mate’s behavior. That confidence is even more important when children are involved. Do you understand why Linda is upset over what happened yesterday?”
“Uhm, yeah. I get it. It was a one-off thing.”
Linda rolled her eyes but remained quiet.
“It would be reassuring to her if you could state your intention not to repeat it.”
“I’m sorry. I was celebrating that we got the house and, I guess, got a little carried away.”
“A little? You almost dropped Tommy.”
“I didn’t, but I don’t want to argue about it. I admit I was drunk, and I’m sorry.”
“Linda? Do you accept Cory’s apology?”
“Yes, but this has to end.”
“Cory, do you understand the commitment that Linda is asking of you?”
“Yeah, I got it. We’re all good.”
“Excellent. Well, time’s up. We’ll see each other next week.”
On the way to the door, Dr. Bruno said, “Cory, may I speak with you?”
She closed the door. “Sit down a moment.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. You’re aware that I rarely do marriage counseling.”
“Yeah, I know you did Linda a favor. We appreciate it.”
“My practice and passion is employing psychotherapy to help people overcome their reaction to situations, to reframe them in a way that makes it possible to deal with them.”
Folding his arms over his chest, Cory said, “I don’t know much about that stuff.”
“It’s very effective.”
“Good.”
“I wanted to discuss your drinking.”
“It’s not a problem, Doc.”
“We’ve talked about the importance of honesty in your relationship with Linda. But equally important is being true to yourself. It’s a fact, both the easiest and hardest person to lie to is ourselves.”
“I guess so.”
“In an attempt to hide from the truth, we tell ourselves stories that we want to hear.” She paused, then said, “Truthfully, are you drinking too much?”
“Not really, it’s mostly just social drinking. You know, the music business and all.”
“Yesterday you were drunk in the middle of the afternoon. That’s not social.”
“Like I said earlier, it was a one-off thing.”
“Cory, I read the papers, and some of the stories, even if exaggerated, appear to be signs of trouble. There’s usually an underlying reason why people turn to drugs and alcohol. They offer temporary relief, but the benefit is short-lived and ultimately self-destructive.”
Cory shifted in his chair. “I guess I got too much on my mind.”
“Why don’t we talk about that? Naturally, it would be confidential. I believe it would not only help you, but it would further the work we’re doing with Linda. Psychotherapists are just like lawyers, when you tell us something, we’re bound by law to keep it between us.”
Cory shrugged.
“How about next Monday?”
* * *
Cory couldn’t concentrate. His mind was focused on the new demand for money that arrived just before a writing session. He wondered how he was going to explain the new wiring instructions to Lew.
This time they wanted the money to go to a bank in the Isle of Man. He had to Google the place. It was more evidence that whoever was behind it was sophisticated. Cory tried to think of a reasonable explanation. Maybe he could use the excuse it was for medical costs for his mother-in-law.
Using health as a reason would provide privacy, but he’d have to be careful it wouldn’t sl
ip out to Linda in a harmless conversation. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Resolving to tell Lew to do what he wanted if he started asking questions, a pair of hands rubbed his shoulders.
Joanne said, “Boy, you’re so tense. What’s going on?”
“I guess it’s the pressure to get more songs ready.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get it done.” She went to the piano. “How do you like this chord progression?”
“It’s dark. Where would we use it?”
“If we alter the melody in the bridge on ‘Tropical Storm,’ we can use it to heighten the feel moving into the final sixteen bars.”
“All right. Let me sing it up a third. One, two, one, two, three four.”
After Cory sang it, Joanne said, “Yeah, that works. It could be way-out cool if you hung on ‘rain’ as long as you could.”
Cory sang it as suggested. Joanne said, “That’s it. But bend it, like this.” She sang it, bringing the note down and then back in tune.
“I like that.”
They ran it a couple of times and Joanne said, “It could be one of those lines everybody is going to sing along with.”
“You think so?”
“Relax, have some fun with it. You’re too self-conscious or something. Why don’t you have a drink or something?”
“I just got a lot on my mind.” Cory took the guitar off his shoulder. “You want a drink?”
“Sure, I’m gonna have a hit.” She held up a vial. “You want some?”
“Definitely.”
Cory took a sip of bourbon. He had a second gulp, relishing the comfort it spread. “You sure you don’t want some Pappy V? It’s the best.”
“Nah, I’m good. Here.” She held out a spoonful and Cory snorted it. After the fourth hit he shook his head. “Yeah, that’s nice.”
“Feeling loose now?”
“Yeah, let’s get something done and then, you know, have some fun.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
They turned onto Franklin Street, stopping in front of a five-story brick building. Tracy said, “Cory, wait in the car for a few minutes. Joanne, go on in.”
Joanne closed the door of the SUV. Tracy said, “You’re going to blow it with Linda if you keep this up.”
“She was helping me last night. It just got really late and she stayed over.”
Tracy didn’t say anything.
“You have to see what we did with a couple of the tunes. I’m telling you, they’re a lot better.”
“That’s good, but besides your wife, you have to think about how it looks to the band. You have a good thing going. Don’t screw it up by being careless.”
“Don’t worry. I got it handled.”
“I hope so.” She dug into her purse. “Here, take one of these.” She handed him a mint.
Popping the freshener in his mouth, Cory wondered how badly he reeked of alcohol and walked into the recording session.
* * *
Cory stayed in the studio, talking with the players as they packed up. He wasn’t anxious to go in the sound booth and review the tracks they’d laid down. He stole a glance through the window. Iggy, the producer, was shaking his head as he talked with Cory’s agent and the sound engineer.
“Cory, come on up.”
It was Dave. He signaled his agent and said goodbye to Donny.
“Hey, how’d it sound in here?”
Iggy said, “Everybody liked track two, ‘Circles,’ but the rest—it doesn’t have the energy of the last recording.”
“Circles” was the last song Cory had stolen.
“Really? What about ‘Tropical Storm’? I thought it hit all the emotional bells.”
Dave said, “Yeah, it was good. You said you liked it, Iggy.”
“I think I can fix it in the mix. We’ll record new horn lines, ones with more feeling, and it should come together.”
“Is there anything else you can do to pump up the others?”
“Look, I’m not saying they won’t work, but we’re aiming at the pop genre with this. That’s your audience. You want to go in a different direction, it’s your artistic license, man. Just it ain’t what the suits are expecting.”
“I have some other material I’m working on. A couple of them are coming along.”
Dave said, “We don’t have time. The label wants a single out now. They want it to chart before they put out the album, to get some momentum.”
Iggy said, “It’s gotta be ‘Circles.’ At this point, nothing else has a shot.”
“You’ll need a couple of days to add horns and to mix it, right? I’ll see what I can do with what’s almost done.”
“I’ll get the horns to lay some shit down tomorrow. You got two days, max.”
“All right.”
Dave followed Cory out of the booth and pulled him aside. “Is everything all right?”
Cory shrugged.
“I’m only saying this to offer constructive criticism, but most of the material was, uh, very different from what’s on Loop Around. If you’re moving in a different creative direction, it might be better to make the mix a little more even.”
“Like what?”
“Say, half the songs like ‘Circles,’ that’s what the fans expect. The other half you can do whatever you want. If the fans like where you are going, you’ll be fine. If they don’t respond, we go back to what works.”
“We? I didn’t see you in the damn studio.”
“Take it easy, Cory, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Yeah, well, leave me alone.”
“Come on, I’m just trying to make suggestions, that’s all.”
“You want to help? Then you write the fucking songs.”
“I’m sorry if I offended your artistry. Look, I overstepped, I get it, but I was only trying to prevent the label from giving us any pushback.”
“Yeah, right.” Cory walked away.
* * *
Cory needed another drink. He went to the bar. The bottle on it had nothing in it. He opened the cabinet, taking a new one out. Unscrewing the cap, he caught a glimpse of the trash can behind the bar. It had another empty bottle of bourbon in it. He paused before pouring another glass. Remembering he was going to get help from Dr. Bruno, he filled the glass and sipped away.
Cory thought over what to tell the therapist when they met. He wondered if telling Linda that he was going would help get them back together. Knowing he was seeking help could go two ways: either it was a good sign he was looking to correct his ways, or it confirmed an unsolvable addiction.
The confidentiality comment on not divulging what was said between a client and attorney got him thinking. Maybe there was a way out of the turmoil he was feeling. He considered his options. There were no painless paths, but one idea kept surfacing.
The plan he concocted would not only end the blackmailing but would enable him to come clean. Though it would be tough to put his family through the embarrassment that would come by revealing he’d stolen the music, if he could hold on to some of the money he’d made, they’d be miles better off.
Reaching for his glass, Cory misjudged, knocking it off the table. He couldn’t live like this any longer; he had to take the risk. Cory cleaned up the booze and put a pod of coffee in the machine. He’d straighten up before making the call that could change everything.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The wall behind Carmine Pisoni’s desk was filled with framed diplomas. Cory figured he charged a thousand an hour to pay off his school loans. In a dark blue suit and red tie, Pisoni circled his desk, easing into his chair.
The silver-haired lawyer said, “What brings you here today?”
“I, uh, wanted to talk about something that’s confidential, but I want to be sure what I’m going to say doesn’t leave this room.”
“Our discussions are protected under a statute known as attorney-client privilege. Whatever you tell me and the counsel I may give cannot be revealed to anyone.”
“I r
ead something on the web that a client had to actually pay a lawyer’s bill, otherwise it wouldn’t be protected.”
“That’s not accurate. For example, when we do pro bono work, where the lawyer provides legal representation for free, conversations between the parties are also protected.”
Cory took a wad of cash out of his pocket. “Here’s a thousand. Just to be certain.”
“It’s really not necessary, Mr. Lupinski.”
“Can you write out a receipt?”
“If you insist.” Pisoni wrote a receipt and handed it to Cory.
“Thanks.” Cory took a deep breath. “I don’t know how much you know about me.”
“I familiarize myself before meeting a new client, and when I saw that your stage name was Loop, it hit me.” He smiled. “We have two teenage daughters, and they’re fans. I must say, your music is catchy.”
“Thanks. I’m not new to the scene. I’ve played in scores of recordings but never as a leader. Anyway, what I want to know is, I’ve been doing good now from the album sales and mostly from touring, but what would happen if, say, the music on the album wasn’t really written by me?”
“Presently, you’re credited with composing the songs?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have the consent of the person who wrote them?”
“That’s the thing. The guy died.”
“If he didn’t give you the right to the songs, then his estate would have a claim on the royalties a songwriter is entitled to. It’s somewhere in the neighborhood of nine cents per song.”
“So, any money I made from, say, sales and downloads would have to be given back?”
“Without seeing the contract, I believe the songwriting royalties would be subject to a clawback.”
“Okay, but what about the other money? Would I have to give back the money from touring?”
“No. Let me rephrase that. I’m not well versed in entertainment law, but the way I understand it is, it’s the venue’s responsibility to obtain public performance licenses and pay any required license fees. As you can imagine, it would be impossible for an arena to know what arrangement an artist had made on the songs they perform during a show. Therefore, to cover themselves, venues affiliate themselves with performing rights organizations who ensure songwriters are compensated.”
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