Cory's Dilemma

by Dan Petrosini

  “So, I can keep the money from touring?”

  “I believe so.”

  “I thought so.”

  “You may want to consider trying to strike an agreement with the estate.”

  “He had no family. Nothing at all. He was abandoned as an infant in Brooklyn and never married or had kids.”

  “If that’s the case, you’d be up against the State of New York.”

  “Since they’re broke, I guess they’d come after me.”

  “Eventually. Maybe there’s a deal that could be struck, some middle ground. I’m talking out loud here, but given the hole in the state budget, a payment upfront would likely be welcome, and who knows, maybe you perform a free concert or two.”

  “Really?”

  “Just throwing out ideas. How did you obtain the material? Were you collaborating?”

  “Yeah, kind of. We were in the studio writing that night, and he died suddenly. I took the sheet music with me.”

  “Why not just come out and explain the cooperative nature of the relationship? You could give co-credit to the individual. That would solve the issue and at half the possible cost.”

  “It’s not that easy. You see, this artist was very successful, and he never worked with anybody. Or so he said. Everybody in the industry knew he didn’t compose with other musicians.”

  “It might require a publicity campaign to educate the public on the circumstances.”

  Cory frowned and Pisoni said, “I get it.” He smiled. “Today, the press is even less respected than lawyers are. The thing is, they’ll make a big deal over it, but in a day or two they’ll move on.”

  “Yeah, but that’s after they destroy you. Thanks for the advice. I’ll think over what you said.”

  * * *

  Cory sat at the piano, but nothing was coming out. He played a simple melody line over a major chord. He jotted down the notes to the cheery sound it created. Unable to develop the line further, he repeated the four-bar phrase.

  Stuck, he moved to exploring lyrics but kept drifting back to what the lawyer had said. He paced the apartment thinking through the possible outcomes. He made a drink and halfway through it, made his mind up.

  As soon as the new album was done, he’d talk to Lew and make sure he had enough money to last if his career cratered. Cory topped off his drink. He felt good and returned to the piano. Cory was good at singing harmonies, and he started stacking notes in different inversions.

  The sounds were too heavy for pop music, but one progression reminded him of the one that Joanne had used during their writing session. He pulled his phone out.

  “Hey Jo, what are you doing?”

  “I’m out. What’s up?”

  “I need some help writing. I’m really jammed up. I could use your help getting unfrozen.”

  “No can do, I’m out.”

  “Aw, come on, man!”

  “Take it easy, Cory. I can’t do it now.”

  “What about later?”

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “I need the fucking tunes by tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry our schedules don’t sync up. I gotta run.”

  Cory pounded the keyboard with his fist. “That bitch.” He got up thinking about what she had said. Her schedule didn’t sync up. What the hell did that mean? Was she out with another guy? He didn’t care about her being with someone else; he needed help.

  He made another drink, muttering, “Sync up, my ass,” when an idea hit him.

  Chapter Thirty

  Cory’s phone was ringing. Again. He reached for it. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Lupinski, It’s Johnny. I’ve been waiting downstairs. I haveto take you downtown, to Platinum Studios.”

  Cory dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. He popped two Advils and took a leak Turning the shower on, he returned to his bedroom. Cory grabbed the bottle of Adderall. Spilling out two pills, he dry swallowed them and showered.

  Dave was standing outside the studio. “Hey Cory, how are you doing today?”

  “Good. Is the band here?”

  “Oh yeah. Everyone’s ready to roll.”

  “Me too. I wrote something last night. I think it’s gonna work.”

  “Really? You were pretty much in the tank when you called.”

  Cory held out a piece of sheet music. “Make copies for everyone.”

  “‘You Need to Come Home.’ I like the title.”

  “Let’s get going.”

  Cory addressed the band. “On this tune, we need a deep groove going. Donny, I want it way behind the beat, but make sure you don’t slow the tempo. It can breathe a little, but it’s got to move.”

  “You want background vocals on the bridge?”

  “No. I want it clean for the moment. Let Iggy do what he knows how to do with it later.”

  Joanne said, “You want fills in the vocal spaces?”

  “Uh-huh, but keep it simple and don’t step on me.”

  “No worries. You want an intro?”

  “Play the last eight bars at the moment. I’m thinking maybe a vamp upfront, but I’ll let Iggy make the call. Everybody ready?”

  Cory counted off the tempo, and Joanne led the band into the top of the tune.

  When the song ended, Cory said, “Good, good. What did you think?”

  Riley said, “Man, that sounds familiar, but I like it. You know a vamp at the end, with you chanting, ‘You Need to Come Home,’ would be cool.”

  Joanne said, “Yeah, it reminds me of something from when I was a kid.”

  Cory said, “Really? A lot of stuff sounds the same. Let’s run it again and add the vamp. Do the vamp in G minor.”

  They ran it four times, and Cory ended the session. Donny hung back as the musicians filed out of the studio. Cory said, “That went pretty good, didn’t it?”

  He shook his head. “I heard what you did.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, bro, that was an old NSYNC song, ‘I Want You Back.’ All you did was write new lyrics over it. The melody is almost exactly the same. You just changed a couple of the quarter notes into eighths.”

  “No, man. That’s not it.”

  “Come on, Cory. We wore out that record when we were kids.”

  “But, there’s no harmonies and—”

  “You’re going to get sued, bro. It’s going to be a mess. You’re inviting trouble. I don’t know, man, between the drinking, screwing around, and now this, you looking to self-destruct or something?”

  “I didn’t realize. It just came out, I swear.”

  “After all the bullshit that you took from the Jay Bird rumors, you do this? What were you thinking, man?”

  “Uh, I guess I didn’t give it much thought.”

  “Exactly, use your head, or you’re going to regret it.”

  “Should I just kill it, then?”

  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t do it, but you’d need the rights to it, otherwise it’s reckless, at best.”

  “You’re right. Thanks.”

  “Look, I’ve told you before, but you better back off with all the partying you’re doing.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s not what you think it is.”

  “Oh yeah? Every frigging day we were on the road, you were hammered. It’s not good, man.”

  “Just having a little fun, that’s all.”

  “Bullshit, Cory. All I’m saying is if you want things to get back to normal with Linda and the kids, you better end it, and fast.”

  Tracy stuck her head in the studio. “Cory, we got to move it. You have an appointment with the hairstylist before the photo shoot.”

  Cory put his earbuds in and searched Spotify for NSYNC’s “I Want You Back.” As it played, Cory shook his head. Though there was no doubt about the plagiarism, he didn’t remember copying the tune beat for beat. He’d have to cool it with the partying, especially when he was composing.

  * * *

  Dr. Bruno s
aid, “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  Cory surveyed the dimly lit room. Though it wasn’t the same one he and Linda had used, it didn’t contain any pictures or personal items. He sank into a corduroy chair. “Okay, I’m here. You happy now?”

  “It’s your happiness I’m concerned about.”

  Cory shrugged.

  “You appear tired. Did you sleep well last night?”

  “Haven’t had a good night’s rest in a long time.”

  “What prevents you from getting rest?”

  “I fall asleep pretty fast, but I wake up, and then it’s hard to get back to sleep.”

  “Because your mind is busy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What kind of things do you contemplate?”

  “Everything, the situation with my wife and kids, the new album, and trying to handle everything that’s been going on since the first record came out.”

  “Do you feel like at times it’s too much to handle?”

  “Yeah, sometimes.”

  “I understand the need to find a way to relax, to escape the pressure you’re under with such a high-profile career. It’s not easy.”

  “You said it.”

  “What I’m concerned about is using alcohol and drugs as a place of refuge. In the short term, they provide a measure of escapism, but the evidence is solid they contribute to psychological distress, fatigue, and paranoia. Eventually they make the situation worse, much worse.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Do you feel you’re indulging in them too much?”

  “Maybe. Sometimes.”

  “If we can identify the triggers that stress you to a point you seek relief, we can find ways to reframe them, preventing a repeat of the situations you’ve found yourself in. Does that sound reasonable?”

  “I guess. There’s a lot of pressure on me, from every place.”

  “What about your family? Do you feel any pressure being exerted on you?”

  “By my wife and kids?”

  “Yes, unless there is another member of the family causing stress.”

  “No, my wife and kids are good. My father, he’s the one who thought I’d never make it. He considered me a failure. Nothing I did was good enough.”

  “Did he get to see any of your success?”

  “No. He was gone already, but . . .”

  “He’s still haunting you?”

  “A little.”

  “Oftentimes, when someone is under stress, they lose control of their emotions. The feelings they have drive them back to a painful place. In your case, that could be feelings of insecurity. Have you been experiencing anything like that?”

  “Yeah, I mean, there’s pressure that I’m not going to duplicate the success I had with the first album.”

  “But on an intellectual level, you realize that the chances of two megahits in a row are pretty remote. Don’t you?”

  “Oh definitely. I mean, not many people have done it, not even Jay Bird.”

  “So, what is causing you anxiety?”

  “Nothing really.”

  “Remember what I said about being honest with yourself? You can’t expect to address a problem until you define it. Tell me, I’m here to help.”

  “I . . . I can’t . . . right now.”

  “That’s okay, I understand. Possibly next week we can talk about it.”

  “I have a plan to deal with it.”

  “That’s good. In the meantime, I’d recommend you engage in some form of physical exercise. It will help your body deal with the stress.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Seeing his manager made Cory’s heart race. He didn’t know how he was going to start the conversation. “Hey, Lew, I got to use the bathroom.”

  “You know where it is. I’ll be in my office.”

  Cory ducked into a stall and took out his flask. He took a gulp. Before the burn dissipated, he took a long pull and capped the container. Cory flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and popped a Halls cough drop in his mouth.

  He walked to Lew’s office telling himself he could do it.

  “You redecorate or something?”

  “A little bit. The furniture needed upgrading, and the carpet had some stains.”

  “Looks good.”

  “I know you’re concerned about the new album and all, but you shouldn’t be. Everything is set. The single is going to get monster airplay. I’m predicting it’ll be number one faster than anything anyone has released.”

  “That would be nice. What about the new deal? You said I would get a higher split of the royalties.”

  “Don’t worry, kid. You take care of the music, and I’ve got the finances under control.”

  “I want to know.”

  “Okay. They fought me on it, but I pushed them like crazy, and we’re getting an extra dollar for every album sold.”

  “What about the singles?”

  “They wouldn’t budge, said the costs for delivery were too high.”

  “Are you kidding me? You got to go back to them. I need the money.”

  “You’ll do fine. The money is in the touring anyway.”

  “How much money do I have?”

  “Uh, it’s always changing.”

  “How much do I have, right this second?”

  “Is something the matter, kid? You can tell me.”

  “It’s a simple question, Lew. How much do I have sitting in the bank right now?”

  “Uh, I’d have to check, but I’d say three hundred thousand—”

  “That’s it?”

  “I can be off. I haven’t checked in a couple—”

  “How much did we net from the tour? Three million?”

  “More like two point six.”

  “And the single and album sales and downloads?”

  “I’d estimate about seven hundred thousand.”

  “Is there a lot still coming in?”

  “No, I mean the sales and downloads take three months to settle, but it’s not that much.”

  “Where the fuck is my money?”

  “Take it easy, Cory. I could be off, but don’t forget the expenses. You’re paying for a couple of apartments and the house in Connecticut—”

  “How much is that every month?”

  “Uh, I have to look at the numbers again, but the mortgage in Connecticut is sixty thousand a month, and the two apartments around another thirty. And the taxes and upkeep. Plus, you’ve been helping your mother-in-law and friends out. It’s a lot, but I’ll put it to paper if you want.”

  Cory was terrible at math, but he rounded the housing costs to a hundred thousand a month. Even at six months, it was only about a half a million, plus the two hundred thousand he’d paid to the blackmailer.

  “I want to see the numbers for myself.”

  “Of course, I’ll email them to you, okay?”

  * * *

  Ava came out of her room. “Mom, I’m thirsty.”

  Cory jumped up and took care of her. When she was back in bed, he came back into the living room. Linda said, “Ava never settles down when you come over.”

  “She just wants to see me. If you let me move back in . . .”

  Linda said, “I’m not ready for that.”

  “But we’re together when we’re in Connecticut.”

  “We have separate bedrooms there. Don’t start this now. We had a good day, let’s keep it there.”

  “Can’t blame me for trying.”

  She silently shook her head.

  “You have any more wine?”

  “That’s enough, Cory.”

  “Okay, okay. Just so you know, I’ve cut back a lot on the drinking.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You don’t notice it?”

  “Not really, you’re actually pretty jittery tonight.”

  “The new single is coming out tomorrow.”

  “I really like it. It’s going to do great.”

  “I hope so. We could use the money.”
>
  “What do you mean?”

  “Lew was saying that most of the money was gone.”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “You know I hate all things accounting.”

  “You can’t keep using what your father did for a living as an excuse not to pay attention to money.”

  “I just don’t like doing it.”

  “Well, then you should find someone you trust, then.”

  “That’s what Lew is for.”

  “After what he pulled with our old landlord? He told you he was going to take care of him, but he never did.”

  “He said he forgot, that’s all.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You need to get someone who understands numbers to verify all this. If you want, I can call Marilyn. She’s with a big accounting firm in the city.”

  * * *

  Cory hopped in the SUV. Tracy handed him a pork pie hat.

  “Baby blue?”

  “It’s Ellen DeGeneres’s favorite color. She’ll get a kick out of it.”

  “It’s not like we need to soften her up, do we?”

  “No, she’s a fan.”

  “Good. I could use some good coverage.”

  “You know, the press can be tough, but you can control some of it. I’m not telling you how to live your life, but if you feel the need to blow off steam and party, don’t do it in public.”

  “They blew it out of proportion.”

  Tracy’s phone rang. She had a brief talk and hung up smiling. “‘Circles’ just hit the Billboard chart at number five.”

  “All right. Now we’re talking.”

  “After the media blitz we have arranged, it’ll climb to number one, and then we’ll follow with ‘Tropical Storm.’”

  “What do you think of ‘Tropical Storm’?”

  “I don’t know much about music.”

  “You don’t have to know anything, it’s whether you like it or not.”

  “It’s pretty good.”

  “You don’t like it.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  A text hit Cory’s phone. He read it and said, “Goddamn it! Why can’t I get to enjoy anything?”

  “What’s the matter?”