Erica chuckled. “Remember what happened the last time we were here? Roxy called all the cab companies in the city and told them not to pick us up from the hotel because we had to be on the road at a certain time? I love my aunt, but she’s so rude!”
“Yeah, we might have to take the bus,” Eddie said. “Will knows what’s up. He won’t snitch.”
“Aiden! Mike! Erica! Grow up!” Mike and I imitated our manager in perfect unison.
“Oh, Eddie,” Erica’s impression of Roxy was better than any of ours. “I expect that type of behavior from those three, but you…I’m so disappointed.”
We laughed and impersonated Roxy for a bit, but there was something more important I had to discuss with the band.
“So,” I said. “Joey isn’t going to be able to perform with us at all for awhile. He’s got a lot of projects going on for CMG and you know he’s never been under contract. We’ve got Zack now and he’s agreed to stay on with us. But, I have to hire a new bass player.”
There was silence as Mike, Eddie, and Erica processed what I just said. Their faces were damn near downtrodden. I almost laughed, but I felt exactly how they felt. I don’t like having a stranger on tour any more than these guys do, but it has to be done.
“Nope,” Erica finally said. “Can’t do it.”
“Yeah, A.T,” Mike agreed. “That’s not going to work.”
“It’s been the four of us and sometimes Joey for thirteen years,” Erica stated. “We agreed to bring in Zack for this tour but bringing in people we don’t know is a bad idea.”
“We need another bass player. We can’t have a winter tour without one.”
“Then we get to help you choose,” Eddie stated matter of factly. “And they have to audition and we’ll have to do a string of shows before the tour starts to make sure we vibe with them.”
We came to a consensus that Eddie had the best plan. I’ll have Roxy put together a road trip through the South, maybe small venues to test out the new material with my trusted audience. I made a mental note to have Mona set up auditions.
***
We were already tipsy when Will pulled the tour bus into downtown Lakewood, a few miles outside of Denver. Collectively, we decided that we couldn’t sneak in Colorado’s most well known city without Roxy, Steve, and Perry finding out, but Lakewood was small enough for us to have fun and not be recognized.
Hopefully.
After Will agreed to call me in a couple of hours so we could get on the road on time, Erica grabbed another bottle of champagne before stepping off the bus. The four of us walked down the street, swigging $300 champagne straight from the bottle while we looked for a club or bar that wasn’t closed at midnight on a Wednesday.
We couldn’t find one so we finally settled on Hooters. We found a big corner booth and sat down without waiting on a hostess. No sooner than we’d gotten comfortable in our booth, Erica started drunk complaining.
“Whenever we come to these small ass towns, why are you guys always the finest men in the bar? I don’t understand this! The only time I ever get quality dick attached to a hot guy with a bangin’ body is in Atlanta, Chicago, Miami, or New York. Why can’t I have both? A hot guy who knows how to fuck shouldn’t be that hard to find.”
“Aren’t you the one who said if it’s nine inches, who cares what he looks like?” Eddie teased Erica.
“And the last time I had nine inches, it was attached to this guy,” Erica pointed her thumb at me. “Sadly, those days are over.” She sighed dramatically and took another swig from her bottle.
“Sadly?” Mike repeated. “Don’t say sadly. We’re not drunk enough to hear the ‘I miss you so much, Aiden. I made a mistake’ conversation.”
“Puh-leeze,” Erica said loudly. “I didn’t say I missed him. I said he was the last time I had any quality dick.”
Eddie burst out laughing. “So, you just miss Little Aiden?”
“Little Aiden my ass!” I shouted. “You heard the girl! Nine inches, motherfucker!”
“Both of y’all lyin' through your damn teeth,” Eddie howled. “Ain’t no way this white boy workin’ with nine inches!”
Erica laughed. “I’m tellin’ you, he is. Where do you think he gets his soul from? It’s all stored in Aiden Jr. and gets replenished every time he bangs a black girl. And he’s been bangin’ black chicks with big asses since he moved to Atlanta.”
“Leave the kid alone,” Mike stepped into the conversation. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with havin’ a preference.”
“Say what you want about me,” I said. “I’m an equal opportunity lover. I don’t have a preference. And we were discussing Erica’s problem. What were you complaining about again?”
“The lack of hot guys with big dicks,” she answered just as our server approached the table. The poor girl’s face turned a shade of red I’ve never seen before.
“Umm…ummm,” she stammered.
“Don’t worry about it, honey,” Erica laughed. “Unless you know any guys that fit that description.”
“Umm, I know a few,” the girl whose nametag read Audrey said nervously. “You’re Erica Steele, right? And O-M-G, you’re Aiden Tyler. And Wild Mike and Eddie Winston. I’m such a huge fan! I was at the show tonight. I had to rush back here to finish my shift, but you guys were amazing! I can’t believe you’re sitting in my section!”
Audrey was kind of cute, in a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader kind of way. Bouncy, bubbly, and blonde…definitely Mike’s type. When I looked at him, he was staring at Audrey’s tits just like I’d expected. They don’t call this place Hooters for nothing.
I honestly don’t know how it happened. We were eating our wings, drinking our beer, and teasing Erica about her problem then everything just escalated. Audrey brought some more girls over to our booth and our platinum celebration turned Hooters into a big ass party.
Girls dancing on tables, shots all around…at some point, Erica and Mike had even orchestrated a wet t-shirt contest with the Hooters Girls. I haven’t partied like this in a long time.
Eventually all good things have to end. Will had called me four times to let us know that we needed to get back on the road. Even as Eddie, Mike, Erica, and I stumbled and staggered the two blocks where the tour bus was parked, it never dawned on me that Will might have called Steve or Perry when I didn’t answer.
I had four missed calls from both of them by the time my head hit my pillow and the bus rumbled to life. I slipped on my headphones and fell asleep listening to the song I recorded in Minneapolis. They could yell at me when I was sober enough to ignore them.
Chapter 15: Seattle
“Aiden, it’s me. Look, I’m so sorry that I acted that way. I don’t know why I do things like that. I’ve known you long enough to know that you’re serious about what you and I have. I’m serious too. I meant what I said in New York. I love you. And I committed to being on the road with you so, if you’ll have me, I’ll see you tonight before your show and every night until we come back home. I love you.”
Even after hearing her last voicemail, I was surprised to pull into Salt Lake City and Sunny was already waiting on us at the hotel. Since then, she hasn’t complained once, not even when the itinerary said we were driving from Salt Lake to Seattle. She’d even left Summer in LA with my mom.
I don’t know if this sudden “I’m completely invested in our relationship” Sunny is because of our conversation in New York or if she has finally realized that my life when I’m not on tour is even more hectic than when I’m stuck on a bus for three months. She’s finally realizing that tours are structured and organized. Everything is timed perfectly, down to the minute. When I’m at home, I have to write, perform, produce, interview, do photo shoots and press, and scout talent for CMG. Tours are nothing compared to not being on tour.
After she had Summer, Sunny put a tremendous amount of effort into successfully distancing herself from the musician aspect of my life. Now that she’s part of the inner circle again, I wonder if the r
eason she cleared her schedule for a month is because she knows that she won’t get this much time with me for a long time. I try to make time for personal stuff, but my lack of days off was a problem in my marriage and I’m much more famous now than I was when I got married.
Sunny’s hand brushed across my bare chest and I slowly opened my eyes as she untangled her legs from around mine. I turned my head towards her and was greeted by her soft smile. I kissed her forehead and stroked her thigh.
“Hey, babe.”
“Hey.”
“We should be in Seattle in about an hour,” Sunny lazily mentioned.
“Do you know what time sound check is?”
“Five,” Sunny answered. “Why? You got something you gotta do? Today is a media day. You have a ton of interviews on your schedule today, Aiden.”
I frowned at the antagonizing tone of her voice. Of course I know that today is media day. I am not just sitting on my ass vacationing. Every time I roll into a city, I have something to do besides the show. I’ve been touring for fifteen years. I may not remember exactly what’s on the schedule but I always know that I have something scheduled.
I slid out of the bed and peered out of the window. The sun was just beginning to rise and the highway was relatively empty. I sat in a seat by the window and scrolled through messages on my phone from Roxy, Joey, Tracy, and Delilah. The film crew is meeting us in Seattle. This kind of makes me nervous because Seattle...man, this place is special to me. I wished they’d started filming while we were at Red Rocks or even Salt Lake City. By that time, I would have gotten comfortable with their presence.
Sunny got out of bed and sat next to me by the window. She ran her fingers through my hair, and leaned against my shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. I showed her an email from my friend, Aaron.
“Windy City Blues is about to go public. I’m about to be a millionaire,” I joked.
“You’re so funny,” Sunny replied. “I bet Aaron’s excited about that.”
“Yeah. Since he quit PURE, he’s been doing a lot with Windy City.”
Honestly, I never expected that investing in a clothing line would ever really pay off. I just did it because Aaron has been a good friend. His Windy City Blues denim is almost as popular as True Religion and Diesel. They’re the only jeans my stylists pull for me when I have photo shoots to do. When I’m on the cover of Guitar World or Rolling Stone wearing Windy City Blues…that’s nothing but free promotion for Aaron.
“I have a question for you,” Sunny said after about fifteen minutes of completely comfortable silence. I actually thought she’d fallen asleep while I was reading email.
“What?”
“You have five platinum albums, six Grammys, eight ASCAP awards, and you’ve played with every single one of your living idols. What else is there for you to accomplish?”
“Do you remember when Rolling Stone put out the “100 Greatest Guitarists” list last year?”
Sunny nodded.
“I wasn’t on it.”
“Baby, you’re only thirty-three-”
“Yeah,” I interrupted. “I don’t care. I need to be on that list. That’s my goal. I’m going to keep making music and playing the shit out of my guitar until they have no choice but to put me on that list. And, I’m never going to retire,” I said, “if that’s what you’re asking.”
Sunny arched her eyebrows. “Never?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“Okay, Aiden.” Sunny patted my shoulder and stood up.
She slid back to the bed. A few minutes later, her soft breathing indicated she was asleep. I slipped on my headphones and listened to my show from two nights ago.
When I played sports in high school, my coaches always made us watch game film of ourselves and the opposing teams. I wasn’t a great receiver or shortstop, but I understood why we had to watch those tapes. We watched to learn, to see our mistakes and strengths. It’s the same reason I listen to my own shows. Some people may not appreciate the lifestyle I live. They may not appreciate my personality. But no one will ever be able to say two things about me; I’m a bad father or that I don’t take my craft seriously.
I gave up a lot of important aspects of my life when I picked up my guitar and decided that I wanted to play the blues for the rest of my life. I didn’t take the easy way out. Every day is a struggle to stay true to my music and not sell out. Hell yeah, I take this shit seriously. I love what I do and I’m going to do it for as long as I can. When I go, I’m going out with Dee-Dee in my hand.
***
“Hey,” I leaned over the table and caught Mona’s attention. “Did you pick up the rental?”
My assistant nodded and continued to eat her French toast.
We pulled into Seattle about two hours ago. Once everyone on the bus woke up, we decided to hit the IHOP across from the venue for breakfast.
I didn’t feel bad for causing a distraction at eight in the morning in the crowded restaurant. Why shouldn’t we be able to have breakfast like normal people? We can’t help if other people make a big deal about us being in public places. Where the hell else are we supposed to eat? It’s not like we have a chef and a kitchen on our tour bus. It’s definitely not our fault that people get so excited that we’re out that they cause a commotion. We just want to eat.
Mona handed me the keys to the rented Chevy Camaro. When Sunny finished her omelet, I motioned for her to follow me outside. We walked over to the rental, and I opened the door for her, thankful that she held back her questions until I pulled out the parking lot.
“Where are we going?” she asked once I hit the main road.
“Somewhere important to me,” I told her.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into Greenwood Memorial Park. It was too early for the historic cemetery to be crowded which was absolutely perfect for me. Judging by the lack of protests coming out of Sunny’s mouth and the tears glistening in her eyes, Sunny knew exactly where we were and why I’d come here.
I slowly drove down a long tree lined road before coming to stop in front of a large stone memorial. After parking the car, I opened Sunny’s door. We walked, hand-in-hand, up to the memorial.
The first thing I did was look into one of the small corners to see if my stash of guitar picks was still there. I was glad to see that the six picks were still in place. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a black one, and added it to the pile.
“The story of life of life is quicker than the wink of an eye. The story of love,”
“Is hello and goodbye…until we meet again,” Sunny finished as she ran her fingers over the signature engraved in the gray stone.
Jimi Hendrix.
Every time I come to Seattle, I visit the Hendrix Memorial. Usually I come alone.
Sunny wandered around the memorial, but I stayed in the same place. I stared at the plaque mounted to a column that had the “Voodoo Child” lyrics on them. This place, this memorial to the greatest guitar player to ever live, was sacred to me. I don’t get sentimental over many things, but...
Jimi Hendrix. If this man had never lived, where would I be?
I felt Sunny wrap her arm around my waist. I kissed the top of her head and went back to reading lyrics that I knew better than some of the ones I’d written myself.
“You know,” I finally spoke. “Hendrix was the first guitar player I ever paid attention to. I never really paid attention to any kind of music. It was just something to have playing at parties and in the car. When my father gave me Keith Richards’ guitar, I didn’t know who the hell he was. I didn’t spend hours watching MTV or nothin’ like that. I was just a regular high school jock who wanted nothing more than a car for my birthday and make out with the head cheerleader. Top forty hits...that was basically all the music I ever knew.”
“Such a sheltered kid,” Sunny joked.
“I wasn’t sheltered; I was a suburban kid. What’s funny is that I woke up one morning completely unint
erested in music or the guitar stashed under my bed. I went to school, football practice, and then over Paulie’s house to show his dad my guitar. I didn’t wake up that morning thinking my entire life was going to change. By the time I fell asleep that same night, it had.
“That was when Paulie gave you that mixtape, right?”
I nodded. “And we had watched that Woodstock documentary.”
I leaned against the cold stone wall of the memorial as my head was flooded with the memory of that day...two months after my sixteenth birthday.
“Jimi had such an influence on people,” Sunny said softly.
“When I discovered Jimi’s music, Sunny, it was like I discovered myself. My dad was sure that I was going to the NFL, but I knew I wasn’t even good enough to play in college. I didn’t want to either. I was only a kid, but I was terrified that I was never going to be anything great. I was terrified that I was destined to live the same mediocre life as my parents.”
Even back then, living in a small town three hundred miles from Chicago, where the highlight of the week was the Friday night high school football game, I felt like I didn’t belong.
“You never told me that,” Sunny whispered.
“I’ve never told anyone. I just wanted to be great at something and hoped to hell that it was good enough to get me the hell out of Mt. Vernon. Sara was practically a damn genius so I knew she wasn’t going to stick around. She had Ivy League schools calling my parents about her. Delilah, I knew she was going to do something extraordinary. Her personality was way too big for Mt. Vernon.”
“What was it that changed you? Just hearing the music?”
“‘If 6 was 9’,” I chuckled. “I was lying in bed listening to that song and the way he played, and something just clicked in my head. Something told me that I needed to learn how to play the guitar under my bed because it would be my way out.”
I walked over to another column and stared at the face of a man who was dead ten years before I was even born. Sunny followed.
“I owe my life to this man,” I paused due to the lump forming in my throat. As I tried to check my emotions, I almost regretted bringing Sunny here with me.
Love Notes (Friends Lovers or Nothing Book 4) Page 12