Between a Rock and a Hard Place (25 page)

“She’s just upset because we’re not spending any time with her.”

“I don’t appreciate the tone of her voice and what she was insinuating.”

Tommy clenched his teeth from the added stress of Angel and Jessi’s less than friendly exchange of words.  Before he was able to think of something to say in order to smooth it over, the car pulled up in front of the studio.

Jimmy was on an adrenaline high.  He jumped out of the car and raced through the building.

By the time the rest of them entered the studio, Jimmy was already behind the house set, knocking out a series of beats.  There seemed to be an endless supply of new arrangements dividing and multiplying inside Jimmy’s head on a daily basis.  No one ever had to ask him to come up with a new beat.  All he needed to do was pause for a few seconds and his hands and feet tapped out a new rhythm.

Tommy and Damien quickly hooked up their equipment to catch up to Jimmy.

Damien bobbed his head and added a bassline.  Tommy joined in with the melody and the beginning of new song was underway.  Angel listened intently, tapping his foot and rocking to the new sound.  He threw out some half-jumbled lyrics and it didn’t take long before he penned the first verse of the song.  He added a bridge on the second go around.  A few more takes and they got through the ending and a first draft of a complete song.

They did another run through and Tommy needed to add a guitar solo, but he couldn’t concentrate.  He wasn’t thinking about phrasing or note choices.  His head kept drifting back to Jessi at the hotel room, alone. An unhappy wife left his heart in a state of remorse.  And Angel was annoyed that she snapped at him.  It all clouded his head and blurred his thoughts, and his guitar solo suffered.  It wasn’t up to par and didn’t reflect his talent.  It was mediocre at best.

Jimmy continued without missing a beat on the drums, but Damien stopped playing.  “Dude, how about giving us a Tommy Blade guitar solo?”

“Let’s take a short break.”  Angel placed a protective arm around Tommy’s shoulder and led him several feet away.  “Don’t over think the music.  Let it come naturally.”

Tommy nodded.  “I know I can do better.  A lot better.  I’ll get it together.”

“Enough fucking off.”  Angus was standing in the open doorway.  “Let’s have it, now.”  He rolled his hand in the air. “Let’s hear what you got.”

They regrouped behind their instruments, annoyed at Angus’ curt and demanding attitude.

Angel took the microphone from its stand and turned to face the band.  “
Hit &
Run,
Jump Start
and then
Toxic
.”  He nodded at Jimmy, signaling the count off. Four clacks of the drumsticks and they burst into the rowdy beat of
Hit & Run
.  Angel watched Angus for any kind of reaction, but he stood poised with his back against the wall smoking a cigarette.  There wasn’t the slightest bob of his head or tap of his foot.

Jump Start
brought the same lackluster indifference from Angus.  The man was a hard read.

The band transitioned into the wild, hard melody of
Toxic.
  It was the best of the three songs and Tommy knew that Angel purposely chose to play it last. It had the potential to be a number one hit, once it was polished. Angel didn’t just sing, he performed. He discharged the same passion he gave to a live audience, jutting his hips forward and spiraling them at an imaginary crowd of fans.  He strutted up to Angus, leaned forward so their faces were inches apart and let loose with a barrage of innovative lyrics, all at a decibel that few singers were able to achieve without distorting pitch.  It showcased his live voice, sharp and clear without the need of a vocal processor.

Tommy picked up on Angel’s showmanship and it refueled him.  He bounced around and taunted Damien with the guitar, who countered by pointing the head of his bass at Tommy like a shot gun.

No one beat the hell out of a set of drums like Jimmy Wilder.  It wasn’t forced or exaggerated.  It was just natural high octane overflowing with confidence and it filled the small studio with energy.  It triggered Tommy’s creative drive and renewed his strength to play.  He introduced an unexpected guitar solo at the end of the second verse.  He played the game.  He dropped to his knees and leaned back on the heels of his feet.  He raised the guitar to the ceiling and wailed on chords for an indeterminate amount of time.

Angus actually raised an eyebrow.

They continued with the bridge, repeated the chorus and wrapped up the song.  Angel was about to throw his microphone down in his usual act of rebellion, but thought better of it.  Tommy stifled a small laugh.  Not only did Angel ruin more microphones that way, but mishandling the equipment wasn’t exactly the way to impress an ill-tempered studio executive.

Angus took a long drag of his cigarette, which was smoked down to the filter, and snubbed it out in the ashtray.  It got uncomfortably quiet while they waited for Angus’ feedback. He looked up from the ashtray and spoke directly to Angel in a calm, even voice.  “You have to do better than that, mate.  Every song needs to be a money maker.  That was just a spectacle.”

Angel was more defensive than disappointed.  “We worked hard on these songs.  Granted, they could use a little more work, but I think they’re damn good.  Especially,
Toxic
.”

“Don’t get uptight.  Save the act for the stage.  I came here for a listen, not a show.  Concentrate on tidying up the songs.  We need to get something on a CD.”  He shooed his hand at them.  “Carry on.  Back to work.”

Angus slipped out the door without another word.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Another day alone in the hotel room was pushing Jessi over the brink of boredom and into the realm of loneliness.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.  She was stuck to fend for herself while Tommy and Angel made music together.  She knew they were working.  She knew it wasn’t a choice, but that didn’t stop the bitterness from nagging at her heart.  She tried to stave it off, but it kept making an ugly reappearance.

She decided to call Rachel, her store manager, to get her mind off Tommy and Angel’s newly-strengthened bond.

“We might have a problem with the head dressmaker,” Rachel said.

Jessi’s heart sank.  “What happened now?”

“I heard her on the phone ordering pink silk fabric to use as the lining for your garments.”

Everyone knew Jessi Blade’s garments were lined with a hot pink leopard print.  “Why was she ordering the wrong fabric?”

“She said it was cheaper.”

“I know it’s cheaper, but hot pink leopard is my signature lining!”  It was one problem after another and Jessi started to question the feasibility of running a successful business 6,000 miles away, especially in its infancy.  Timing never seemed to be on her side.

“I’m handling it, Jessi.  If there’s anything that requires your attention, I won’t hesitate to call you.”  Rachel sounded confident and instilled a sense of trust in her ability as manager.

Jessi was still apprehensive after she ended the call, but she reminded herself that Rachel came at Ricardo Garcia’s personal recommendation for the job.

The rustling of the door handle made her forget the problems at the store.  Tommy and Angel were back from their writing session.  “Did you write a hit song?”

Tommy shook his head.  “We’re still working on it, but I think we all need a rest.  This new guy is pushing us too hard.”

She watched his face as he placed his guitar on the couch and shed his jacket.  His face was drawn, without much of a smile, and he looked drained.  “Are you feeling OK?  You’re not getting sick are you?”

“I’m just stressed out.  Everyone’s looking for me to write these killer guitar solos that are going to blow away anything I’ve done before.  It’s a lot of pressure.  I feel like I’m being pulled in a million directions.”  He rubbed his eyes and combed his fingers through his hair.  “I just need a half hour nap, and then we can spend the rest of the night together.  I think it’s still early enough to go to those gardens and shopping like we were supposed to.  I know we haven’t spent a lot of time together these last few weeks, Jessi.  It’s hard to write while on the road.”

“I’m going to call Mr. Abelman,” Angel said.  “He needs to call off this tyrant.”

“No, don’t make trouble with the label. We’ll finish the album and when the tour is over, we’ll go on a nice long vacation.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Save a Youth Gala, held in Munich’s Olympia Park, was sponsored by several large record companies and producers, including Falcon Records, and benefited homeless youth and suicide prevention.  It was a red carpet event with a star studded VIP reception that preceded a four hour concert performed by internationally acclaimed bands. Immortal Angel was the headliner.

When they arrived at Olympiahalle, the paparazzi flooded the velvet ropes, snapping enough photographs to create a strobe light effect with their flashbulbs.  They were escorted toward a backdrop with the Save a Youth logo to pose for photos.

An arm dropped in front of Jessi like a guillotine and separated her from Tommy and the band. The security guard said something to her in German that she didn’t understand.

“Excuse me?”

“The red carpet is for performers only,” the security guard replied in a heavy German accent.  “No outsiders.”

She was miffed and snorted.  “I’m not an outsider.  That’s my husband.  I work for Falcon Records.”  It was the reference as an “outsider” that irked Jessi, not that she wasn’t allowed on the red carpet.