TRACK 9: Cigarettes and Baby Bottles
The next few months flew by, each week dictated by a new chapter in the pregnancy encyclopedia. The holidays were a blur of chaos in the studio and at the café. We took a few days off in December and traveled to Detroit and Ann Arbor to visit family. I learned very painfully that my fear of flying hadn’t improved. Naturally, I was even more of a maniac on the plane than usual. It wasn’t enough that I had to worry about myself plummeting to earth in a fiery ball of wreckage, now I had to worry about my wife and unborn child doing the same. Mia had little patience for my antics, I think because I refused to get help for it.
Mia and Jenny had become obsessed with all things baby. Jenny’s pregnancy did stick and they found out they were having a girl right at the sixteen-week mark. We chose not to find out even though everyone we knew, Jenny being the worst of them all, berated us about it. She complained that our little boy or girl would only ever be dressed in green and yellow and people wouldn’t know what to buy us. That was the one and only thing Mia wasn’t being a total control freak about, so we stuck to our plan to not find out.
Martha would come over every week and check on Mia and work with her on relaxation and breathing exercises to prepare for the natural labor. Jenny was on board with the natural thing too, so of course she and Mia dragged Tyler and me to the Bradley Birthing Method classes.
It was hysterical; we had to get in all kinds of weird poses with the girls while they mimicked being in labor. We would massage their backs while they were perched on all fours, moaning. One of the hardest things I’ve ever done is contain my laughter during those classes. Mia was the freakin’ teacher’s pet because she was taking it so seriously.
Right around the third class, they showed us a video of a live birth. I had nightmares for a week after that. Tyler and I agreed that we had to find a way to get out of going to the classes.
We hadn’t mutually agreed on a plan, so during the fifth class, Tyler took it upon himself and used his own bodily gifts to get us into a heap of trouble. Tyler is lactose intolerant, and he has to take these little white tablets every time he eats cheese. The morning of the class, he stopped by the studio with a half-eaten pizza. I didn’t even think twice about it until that night in class during our visualization exercises when this god-awful, horrendous odor overtook our senses.
At first everyone kept quiet and just looked around for the source. There wasn’t a sound to accompany the lethal attack, so everyone went into investigation mode, staring each other down. Mia began to gag. I heard Jenny cry a little behind us. Finally when I turned toward Tyler, I noticed he had the most triumphant glimmer in his eyes. I completely lost my shit. I was rolling around, laughing hysterically.
Mia grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt and pulled me to my feet. “Outside, now!” She was scowling as she dragged me along. When we passed Tyler, she pointed to him angrily. “You too, joker.”
Mia and Jenny pressed us up against the brick wall outside and then gave us the death stare, both of them with their arms crossed over their blooming bellies. They whispered something to each other and then turned and walked off, arm in arm.
We followed. “Come on, you guys, it was funny.”
Jenny stopped dead in her tracks and turned. She jabbed her index finger into my chest and said, “Yes, it is funny. When you’re five! Not when you’re in a room full of pregnant women. Do you know how sensitive our noses are?”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t me.”
“Oh, I know he’s a child,” she said but wouldn’t even look at Tyler. “And you are too, Will, for encouraging it.”
Mia was glaring at me with a disappointed look, and then she shook her head and turned to continue down the street. Jenny caught up and walked away with her.
“God, they’re so sensitive,” I whispered to Tyler.
“Yeah, I kinda feel bad.”
Without turning around, Mia yelled to us, “You guys don’t have to come anymore. Jenny and I can be each other’s partners.”
I turned to Tyler and mouthed, “It worked!” I had a huge smile on my face.
Tyler and I high-fived.
“Why don’t you guys go celebrate? I know that’s what you wanted,” Jenny yelled back as they made a sharp turn down the sidewalk and down the stairs to the subway.
“Nothing gets past them,” Tyler said.
When Tyler and I finally made it to the platform, Mia was gone.
“Where’s Mia?” I said to Jenny, who was trying to ignore me.
She stared straight forward but still answered me. “She caught the subway going that way.” She pointed. “To Brooklyn, to your home. It was just about to go—the doors were closing when we got down here.”
“And you let her get on by herself? She’s f*cking pregnant, Jenny.”
“I’m well aware. She’s a big girl; she can ride the subway alone once in a while.”
I started pacing, my heart pounding. Tyler just looked like a clueless oaf standing there, waiting for someone to tell him what to do. Jenny leaned against a pole and played on her phone. I took off and ran to the other side of the station to catch the train I needed to be on. Tyler yelled at me to wait, but I ignored him. I rode the subway back to Brooklyn and ran into a liquor store, bought a pack of cigarettes, and then continued the block and half back to my building. I skipped every other stair up to our loft and flew through the door. Mia wasn’t home. F*ck, oh f*ck, oh f*ck.
I called her from my cell but she didn’t pick up. I texted her and then left a voice mail. I was almost in tears. “Please, baby, tell me you guys are okay.” Weeks before, I had started referring to Mia and the baby as you guys. “I’m a nervous wreck.”
Standing in front of our building, I lit a cigarette and nervously sucked and puffed it. I was down to the filter in one minute flat. I pulled another cigarette out and did the same. Finally, I spotted her, strolling down the street toward me, accompanied by Tyler.
“What the f*ck?” I yelled when they were still a block away.
Tyler walked Mia to the end of the block and then threw his hand up, waving good-bye. I didn’t wave back. When Mia reached me, I was shaking my head. “What, you were hiding behind a f*cking pole, waiting for me to lose it and go running after you?”
Never breaking a smile, she stood there with her arms crossed. “We didn’t think you would take off.”
“I was going after you, my wife, my pregnant wife. Did you think that was funny?”
“I thought it was about as funny as a grown man intentionally farting in a birthing-method class.”
“That wasn’t me!” I shouted.
“But you laughed.”
“Why is everyone mad at me and Tyler just gets off scot-free?”
“Oh, he’ll get his turn, trust me. There’s nothing quite like the wrath of Jenny—you know that.”
I looked down at Mia’s waist. Her tiny belly was poking through her coat. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s get you inside. I’m sorry about tonight, okay?”
“I just want you to take this natural-birth thing seriously with me, Will. It’s going to be a big deal. I need to be prepared and I need you on my team. Jenny’s due date is a month and half after mine. I’m going to have to do this first. I want this so bad, but I’m already doubting myself.”
“Okay, I need to get you guys inside.” I wrapped my arm around her waist and rubbed her belly as we climbed the stairs.
Most of our time was occupied with the scouring of baby magazines, books, and stores for all the right items. Martha had a small baby shower for Mia and Jenny at the café. We got boppies and bottles and booms and bam bams and bassinets and boo boos and bonnets and binkies and all that f*cking crap we probably didn’t need.
The studio efforts had been running smoothly until one evening when I got a phone call from Charlie. She said Chad was having some problems with the label. She asked if I could get Frank and have a sit-down with Michael and Chad. Apparently the label was going to request a meeting to discuss the album in its current state, and Michael and Chad wanted us to be prepared.
Our meeting was scheduled early on a Saturday morning in February. I let Mia sleep in, but I left her a note on her teakettle like I always did. That morning I wrote: YOU ROCK ME LIKE A HURRICANE.
Mia had a hefty collection of notes that I had left her; she kept them in a jar on the counter. I told her I didn’t want to be one of those couples who texted each other from the other room. Each morning that I got up before her, which was many once she became pregnant, I would leave her a sticky note. I tried to keep it original. Sometimes the note would just say HI or MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU or I LOVE YOUR BUNS. WINK. She always found a creative way to thank me.
When I got to the studio, I opened the conference room and put some coffee on. Frank, Michael, and Chad arrived shortly after. We greeted each other and took our seats. When Chad smiled at me, I noticed that he looked older, more mature. There was something tired about his expression; he almost looked defeated.
“All right, what’s up, guys?”
Michael came right out and said it. “They’re not happy with the album in its current state and they want to postpone the release.”
“Are you guys happy with the album?” I asked.
Before they could answer, Frank interjected. “Wait a minute. What aspect of the album are they not happy with?”
“They said they want a ballad, a love song, and a hit with a hook. Apparently you guys haven’t delivered on that.”
“‘Lost N Found’ is your ballad and ‘Soldier’ is your hit,” I said.
“It’s not commercial enough, that’s what they’re saying. You know this Bieber kid is writing songs directly to the audience. He’s a superstar and that’s what they want for Chad,” Michael said.
I could feel the anger boiling behind my eyes. “First of all, Chad is not thirteen years old. I was trying to produce an album that would get him some attention as a singer, not as a teen heartthrob.” I turned to address Chad directly. “I mean, is this what you want, man?” When he just shrugged, I said, “Well, you better polish your dance moves because that’s what you’ll be doing on stage, dancing and lip-syncing.”
Frank sat quietly until finally he reminded me of why I had hired him back in the days when I was starting out. “Let me talk to you all for a second.” He took off his fedora and set it on the table, clasped his hands together, and leaned in. “I’ve been at this game for a while. We’re witnessing a huge shift occur in the music industry. The record labels are dying because the record is dying. When someone likes a song, they can download it for a dollar or steal a bootlegged copy for free online. You don’t even have to buy the rest of the album—that’s why there is so much pressure for an artist to have multiple hits on one album. Look around; record stores are closing because it’s all going digital. Think of it like this: when was last time you bought a roll of film? See any photo labs around? It’s happening very quickly with music and books too. No more record stores and no more bookstores means what? It means no more labels and no more publishers. Do you think those companies will let that happen without putting up a fight? No, they’ll find a way to tap into this digital market. They’ve given you a nice advance, but you’ll never see any royalties, trust me. Ninety-nine percent of your sales will be digital, but they’ll still charge you twelve pennies on every dollar for packaging. What packaging? They’ll find a way to keep you under their thumb, kid. You could sell five million albums, pay your three-hundred-thousand-dollar advance back, and you still won’t see another dollar. They will nickel-and-dime you on everything, including this studio time. They’re sending you back to us and saying they’re unhappy? That means they can take out twice as much money in studio costs. They’re going to spend an inordinate amount of money to make you sound like the male version of Katy Perry. Your pride will be nonexistent. You’ll owe them after everything is said and done, and then you’ll get finagled into another deal. They’ll probably even insist that you get veneers for that crooked tooth, and then they’ll make you pay for it.”
He chuckled, but the room was completely silent. His laugh echoed off the walls in a terrifying way before he took a deep breath and continued. “In the beginning, they wanted you to feel like your talent was real so you’d agree to sign your life away for the prestige of being signed with a major label. Now that they have you, they’ll try to make you feel like crap until you give them what they want. These days, people need to see the musician on TV. No one listens to the radio anymore, and the people that do will buy albums from independents and small labels. So they need the whole package, and they only make money on the artists who reach celebrity status. I think they agreed to let you come to Will, knowing he wouldn’t produce the crap they want, that way they could put the responsibility back on you. They didn’t know who you were as an artist. They just knew you were good-looking with a good voice.”
“I can’t get out of my contract.” Chad finally spoke. His voice was shaky.
“There are other things we can do.” Frank turned to me. “Remember the time you said you wanted people to be in awe while you performed, not because of the pyrotechnics going off on stage but because they connected to the music?” When I nodded, he said, “I have a suggestion.”
I was getting worried about where the conversation was going.
“This is totally off the record.” Frank leaned in farther. “Your auntie did a few good things for you, kid.” Chad’s face lightened and Frank said, “There is nothing in this contract that says you can’t start performing these songs. That’s the first good thing she did, the second was that she insisted you stick with Will.” He turned to me. “How much does this mean to you?”
“Me? Not very much, if I’m being honest, Frank. I’ll get my money no matter what happens to Chad.”
Chad and Michael remained quiet while Frank slowly shook his head back and forth with a look of pure disappointment on his face.
“I have a baby on the way,” I pleaded.
“You really just want to give up on Chad and roll over for these dummies?”
“I don’t even know what you’re suggesting.”
“I’m suggesting that Michael and Chad go back to the label and tell them that pushing the release is fine. Tell them they’ll get their ballad and hit. Meanwhile, Chad will start performing up and down the East Coast as part of the Will Ryan Band. You can promote yourselves online and gather a following. People will get to know Chad and get to know the way ‘Soldier’ was written. That song could be an anthem, it has a hook, but the label is right—it’s not commercial, it’s original.”
“I can’t leave Mia and go on the road while she’s pregnant.”
“Hold on a minute, Frank.” Michael finally found his voice. “Are you saying that we leave the album as is and that Chad starts performing the songs under a different name?”
“Legally, we can make it happen. Will, get Mia down here. I’m not suggesting you leave her. We need her. I’m suggesting you both go.”
“I don’t think she’ll be into it,” I said.
“Let’s see what she has to say.” He motioned for me to pick up the phone and call her.
I grabbed my cell phone and texted her: ARE YOU BUSY?
JUST TAKING THIS PHOTO TO SAY THANK YOU. She sent me a photo of her naked from the waist up, wearing all my Post-it notes like a bikini top.
I replied, I LOVE IT! CAN YOU GET DOWN HERE? WE NEED YOU. PUT ON A SHIRT FIRST.
Everyone filled their coffee mugs and waited for Mia to come down. When she came in, she smiled and said hello and then took a seat at the table. Frank, in his typical fast-talking fashion, basically laid down the whole situation for Mia. At the end of a very long speech, he said, “What do you think, sweetheart?”
She looked at me first. I didn’t give her any indication of how I was feeling. The truth was that it sounded interesting to me. We could do some live shows together and then during the week go back into the studio and work.
“Come May, I won’t want to go too far from home.”
I nodded. Her voice seemed small. She was looking for my approval, but I wanted her opinion.
“What do you think of Chad?” I asked her.
“I think he’s a great singer,” she said immediately. “I think the music we wrote for him gives him way more credibility. I can teach him how to get by on the piano. I wouldn’t want to see the label turn him into a brand so quickly either.”
“So you’ll do it?” Frank said.
“Yes.”
He stood up and placed his fedora on his head and said, “I’ll get you guys some bookings. Will, you need to find a drummer.”
He left the room and it seemed all problems were solved.
“So, I guess this means we’re a band,” Chad said with a goofy grin.
We had our work cut out for us.