When I first arrived on the scene, I’d answer anything. Unless it had to do with back home, those questions were dodged like a bullet. That was my old life, one I didn’t want to bring into my new life... or to even think about it, truth be told. The memories of home are painful and I’m still trying to get over them.
Walking through the terminal, we follow Sam, who manages to power walk in five inch heels. She makes us follow behind her, forgetting that she works for us. A couple times we’ve talked about firing her, moving on to a different company, but when you look at the numbers and the tours and venues we’re playing in, you can’t help but give her some credit for getting us where we are. Yes, it’s our music, but she’s the one who is selling us to the promoters. No, firing her would be a bad idea, even if she drives us to drink.
A luxury of having money is that we fly first class, and we get to wait in the lounge until our names are called. It never fails that we’ll run into a fan or two, but for the most part they just want to talk. They just want to get to know us and feel like we’re all on the same level which is nice and relaxing until you meet the one crazy who was able to upgrade her flight. That’s when Sam steps in. That’s when she’s very useful for us at the airport.
As soon as our plane touches down, the telltale clicking of seatbelts being slid out of their buckles echo throughout the cabin, breaking the standard rule of waiting until we’re stopped at the gate. For the first time in years, we flew coach. Our last flight had been with Sam, giving each of us someone to share a seat with. I was always with her while Harrison and JD sat next to each other. This time we just took up a row, keeping our arm rests pushed back and our trays full of work.
Gone are the days where fans would greet us at the airport and paparazzi are here happily clicking the shutter button on their cameras for tomorrow’s spread in Page Six. The lackluster fanfare for our arrival is disappointing, not that I expected anything different.
“Didn’t you tweet that we were arriving?” I had asked JD to post what time we were arriving, hoping to stir up some attention. Apparently, tweeting your location only works in Beaumont because we’re standing in the wide open at LAX and people are passing us right and left without a second glance. This is freaking Los Angeles, and no one cares that 4225 West is standing in the airport looking like idiots, begging for attention.
“Yeah, I did,” he says, pulling out his phone. He rambles off the number of favorites and retweets he’s received, but none of them matter. The lack of a welcoming crowd only proves what I’ve been saying all along: We need to be in Los Angeles if we want to be successful. This place is what makes or breaks you and right now, we’re definitely broken.
“Well boys, we’re back,” Harrison says as he shoulders his bag.
“We should have a car waiting to take us to the Wilshire.”
“Your home away from home,” JD says, reminding me that I used to live there. My happiest memory is the day that Josie came to my place for dinner. I wanted to seduce her; remind her of the connection we had and could still have. I was on the cusp of doing something foolish, but pulled back. She was promised to another man and as much as I didn’t care about him, I cared about her.
When we step outside, the black Town Car is there to take us to the hotel. I don’t know why I chose the Wilshire. It was either familiarity, convenience, or just out of habit, but I’m currently second-guessing myself. There’s too much history and bad memories mixed with only one good one. We pile in, with me being the last one inside the car. As soon as I shut the door, I want to beat the shit out of Harrison and JD for not bailing as soon as they saw Mr. Moreno across from them.
“What the fuck are you doing in my car?” I ask, not sugar coating the hostility rolling off my tongue.
He takes off his hat. He’s aged tremendously since the last time we saw him. Our last encounter was in court when we filed a restraining order against Sam, and if I’m not mistaken that included Moreno Entertainment. Truth be told, the only thing the old man did wrong was protect his daughter. Any father would, but when you’re running a business sometimes you need to forget your employees are family.
“I thought we could talk business.”
“We’re not interested,” Harrison says. JD and I both nod in agreement.
Moreno cracks a smile. His bald head is shining thanks to the oncoming headlights and I find myself trying not to laugh. If Noah were here, he’d be cracking jokes and this would be the one time I’d tell him not to mind his elders.
“It’s no secret you guys are struggling.” His voice is gruff, sounding like he’s had one too many cigars. He probably has, although I’ve never seen him with one. I’ve spent ample time in his mansion, being catered to while I sat by the pool, and not once did I see this man smoke. Drink, yes. He can handle his liquor better than anyone I know.