“Decking me? You think I’m mad about…?” I heard a deep inhale, then a long exhale. “What do you want, Griffin?”
Closing my eyes, I said a quick Let this work prayer. “Just wondering if you’d found a bassist yet. I’ve got some time to kill…so if you need anybody…” Please take me back.
Matt scoffed. “Are you kidding me? You’ve got time to kill, so you want back in…since you’ve got nothing better going on right now? Unbelievable.” He let out a humorless laugh. “What happened to your show? Your shot at stardom, since apparently being in a successful band wasn’t stardom enough for you.”
The truth was too horrible to say, so I told a creative lie. “They’re restructuring, and it may be a while before it goes on air.”
“Restructuring? I heard the studio dropped it. That bad, huh?” He let out another unamused laugh. His comment surprised me though. I didn’t realize that news was out there. Fuck, if Anna heard about it…
“You checking up on me?” I asked, my fear making me defensive.
“Nope, someone just happened to mention to me that it crashed and burned, and since you’re calling me begging for your old job back, I’m guessing that rumor was true. Must have sucked pretty badly if it didn’t even make it to the air.” His voice was so condescending, a chill of indignation went down my spine. Sanctimonious asshole.
“I wasn’t calling for my job back, jerkoff, I was just calling to get some intel on you guys.”
“Right. You’re just spying on us, to see how we’re doing?”
“Exactly. I’m curious about my competition.” Even as I said it, I knew this was where my path had been directing me all along. I was born to be on the stage, surrounded by thumping music and glaring lights. Movies and TV weren’t my destiny. Being a rock star was. I’d always known that, I’d just forgotten it for a moment or two.
Matt’s voice was dubious when he responded. “Competition? You’re going to put out an album?” He started laughing, and there was humor in it this time. A lot of humor. It only vindicated my decision. Yes, this would fix everything.
“What do you know about putting together an album, Griffin? In fact, what do you know about music at all? You never paid attention to anything we did. Ever! Your entire career with us was based on us doing all the work so you could goof off.”
His words were soaked in truth, but they incensed me anyway. “Someone had to lighten the mood. What with all the brooding and melancholy and seriousness…I’m the reason people liked us and liked coming to our shows. Because I’m the only one who knew how to have some fucking fun! And I know plenty about music. You just watch, cuz. Because I’m about to impress the shit out of you.”
I hung up the phone before he could give me some lame-ass response. Smiling for the first time in what felt like days, I headed to my office to get started on lyrics. Fuck them. Fuck them all. I would do just what Harold said—dust myself off and keep going. And if I couldn’t join those fuckers, then I would beat them.
Chapter 17
Awesome Strikes Back
Having a little purpose while I was “working” during the day made some of my hope and good humor return. While I killed time in bars or diners, I started writing down lyrics. I figured it wouldn’t take me too long to have a handful of awesome songs. I mean, Kellan came up with them all the time. A huge part of me wanted to tell Anna my news, wanted to stop the charade of filming Acing It every day and start bouncing ideas off her, but I couldn’t yet. I couldn’t tell her I’d been deceiving her in such a big-ass way that the fib I’d told her about the pilot now seemed like an innocent little white lie. I couldn’t tell her anything until I had a contract with a record label under my belt. A killer contract that would ease all of her worries. She’d still be mad at me for breaking her trust again, but maybe then she wouldn’t kill me.
Songwriting was more time-consuming than I thought it would be, and I found myself doing it all the time, even on the rare occasions when I was home with Anna and the girls. Like one Saturday afternoon, when I was in my office trying to come up with lines that were intriguing and thought-provoking. What I was writing down though was closer to fifth-grade poetry. Dirty fifth-grade poetry. “Roses are red, violets are blue, let’s strip off these clothes so I can do you.” Direct and to the point. Sounded good to me. I circled it in red—a keeper.
By the time the afternoon melted into evening, I had enough keepers for an entire song. Ha! Kellan acted like coming up with lyrics was challenging, but this shit wasn’t so hard. It flowed out of my mind as easily as beer down my gullet…whatever the fuck a gullet was. Wanting a drink now, I yelled over my shoulder, “Alfred! Beer me!”