Rocked Up

“Such a shame. Well, I caught your show. I have to say, I’ve never seen two players with such chemistry before.”


“Are you talking about Calvi and Brad?” I ask him.

He grins at me and takes a sip of his drink. “No. Those two secretly despise each other. I can tell. I mean you and Brad. You are sleeping together, no?”

I burst out laughing, feeling my face go red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you can lie but I know. I know. I’ve been there myself.”

“Oh really? Who were you sleeping with?”

“A true man never kisses and tells,” he says. “But I can give you some advice.”

“I’m not sure I need advice,” I tell him.

“Everyone needs advice, mon Cherie,” he says. “Especially someone as young as you. You live in a beautiful idealistic world.”

“And you’re here to ruin it?”

“No, no, no. I am not like that. Have some faith, Lael Ramsey.” He leans in closer. “My advice is the opposite. My advice is to never lose that beautiful idealistic world, the one that lives deep within you. This industry makes people hard. It turns them into shells. The world does it to everyone, but playing music like this will do it the most. Hold onto that purity inside you. The goodness in your heart. Where your youth comes from and stays. Make it eternal. View the world through the rose-colored glasses, it’s much prettier that way. And believe in love and changes for the better, believe it with everything you’ve got.”

I can’t believe this Frenchman is getting so deep with me. But in a way I can. I just never expected to hear him be so non-cynical toward love.

He shrugs. “You can take it with a grain of salt but know it’s the truth. Don’t let the world corrupt you. Stay good. If you love this man, this Brad Snyder, don’t ever let anyone tell you it’s wrong or it doesn’t mean anything. Love means everything. It’s why we sing about it, yes?”

I nod. “Yes.”

Absolutely, yes.





Chapter Fourteen





Brad




“Yoko. There, I said it,” Calvi says as he stands up and takes a step back from the bar as if he just lit a stick of dynamite with a short fuse.

Switch takes a shot of whatever it is he’s drinking and keeps his eyes forward. I can tell this is something they discussed between them more than once. I can also tell Calvi wants Switch to back him up and is frustrated that he’s on his own confronting me about this.

Calvi sits back down and the three of us stare forward and say nothing. Switch waves his empty glass to the elderly barman.

“A round for the three of us,” Switch says.

I take in a slow breath and prepare myself. I don’t want to drink but all things considered I’ll play along. There’s mutiny in the air and I need to bond with my mates. I need to get Calvi to knock off this shit right now, comparing Lael to Yoko Ono. I also try to not think about tomorrow’s hangover, but I do.

Sure, I’ll feel like a dirty dishcloth for the next couple of days so I can make you happy, I think. The barman lines them up and the three of us shoot them back.

“Why do you guys even care? She’s awesome and you know I won’t let you down,” I say still wincing from the shot. God, it burns.

“The truth is, if we auditioned 100 more people we wouldn’t find a better bass player,” Calvis says, not looking at me. “But it’s not about that. It’s about who her father is, man. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. AKA, don’t fuck this up. For all of us. She’s young and she’s hot and you’re getting carried away.”

“Another round,” I say, snapping my fingers.

That’s the problem you see. I’m a guy who doesn’t like to drink a lot until I have a drink. Then I’m a guy who likes to drink a lot.

“I like her,” Switch says twirling his empty shot glass.

“You mind taking this out of my back?” Calvi says, referring to the imaginary knife Switch has stabbed him in the back with.

“Cal is right,” Switch says, changing his tune. “You’re getting carried away with her. Maybe it’s time for you to back off. If the label drops us and Ronald puts a team of lawyers on us to keep us down, it’s all of our careers not just yours.”

I shoot the whisky back and think about his words as it perfectly burns my throat. I have been with these guys for almost a decade. They have let me lead them, they have had my back the entire journey. They’ve never been a part of negotiations with Ramsey Records. I have always been the liaison between the company and the band. I would come back from a meeting and tell them what happened – they have always put a great deal of trust in me. If I fall, we all fall, I get that.

“Brad, look, think about it, how can this end well? Explain to me one possible outcome where your little affair with Lael will not have an awful ending?” Calvi is speaking to me closer then I like and I can smell the whisky from his breath. “There are no secrets, you know Ronald will find out everything that happens on this tour.”

I’m happy Calvi brought this up because Ronald does seem to be getting a play-by-play and I’ve been wanting to know who’s been feeding him the information. I’ve suspected it was Arnie but Calvi is quickly becoming suspect number one. I can tell he knows I’m suspicious of him by the way I’m looking at him and his body language becomes defensive, which makes me even more suspicious of him.

“Don’t you find it strange, how Ronald always knows what’s going on?” I ask him, eyes narrowing. “Calvi, I wonder who’s feeding him information, huh, who’s the rat?”

“What are you saying, you think I’ve been telling Ronald about you and Lael?” Calvi responds, clearly offended.

“Well it sure as fuck isn’t me,” I answer.

Calvi stands and I stand too, we face each other, staring each other down. My barstool is knocked over by Switch wedging between us.

“Relax, fellas, have a drink,” Switch says pushing us apart. Three more shots are on the table and after a tense moment we all take whatever glass is closest and shoot it back. Calvi and I are still staring each other down and we both slam our glasses on the bar without breaking the exchange.

“So you three kiddies are And Then…?”

Calvi and I break our standoff and put our attention on the man speaking to us.

I recognize him, his name is Gregg something or other, plays drums in a band called B.S.R. He’s an older guy with a reputation for causing trouble. If half of the rumours I’ve heard about him and his band are true, I don’t want to make trouble with them. The man is clearly looking for trouble.

And, feeling that whisky course through me, I take his challenge and square off with him.

“Hey fellas, come take a look, it’s Ronald Ramsey’s boy band.”