Tired from the late-night flight back from Miami, Dred hit the snooze on his alarm clock, for the seventh time. While exhaustion settled deep into his bones to the point they physically hurt, it was worth every moment of seeing Pixie again. Something about the time he spent with her made him forget what was going on around him. Never one prone to deep introspection, he found himself trying to figure out if there was a way past the turmoil his mother had created in his young life and a way to permanently shake the son-of-a-dead-junkie mantle he wore.
Dred sat up in bed and turned the alarm off. After a quick shower, he wandered downstairs. As he approached the first-floor landing, he could hear the murmurs of conversation.
“Think about it, that’s all I’m suggesting,” said Sam.
Dred took a step or two further down the stairs so he could hear better.
“You are on very dangerous territory my friend,” Nikan said with a low growl.
“I’m trying to look out for you. You’re the most talented member of the group, I’d hate to see you held back because—”
“Because what?” Nikan hissed. “Because I put my brothers and their needs above any kind of profit you might be able to scrape up for me? Because you don’t have a solid plan for us? Because we bounce from one short-notice event to another?”
“Those events are planned. And yes there are a lot of them, because that is how you build momentum. I’m just saying consider the fact you might get more achieved with a different lineup.”
“This kind of talk is poison. Go fuck yourself, Sam.”
Dred heard the door to the recording studio slam shut. What the hell was that about?
He jogged down the rest of the stairs and found Sam in the kitchen, seated on one of the breakfast bar stools. “Hey, Sam,” he said as though everything was fine and he hadn’t overheard a word.
“Dred. How was Miami?” His fake interest grated on Dred’s last nerve.
“Great.” He grabbed a coffee and muffin. “Wish I was still there.”
And that was the truth. He had Pixie and Petal in his life, and he needed to figure out how that was all going to work. Could you get a passport for a baby? He had no clue. Which reminded him, he needed to call his lawyer and follow up on the hijack he’d walked into when he’d last gone to see Amanda and Petal.
He faced Sam across the breakfast bar. “Look, Sam. To be honest, I need some space. I have to figure out what to do about Petal and deal with lawyers and shit. And I want to be able to fit Pixie into my life whether you like her or not. Is there any way to rearrange all this shit? Like keep the album and the tour, but get rid of all the crap, like those weekend-festival events and some of these public appearances. Let’s focus on those two things, because I’m worried some of the things we’re ignoring are going to snowball.”
Sam scowled. “That ‘crap’ as you put it, is what pays your bills in between releases and tours. It’s what makes people want to buy your music.”
Dred wished he’d started this conversation with the rest of the guys around, but he knew they all felt the same way. “We don’t need money, Sam. We have plenty. And let’s face it, the income from a random festival in Germany isn’t that high after you deduct all the expenses. It doesn’t feel like it’s worth the trade-offs we are making. And second, we have a massive fan base. If it didn’t grow, our albums would still go platinum. I know we can’t take that for granted forever, but we’re fine.”
“I disagree. You know how this business is . . . no one can predict your longevity.”
“Agreed. But that’s our risk to take, not your decision to make. So please go through all the activities you have lined up for the next six months, review the contracts we’ve signed. List what our penalties will be for no-shows. And do it quick, because I’m sure those penalties go up the closer we get to the event date. Bring that back to us tomorrow so we can decide what to do with the rest of the guys.”
“Fine.” Sam stood. “But this is the kind of decision that can end a band. I’ll also highlight which of the events your label is expecting you to attend. You should at least know that before you commit career suicide.” Sam marched toward the hallway and disappeared from sight, but the slam of the door told Dred he’d left the house.
That went well. Dred let out a short huff of breath. It was time for rehearsal. He picked up his muffin to take a bite when there was a knock at the door. If it were Sam, he’d use his key.
Dred put his muffin down and walked to the door. He heard the baby’s cry as soon as he hit the hallway. Yanking the door open, he was shocked to find Amanda standing on the doorstep with a screaming Petal in her arms. The temperatures had turned a bit milder, but Petal wasn’t even wearing a coat.