Wreck of the Day (Love Me, I'm Famous Book 3) Page 3

  “Where are you going?” my mother asks through clenched teeth.

  “I need to make a call.”

  I move away from the table without bothering to wait for her reply. Funny how Dad is nowhere in sight. I bet he came up with a last minute excuse to skip this nonsense. I swear this is the last charity event my mother will rope me into. Not even a week back in London and I can’t wait to leave this dreadful town.

  The problem is not London or even Mum. The problem is I’m miles away from the woman I love without any idea of how I’m going to win her back. If I knew why she left me alone in that hotel room in Hawaii in the first place it would help a lot. If Saylor had told me she didn’t care for me, I could learn to accept it. But I know that’s not the case. Deep in my bones I know she has fallen as hard as I have.

  I make a beeline to the nearest bar and order a double dose of whisky. With the drink in hand, I place a call to Allan. It’s noon in Los Angeles, so he should be working already. He answers on the third ring.

  “Hey, Ollie. What’s up?”

  “I want to know if you’ve made progress with the task I gave you.”

  “I got back in town a day ago.”

  Not the answer I wanted to hear. I take a large sip of my drink. “So, you don’t want the partnership.”

  “You know bloody well that is not the case. As a matter of fact, they are playing at a popular venue in L.A. tonight and I plan to approach them after the show.”

  “Fine. But remember, don’t breathe a word that I’m involved with the company.”

  “Sweet baby Jesus. What did you do to this woman that she can’t know you own the company that wants to sign her band?”

  “Nothing. She’s stubborn and proud. She won’t sign with Renegades Productions if she knows I’m behind it.”

  Allan is silent for a moment before continuing. “I can relate to that. But even so, it’s misleading as hell.”

  “If that’s going to be a problem for your southern morals, I’ll look for another partner.”

  Irritation simmers low in my gut. I don’t know what’s going on with Allan. He didn’t seem to have a problem keeping my name out of the negotiations when we discussed the details of his mission before.

  “I’ll do it. I just don’t think that’s the best approach to win your girl back.”

  He is fucking right. Saylor is going to have a cow when she finds out she signed a contract with my company. But she won’t do it if she knows I’m involved, and I honestly want to help her succeed. She has real talent, but the music industry is rough. I don’t see a problem with me giving her the initial push.

  “Don’t give yourself premature stress lines over that. Just get them to sign the contract.”

  “Okay. You got it, boss.”

  Allan ends the call before I can reply. If it had been any other person, I would be fucking pissed. I’ve known the guy for a while now and his attitude and moral compass will be good to balance things out. I need someone at the helm of the company who is level headed and can make sound decisions, who is also not afraid to go against me. But he’d better not screw things up with Saylor tonight otherwise I’ll have to make his life hell.

  Five

  SAYLOR

  “Let’s take a break.” I remove my strapped guitar and place it on the stand next to the amps.

  “We haven’t nailed the new song yet. We sound awful,” Tabatha argues.

  “And we’re not going to sound any better if we keep playing non-stop. I need food.” I keep on walking until I’m out of Tabatha’s parents garage where we now practice every day for five hours at a time.

  I inhale the end-of-summer crispy air and stare at the bright sky. Footsteps follow me and I know without glancing over my shoulder that it is Tabatha.

  “The gig tonight is a big deal, Blue. Many music producers are known to scope new talent at Ray’s Venue.”

  “I know.” I can feel Tabatha’s scrutinizing stare burning a hole through my face. “My head is fine, so stop staring at me like that.”

  “Just checking.”

  I turn to her. “I haven’t had a migraine episode since I came back from Hawaii.”

  Tabatha narrows her eyes at me and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You’d better be telling the truth, Saylor.”

  “If I knew you would become a pain in my ass, I wouldn’t have told you anything.” My tone is light and Tabatha smirks at me.

  “When was I not a pain in your ass?”

  “True that.” I let out a sigh. “I know tonight is a big deal. I want to nail that new song as much as you do. But don’t forget Sticks has only been with us for less than a week. She’s not used to our intense jam sessions yet.”

  Tabatha’s shoulders sag as she exhales. “You’re right. It’s just…” she pauses and looks into my eyes. “I have this feeling, Blue. Somehow, I know tonight is our night.”

  “Oh, not you now with the feelings and premonitions. I thought only Remi suffered from those.”

  “Suffered from what?” the girl in question asks as she joins us.

  “Tabatha has a feeling about tonight.”

  “You too?” Remi’s eyebrows shoot to the heavens.

  A shiver runs down my spine. I don’t think Remi is joking about that. My stomach turns into a ball of knots as anxiety takes hold. I can’t let jitters run rampant through my body. We must nail the new song more than ever. I need a distraction, so I turn to Tabatha.

  “How about we go scavenge your mom’s kitchen for some grub, Tabby? We need full bellies if we’re going to keep practicing until perfection.”

  A smile blossoms on Tabatha’s face. “She made Cuban sandwiches for us.”

  My stomach grumbles just at the thought. “Lead the way.”

  I follow Tabatha back inside, but even the prospect of delicious food can’t take my mind off of what’s going to happen tonight.

  I peer at the crowd from backstage and the butterflies in my belly become radioactive. This is the biggest crowd Wreck of the Day ever performed to. And we are singing a bunch of our own songs tonight. We usually do covers because that’s what the college scene demands. But we need to sing original songs if we want to impress label scouts, so the stakes are much higher.

  I head back to where the girls are chilling out. Tabatha is pacing across the room with hands clasped behind her back and her gaze down. It’s her ritual. Sticks is sitting on the beat up couch, twirling her drumsticks up in the air. Her beautiful dark hair is in a ponytail and her face is hiding under a baseball cap. I’m beginning to think that’s her signature look. Remi is next to Sticks, devouring a double cheeseburger bigger than her face. I don’t know how she maintains her slim figure with the amount of junk food she puts into her body.

  Tabatha senses my approach and stops to look at me. “How is it?”

  “Full house.”

  She nods once and resumes pacing. I let her be and walk toward Remi and Sticks. It will be Sticks’ debut show and I want to make sure she’s okay. I sit on the couch’s arm next to her. “Nervous?”

  She stops twirling her sticks to glance up at me. “No. Should I be?”

  I don’t detect an ounce of bullshit in her relaxed demeanor. The girl is as cool as a cucumber. What a difference from when she auditioned for us a week ago.

  A wiry man with spiked hair and more piercings on his face than Pinhead appears in my line of vision. He introduced himself earlier but I can’t, for the life of me, remember his name. My brain immediately latched on to the Hellraiser reference and that was the end of it. He’s the assistant manager of Ray’s Venue.

  “Are you ready to go on?”

  “Yup.” I turn to Sticks and Remi. “Chicas?”

  Sticks just nods and Remi wipes her face with a napkin before answering with her mouth half-full. “Swuure.”

  Ten minutes later, we take our places on the darkened stage and wait for our introduction. Someone in the crowd yells ‘Break a leg, Blue’ and I suspect Levi is behind
it. I hope Remi manages to keep her cool. Her secret crush on the surfer boy can get the better of her sometimes.

  The previous loud rumble from the audience lowers to an expectant murmur. When the stage lights turn on, I forget the nervousness and let the music take over. The exhilarating feeling is like a drug to me and I will never get tired of it.

  After the first song, I know we have won the audience, and the show keeps getting better and better. We are rocking this place. I barely notice the passage of time, and before I know it, it’s over. Tabatha’s and Remi’s intuitions were right. This is by far the best show we ever put out since Wreck of the Day was formed. We are finally in sync.

  When we exit the stage, we are laughing and talking animatedly, still high from a perfect performance.

  “Oh my God. That was awesome!” Remi shouts.

  “Yes, it really was.”

  We all turn to see who the owner of that voice is. An attractive ginger guy is looking at us with a smile. His hands are tucked inside his jeans pockets in a casual way, but the messenger bag he carries makes me think he is not at Ray’s Venue for pleasure.

  “Thanks. And you are?” I say.

  “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. My name is Allan Eriksson. I’m from Renegades Productions.”

  “Renegades Productions? That name doesn’t ring a bell.” Remi angles her head as if it will help her decipher the guy.

  “I’ve never heard of them,” Tabatha adds in her usual blunt way.

  “No, you wouldn’t. We’re a new music production company, looking to sign our first band. I really liked what I saw out there and I would love to chat a little bit with you.”

  Remi steps closer to the guy, narrowing her eyes in the process. “You look familiar.”

  Allan seems surprised by her comment. “I do?”

  “You are Sharona Westwood’s son,” Sticks says, earning Allan’s attention.

  “Wait? The Queen of Nashville Sharona?” I ask.

  He hesitates before saying, “Yes.”

  Holy shit. The son of a music legend liked our show. Not only that, but he’s from a music production company. I usually take Remi’s feelings with a grain of salt, but what if she had been right? She glances at me with a sparkle of excitement in her eyes.

  Tabatha raises her hands and shakes her head. “Stop and back up. Are you the owner of this new production company or is your mother behind it?”

  “My mother has nothing to do with it and yes, I own it.”

  Tabatha glances at me and I nod. He sounds legit. “Alright. Then let’s chat, Allan Eriksson,” she says.

  We head to one of the offices at the back of Ray’s Venue, which turns out to be a small meeting room. I’m trying my best to control the accelerated beating of my heart. I can’t believe a production company wants to talk to us. Okay, an unknown company, but still, it’s hard not to get excited.

  We take seats around the oval table and are soon enveloped by a heavy silence. We are all waiting for Allan to start talking, but the dude is now looking at Sticks intently. I can’t tell if he’s attracted to her or not. He’s definitely an unreadable person.

  “So…,” I say.

  He blinks a couple of times and looks in my direction. “Right. Sorry, I’m a bit in awe. You guys were fantastic out there. Blew my socks off.”

  I trade a glance with Remi. She’s fighting hard to keep the giggles bottled in. Who talks like that? His southern accent makes it even more amusing.

  “Thanks,” Tabatha replies.

  Allan notices Remi’s reaction and his face turns a bright shade of red. “Sorry. I tend to talk like my grandfather when I get excited.”

  “Could you tell us a bit more about your company?” I say, trying to steer the conversation back to business.

  “Sure. Like I said earlier, we’re a new music production company and we’re looking to sign our first band. We don’t want to take on more than four artists or bands a year. That’s how we differentiate ourselves from our competitors. We feel working with just a small group of talented individuals will allow us to really tap into their potential.”

  “You don’t even have a website,” Tabatha says while she’s looking at her phone. “How do we know you’re legit?”

  “We didn’t get around to building a website yet.”

  “Facebook page?” she continues.

  “Nope.”

  “How new is your company exactly?” She leans forward and watches the guy through slits.

  Allan’s face turns red again. “A week old.”

  Tabatha and I look at each other. She’s not happy about that and the truth is, Allan’s admission makes my enthusiasm dial down a notch as well.

  “I know it doesn’t sound good and I would have first taken care of the basic details like setting up a website etcetra, before approaching any talent. Unfortunately, my partner was adamant that I come check you out tonight.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you had partner,” I say.

  “Yes, I have a silent partner.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a silent partner to me,” Tabatha says and Remi glares at her.

  I don’t know why Tabatha keeps antagonizing Allan. Who cares if he has an investor? Most companies have several.

  Allan seems to be at loss for words for a moment. “Well, he used to be in the business before, so he has suggestions.”

  “What do you mean by that? Was he a musician? A producer?” I ask, unable to hide my curiosity.

  Allan shifts on his chair as if my question makes him uncomfortable.

  “He used to be in a band,” he finally confesses.

  “Don’t leave us hanging like that. Who is he?” Remi leans forward, eager to know who the mysterious investor is. I guess at this point, we all are.

  “Well, I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.”

  “Why not?” Tabatha asks, and Allan turns in her direction.

  “Because they are going to build up mystery and momentum surrounding his identity, and only make a big revelation when the time is right,” Sticks answers before Allan can, earning a smile from him.

  I’m amazed as well. It sounds like Sticks’ has some background in marketing, which is always a plus.

  “Exactly,” Allan continues. “He also doesn’t want to influence anyone because of his high profile. But let me assure you, if you sign with us, you’ll be in excellent hands.”

  “You want to sign us?” Tabatha sits up straighter in her chair.

  My heart jams against my ribcage and my legs begins to bounce under the table.

  “Absolutely.” Allan pulls a stack of papers from his messenger bag. “I had a feeling that tonight I would find our first talent.” His voice is earnest and sincere. He pauses briefly and looks down at the papers in his hands. “This is usually not how things work, but I brought a sample of the contract we are prepared to offer you.” He slides it over to Tabatha who quickly scans through the document.

  “Like I said, that’s a sample contract. Your final contract would be more specific. I can forward it to your manager.”

  “I’m the manager,” Tabatha replies without taking her eyes off the papers in her hands.

  “Oh, okay then. Here’s my cell phone number.” Allan stands up and distributes his business cards to everyone. “Call me when you’re ready.”

  “I gotta go,” Sticks announces suddenly.

  “Really? I was hoping we could grab some drinks.” Allan sounds disappointed.

  I wouldn’t mind having drinks with Allan if only to get to know him better. But Tabatha shakes her head and says, “I would like to read this contract carefully first.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll look forward to your call.”

  During the ride back to Littleton, we can’t stop talking about Allan and his proposal. Well, everyone is chatting excitedly besides Sticks, who just remains quiet looking out the window. I haven’t been able to figure her out yet.

  When we pass the Welcome to Littleton sign, Taba
tha asks if she should drop Sticks home first. We are all going back to Tabatha’s to pour through every single line of the sample contract.

  “If you don’t mind. I’m beat. You can fill me in on your decision tomorrow,” she says.

  “It’s your decision too, Sticks. You are part of the band now.” Remi twists in the front seat, a frown on her face.

  Sticks removes her baseball cap and runs a nervous hand through her hair, messing up her ponytail in the process. “This is happening so fast.”

  “And it’s all because of you. You are our lucky charm.” Remi smiles.

  “I hope I don’t disappoint,” she mumbles so low, I can barely hear it.

  “So, home or my place?” Tabatha probes again.

  “Your place.”

  Tabatha’s parents’ suburban, two-story house is Wreck of the Day’s headquarters. Her parents support her dreams one hundred percent and go out of their way to accommodate the band’s needs. Mr. Larouche, Tabatha’s father, even gave up his two-car garage and soundproofed the space, giving the band a permanent place to practice.

  Getting detention in junior high was the best thing that happened to me that year. It was when I met Tabatha. She was an angry teen back then, dealing with her own demons, just like I was, and we totally clicked. But instead of getting into more trouble than we could handle, we turned our angst into music.

  The light on the porch is the only source of illumination, the rest of the house is shrouded in darkness. It’s already past three in the morning, so no surprise there. We stopped at an In and Out on the way home, eliminating the need to scavenge the fridge in the main house. Instead, we trudge to the back of the house to Tabatha’s place.

  The décor is nothing you would expect from Tabatha if you were to judge by her clothing choices. The place is minimalist to the point of being painfully bare, with white walls and white furniture, and only a few splashes of black here and there. The furniture aesthetics emulates the sixties, and anyone who knows Tabatha well, will immediately get the 2001: A Space Odyssey reference.