The Prince of Punk Rock (46 page)

“Yeah,” Angel said, covering his
forehead with his hand.

“You’re a hard man to get a hold of
Mr. Garcia.”

The voice on the other end was
booming, and Angel wished he would just shut up.
 
“Who is this and what do you want?”

“My name is Ron Ableman.
 
I’m CEO of Falcon Records.”

Angel sat up at attention.
 
Everyone in the music industry knew Ron
Ableman.
 
The man needed no introduction.
His reputation preceded himself.

“I looked for you last night, but
you were nowhere to be found.
 
I saw your
set.
 
It was phenomenal. And you should
know that I rarely scout out talent myself.
 
I made the exception last night.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not going to mix words, Mr.
Garcia.
 
Falcon Records wants to
represent you.
 
I know Galaxy and
Freehold have already been in touch with you.
 
We were all waiting for you in your dressing room after the show.
 
But I want to meet with you today.
 
Right now.
 
Are they willing to go into the office on a Sunday afternoon?
 
I don’t think so.
 
But I am.
 
That’s how serious I am about an offer.”

“I can be there in an hour.”

After Angel scribbled down the
address and hung up the phone, he jumped in the air and hollered.
 
Then he remembered that Mr. Ableman said two
other records companies were also trying to reach him.
 
He returned their phone calls and made
appointments for Monday morning, but his gut told him it was only a
formality.
 
He would sign a contract with
Falcon Records today.

He ran upstairs and smacked Tommy
on his bare butt cheek.
 
“Wake up, my
sleeping prince!
 
Wake up!”

“What the fuck!
 
Knock it off, Angel!”
 
Tommy was cranky and hung over and didn’t
bother to pick his head up from the pillow.

Jessi still hadn’t moved.
 
Angel grabbed her arm and shook it.
 
“Jessi, wake up.”

He let go of her arm and it fell
over the side of the bed with a thump.
 
He stared at the two of them.
 
Tommy looked like he was in a coma.
 
Jessi looked dead.

His own hangover miraculously
disappeared as soon as he heard the news of a possible record deal.
 
Maybe it would do the same for them, or at
least give them a reason to open their eyes.
 
“You two better wake up.
 
We’re
meeting with Falcon Records in an hour.”

It took Tommy a few seconds to
react.
 
First he rubbed one eye, and then
he bolted upright. “What’d you just say?”

“I just got off the phone with
Falcon Records.
 
We’re meeting Ron
Ableman in an hour, and we have appointments with Freehold and Galaxy
tomorrow.
 
I had six messages on my phone
from last night.”

“Oh my God!
 
Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

“Nope.”
 
Angel looked over at Jessi.
 
She was still passed out and hadn’t
moved.
 
“You better make sure she’s
breathing.”
 
Jessi was hammered
last.
 
Visions of her tossing back shots
with everyone at the bar took the humor out of his statement.
 
He panicked.
   
He ran to Jessi, picked her head up and
held her face in his hands.
 
He
frantically called her name.
 
She stirred
and moaned, but still didn’t open her eyes.

“Jesus Christ.
 
You scared the fuckin’ shit out of me,
Jessi.”
 
He headed to the bathroom to
shower.
 
“Wake her up,” he told Tommy
over his shoulder.
 
“We gotta get going.”

Five minutes later, Jessi jumped in
the shower with him.
 
She kissed him and
shoved her tongue in his mouth.
 
She
tasted sour.
 
Rotten.
 
It was the taste of alcohol fermenting in her
mouth all night.
 
It revived the nausea
from his hangover and he turned away.

“Jeez, sweetheart, gargle or
something first.”

She covered her mouth with her hand
and the color drained from her face.
 
Her
cheeks went from a healthy rosy hue to ash white in a fraction of a
second.
 
She ran out of the shower and
promptly vomited in the toilet.

The smell of puke hit Angel and
made him queasy. He thought he might heave right there in the shower.
 
He called to Tommy for help, but he didn’t
know if Tommy heard him or not over the running water.

Jessi looked pathetic.
 
She was still huddled over the toilet and
looked miserable.
 
He couldn’t leave her
there.
 
He went to her, rubbed her back
and put a wet cloth on her forehead.
 
She
sat back on the cold tile bathroom floor and held the towel to her head.
 
He squatted next to her, dripping wet, with
his junk hanging between his legs almost touching the floor.

Tommy strolled into the bathroom,
full dressed and ready to go.
 
He stopped
dead as soon as he saw Jessi on the floor.
 
“Are you alright?”
 
He knelt down
and looked into her eyes.
 
“Did you take
something last night?”

“I don’t remember.
 
I’m . . . I’ll be OK.”

Angel and Tommy helped her to her
feet.
 
She looked a little better, but
Angel wasn’t sure.
 
He needed her at the
meeting with Mr. Ableman.
 
He couldn’t do
it without her.
 
He put his hands on
Jessi’s shoulders and looked into her eyes.
 
“This is the most important day of our lives.
 
Pull it together, sweetheart.
 
I need you.”

Angel didn’t think Jessi was going
to make it, but she sucked it up.
 
She
was a pro, and she dressed like one, too. She wore a waist length black jacket
with two center buttons.
 
The sleeves
were made out of leather and the top half of the lapel, the part that went
around the back of her neck, was also made from leather.
 
It looked sharp against the color of her
hair.
 
She wore the jacket with a simple
black pencil skirt.
 
It was short, mid
thigh, and a neat row of studs were embellished down each side.
 
She looked professional, but with a rock and
roll edge.
 
Angel complimented her on the
outfit, and he was flabbergasted to find out that she made it herself.
  
She really needed to market her own clothing
line instead of putting all of her energy into the band.

The corporate headquarters of
Falcon Records was located on one of the top floors of
Rockefeller
Center
.
 
The plush office had an air of old money –
dark ornate wood moldings, rich maple flooring, large impressive desks and
floor to ceiling windows to brighten up the imposing décor.

The receptionist greeted them with
polite and cheerful indifference, even though it was obvious she wasn’t happy
about being called in on a Sunday afternoon.
  
She escorted them to a massive set of mahogany doors. Before she had a
chance to knock, Mr. Ableman stepped outside his office.
 
He was the epitome of a rich corporate
executive – expensive dark grey suit, gold cufflinks, stark white shirt,
matching grey tie and that was probably a Rolex on his wrist.
 
Tall and astute, his posture lived up to his
reputation.
 
Fine lines at the corners of
his eyes and dark hair, peppered at the temples, portrayed years of
wisdom.
 
“Thank you for seeing me on such
short notice, Mr. Garcia.” His handshake was firm and commanding.

Mr. Ableman eyed Tommy and Jessi
with displeasure.
 
“I need to make
something clear.
 
This meeting is with
you, not with the other members of your band.”

Angel’s stomach tightened.
 
He had a sinking feeling that this meeting
wasn’t going to be as easy as he originally thought.
 
He needed to be just as assertive as Mr.
Ableman.
 
“I don’t go anywhere without my
assistant.”
 
He nodded towards Jessi.
 
“She comes in with me.”

As Angel walked into Mr. Ableman’s
office, with Jessi behind him, he looked back at Tommy, who was standing
perfectly still and appeared to be holding his breath.
 
Angel dipped his head.
 
It was gesture of reassurance and he hoped
Tommy understood what it meant.

Mr. Ableman sat in the leather
chair behind his impressive baroque desk.
 
The curtain of windows behind him offered a backdrop of
Central Park
.
 
He
clasped his fingers together and placed them on the top of his desk.
 
“My daughters have been telling me about you
for years, Mr. Garcia.
 
I wish I would
have listened to them sooner.”

“Your daughters?”
 
Angel shook his head.
 
“I don’t understand.”

“My daughters.
 
Audra and Kira.
 
They’ve been trying to persuade me to listen
to you sing, but, quite frankly, I thought they were exaggerating.
 
 
I
had no idea that
that you were really as talented as they boasted.
 
They speak very highly of you.”

“Audra and Kira are your
daughters?”
 
He couldn’t keep the
surprise out of his voice.
 
He had no
idea that their father owned one of the most powerful record labels in the
country.
 
They never said anything. He
didn’t even know they were sisters.

“Yes.
 
My girls begged me to come to America Rocks
last night, and the only reason I made it was because a client called and
cancelled a meeting.”

“Audra and Kira are very
sweet.
 
I –”

“Thank you, but enough about my
personal life.
 
I’m here to talk business.
I’m going to be blunt, Mr. Garcia.
 
I’m
not going to finesse you with small talk.
 
Falcon Records wants to make you an offer, but we’re not interested in
the rest of your band.
 
We want Angel
Garcia, not Immortal Angel.”

Angel had his poker face on.
 
No smiles.
 
No frowns.
 
No reaction.
 
“I don’t go anywhere without my band.”

“Before you let loyalties get in
the way, hear me out.
 
We’re prepared to
offer you a very generous contract. You’re the face of this band.
 
You’re the draw.
 
We could replace everyone else with musicians
who have more talent and no one would ever notice.
 
They can all be replaced.”

Angel folded his arms across his
chest and put his shoulders back.
 
“No.
 
Me and Tommy are the face of
this band.
 
We’re the draw.
 
The two of us.
 
Together.
 
And I sincerely doubt you’re going to find a better guitar player than
Tommy Blade who isn’t already under contract.
 
Tommy can’t be replaced.
 
Didn’t
you hear what he did during some of his guitar solos last night?”

Mr. Ableman dismissed it with the
wave of his hand.
 
“That was all pomp and
circumstance.”

“No, that was talent.
 
Raw, unabridged talent.”

Mr. Ableman put the palms of his
hands on the edge of his desk and leaned forward.
 
“Let me give you a little piece of advice,
kid.
 
I’ve been in this business for 35
years.
 
You got talent.
 
You got the makings of a star.
 
You don’t need those other gentlemen.
 
Whatever loyalty you feel toward your guitar
player, or to the other members of your band, move past it.
 
They’re only going to hold you back.”