A Song for Julia (31 page)

All kinds of thoughts ran through my head when she said that. I’m not being rational? Who the hell was she to say that? And why would I want to be rational about something this important, anyway? 

“For Christ’s sake, Julia. I asked you to negotiate a contract with the record company, not take over my life!”

Her eyes narrowed, and she squeezed the steering wheel, her hands compressing into fists, and she said. “No. You asked me to manage the band. Now will you let me do that?”

I furiously took a drag from my cigarette and looked out the window. Then I said, “Maybe it’s a bad idea to mix up our personal life and the band.”

“Little late for that,” she said. “Though if you want to get the band together and fire me, feel free.”

Her voice was shaking as she said it. I didn’t know if it was anger or sadness. I replied, “What I want is for you to listen to me. Some bands spend years—many years—without ever getting an opportunity like this. This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

She shouted, “I know that, Crank! I know that! And I’m doing everything I can to make it work! I need you to back off and have some confidence in me, all right? Unless you were planning on doing this yourself and having me as window dressing, in which case you can take this thing and shove it up your ass!”

Her phone rang. Christ. I tossed my cigarette and lit another one. I was pissed. She fumbled with the phone for a second then flipped it open and snarled, “Hello?”

A moment later, she said, “Sorry … I was having a moment there.”

Pause. Then, in an excited voice, she said, “Oh, my God, you did? What did he think?”

I glanced over at her. Her face was animated, excited. It was … it was how I always wanted to see her. 

A moment later, she said, “Yes, of course. When?”

She frowned. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get a flight on that short of notice. I’ll try.”

A flight? Where was she going?

She listened, a crease appearing in her forehead, and then she said, “Okay. Okay. Yeah, all right. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

She hung up the phone, then said, “I need you to drive,” and swerved across all three lanes and into the breakdown lane.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“Just … switch with me, all right? I have to do this right now.”

Without another word, she shut off the car and jumped out. By the time I got my seatbelt off and started to shift out of my seat, she was already around the car. I was mystified. I didn’t say a word, just walked back around and got in, then started driving.

She was already dialing the phone. At least this was better than arguing with her. 

“Hi … I need to buy two tickets. Boston to Los Angeles, round trip … tomorrow, your earliest flight.”

What the hell? We’d planned on spending the day together tomorrow. It was the first Friday in weeks where I didn’t have work or rehearsal.

She grabbed a small notebook out of her purse and started writing. “Coach if you’ve got it … otherwise, whatever.”

She frowned. “First class is all you have? What’s that going to run?”

Jesus. First class on a flight tomorrow? That was going to cost a fortune. She winced. They must have told her the price.

“All right, that’s fine.” She gave them her name, then said, “Crank … does your driver’s license really say Crank?”

“Yeah,” I said, still confused.

“Okay … the other passenger is Crank Wilson. C-R-A-N-K. Yes, really. ”

Okay. Now I was … completely gobsmacked. She was buying tickets for both of us. To fly to LA. For reasons I didn’t know. What the hell was she up to?

“Okay, let me verify. 6:45 out of Boston. Return flight leaves LAX at 9:35 PM, arriving at Boston 9:30 Saturday morning?”

She paused, then said, “Visa,” and read off a credit card number.

A moment later, she said, “Thanks! Happy Thanksgiving!” and hung up the phone.

I drove in silence. A second later, she said, “Oh, my God. Almost four thousand dollars. My father’s going to kill me when he sees the bill. The band is going to have to reimburse me after we get the advance.”

I coughed and said, “What was that all about?”

“Oh, crap,” she said. “Hold on.” And then she started dialing again. Oh, for God’s sake. Was I at the absolute bottom of her list of people to talk with today?

“Mitch? Hey, it’s Julia. Okay … we’re on American Airlines. Flight gets in at 10:05 A.M. Should we cab to the office? Oh! Great. Well, I guess we’ll see you tomorrow then! And Mitch? Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You have no idea how much I owe you.”

She listened for a second then laughed. “All right. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”

She hung up the phone, then sat back and smiled.

I was gritting my teeth by this time. I lit another cigarette. I don’t normally smoke this much, but she was pissing me off.

“Spill,” I said.

She smiled. “Allen Roark is taking us to meet the president of White Dog Records tomorrow.”

I caught my breath, trying to process what she’d just said. “Allen Roark …
the
Allen Roark?”

She nodded. 

“Mitch played the song for him this morning. And so Roark called the President of White Dog, told him we had to meet right away … and … so you and I are flying to LA in the morning.”

I drove. And took a drag off my cigarette. And drove some more. She looked at me, waiting for me to respond. I took another drag off my cigarette and then spoke.

“Is this the part where I say I’m sorry? I should never have doubted you?”

She looked thoughtful then said, “Why don’t we save that for when you
really
piss me off.”

I burst into a laugh and shook my head. “I can’t believe we’re meeting Allen Roark tomorrow.”

“And the president of White Dog Records,” she said. Rubbing it in.

“He really liked the song?”

“Would he set up a meeting on this short notice if he didn’t? On Thanksgiving day, of all days?”

“I guess not. Can I tell Serena?”

She looked over at me, raising her eyebrows. “Serena doesn’t doubt me.”

“Oh shit,” I said. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I’ll forgive you eventually.”

“Do we have to go eat with your parents? Let’s shack up in a hotel and have wild mad makeup sex instead.”

She grinned at me. “We have to be up early tomorrow.”

“You’re killing me.”

And so, she navigated from her MapQuest directions, and I drove us into the wilds of the suburbs of Boston, where I’d spent exactly no time at all during my life. I was a pit rat, and spent too many years hanging with the punks and homeless kids around Cambridge and Somerville to ever be comfortable out in the pristine, upper middle class suburbs. I kept expecting to get run over by a horde of soccer moms driving SUVs. But here we were, driving up to a five-star restaurant with an award winning chef and her parents. I hoped we could keep it short. She could use the excuse of the early flight. Of course, her father would then wonder how she paid for first class tickets to LA. Better not mention the flight, I thought, if he was the one getting the bill.

Even that was hard to get my mind around. Who gives their kids credit cards? Especially one with a limit high enough you could just buy four thousand-dollar airplane tickets at the drop of a hat? That was crazy. And how had she arranged the meeting with Allen Roark, or even gotten him to listen to our song? He must have a thousand bands a week sending him demos. Julia had been the band’s manager for exactly two days. And she’d already arranged that. In some ways, it didn’t even seem fair. Was it really all about who you knew?

No. Maybe getting us to Roark this quickly was about who she knew. But him to like the song? That was all about the music. And I could own that. 

We finally got there. And I spied a family going in. The men were in suits and ties. The ladies were in dresses.

I looked down at myself. “I’m really not dressed right for this, am I?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Unless you showed up with a million dollars in the back of your own limo, my parents will never approve of you. Not much we can do about that.”

I looked over at her and grinned. “Who knows, Julia? You got us a meeting with Allen Roark and the head of White Dog Records? Maybe one of these days we’ll roll up together in the back of a limo.”

She laughed. “Don’t get your hopes up too high.”

And then I said something I shouldn’t have, something I’d never said before to a woman. It just came out, and the moment it did, my heart started racing in panic. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

She froze. Literally … just … froze in place. Her eyes went off to the side, and it reminded me so much of Sean I wanted to cry out. I shouldn’t have said it. It was too soon, and I knew she wasn’t ready to hear that yet. But damn it. It was true.

After a heart stopping few seconds, she looked back at me and gave me a small, tentative smile. “I’m not ready for that.”

And then she opened the passenger side door and got out of the car and slammed the door shut.

Damn it!

I got out of the car. She’d left her coat in the car and stood there, shivering, her arms crossed over her chest. I couldn’t get over how breathtakingly beautiful she was. And though she’d opened up a lot, it still wasn’t hard to see the hurt underneath. I walked over to her. “All right. Let me revise. I think you’re wicked cool.”

Her mouth quirked up on one side.

“I also think it’s hot that you wear sexy clothes like this. I have this insatiable urge to reach around to that zipper in the back …”

“Stop,” she said.

I leaned close and whispered, “Can I just chew on your ear? Just a little nip at the earlobe?”

“My parents can probably see us,” she replied, her voice almost at a whisper.

“Let’s shock them,” I said.

“Let’s go in where it’s warm.”

I leaned back and winked at her. She burst into laughter and uncrossed her arms, so I took her hand in mine, and we walked into the restaurant.

Okay. Definitely underdressed. I might have gotten away with the lack of tie, but my leather jacket, studded with spikes, band patches, chains embedded in the sleeves? Eyes all over the front of the restaurant darted in my direction when we walked in. The hostess, a thirtyish woman, looked at me with disapproval when we walked in. But she somehow smiled at Julia, who was standing maybe two inches from me. Go figure.

“May I help you?”

“Thompson party, please.”

“This way,” she said. She led us to the back of the restaurant, to what appeared to be a private room. And then we walked into another world.

Julia’s parents sat at opposite ends of a long table. Her father sat at the head of the table and was dressed in a tweed suit, with a vest. And a bow tie. I’m not kidding. He had a thick but well trimmed beard and salt and pepper hair, with fine creases, like crow’s feet, around his eyes. He stood when we entered, his eyes widening … no doubt in response to my appearance.

Julia’s mother was at the foot of the table. She had long, luscious black hair and wore a dress not dissimilar to Julia’s. She stood as well, and both parents approached us from opposite ends of the table.

As they approached, my eyes scanned the table. Two spots were open, directly next to her father’s seat. Obviously where Julia and I were intended to sit. 

Next to those spots, across from each other, were two of Julia’s sisters: a breathtaking girl, about eighteen, who also stood when we came in. She was easily six feet tall, with loose black hair almost to her waist, wearing a burgundy dress that highlighted her long, thin frame. Across from her was an eleven or twelve-year-old, still sitting, looking over the back of her chair at me with wide, almost alarmed eyes. Next to them, across from each other, were Julia’s twin sisters, about six years old. They looked nothing alike, one dark, and the other blonde. The youngest girl sat next to her mother. The young ones were looking at me like I’d been picked up in an alley behind the stadium, and they were worried I’d steal someone’s purse.

That wasn’t so different from the mother’s expression. I decided to head that shit off by being as charming as possible. “Mrs. Thompson,” I said, reaching for her hand and smiling. “Now I know where Julia got her beauty. I’m Crank Wilson.”

She smiled at me. “Crank,” she said. “What an intriguing name. This is my husband, Richard.”

I shook hands with Julia’s father. He had a concerned expression on his face, his eyes mostly slipping to Julia.

Julia and her mother kissed on the cheeks. It didn’t look very sincere.

“Come have a seat,” Mr. Thompson said. “Dinner will be here shortly, we’re having a glass of wine.”

I took the indicated seat, to Mr. Thompson’s right, next to the twelve-year-old.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Crank.”

She grinned at me. “I’m Alexandra. Is your name really Crank? Or did you make that up?” I was surprised to see a glass of wine next to her plate. I’d always heard that was a European custom, and Julia’s family had spent most of their lives traveling. Go figure. The twins had hot chocolate.

Julia stifled a laugh.

“Don’t you dare,” I said to Julia. 

That just made her laugh harder. So I said, “My parents originally named me something else. But I had it changed. Crank it is, Crank it will always be. Can I call you Alex?” I winked at Alexandra, and she giggled.

“Tell us about yourself, um, Crank,” said Mr. Thompson.

Oh, hell. This was awkward. Julia rescued me. 

“Crank is a very talented musician.”

“Oh, really,” Mrs. Thompson said. “That must be … interesting.”

The tall, hauntingly beautiful girl next to Julia said, “I’m Carrie.” She held her hand out to me, and I took it, gently. She was so thin she looked like she could break if the wind blew too hard. “I’ve heard your music. It’s intriguing.”

Mr. Thompson said, “I hope it’s not rude for me to say, I’m curious about the … business prospects of being a professional musician. Do you play in … bars and clubs? How does that actually work?”

We mostly worked for beer. Though that might be looking up.

“We’re negotiating a contract for a single right now,” I said. “It’s a tough job, no question, but I’m confident.”