She-Rox: A Rock & Roll Novel (42 page)

“Celina, I haven’t heard you talk like this since Stevie Nicks left Fleetwood Mac and recorded ‘Belladonna.’” Bryn was delighted to hear the old Celina. She missed her. At Tricia’s wedding, Celina was all “Oh darling” this and “Oh sweetie” that, choking the air out of the reception hall.

“
I know,”
Celina said. “I remember how long I searched in vain for an all-female group that could perform and hold a stage, shutting men up who complained ‘women can’t rock.’ But these four girls came along, and so I’m—well, I’m getting back into the business.”

“You can’t be serious—at your age?”

“I’ll let that remark slide. I guess we’re even now.”

Bryn glanced at the dirty gardening gloves on the counter. “I don’t know....If they’re going on the road in September, that’s when school starts.”

“You think I’m asking you to do this
gratis?
Bryn, I’m offering you a job.”

“I’ve got a job, Celina.”

“Not like this one, you don’t.”

“Okay . . . I’m listening.”

“I’ve done something that I think will pay off and pay off big, and if you’re in it with me, I can promise you that it will not only be worth your while, but you’ll be able to sell that shack your living in, purchase a home in a far better neighborhood and have enough cash left over to buy yourself a seat on any botanical garden board you wish.”

After hearing her home referred to as a “shack” Bryn nearly hung up, but instead she pressed, “Keep going.”

“The tour will last anywhere from four to six months and I’ll give you a base pay of seventy thousand dollars—that is, if you complete the tour and bring these girls home intact—and by intact I mean pretty much drug and pregnant free. So, you’ll make roughly what you do in half the time, leaving you free the next six months.”

“That’s not going to get me into a better neighborhood.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Celina said. “Not only will you get the base pay, but seeing how you are one of my oldest and dearest friends, I will do something unheard of—I’ll cut you in on the Katz.”

“Katz? Speak English, Celina.”

“It’s really difficult to tell you in dollar terms how much you’ll make—mainly because by the time the pie gets divided, it doesn’t resemble a pie anymore. Let me put it to you this way . . . a reasonable expectation would be that you’d get approximately five cents for each CD sold worldwide. Every time that particular CD is purchased, you get a cut. It’s a very small cut, but it adds up over time.”

Hearing the explanation, Bryn wondered, “So, let’s say this band is as popular as Stevie Nicks and has a number one hit.”

“Um,” Celina hummed, “If I remember correctly that album sold over four million copies. So if you times five cents by four millions what does that come out to?”

“That’s like two hundred thousand dollars.”

“Right—add that to the sixty and you could end up with over a quarter of a million dollars for six months’ worth of work. You got somebody else offering you a deal like that?”

“That almost gets me where I want to be.”

“You bring those girls back to me unscathed and I will guarantee you a full time job at Moonshine . . . with me.”

“What’s the likelihood of this group even getting off the ground?”

“Me calling you up, saying ‘Bryn I’m going back to work,’ isn’t enough?”

“I don’t know anything about the music business, Celina. I’m a biology teacher.”

“Bryn, you are so much more than that. I have never seen anybody work people the way you do. You have this
knack
of finessing the most unruly of characters. It’s a talent, really, and I need someone who has that special ability. It’s in short supply these days.”

Bryn stammered, “I
f-f-finesse?
”

“
Yeah, ya do.”

“Could I finesse a lunch at Spago’s and get the contract for this deal to my attorney so he can look it over?”

Wind Song Stage Line Co., San Fernando Valley, CA August 13, 2007

The bus was a silver bullet, all shiny with outer black wide stripes along the bottom where it met the giant wheel wells. It had been cleaned up, renovated and was ready to take the next act out on the road. With two plasma screen TV’s, in-motion satellite TV, X-Box, satellite radio, internet, leather couches, swiveling captain’s chairs, kitchen, refrigerator, sink, stove, microwave, bathroom, and Bose surround sound system, it was more than ready to rock and roll. Six bunk beds came complete with flip-down TV, VCR-DVD player and 10/12 volt combos. At the very back of the bus was a door which opened up to a very small, but effective recording studio with the necessary components all built in to the dash, so the band could get their ideas down while touring.

Celina’s personal assistant had called that morning advising the girls to get over and check it out before a lease was signed. There was no way she was going to obligate any portion of the advance money if the Katz weren’t “happy.” It was of supreme importance that they felt as though they’d just stepped onto Barbie’s Dream Bus with enough self-indulgent toys and appointments to humor every vain bone in their primed-for-stardom bodies.

The band pulled into the huge parking area where Wind Song kept all their Stageline coaches. Eventually an employee showed up with a set of keys and unlocked their potential home away from home. The smell of refurbishing hit them before they were met with the butter-cream leather couches. The renovations were state of the art. They surveyed the shiny gold bathroom knobs. A small, but effective Jacuzzi tub met with a thumbs up from each one. They checked out the bathroom, the kitchenette, the main living area and the small recording studio in the back.

“This is
awesome
,” Raven exclaimed as she plopped herself down on one of the couches in the main living area. She dropped her long, slender arms across its back and fingered the premium lambskin. Sinking into the cushion of the luxury liner, she said, “This is more comfortable than my parent’s furniture at home, which isn’t saying much, but still.”

It was plush, with all its sparkling stainless-steel appliances, chrome fixtures, gleaming granite, and glowing oak-stained wood complementing honey-colored leather upholstery. Gretchen pulled open the oven door, looked inside, and remarked, “I doubt this will ever get used.”

Ginger lay down on one of the bottom bunks, checking it for firmness while Eddie poured over the digitized recording equipment, all wondrously rack mounted at the back of the bus. There were two chairs on rollers so she could sit down with an instrument and plug into a patch bay, hooked up to a laptop.

Raven looked out the front window. A silver Rolls Royce Phantom pulled up and stopped, blocking the bus. “Hey, Eddie,” she yelled, “Does Slade have a Rolls Royce?”

“No.”

“Well, someone just pulled up.”

Ginger got off the bunk and joined Gretchen in getting a closer look at the swanky ride. “Who do you think it is?” she asked.

Inside The Rolls Royce Phantom

“Before you meet these girls, there are a couple of things I want to tell you. It will give you a better perspective.”

“Okay,” Bryn said, looking down at Celina’s flawless French manicure, then out the dark tinted windows that protected the identity of the car's occupants.

“I’ll be honest,” Celina stated, “there’s not a lot I know about these girls, personally anyway, but I’ve got a pretty good idea of the band dynamics. I met them at the Troubadour and they’ve been to our home for a party. I was also in Lanni’s office when they signed their contracts. After that, I popped in to the studio from time to time while they were recording their new CD.” Celina remembered all the hours the Katz had spent getting the new material recorded so they’d have a CD to push on tour. With Eddie’s accident, the CD, tour plans, all the necessary sound equipment coordination with Slade’s band, it had been a whirlwind of activity.

“Raven’s the bassist. She’s also the band equalizer,” Celina explained. “She’ll work with you. But the two blondes, Gretchen and Ginger, they’re sisters and they are going to be tough, especially Gretchen. She started this band and I don’t know how well she’s going to take being mothered.”

“They
do
know I’m coming, don’t they?” Bryn asked.

“Ah—not really.”

“
Celina!
”

“
Not to worry,”
she said. “They have one of two choices. They can either accept you as their bus consort, or they can stay home. I’ve got a minor on board and I’m not taking any chances. And speaking of the minor, her name is Eddie, and she’s really the one I’m concerned about.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She was in an accident about three, four weeks ago. She fell off a stage, sprained her ankle and whacked her head pretty good.”

“Was she drunk?”

“Bryn, these girls aren’t like that. If they were, I’d be at Umberto’s having my eyebrow’s waxed. I do, however, need you to keep a close eye on her—check for any headaches, excessive sleeping—things of that nature. If you suspect anything, for any reason, you call me right away. I’ll get you a neurologist.”

“A
neurologist
? Can’t you just get another player if she’s that messed up?”

“It’s not that simple. Remember when we would get into those arguments about the effects music had on plants—and I told you that piping opera into your garden would speed up their growth?”

“How could I ever forget
that?
” Bryn smiled. “If I went to graduate school that was a possible thesis paper, but it lacks research. You kept pushing that one opera singer—”

“Giavenetta Constantini.”

“Yeah, that was her.”

“That’s Eddie’s aunt. She’s the main reason I signed this band.”

“You signed a band because this girl’s aunt can sing?”

“This girl is the talent, Bryn. I’ve got a young kid who’s unbelievably gifted. The older girls fight to keep up with her, especially since she’s younger. The better she plays, the better they play. She’s the grease that moves the wheels. But having said that,” Celina paused, “I’m pretty sure those two sisters gang up on her. And if that’s true, I can’t have her walking off mid-tour.”

“You want me to referee their cat fights?”

“No,” Celina said, “I want you to keep that from ever happening. I want you to be the peacemaker that I know you are.”

Bryn tried to get a glimpse of these girls through the tinted glass. “I ain’t Mother Theresa.”

“You’re the closest version I’ve ever known. That’s why I called you.”

“But I thought you said you didn’t know them very well.”

“I don’t. But it didn’t take long for me to figure all that out. It was obvious.” Celina pushed the button to let down the middle partition, then told the driver, “Leo, we’re ready.” She looked back at Bryn. “That’s why I cut you in on the deal. You have an interest in keeping the band together and happy. The happier they are, the better they’ll play—the better they play, the better the reviews. Reviews, interviews, gigs, photo ops all culminate in sales. The more sales, the more money in your pocket, get it?”

Bryn didn’t know whether to feel exultant or manipulated.

As the two women emerged from the Phantom, Gretchen took in Celina’s expertly coiffed blonde hair and guessed, “Isn’t that Lanni’s wife?”