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“You think I don’t want the band to be a success?” I ask incredulously.
Her face softens. “I just don’t understand your argument that you’re going to lose your sound if you sell one song to someone else. You write songs for other people all the time. You make hits for others, but you won’t make one for yourself? Are you afraid of success?”
“Of course not.” I get up from the table. I thought she knew me, that she understood where I was coming from.
Frustrated, I jerk open the refrigerator and take out another beer. She gives me a worried look, like I can’t handle myself without a beer in my hand, so I shove it back in the refrigerator.
“Look, you write code, so you don’t understand what it’s like to be attached to your music. You’re not building toward something bigger.”
I know the words are a mistake before they even come out.
She stands up stiffly, ice in her voice and her eyes. “Just because I write code doesn’t mean I’m not attached to it or that I don’t care that the program I devoted four years of my life to so that girls could connect with their friends is now best known for porn. I may not make music, but I still do important things.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. “Landry, I’m sorry,” I apologize, but she’s already down the stairs and off the bus before my words can register. Then the coach starts filling up with people, and the opportunity is lost.
Hollister shoves through the crowd to get to me. “I’ve got a radio spot for you guys when we get to Phoenix. You gonna do it or are you too good for that?”
I grit my teeth, but manage a mocking response. “Still mad about the commercial, huh?”
“Still being the artiste, huh?” he shoots back.
“Some of us create shit and some just peddle it,” I retort, then regret it immediately when I spot Landry’s head right behind Hollister. She presses her lips together in disappointment. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” I say, feeling miserable. “Of course, we’re going to do your radio spot.”
Hollister glares at me. “You better. There’s an A/R woman coming from WriteWorld Records. Try to be charming, or are you too good for albums now, too?”
I swallow another retort.
Davis pops into view, pushing Hollister aside. “You hear about the A/R person?” he says excitedly.
I force a smile on my face. “I did.”
“You’re cool with that, right?”
His anxiousness spears me. Have I been such an uptight asshole about the music that the entire band thinks I’m not interested in cutting an album?
“Very cool. We should bring our gear and see if we can play an acoustic set for them.”
Davis slaps his hand across mine and leans out of the bus. “Hey, Rudd, grab my guitar, will ya? Let’s jam.”
* * *
Someone makes a pit of castoff clothes and garbage and starts burning it in the back of Rack-n-Ruin, the venue we just played. A few other people grab brush from the side of the road. We sit on seats pulled from someone’s van. They were meant to be removed, a guy promised me.
I look around for Landry and spot her standing next to Mike. Fuck, I hate that guy. I hate everything right now.
I want to throw the guitar on the ground, punch out Hollister, throw Landry over my shoulder and run out into the night.
I start off playing the A chord, then to G, D, and A again. It takes two more lines before Rudd catches on. I play the song fast, almost rapping it.
Secret lover. That’s. Who. You. Are.
Davis joins in at the pre-chorus, caught up in the mood. We’re all singing, pissed off for different reasons. Rudd and Davis are mad at me for not selling the song. Ian’s banging his hands hard against the electronic drum set because he’s worried that I’m going to fuck up this magical creation called FMK because my dick’s too attached to Landry. And me? I’m pissed off at everything right now.
At Landry for not understanding where I’m coming from. At Rudd and Davis for being shortsighted. At Ian for not trusting me. At myself, most of all. I’m the real asshole here.
I love my dad, but I’ve learned lessons from him that I don’t want to repeat. But in my stubbornness, am I on the verge of ruining a really great thing? I can’t get Landry’s hurt look out of my head. I should’ve never yelled at her.
I was frustrated because, yeah, I did want to fuck her whenever the urge came upon me without her worrying what Davis would say. But my feelings for her are so much more than physical. I love her.
