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Sol.
“How much longer?”
“I don’t know, man. I’m doing everything I can but you really messed up this time. I can’t just make this one go away like the rest.”
I knew I’d fucked up and I also knew that Drew Oliver, my manager, was doing everything in his power to, once again, clean up a mess that I’d made. Regardless of the reasoning, I’d crossed a line that I shouldn’t have and truthfully, I would do it all over again.
Risk it all for family.
“You at least think he’ll settle?”
“Don’t know. He’s pretty fucking pissed. If this had happened behind closed doors, he might be more inclined to work something out. But you embarrassed him in a room full of artists that no longer respect him, Sol. That’s not so easy to overlook. His manhood is in question. You know how fragile the ego can be.”
“No, actually, I don’t. I know my dick is big. Got plenty of women who’d be willing to testify to that, so I don’t need to go throwing my weight around. Sheets pushed it too far and I could have lost him, Drew. He could have really fucking died. Do you know what that would have done to me? How that would have broken me? I don’t give a damn about Sheets’s ego. He went too far.”
“I know. I’m not questioning what you did or why. Would have done the same thing had you not gotten to him before I had a chance to.” Drew had been there from the beginning. He understood. “But regardless, if you want to keep him protected, this is how we handle things.”
“I hate this shit. I fucking hate it. He’s drowning a little, day-by-day, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to help him until this is handled. I need things settled.”
“I’m working on it. Night and day. I give you my word. Try to focus on the album. You write anything since I left?”
My attention jerked to the door of my bedroom where my baby brother Kaliq stood, dressed in all black. The hood of his sweatshirt draped over his head, the pants hanging low on his waist. His face was tight while his hands were shoved in his front pocket.
Drowning.
Angry.
Lost.
This kid was too damn dark and it was my fault.
“You were just here last week. Not like I had time.”
Drew had chartered a private jet for a one day trip here so I could sign some contracts required for an upcoming performance. He was trying to lock down any pending deals just in case things went left with my current situation.
Before he left, I promised I would have some new songs written. That still hadn’t happened.
“You wrote your second album in three days, Sol. Don’t give me that no time bullshit. I know what you’re capable of when you’re focused. Getfocused.”
“I hate being here. I’m not inspired for shit. I’ve already pissed off the label. The last thing I need to do is make matters worse by not meeting the timeline for this album but I’m not feeling anything but anger right now. I can promise you, you don’t want me putting that down on paper.”
“Yeah. That’s not gonna help the situation. The last thing we need right now is to cost them more money. Maybe get out the house and try to clear your head. There’s a place on Canal Street that you might like. They have live music, mostly rhythm and blues, you know that depressing shit you like.”
I brushed my hand down my face. “That depressing shit is what inspired all five of my triple-platinum albums. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
He found that amusing, releasing a rumble of a laugh before making clear, “Would never do that, man. My wife has expensive taste. Don’t need that type of weight on my shoulders.”
“I hope I mean more to you than a paycheck, Drew.”
I did. He had more than proved his loyalty over the years. I trusted him with my life and the lives of anyone who mattered to me.
Family.
“It’s never about the money. Do I need to remind you?”
“No, not at all, brother.”
