“Like flight attendants?” Myles said. “Nah. Just stocked with the same kind of stuff my bus would have. I can take care of myself, and so can the guys. I do want a full cockpit crew, though, and the best available. I ain’t crashing because a half-rate pilot got tired and had no backup.”
“Smart. Heard some stories, I’ll tell ya.”
Myles snorted. “Yeah, me too. Scared me shitless. Make sure the pilots are vetted ten ways to Sunday. Perfect records, lots of flight time. I want Jesus himself flying that jet, yeah?”
“I got you, Myles. Flying out of Dallas?”
“For now, yeah. I’ll let you know if and when that changes. First flight will be Dallas to Ketchikan as soon as it can be arranged, so make sure that gets filed and we’re ready to go the second the jet and the pilots are ready.”
“Will do. Okay, boss, I’ll talk to you in Tokyo, if not before.”
I waited for Myles to end the call, and then he turned to me and I said, “So. You bought a jet?”
He laughed. “Not quite yet. Knowing Tony, he’s gonna ignore me and get me something stupid. As long as I can afford it, I guess it’s fine. He knows I don’t like debt, so he won’t go too bonkers. Hopefully.”
I laughed. “You just gave him five million dollars to spend. That’s bonkers.”
“Nah, jets are stupid expensive. Especially if you want to fly international, which I do. But I only need it big enough for the band, and maybe a few extras. Ten-person max, I’d say. Tony ain’t stupid, and he knows my taste.”
I sighed. “Five million dollars.”
He shook his head. “Don’t wig out about it, Lex. It’s just money. I’d be doing this gig if I was still in a beat-up old church van hauling my gear in a trailer. I don’t mind admitting I like the fame most of the time, and the money all the time, but I ain’t fixated on it. I’m just me.”
“How much are you worth?” I asked out of curiosity. Getting to know Myles over the past couple of months, I never saw him be stupid with money, nor flaunt it in gaudy or ostentatious ways.
He shrugged. “Ten? Fifteen? I don’t know. I had Tony take a big percentage of my income and invest it from the very beginning, so that if this gig ever fizzles out, or some sort of crazy shit happens, I’ll be okay. He’s a wizard with money, so he’s done really well by me. I still give him at least fifty percent of my total net income after taxes to invest, and I try to live off of twenty-five percent or less, putting the rest into savings. So I’ve banked a lot, and invested a lot, in diverse areas—real estate, stocks, shit like that. I’m part owner of a minor league baseball club here in Dallas, and I’ve got a few used car lots, a handful of strip malls, some condo buildings. Lots of business, lots of diversity, lots of various streams of income, so if my music stops earning, I’ll have income.”
“Smart.” I gestured at the building. “So what about this condo building?”
He grinned. “I own it. Actually, I bought the land it’s on, and invested in the builder who built it, and funded the project. I didn’t design this condo itself, and I never planned on living here full-time, so it’s not mine, in that sense. It’s just a penthouse condo and it hasn’t sold to anyone else yet so, until it does, I use it as a home base when I’m in town. If it sells, I’ll use one of the others. And actually, my local real estate guy says he’s got somebody sniffing around.”
“So just from music, how much would you be worth?”
He frowned. “I dunno. Not that much, but not chump change.”
“Must not be if five million dollars for a jet is something you can do.”
He nodded. “It’s an investment. I’m gonna lease the bus to another act, and when I’m not using the jet I’ll charter it out and make bank on it. Might even end up with another one and run a little line out of the DFW airport.”
I shook my head, laughing. “I would never have thought of you as a businessman.”
He shrugged. “Well, it’s a result of my upbringing. I grew up dirt poor. Dad and Grandpa didn’t make shit. Grandpa did the grind for fifty years, saved enough to buy a little spread to retire on, and Dad did a little better, but he never invested, never saved, and turned out he had a gambling problem, so by the time he died he was broke as shit. Living with Crow when Dad was touring, I wasn’t…poor, per se, because the club had money and so did his parents, but it wasn’t mine. They just fed me, clothed me, and housed me out of the goodness of their hearts. Dad would send money once a month, but it was never enough to really keep me the way I needed. But he had a drinking issue and the gambling issue, and was grinding the honky-tonk circuit for a few grand a night plus tips. I had nothing of my own, is the point. So when I started making money, I vowed I’d be smart about it. Save, invest, and have plenty to retire on.”
I laughed. “And here’s me with barely two pennies to rub together.”
He tilted his head, eyeing me. “Is there something you need, Lex?”
I snorted. “Yeah, actually. I need to figure out my fucking life.” I smiled at him, going for sweet. “I’m not asking for money, Myles. And I never will.”
“You can, though. If you need anything just let me know.”
I fought back irrational anger. “I know, Myles. You give me whatever I ask for and then some. But I’m not a sugar baby. I don’t do handouts. I’m uncomfortable even living here with you, if that’s what you call
