“I guess,” sighed Jake sadly. “Todd still gets my vote but I’ll need to find a new guitar tech.”
“Anyone in mind?”
Jake shook his head.
“Plenty of time, son,” soothed Jethro with a warm smile. “Now, we need to combine forces and get Mr Court over there into rehearsals for his launch show on November 7th.”
“Finding a new guitar tech might be easier than that!” laughed Jake, glancing through the store to where Garrett stood behind the cash desk.
“Well, he needs to do something. Tickets for his show at the Gramercy Theater go on sale on Friday morning. He’s got a week to pull a show together.”
Over dinner, Jethro broached the subject of the album launch with Garrett. Both he and Jake watched the older musician’s face closely, trying to gauge his reaction. In true Garrett style, he revealed very little but, grudgingly, agreed that Jethro was right.
“Jake, care to jam a few numbers after dinner?”
“Any time,” agreed Jake warmly.
“Guess it’s time to re-enter the dragon’s lair,” muttered Garrett, almost under his breath.
“The what?” quizzed Jake as he topped up his own and Garrett’s wine glass with the last of the red wine.
“My home studio,” explained Garrett. “It’s in the basement.”
“Didn’t know you had a rehearsal space here?”
“The gothic palace has many secrets,” replied Garrett cryptically. “Bring your ladies down with you. I’ve a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
When their meal was over, Garrett excused himself and asked Jake to meet him downstairs at nine-thirty. Before Jake could ask where downstairs, his host said “Press the dragon button on the elevator panel. Bring your guitars and maybe warm up that voice a bit too.”
Leaving Jethro to tidy up the kitchen, Jake went up to his room to run through his vocal warm-up routine and to gather his guitars together. He could feel nerves gathering in the pit of his stomach at the thought of entering Garrett’s private rehearsal space. He’d expressed his concerns to Jethro before he’d left the kitchen but the old man merely said, “It’s Garrett’s space you’re entering, not Salazar’s. He had a separate studio in the attic. I believe it’s been sealed off since his death.”
Knowing that this space wasn’t the late Salazar Mendes’ space eased Jake’s anxiety somewhat as he entered the small elevator. Despite the number of times he’d used the elevator, he’d never paid attention to the small green dragon button below the one that said B. Smoothly the elevator glided down and the doors opened to reveal a small, dark hallway. The walls were stone and there were two lit, mock flaming sconces, one mounted either side, their flames casting shadows over the rough cold stonework. At the far end, there was a black closed door with a large green dragon design expertly painted on it. As he drew closer to it, Jake smiled. Lori’s initials were painted in small gold letters just below the tip of the dragon’s tail.
Taking a deep breath, he knocked then opened the door. Inside, the dragon’s lair was vast. Continuing with the Oriental theme, everything was black or jade green with some gilt-edged paintings hung on the black walls.
“Very dramatic,” commented Jake, gazing round admiringly. “Beats my basement.”
“Thank you,” said Garrett quietly. “I wanted to create something a bit different down here. My music room in London was always so clinical. White. Cold. A blank canvas almost. Here I wanted the opposite.”
“It’s incredible!” declared Jake, wandering round inspecting the artwork.
Each of the paintings was of a different dragon, all in keeping with the dragon on the door.
“When did Lori paint these for you?” he asked, the sight of her initials hitting him like a knife to the heart.
“Must be about ten years ago,” replied Garrett, looking thoughtful. “She was reluctant to take the commission on as it didn’t involve an album cover. Part of the deal was that I’d record an album one day to tie in with the theme. Lori designed the artwork for that at the same time. It’s a fabulous cover with all of these dragons on it. Pity I’ve yet to make the record.”
“Plenty of time for that,” said Jake, setting his guitars down. “Let’s get this one launched first.”
“True,” conceded Garrett, sounding weary before they’d even begun. “Where do you think we should start?”
“Hey, what’s this “we”? This is your show, not mine,” corrected Jake. “You tell me what you need me to do.”
“Help me work out a set list for a start.”
“That I can do,” Jake agreed. “But it’s your show so there needs to be a lot of you in the set.”
Producing a legal pad from a hidden cupboard in the black lacquer wall, Garrett opened it at a blank page and stared at the lined paper.
“Where’s the track listing for the album?” asked Jake. “Let’s start by deciding how many of those you want to include.”
“It’s here,” answered Garrett, opening up a file on his cell phone. “And we’re playing all of them.”
“There you go with that “we” thing again,” joked Jake, sensing how anxious his friend was. “Ok, that’s a start. Write them down. Decide if you are playing them in the same order or if you want to group them differently.”
It took the two musicians until midnight to agree on a two-hour, twenty song, set. While they discussed the options, Jake had made a few phone calls in an effort to get some guests along to support Garrett on the night. Eventually, with a few favours called in, Garrett seemed comfortable with the plan.
“Pity Ellen and the boys aren’t in town,” mused Garrett as he read over the list of songs. “Black Heart Dark Mind would be perfect for Ellen to sing on.”
“Who sang it on the record?” quizzed Jake curiously.
“Some
