Part of him was dreading the meeting at the band’s record company offices. Over the years he’d developed a sound understanding of how the business side of things worked but it held little interest for him. An email from Maddy had included the agenda for the day plus a note to say that the band had to decide what to do about naming a replacement guitarist. The thought of formalising a replacement for Rich filled him with dread. Naming a successor felt like slamming a door shut on Rich’s memory. The thought ripped the scabs off his barely healed wounds of grief.
As he re-read the agenda, Jake noted that the first item after lunch was titled “Shattered Hearts launch and Spring/Summer tour schedule.” When he’d spoken to Jethro earlier in the week, the older man had let slip that the artwork was ready. Part of him was keen to see what Lori had come up with; part of him felt as if he had been excluded from it up until now. For all their previous albums, he’d been privy to the cover design long before the others. Now, though, he suddenly felt lost and lonely, guessing that Grey and Paul had already seen the artwork.
Watching the outside world slip past, Jake allowed himself to think about his wife and family. Both Jethro and Maddy had made it quite clear to him that Lori wasn’t attending the meeting. When he’d asked if she was coming to Garrett’s show neither of them had given him a straight answer. In his heart, he knew that Lori wouldn’t let Garrett down but his fear was that she would slip away from the theatre before he found the opportunity to talk to her. The thought of playing his short solo set without her moral support was tough.
A watery sun was breaking through the clouds as Jake waited outside for Grey to arrive. His train had pulled in early so he’d had time to grab a fresh coffee, glad of its warmth in his hand. Bang on time, Grey’s truck pulled in at the kerb beside him.
“Mornin’,” greeted the band’s bass player warmly as Jake climbed into the passenger seat. “We’re late.”
“Blame me,” suggested Jake with a grin. “Or Amtrak.”
“I intend to,” laughed Grey. “Good to see you. How’s New York been?”
“Cold. Busy,” replied Jake, his tone non-committal. “Riley arrived last weekend. She’s been like a breath of fresh air. So much energy. Poor Garrett wasn’t quite ready for a teenage house guest.”
“Probably do him the world of good.”
As Grey navigated his way towards the record company’s offices, they chatted about the plans for the show. Both Paul and Grey were arriving in New York late on Thursday, leaving Friday morning free for rehearsal. Each of them was earmarked to play on a handful of tracks but, bar one, they were playing on the same songs.
It only took them a few minutes to reach the building. As he prepared to lock the truck, Grey muttered something under his breath and reached into the back of the cab. Silently, Jake watched his friend retrieve one of Lori’s portfolio bags.
“Almost forgot this,” said the bass player as they headed for the elevator.
“You’re both late!” snapped Maddy when they entered the conference suite shortly after ten-thirty.
“Blame Amtrak’s scheduling,” muttered Jake, taking a seat between Paul and Jethro at the table.
“Should’ve caught an earlier train,” she stated firmly.
“Maddison,” said Jethro calmly, raising his snowy white eyebrows at her in warning. “Let’s get started now that the boys are here. You were about to let Jackson talk us through the financial statement.”
Two hours later, when they broke for lunch, Jake let out a long sigh. He could feel a migraine building behind his left eye, triggered most likely by the morning of spreadsheets detailing royalties and forecasted earnings and planned expenditure on a new lighting rig for the next tour. The monotony of it all had also begun to get to his fellow band members, both of whom had said almost in unison, “We’ll take an inventory of the gear in storage next week.”
A buffet lunch had been laid out on a table at the end of the room but, conscious of the imminent headache, Jake picked sparingly at the platters.
“You ok, son?” checked Jethro with his usual paternal concern.
“Migraine. I’ll be fine,” replied Jake. “I left my meds at Garrett’s.”
“We can send out for something to help,” suggested the older man, fully understanding how severe some of Jake’s migraines could be.
“If someone has some Tylenol that should see me through.”
“I’ll get some,” promised Jethro, laying his own plate of food down. “I’ll be back.”
Not feeling in the mood for small talk, Jake wandered across the room to gaze out of the window. The afternoon’s agenda items were still weighing heavily on his heart. Could they replace Rich in the band? Should they? Would it be best to go ahead as a trio?”
“Jake,” said Maddy softly as she appeared beside him.
“Maddison,” he replied, his tone curt.
“Can we talk?” she asked, her own tone surprisingly conciliatory. “I feel I owe you an apology.”
“Bit late for that.”
“I know,” she replied, much to his surprise.
“Look, Maddison, I get how it all must have looked to you,” began Jake, fighting the inner urge to lose his temper with her. “I’m not denying that I made a stupid mistake prior to that. What’s happened has happened. I fucked up. End of story.”
“But I didn’t exactly help matters, did I?”
“No,” conceded Jake after a moment’s reflection then, against his better judgement asked, “Have you seen them?”
Maddy nodded.
“Are they
