Authors: Lynne Connolly
The awkward moment didn’t materialize, as Matt didn’t tense,
didn’t take objection. “You’re pretty big already. Your first two albums sold
well.”
“Not money or fame or any of that shit.” Jace waved away her
protest. “That doesn’t matter. As long as we can make a living, I’m good. I
don’t like to use the word ‘artistic’. More like putting out there the sounds I
hear in my head. I can’t do it on my own, I know that, and our new vocalist
writes.” He stopped abruptly. V could almost taste the awkward moment, so thick
it filled the air completely.
Matt shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I never
wrote more than ordinary stuff. It was you guys who made it great. This new
material is more. Far more. It’s scary.” He tried to explain when Jace cocked a
brow in query. “You’ve taken some risks here, man. Anybody would think you’d
never heard of verse, chorus and middle eight.”
“That’s what we wanted.” Jace had lost all the louche Cajun
now in favor of a crisp French accent and sharp-eyed attention. “When we
started working together, things started happening. You know?”
From the expression on Matt’s face, he knew. V wanted to
help, wanted to touch him to bring him comfort, but Matt’s relationship to the
band he used to belong to wasn’t any of her business. One glorious night didn’t
equal a relationship. She had no claim on him, no right to join in what was
obviously an important moment for him and Jace. She moved away, using the
excuse of fiddling with her saxophone to give them some space.
“I know. I have a new collaborator. AZ is fucking good. And
I know my skills are better here. I can mix and stop, even auto-tune if I need
to.” At Jace’s grimace, he barked a short laugh. “Yeah, that’s the difference.
I want to make the best-sounding track I can. I don’t care if the original
artist can sing or not, only if he or she can sell the track. I do all that.
But you’re musicians. Everything in the service of the song, am I right?”
Jace nodded. “I get it. I think.” His grin dissipated the
mood, and she knew something had been resolved between the two. “We want to take
a different direction because of what we want to say. It’s not to be different,
or to have a commercial hit. Although if that came our way, we’re not going to
argue with it. Just celebrate the taste of the public.”
They’d just discovered a fundamental difference, V realized.
Jace wanted to create, and Matt wanted to help others with their visions. She
was witnessing a turning point in a relationship she understood meant a lot to
both men.
Being men, their mutual grin was the only clue that either
had recognized the importance of that moment. V barely restrained an eye roll.
If she’d come to an understanding with one of her girlfriends they’d probably
have hugged and then cracked open a bottle to celebrate. Maybe a good chick
flick might improve the celebration.
The next step would be interesting. How did she fit into
this setup? Did he want to acknowledge more lay between them than just a
professional relationship? V didn’t understand how much that meant to her until
she realized she’d been holding her breath.
Then he slipped his arm around her waist and dropped a kiss
on her forehead.
Her breath released. Jace shrugged. “Can’t blame you, man.”
He turned that devastating grin on her. “It’s you I blame. You shoulda waited,
cher. But how could you know I was waiting just for you?” He paused and the
light in his eyes changed. Since she shared one of his passions, she realized
what had happened. Jace had had an idea.
She pretended to ignore it. The moment of inspiration could
be very personal to some people. The moment, so fragile, when a dream could
build or shatter, or even be forgotten.
Jace reached in his jeans pocket and came out with a
tattered scrap of paper and a pen, the kind banks leave out for their
customers. Without another word, he turned away and scribbled something, a
sentence, a few words, she didn’t know. Then he folded the paper carefully and
put it back in his pocket. When he turned back, she could see his eyes remained
a little distant.
He was still thinking about it. She moved closer to Matt and
smiled up at him. “Want to play me some more tracks, tiger?”
Matt’s laugh would have echoed around the room had it not
been so well soundproofed. “Nobody else makes a request like that sound so
dirty. C’mon, sit in the booth and I’ll get some coffee. Let’s leave the genius
to work.”
Jace hardly heard them. He headed for an acoustic guitar
that was propped in a corner of the room as they left.
* * * * *
“I’ve never heard anything quite like it before,” she said a
couple of hours later. They were alone in the booth, AZ having left for the
other studio when another artist arrived. Jace was still in the vacant studio,
noodling and frantically scribbling notes on pieces of paper. She’d listened to
the tracks several times before venturing an opinion. She could add to this.
Matt didn’t try to shrug it off. “I know what you mean.
This’ll blow everything else out of the water.” He twitched one of the slides
on the board. “It’s not done yet. That’ll take a couple more weeks. But
everything’s laid down, the track order is sorted and the rest of the band will
arrive tomorrow. They’ll have to approve your track.” He met her gaze. “Tell me
for real. Do you want credit? I can get you the best session rate if you want,
or you can negotiate a percentage. If you get the credit, something’s going to
come your way for sure. You’ve heard it now. You know this is the nazz.”
“The nazz? Are you a Bowie fan by any chance?” She didn’t
know anyone else who listened to
Ziggy Stardust
on a regular basis.
He gave an adorable sheepish grin. “Yeah.” He leaned forward
and dropped a kiss on her lips, curving his body around her in an unconsciously
protective gesture. “You too?”
“For sure. He played the sax, you know. There are some
amazing solos on his albums.”
“I know. So what do you want to do? The band will need a
quick answer, because they plan to release the album next month.”
When she recovered the power to breathe, she asked him to
repeat. “Next
month
?”
“’Fraid so. With all the security leaks going on, they want
to get it out fast. Anyway, they owe the record company. With my—well, when I
left, they had to find a new singer, and then work him in. I left them short.
Jace works best in collaboration, and it took a while for the new guy to settle
in. The second album was a live one. Just as well they’d recorded some dates on
the last tour I did with them. They did one side with me, one with Zazz, the
new guy, but no new material, just the stuff from the first album and some
covers.”
“I’ve got both albums at home. I even played along, but I do
that with a lot of music. He’s good.” She bit her lip.
Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. But it didn’t appear to
upset him. She saw no tension in his features, no signs of strain. “Yeah, he
is. Now I’ve seen them work together and heard him with the band, I know he’s
better than me. No, baby, it doesn’t upset me. Much. My main regret is the way
I left.” He didn’t seem upset. Levelheaded, but something inside her told her
to keep watching. Something was wrong, and she didn’t know what it was, except that
he wasn’t telling her the whole truth.
He reached for her hand. “How can I regret finding you? Come
on, you have to be hungry. I’ll tell Jace we’re going and he can let himself
out.”
“Shouldn’t you think about security?”
He was already removing the masters from the machines and
putting them away in their boxes. “If I didn’t and these puppies got lost, it’d
be my head on the block. Part of the insurance. Give me a few minutes to lock
these in the safe and we’ll leave Jace to his noodling.”
More than noodling. Something good was happening in the
studio, but she’d tried to ignore it. When a band was working, it formed a
unit, one so tight that interference could upset it.
She’d had some ideas already. She couldn’t help it, she
heard music and that part of her brain started working, but she didn’t have to
tell anybody. Except perhaps herself.
Chapter Five
One week later they were set, and V sat with her father in
his study, waiting for his verdict on the contract.
“You sure you want to do this, honey?” If V’s family was
anything at all, it was protective. Over the years, it’d had to be. Held up as
a curiosity, attacked by racists and anti-racists, they hung together. Like a
band, she supposed, the kind that knew they stuck together or broke apart.
Maybe that was why so many of them were musical.
Her father met her steady gaze, his own dark eyes
contemplative, and brushed back a strand of his badger-streaked hair. “If what
you say is true, you’re going to get some attention.”
V smiled. “I know. But it’s time for me to move on, Pop.”
Her father studied her, didn’t break the silence or his
attention. If she’d showed any wavering, he wouldn’t have gone on with this.
He’d have told her that she should take the session money. But she wanted this,
she really wanted it. Not fame, not that, but being a part of something she
really loved. She’d listened to that album several times and the more she heard
it, the more the artistry and invention stunned her.
So she met his gaze and kept her smile in place. She’d had
practice, but nothing was more important to her than this. “I want the credit.
I’ll play a couple of dates, that’s all, and I’ll stand at the back. I’ll be
fine.”
“Hmm.” Her father turned back to the papers spread on his
desk. “The offer’s more than fair. Apparently the band insisted on it once they
heard your contribution. You’ll get a percentage plus a straight performance
fee when you play with them. They didn’t have to do that. They could have given
you the session fee, not a percentage. If this album is really all that, you’ll
get a lot more money with the percentage, although it’s only a small one. Do
you believe in the album enough?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I remember when that
company offered you a lot of cash for the regulator, you said no. You believed
in your invention enough to say you wanted to keep the patent, and you’d take
royalties, or whatever they call it in your business.”
He gave a short laugh. “I was the only member of my
generation to take to the garage business instead of the jazz, and guess which
one hit the jackpot.” He gave a shout of laughter. Since his money paid for all
the family these days, and since they loved him anyway, the family let him get
away with the occasional crow. It made for some interesting Sunday lunches. “Yes,
I get your point. So you believe in this music?”
“It’s not my music, only the pieces I added to a few tracks,
but yes. I’d be proud to be associated with this. Wait ‘til you hear it, Pop.
It won’t be long before you can.”
The band had approved her take and then contacted their
manager, Chick Fontaine. He hadn’t said anything to her, but she knew Matt was
proud that they’d trusted him to finish his job in time. They had no reason to
trust him, he’d told her, but they had.
They liked what he was doing. She wanted that as well, to
show him she was proud of being associated with his work. More than anything
else, if she allowed herself to tell the truth. The way she felt about Matt was
beginning to scare her. Too much, too fast. She needed to slow things down or
he’d overwhelm her. His personality was so big that he could easily do it, even
without meaning to.
At the moment Matt was the one feeling overwhelmed. He stood
before the big Lincoln Park house, watching people coming and going, and
felt—outside. Like he had all his life—only this time it was a bit different,
because someone he was beginning to care about far too much called it home.
“Come by,” she’d said. “We’re having one of our gatherings on Sunday after
church.” Church? Hell, the last time he’d gone was for somebody’s wedding. But
with all those jazz musicians, it might be one of those churches with the
amazing singing. He’d have to check it out.
Someone brushed past him, a man of what looked like Japanese
origin, his straight, black hair cut short and clinging to his well-shaped
head. He tilted a brow at Matt. “You one of us?”
Matt found a grin from somewhere. “Kinda. V asked me to meet
her here.”
“Come around the back way. They’ll be in the yard.” He
glanced up at the sky, a pretty blue overlaid with fluffy clouds. “It’s potluck
on Sundays. Ma used to do the full dinner, but we persuaded her we could do
it.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Bran, V’s brother.”
“One of them,” Matt replied, shaking the man’s hand. “I
don’t know if I can keep you all straight.”
“Easy,” said Bran. “There’s the Jap one—that’s me—several
Africans, a couple of Caucasians, a Polynesian one—”
Matt held up his hand in a gesture of submission. “Stop,
stop! Do people really talk about you like that?”
Bran gave a wry grin. “Sure they do. We’re pretty much used
to it. It helps if you don’t let the names bother you, so we used to call each
other names.”
“But sometimes it still rankles,” Matt guessed. It appalled
him, that kind of casual racism.
Bran nodded. “Something like that. So what are you?”
“American,” he said, and paused. “Mom’s English.”
Bran nodded. “I thought I sensed something different about
your accent.”
“Is it that noticeable?” Few people noticed that, but he
could speak English English if he wanted to. Bran must be hypersensitive to
accents and body language to spot that after a few sentences.
“I don’t think so. But you said ‘rankles’. I like that.
Don’t I know you?”
He’d work it out. “I have a recording studio in town and V
did some work there recently.”
Bran’s face cleared. “Maxx Syccorraxx! I knew I’d seen you
somewhere before. I remember the fuss when you moved into town.”
“Shit, yeah. Now I know how you feel. It’s like being
labeled as a thing, rather than what you are. I drag that guy around like a
heavyweight. I’m Matt, I run a studio downtown and I’m doing okay.”
They exchanged a genuine smile, one that showed they were in
sympathy. “So what do you do, Bran?”
“Computer stuff.” Bran wrinkled his nose. “Geek.”
They started to walk around the house. “Don’t knock it. Geeks
are sexy these days.”
Bran grinned broadly. “I know. I’m thinking of getting
myself a pair of thick glasses.”
Still laughing, they walked around the corner of the house
and Matt found himself in the middle of a family. He’d say like no other, but
he didn’t have much experience of big families.
He hardly got five paces into the expansive yard before V
waylaid him, an older man in tow. “Meet my father,” she said simply. “Pop, this
is Matt. He’s my—”
“Yes, girl, I know what he is.” Matt received a warm handshake.
“And who. Another musician.” But he smiled when he said it. “I need a word with
you, Matt. In my office.” Hamid was in his sixties, or thereabouts, around
five-seven with gray-streaked, thinning dark hair. He carried an air of quiet
assurance that told Matt he was no pushover.
Ten minutes later, Matt left Mr. Hamid’s office not sure if
he’d been rooked or complimented. He’d agreed to give the Hamid club band
studio time almost as an also-ran to the contract. He could see there being a
ready market for the album, especially when the Murder City Ravens album was
released, so it wouldn’t be a crock. And Hamid had kindly allowed him to take a
cut.
“Don’t worry, son,” a wheezy voice said from behind him. “He
does it to all of us. When you work it out, you’ll be happy. Just as well my
brother is fair, otherwise we’d all be his slaves.”
He turned around already smiling, because Claud’s voice was
unmistakable. Rich as whiskey, the tones wandered through Matt, mellowing him
out. “I had my lawyer go through the first contract, the one with V, but not
the second. Nice to read something so straightforward.”
In fact, it made him wonder why anybody bothered with
legalese. That was why he kept thinking he’d missed something. But Hamid had
been completely amenable to him taking the contract away. He just made it clear
that V’s signature on the first one, the one Matt had had drawn up in
consultation with Fontaine, was dependent on the second. That is, she’d sign
the Murder City Ravens one once he’d signed the second, whatever the decision
was. Which would be tomorrow, as soon as his lawyer had approved it.
It was worth it, for V. She had great musicianship, but more
than that, she was the best thing that had happened to him personally for a
very long time.
Her voice came as a shock, he’d sunk so deep into his own
thoughts. “There you are. Come and get some food. It’ll be gone if you don’t.”
After a thoroughly bemusing afternoon, when Matt talked
computers, the mechanics of a sound desk and what would improve it, the future
of hip-hop, the politics of Chicago, the best way to launder white silk, and
several other topics where he tried to keep up, he realized that the Hamid
family had fingers in any number of Chicagoan pies. They had roots that went
deep and were burrowing their way deeper.
His head was spinning by the time he left, thankfully with
his hand in V’s. He took her to his car. There was no way he was letting her
out of his sight for the rest of the day. Spending all that time with her
without touching her the way he wanted to, knowing her parents’ attention never
strayed far from her, had driven him crazy. A hand in the small of her back was
the most he’d dared manage.
He helped her into the car and then he took the wheel. He’d
chosen a sports car, but not an overly outrageous model. After all, he wanted
to leave it on the street or in a public garage sometimes and be reasonably
sure of it still being there when he got back. But in rock-star black. Old
habits sometimes died hard.
“You hardly left my side,” she murmured as he pulled away.
“I needed you. It’s all a little strange for a solitary
man.” But he said it with a smile, although he wondered if he’d ever get used
to a family that all-encompassing. “Tell me, just how many businesses does your
family own?”
She laughed. “When he got rich, Pop decided to give us money
by buying us small businesses, or business premises. Then leave it up to us. He
had a garage, and George runs that now. He bought Bran’s computer business and
my café.”
“I thought you said you were in partnership.” He had his
doubts about her partner, especially when he’d discovered the bastard had been
her ex, but she seemed content enough. He couldn’t interfere. Not after a week.
“I am. It means I can still keep up my music. Jack and I
split the work between us, and that way we both have some clear days.”
“How did he pay for his half?” It might be intrusive, but he
didn’t care. He just didn’t trust the guy and already he felt protective toward
V. He didn’t seem to be able to help it.
“His savings. He still works as a lawyer part-time, but he
wants to give it up eventually. He says he was a lousy lawyer, but he’s a great
café owner.”
“Is he?” He still didn’t want to believe her. “I don’t know
if he’s good for you, V.” He didn’t like the way Jack looked at her sometimes,
as if he still wanted her.
“Stop the car.”
From her tone and the way she sat rigidly in her seat, he
knew he’d gone too far and let his protectiveness show too much. Luckily he
couldn’t stop right that minute, but he did take the next right and pull in to
a quiet domestic street.
He cut the engine and turned to face her. Nothing but a
straight apology would do. “I’m sorry, V.”
She shook her head, her face serious, her mouth a hard line.
“Listen, Matt. I have people looking over my shoulder all day long. All of them
all of the time. They take care of my interests, they make sure I’m okay.
Sometimes it’s great, like if I’m ill I know I have someone who will bring me
chicken soup. And my pop is the best businessman I know. But I fought for every
bit of space I have.
“That’s one reason I live above the café. It’s not somewhere
people can just drop in, if they don’t have a key, and I can’t give out too
many keys. The insurance policy won’t allow it.” She took a deep breath, her
eyes sparkling darkly. “Now you’re trying to look after me too. If you insist
on doing this, we’re through.”
If it hadn’t been for the very slightest tremble of her
lower lip, he’d have thought her completely in control. But that betraying
quiver gave him hope. “You win. I want you more than anybody I’ve met for,”
maybe forever, but he wasn’t sure about that himself, so he amended what he was
going to say, “a long time. I don’t want this to end, so have it your way. I
won’t interfere, and I won’t give you advice unless you ask for it. Is that
what you want?” Although he felt that instinctive need to care for her, he’d be
stupid to tell her right now.
She met his gaze and for a fraught moment he thought she’d
get out of the car. Eventually she leaned back and her hand left her safety
belt. He took that small gesture as a sign that she’d give him a chance. “It’s
exactly what I want. Take me home, please, and you can park in my space.”
Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, he started the engine.
The notion that he’d nearly lost her made him desperate. For
the relatively short journey, he fought a raging hard-on. Visions of her
gorgeous body flashed before his eyes, forcing him to slow his speed, despite
his eagerness to reach her home.
At last, after negotiating a couple of busy intersections—did
people
never
stop shopping?—they finally reached the North side and the
café. The building owned a small car lot, so the spaces were very limited but
available. Usually only V, Jack and a couple of employees had rights to park
there, but her car was in the garage, so he could take her spot. Otherwise he’d
have suggested going to his place, because the fight to get a decent parking
space wouldn’t have been worth the time it took. Better to get to his place and
then walk back. Or stop there to ease the agony in his groin.