Page 30 of Crimson Desires
“She could work for the band full time. Or she could live with me in California and quit her job altogether.”
“Right. If things go south, the same breakup that would be a mild inconvenience to you could be potentially life-ruining for her. Imagine upending your entire life for a rock star, and then he goes and does the stereotypical rock star thing of cheating or drinking himself to death. Not saying that you would do either of those things. Just saying that it could be a fear of Aster’s.”
“I’m not going to feel guilty for the situation I was born in,” I said.
“I’m not saying that you have to. I’m just saying that you should try to be empathetic. She’s not acting temperamental for no reason.”
“And, dude, if she keeps going back and forth, that might be a good sign. Means she likes you enough to be emotionally torn over it,” Axel added optimistically. Unlike me, Axel was a hopeless romantic. He’d had more serious girlfriends than one-night stands. And I knew for a fact that he slipped Tom Clancy book covers over his romance novels so that people wouldn’t dog on him for reading chick lit.
“Question, Jack,” Damien said. “Do you really like this girl? Or is she just a good lay for you?”
I clenched my jaw. “She’s not just a lay. I like her, man. I really do.”
***
In the green room, we met with my father.
Well, technically we had a video conference with him. Dad’s work in LA meant that he couldn’t join us on tour.
Dad had come on the road with me only once—during my first international tour as a pop star. I was fourteen and my mother had died one month before the tour’s start date. I don’t think he would have come otherwise.
I didn’t hate my dad. But akin to most rock stars, I didn’t have a particularly great relationship with him, either.
I watched the loading wheel spin on the big TV in front of us, fingers tapping restlessly against my thighs. As much as I liked to believe that Wicked Crimson’s talent could stand on its own, I couldn’t deny that my dad’s money and influence had an immeasurable effect on our success.
Without James Maverick, me and the guys were just fragments of an idea concocted by a rebellious ex-pop star.
The screen dinged, and the call connected. My father’s face took up the large TV screen.
Dad looked a lot like me, except a bit older and rougher. We had the same default settings: dirty blond hair, blue eyes, pale skin. But where Dad was bulky and broad, I was slim and angular.
Basically, if Dad was a BMW, then I was a Bugatti.
Dad cleared his throat. “Gentlemen. How has the tour been?”
“It’s been killer, Mr. M,” Axel said.
“Tickets have been selling really well,” Ava added, glancing down at her tablet. “We were sold out at the past two shows. And before that, we’d sold at least 90% of our seats at every venue.”
“That’s promising,” Dad agreed. “I’ve been keeping my eye on Wicked Crimson’s press as well. Not much so far. I hope you’re working on that.”
“Right, yes. Of course. I’ve got a few interviews lined up in the next couple of cities. I just wanted to focus on the shows themselves for the first week.” Ava explained. She jotted something down on her tablet.
“And Jack? Are you staying out of trouble?” Dad asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Anyways, I’ve got a business meeting in Charlotte coming up. So, it looks like I’ll be able to attend one of your later shows.” Dad threaded his fingers together, a thoughtful look passing over his face. “I’ve been thinking about Wicked Crimson’s next album. I’d like to bring back some of your old songwriters.”
“What? No,” I said. “Dad, the point of this band was to get away from the songwriters. I don’t want our sound to be manufactured.”
“Not manufactured. Quality tested,” Dad corrected. “The songwriters aren’t going to be writing any music for you. They’re just going to be there for lyric and melody consultation.”
“No,” I said, firmer. “Damien and Kade already write amazing lyrics. And the songwriters are pushy. I just know that if we have melody consultants, it’ll only be a matter of time before we’re playing radio-friendly four-chord arrangements. Do you want us to be another Green Day?”
Dad grimaced. He took a steadying breath. “Jack, I’m trying to work with you on this band’s success.”
“And I’m trying to tell you that this band’s success is the band. We’re not going to get where we want to go by employing some pretentious music industry jerkoffs. We’ve only been at this a year, and we’ve already got a decent following. I’m not asking you to put money into a sinking ship. I’m just asking you to give us some time. Okay?”