Between a Rock and a Hard Place (37 page)

They were supposed to be writing music, but Tommy couldn’t think about anything except Jessi.  He hadn’t heard from her since she left this morning. It was a six hour flight so she was probably just landing at JFK.  He held on to the thought that she would call once she was settled, like Angel said.  In the meantime, he was distraught, and not doing a very good job of hiding it.

He sat off to the side with his guitar on his knee, gently strumming a soft tune he had just composed.

Damien stared down at him.  “That’s real pretty, but it’s not exactly Punk Rock.”

Angel came to Tommy’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Leave him alone.  Can’t you see he’s upset?”

“Dude, I was joking.”

Tommy got to his feet and took his spot in front of the amp.  “Let’s get to work.  We need to get this album done.”

As lead guitar player, he felt the pressure the most.  The only one who never seemed to struggle with writing music was Jimmy.  He spent last night in an alcohol-induced stupor, but he was able to pound out a fresh set of beats with a few snaps of his fingers.  Jimmy experimented with a few different sounds, settled on one and played the beat a few times.  “How’s that sound, man?”

Angel nodded his approval and Damien followed Jimmy’s lead with a gripping bassline to develop the fundamental rhythm of a new song.

Tommy listened to them play it over a few times, mentally composing a melody in his head, while Angel tapped out the rhythm on his leg.  Tommy straightened his guitar strap on his shoulder and pushed his hair behind his ears.  “Take it from the top again.”

This time when Jimmy and Damien played, Tommy added a guitar riff and elaborated on the melody.  Angel hummed along adding a potential lyric and they had the start of a halfway decent song underway.

After several hours of working on the same tune, it didn’t seem like they had made much progress.  It wasn’t finished and the lyrics needed a lot of work, but it was a damn good start.  They played it through again and this time Jimmy added a little drum solo.  They all stopped and watched Jimmy’s sticks fly across his tom and snare and his bass pound out a beat.

“Well done.”  Angus had snuck in the studio while they were preoccupied with Jimmy.  “Great song. Catchy.  Different.  That little thing you did there on the drums, brilliant.  Just brilliant.  The lyrics could use a bit of a polish.”  He pointed a finger at Angel.  “Work on that tonight. Now, what else do you have?”

No one answered and Tommy caught Angel’s eye.  Today’s incomplete song was the only new material they had.

Angel played it off well.  “We want to put the finishing touches on the last few songs before we let you hear them.  This way you can appreciate their full potential.”

Angus screwed his face up like a prune.  “You should be bloody finished by now.  What the fuck have you been doing?  We have an album to push out.  Quit fucking off.” He turned and stomped out the door.

Damien took his bass off his shoulder.  “What the fuck are we supposed to do?  We got nothin’.”

Sweat made Tommy’s hair stick to the back of his neck.  He was responsible for the mess the band was in.  He was the one holding everyone back with his less than extraordinary riffs and solos.  He needed to find a solution.  He needed to find a way to pull a rabbit out of his ass.  He pulled his hair back into a ponytail and fanned himself with it.  “Let’s run through this song once more. Angel, you can work on the lyrics tonight, like Angus said, and I’ll come up with a bad-ass guitar solo.”

Angel nodded. “Good idea.”

Jimmy tapped softly on the cymbals. “We weren’t in the flow.  We got it now, man.  We just need to finish this song and then come up with three or four more.”

“Just three or four more songs?”  Damien huffed.  “You make it sound real fuckin’ easy.”

Angel was pensive with his lips pursed in thought.  “I think Jimmy’s right.  We can knock out a couple of halfway decent songs if we stay in the studio all day and night for the next couple of days.”

He was optimistic and had so much faith in everyone.  He constantly kept the band’s spirits up and would never let anyone accept defeat.  Angel caught Tommy staring at him with a loving smile.

“What is that look about, my prince?  We’re writing music.  Don’t distract me with that provocative smile of yours.”

Tommy shrugged his shoulders, placed his hand on his chest and proclaimed his innocence.  “Far be it from me to distract you.”

“Can you two fuckin’ knock it off?”  Damien snapped at the both of them. “We got a problem here.”

Damien was right.  No matter how optimistic Angel was or how determined Jimmy was, there was no way they could come up with four songs that were up to snuff for Angus’ standards. They had big fuckin’ problems.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Jessi jumped in a cab as soon as the plane landed and battled rush hour traffic through Brooklyn to get to the store.  She didn’t warn anyone she was coming, not even her sisters.  She wanted the element of surprise so she could see exactly what was going on.

The sight of her name in hot pink lights greeted her as soon as the cab turned the corner.  It calmed her nerves and made her smile.  She still wasn’t used to the idea that she had her very own retail store.  She paid the driver, stepped out of the cab and stood on the sidewalk staring up at her name written in fluorescent letters three feet high.  It was a decade in the making . . . and someone was fucking with her dream.  The smile that crept onto her face disappeared and the scowl of frustration returned.

A chime tinkled and announced her arrival.  The store was bustling with shoppers. Rachel and Ella told her they were busy, but she hadn’t received an accounting ledger on sales yet.  She had no idea the store was so successful.

Heads turned in her direction and whispers traveled through the store, murmuring her name.

Rachel was near the counter in the front of the store, exactly where she was supposed to be.  “Jessi, what a nice surprise!  What are you doing back in New York?”

“Business.” Jessi was polite and pretended nothing was wrong in front of the customers.  Several of them greeted her and asked for a photo and an autograph.  It took fifteen minutes to get to the back of the store and into the production room. The whir of sewing machines was as soothing as the most beautiful sonata.  They were her dressmakers, sewing her designs.  Like the heads of the customers when she first entered the store, one by one the machines slowly wound down and stopped.  The operators’ hands paused as they fed fabric under the arms of the machines.  They all looked at her, but she was only looking at one person – Martha, the head dressmaker, and her face was cherry red.

Jessi pulled the garment in question out of her shoulder bag and presented it to her.  “Can you explain this to me, please?”

Martha stumbled over her words and gave an incoherent answer.

Jessi threw the dress on her workstation.  “Just tell me why.”

“I thought it looked better.  I didn’t mean any harm.  I was trying to promote sales.”

“I’m the designer.  My name is on the label, not yours.  If you had any suggestions or thoughts or questions about construction, you should have asked me.  You had no right to alter my designs.”  It was infuriating. How could this woman possibly think she was doing something right?  It was a direct violation of trust.  “I’m sorry.  This is inexcusable. I can’t have you working in my design studio.  Please clear your things out and leave immediately.  I’ll have my accountant cut you a generous severance check.”

Martha grabbed her belongings and scurried out the door without protest.  It seemed odd that she didn’t argue to save her job.  Jessi held up the dress and addressed the other dressmakers.  “Does anyone know anything about this?”

All of them sat quietly in their seat and barely made eye contact with Jessi.  After a few seconds, one woman slowly stood up.  “I saw something.”

The woman was meek and hesitant about continuing.  “What’s your name?” Jessi asked.

“Isabella.”

“If you saw something, Isabella, please tell me what it was.”

“I saw Martha put fabric in her bag.  She said it was scraps, but it was too big for scraps.  I was afraid to say anything because I didn’t want her to get me fired.  I’m a single mother.  I have a family to support.”

Martha was stealing, too. Jessi was enraged, but she was more concerned about the reasoning behind the woman’s actions. None of it made sense.  Why would Martha steal fabric and alter the design of the dress?  What was her motive?  “Is that it?  Did you see or hear anything else?”

Isabella shook her head and sat back down.

“Thank you for your honesty, Isabella.  Please don’t be afraid to talk to me, or Rachel, or my sister Ella.”

Jessi looked around the room at her dressmakers, minus one.  She never thought she would have the nerve to fire anyone, but the words flew out of her mouth without the slightest bit of hesitation.  She had no other choice, but now she was without a head dressmaker.

Jessi dropped her suitcases by the front door and put the small bag of groceries away in the kitchen. She leaned the palms of her hands on the counter and looked out the front bay window overlooking the ocean. She let out a deep contented sigh. Part of her wished that she, Tommy and Angel could live here together full time, without the need to leave for weeks or months at a time. The setting sun reminded her that it was very late in Europe and she hadn’t spoken to Tommy since this morning.  He was probably worried.  She recalled his shocked face when she told him she was leaving.  The only thing that saddened her more was the look on Angel’s face.

She didn’t care how late it was, she needed to call them.

Tommy answered on the first ring.  “Hi, hon.  I’ve been waiting for your call.”

“Why weren’t you asleep?  It’s late.”

“I was.  I slept with the phone next to my pillow so I would hear it if you called.”  Tommy sounded weary, and she knew it was from more than just the disruption of sleep.  His voice was strained.

“I’m sorry. You should get back to sleep. Call me back in the morning.”

“No.” His voice was louder, stronger.  “What happened at the store?  Did you straighten everything out?”

“A lot happened, but it’s a long story.” She didn’t want to rehash all the details.  She was still fuming inside about Martha’s sabotage, and she didn’t want it to ruin her call with Tommy. “Let’s just say that I don’t have a head dressmaker anymore.  Until I find someone I can trust and until I’m certain things are under control, I need to be here.”