“Cutter hasn’t said no, yet,” Chaser adds.
Alvin quirks an eyebrow. “Refusing to return our manager’s calls might be as good as a no.”
I want to tell them to not give up so quickly, but there’s a strong possibility Alvin’s right.
We trudge upstairs to our apartment and open the door as our answering machine clicks on, and the caller starts to leave their message.
I recognize the obnoxious, overgrown, teenager’s enthusiastic voice immediately.
Chaser and I both stop and stare at each other. Talk about uncanny timing.
“Call me back, fucker! I have a proposition for you. It’s going to be totally rad!”
Chapter Sixteen
Chaser
Favors always come with strings attached. Something I learned a long time ago. My father’s not a fan of owing anyone anything and that’s been the example I followed for most of my life.
Andrew asked me if I’d help him write a song for his band’s new album.
Once I recovered from the shock, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. Figured it would be good exposure for me, and this way, Andrew would owe me a favor. Something simple, like say, introducing me to Mark Cutter and maybe convincing the guy to produce Kickstart’s next album.
I should’ve considered the consequences of this plan more thoroughly.
Andrew’s a fucking nutjob.
I grew up around some questionable bikers and lord knows the band and I have our ups and downs.
But Andrew? This dude is all up and no down.
No off button or filter either.
I don’t know if he’s always been this way or if it’s the massive amounts of coke he’s constantly shoveling up his nose, but working with him is like trying to wrangle a squirrel on angel dust.
“Here! Here! Try this with the bridge.” Andrew plays a succession of notes on the piano.
I listen carefully, pick it up and follow along.
As nuts as he is, he’s more talented than I realized. Sure, he’s a fantastic drummer in a successful rock band. But it turns out, that doesn’t scratch the surface. Over the last few days, I’ve discovered he can pick up and play any instrument with ease.
He also has the most voracious appetite for cocaine of any human being I’ve ever met. And he never stops talking. About any and every topic that pops into his overworked brain, but especially sex.
“Is Mallory a firecracker in bed? I bet she’s a firecracker. She has that prim, proper vibe but—”
I hold up a hand to stop him. “Mallory is off-limits. Can we go back to this?” I tap my pencil on the papers scattered over the table in front of us.
“Yeah.” He works for about ten seconds straight before opening his mouth again. “So, like, you don’t fuck girls when you’re out on the road?”
“I’ve already done plenty of that.” I don’t bother adding that it got old a long time ago and that the thought of being with anyone but Mallory makes my skin crawl. Those aren’t sentiments Andrew can wrap his mind around.
“Dammmn, dude. Mallory must be awe-some.”
“What did I say about her?” Boundaries. Someone obviously needs to set some with this fucker.
“Right.” He holds up one hand like he’s swearing a boy scout oath. “Off-limits. But, dude, you’re what, like twenty-two? Are you out of your mind? I was knee-deep in as much pussy as possible at your age.” He smirks. “Still am.”
“Good for you.”
He claps his hand on my shoulder and attempts a serious expression. “Listen, I feel it’s my mission, from like, Satan, to guide you in matters of the flesh, son.”
I shrug him off. “I already have a father. Actually, you sound a lot like him.”
“He must be cool as fuck.”
“That he is.” I snicker to myself, picturing my father spending more than two seconds in Andrew’s company. He’d probably shoot him. “He’s also alone.”
“So, you’re scared to be alone? Dude, I’m never alone. I can call—”
“I’m not scared to be alone, you dick.” How do you explain such a difficult concept to a man who apparently has the brainpower of a two-year old?
“I love you, man.” He squeezes his eyes shut and grins like an idiot. “No one else has the balls to call me a dick to my face. Even when I’m being a total asshole.”
“Happens often, huh?”
“See?” He cracks up and slaps my shoulder again. “Okay, give me that riff again.”
Thank fuck.
The band is counting on me to get Andrew to talk Mark Cutter into producing our next album. It’s the only reason I’ve been able to tolerate these insane collaboration sessions without killing Andrew. Although, I’m starting to have my doubts about this plan.
He claims he works best at night, which means I’m up into the wee hours working with him in the soundproof studio he has in his basement.
“Dude, I wish you guys lived closer. We could be at this all the time.”
I shudder at the thought. “It’ll be a while before we can afford a house in your neighborhood.”