AVA
As if he’d never been famous, a still-stately, gray-bearded Sam Tucker sat upon a kitty-corner plywood stage in a rickety Windsor chair, playing his heart out. So far he’d played a solid forty-five-minute set to a crowd of washed-up-looking bar regulars while Bruno and I kept to a shadowy table in the back corner. We were in a one-street town in Oregon in a rundown bar with a lot of brass fixtures, uneven tables, and green vinyl cushions.
“I can’t believe you found Sam Tucker,” I said for the fourth time, unable to contain the shock and awe on repeat in my brain. I leaned forward, needing to be closer to the music, and put my elbows on the table and my chin in my palms. “And he’s still so good.”
Leaning in the opposite direction, Bruno balanced his chair on the two hind legs and his smirk was clear in his tone when he said, “I know.”
I twisted my body to look at him. “Tell me you have a plan. Because I am pretty sure that if you so much as say your name, he’s gonna run.”
The furrowing of his brows gave away his nervousness, but he said, “Plans are for suckers.”
I rolled my eyes. “Jesus, you’re a child.”
He dropped forward, replacing all four legs of his chair on the ground and stood. “I don’t need a plan. Like recognizes like. He’s gonna be able to tell the music matters to me. He’s gonna smell it on my skin.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head. “Smell it on your skin, huh?”
“Yep.” He nodded, fixing his gaze on Tucker who was putting his guitar in its case.
He took a step in Tucker’s direction and reluctantly, I stood to follow, mumbling under my breath, “The only thing I smell is your laundry detergent and maybe a hint of your shampoo, but go ahead, you do you.”
He heard me and turned slightly to flash me a coy expression as he said, “Smells good, right?” It did. Bruno smelled like the fucking woods on a foggy morning, all crisp and clean and just manly. There were times when I had to actively breathe through my mouth in order to concentrate in his presence. But I was certainly not telling him that, so I said, “You don’t stink.”
In a tiny show of unexpected humbleness, he said, “At least I’ll have that going for me. Keep your fingers crossed.” Then, as if revving himself up for a fight, he pushed out a hard puff of air and bounced in place for a second before setting off on a beeline in Tucker’s direction.
I followed him, lagging just a few steps behind. He approached Tucker casually, calmly, and offered a warm compliment. “Incredible, man. Best I’ve seen in a long time.”
“Thank you, kindly, son.” Tucker’s voice was rich and layered with all kinds of raspy goodness and he smiled at Bruno. It was a warm, open grin that revealed slightly yellowed teeth.
“Most of those were originals, weren’t they?” Bruno asked, knowing full well they were.
Tucker nodded. “Sure were.”
“It’s been a long time since I heard a song of that caliber, let alone ten.” There was a lilt in Bruno’s voice—a certain kind of teasing, tempting.
Tucker dipped his chin and chuckled to himself. When he looked up, his face was still pleased but the wrinkles around his eyes grew deeper with an impish glow. “That so?” he asked, giving away almost nothing
Bruno mirrored Tucker’s playful look. “I’d go as far as to say that there was only one man capable of ballads like those.”
Tucker leaned over and snapped the buckle on his guitar case and then gripped the handle, pulling it off the chair and letting it swing by his side. Lifting his chin, he pursed his lips and shook his head before saying, “I’m a little old for ruses, but you got style, Difranco.”
I giggled, absolutely loving that Bruno hadn’t fooled this man for a second. Grinning, Tucker winked at me. But when he spoke again, there was sadness in his voice. “I am sorry they died like that, kid. In the end we didn’t get along, but they didn’t deserve that.”
The color drained from Bruno’s lips, but he stood tall and shrugged. “In the end, we didn’t get along either.”
“So I read,” Tucker drawled, then he turned to me and stuck out his hand. “Ms. Childs, I presume.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I nodded, taking his one hand in both of mine. “It’s an honor.”
He laughed. “Been a long time since a pretty girl was honored to shake my hand.”
From behind the bar, the bartender, a striking woman with curly auburn hair, who had very obviously been eavesdropping, called out, “How much will you pay me to not tell Ma you’re flirting with chicks at the bar, Pop?”
Tucker’s smile broadened and like a bard on stage, he swung his hand in her direction and snarked, “This sharp-mouthed sweetheart is my daughter Delilah. Delilah, I’d like you to meet Bruno Difranco and Ava Childs.”
“Fucking Difrancos,” Delilah popped cheekily while she reached up and rang a bell above her head that was hanging from the ceiling. Responding to the bell’s chime, all the three men nursing their afternoon beers lifted them up in toast fashion and droned, “Fucking Difrancos.”
My mouth fell open. Everyone was quiet for a beat, and then Bruno started laughing, and lifting an imaginary beer, he chanted, “Fucking Difrancos.”
Turned out, Bruno’s ability to laugh was all it took. Sam Tucker knew a lot about us. Apparently, his daughter kept tabs on anything related to LSA Records her whole life and she’d been arguing our case for us ever since Bruno’s parents died.
“I told him he should contact you,” Delilah said while filling a pint glass with beer. We’d taken a seat at her bar and were all getting to know each other a little better. “I mean, even if you’re a total douche canoe, nobody holds someone to a contract like his at this point.”
Bruno took the beer from her, and with full-on cocky vigor, he said, “Don’t hold your breath. No one of any intelligence would release Sam Tucker from his contract without a fight, but that said, I am not my father. I know my limitations.” He turned to Sam. “You’re the talent. You call the shots.”
Tucker just sort of stared at Bruno for a second, and then he rubbed his chin in thought before saying, “I’m not really looking for the rock 'n' roll life at this point. I got a girl…”
Delilah rolled her eyes. “Mom’s in her sixties, Pop. I’m pretty you should be calling her a woman.”
Scrunching his face up in jest, Tucker repeated, “I got a girl. She’s my girl no matter how old she is. It’s a goddamn term of endearment, Lilah, not some infantilizing bullcrap or whatever it is you get on about. She’s still my girl.”
“Whatever you say.” She threw her hands up defensively. “But from now on I’m gonna tell Ma to call you her baby daddy.” Their dynamic was gold. It was like an old vaudevillian comedy show, the sweet old codger and his smart, pretty daughter. We could market that.
Almost giddy, Tucker shifted his shoulders so he’d basically turned his back on her when he spoke, his eyes sparkling, and I was pretty sure that getting his daughter’s goat was one of his favorite pastimes. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I’m not really looking to live a big life at this point, but there is one thing that might tempt me to record one last record.”
“Consider it done,” Bruno said.
Tucker chuckled. “You don’t even know what it is.”
“I trust you,” Bruno said, his tone casual and unflinching. He was dead set on proving to Tucker that the new and improved LSA Records was a safe place to make music.
Tucker threw a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to Delilah, “I want to record with my girl.”
“Pop,” Delilah breathed, clearly touched.
Tucker turned to her. “Didn’t mind when I called you my girl that time, did ya?”
She laughed. Then, with glassy eyes, she said, “You don’t have to do this.”
Seemingly unimpressed by Delilah’s selflessness, Bruno asked, “She any good?”
Tucker shrugged. “Got a Grammy or two in her.”
“Only two?” Bruno joked.
“Give or take. But it’s not so simple. She needs better terms than I had.”
Bruno sighed. “I imagine she does.” He turned to me and we locked eyes. My heart flipped when I realized that in this moment of his negotiations, Bruno needed me. He was frozen, unable to move forward without my say so, and totally unsure about what he was free to offer the Tuckers. “What do you say, Aves? Can we offer Delilah a better deal than the garbage can Sam is trapped in?”
We could and we would. I smiled softly, but I was all business when I said, “We won't tie your daughter to LSA the way Bruno’s parents lassoed you. Her contract will be for this record and only this record. But I’m gonna hope that during the process, Bruno and I can earn your respect back and that we can all work together for a long time.”
I delivered the words with sincerity and they brought the old man in front of me to the brink. Tucker's face twitched, holding back his emotions, but he stuck out his hand to shake on it. Behind him, Delilah rang the bell again, and absolutely elated, she cheered, “Fucking Difranco and the badass bitch he brought with him!”
I couldn’t help but laugh as Bruno responded to the call by throwing up his arm, echoing her sentiment. “Fucking Difranco and his badass bitch!”
Bruno goofy-grinned at me. His elation was palpable. I don’t know if it was out of instinct or excitement, but he threw his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his armpit with a squeeze. My breath caught in my throat and my heart throbbed, reverberating like a bass drum in my ears. Being close to him was a thing I wanted. There was no denying it.
To my surprise, he didn’t let me go until I climbed into the back seat of the car we took back to the airport.