Sam looked shocked by the outburst.“Jordan,” he said, changing track, “I’ve put your name forward for a reality TV show.Inkedis getting such great publicity for Dred, and it would be great to raise your individual profile.”
Well that made no sense whatsoever.In their makeshift family, Jordan assumed the role of socially awkward older sibling.Dred and the rest of the band witnessed the way Jordan’s separation anxiety seemed to be getting worse.While Dred refused to give up hope, it would likely be a cold day in hell before Jordan would be able to travel around North America alone.
“Elliot wants his own TV show.Get him to do it.”Jordan tilted his chin in Elliot’s direction.
Dred smiled.Elliot hated television almost as much as Jordan hated fame.
“Why the fuck would I want to do it, bro?”Elliott asked.
“Can we focus, please?Elliot, it’s notforyou.Jordan, it’s a great concept.They’re going to build a rock band.”Sam shuffled papers around.“They’ll have regional rounds to find the talent and then bring the ten best drummers, singers, and guitarists to LA.From there, they’ll play as part of a different band each week, and the worst band will get eliminated.They want you to coach the bass house.”
Despite a hatred of manufactured pop bands, it wasn’t a bad concept.For a more confident, gregarious artist, it would be perfect.Dred looked at Jordan pulling his swan act, the one where he looked like he was calmly gliding over water, but under the surface, his legs were paddling furiously.
“Come on, Sam.You’ve known us, what, nearly ten years.These are terrible ideas,” Dred said, wading into the discussion.
“They are lucrative, Dred.You know how much you make onInked.Jordan could do with the exposure.And the drum deal makes sense too.”Sam looked over toward Lennon.
“You concerned about getting your cut?Because we made you a shit load of money last year.”Dred remembered their first meeting with Sam after a small gig on the Danforth.The low turnout nearly defeated the band.Sam had approached Dred, said he wanted to help them secure better events.He even volunteered to do it for free with a view to getting a percentage when they hit it big.
“It’s not about the money,” Sam insisted.
“It’s always about the money, Sam,” Nikan said.“Dred’s right.Go find us deals that make sense.If Lennon says the drums are shit, then they’re shit.And we can’t afford for our arena tour to sound anything less than perfect.You’ve been around us long enough to know Jordan prefers hanging with us.So don’t force it, man.”
“Look.”Sam closed the file and rubbed his eyes.“The label wants me to maximize your exposure.They’re nervous, uncertain how well received your next album will be.I’m trying to make you guys as much money as I can, so you are set if it all ends tomorrow.”
“Do you really think that’s a possibility?”Nikan asked.
“There are bands who don’t have the same ...limitations.”Sam looked toward Lennon, eyes closed while tapping on the table to the beats pounding through his headphones, and Jordan, who’d completely checked out of the conversation.“Those bands are willing to work harder.Go farther.Take more risks.”
“Our last two albums went multi-fucking-platinum.The North American leg of the tour sold out in two hours.What more can we do?”Dred slammed his hand down on the table.
“I’m just the messenger, Dred.”
Damn, Sam was right.“Sorry.”
Nikan left his spot and went to talk to Elliot.It was one of the perks of travelling on a private jet, the freedom to move around and still work.As lead and rhythm guitarists, they often collaborated, and had brought their guitars on board.
“If you don’t like that news,” Sam said, “you arereallygoing to hate this.You may need to do a DNA test.”
There was only one reason he could think of why a DNA test would be necessary, but he asked the question anyway.“Why?”
“A woman has come forward claiming she had your baby at St.Joseph’s Hospital yesterday.”
“What the fuck?”Dred leaned forward.
The baby couldn’t be his.He always wrapped it up.There was no way in hell he was bringing a kid into the world.Not until he was totally established and the band was at a point in its career where they could slow down.That was if he had any children at all.His childhood had been a series of rotating doors to flophouses, shelters, basement apartments, and foster homes.What kind of parent would he be to a child?
“She had details of your encounter that line up with the days you were in Toronto in the spring.”
“Sam.You know me.I always take precautions.Carry my own wherever I go.This has to be bullshit.”
“Okay.I’ll go back to them and say that we need a lot more information before you’ll consent.”
Shit.It couldn’t be his.Becauseifhe ever did have kids, it would be with a woman who was in love with the guy dropped off at the group home.
Not the rock star.
Chapter Two
