“Have a good day at school, sweetheart.”
“You too,” she says as she goes to her car.
I climb into my truck and watch her through my rearview. She buckles, checks her mirrors, and then backs up into the loop and turns around. I follow behind her and honk when she turns and I go straight, through downtown until I get to the building where FMG Records is.
The parking lot is full. This brings a smile to my face, knowing businesses have filled the revitalized spaces. At last check, aside from my studio, there’s a salon, a dentist office, a tattoo artist, photography studio, and Ben’s marketing company. He keeps an office here and works remote when needed. Josie and I own the building but have hired a companyto fill the spaces. We keep the rent low to give small businesses a chance at thriving.
I park in the spot reserved for me. According to my wife and daughter, this makes me a pompous ass. According to Elle, this makes me smart. She has a reserved spot as well. Each space has at least two spots available in the parking lot, plus there is on-street parking.
Inside, I climb the stairs to the second floor and am surprised to find the door of FMG Records unlocked. “Hello?” I say as I twist the knob. Cooing fills the space. I walk to the back and find Elle sitting at her desk, with her headset on, and her twins sitting in their playpen. A pang of hurt fills me as I crouch down to visit Jett and Sonny because I haven’t seen my grandbabies yet. I should’ve gone over this morning, but the last thing I want to do is disturb Noah and Peyton.
“Hi, boys,” I say as I grip the side of the playpen. I appreciate Elle and Ben for putting a J or S on their shirts. I know it’s for people like me, who aren’t around much. “Make sure you tell your gramps you saw Uncle Liam and tell him how much you love seeing me more than him. He’s so stinky isn’t he.”
The boys try to hand me their slobbery toys.
Elle hangs up and stands. I go to her and give her a hug. “It’s good to see you. How are you? Things?”
“I’m good,” I tell her. “Mira’s sending over some producer to talk to me about a new venture.”
“Fun, what is it?”
I shake my head. “Not a clue. But hey, we got offered a legacy tour.”
Elle tries to hide the fact that she’s about to laugh. “Rock on.”
Her phone starts to ring again. “Just close the door if the boys get loud.”
“For sure.” I go back to the twins and play with them for a minute. They have dark hair, with chubby cheeks and look likeMason. There’s a little bit of Katelyn in there, but the boys are mostly the grandfather they’ll grow up hearing about but never knowing. I suppose they look like their parents a bit as well, but when I look at the boys, I see Mason.
Jett’s getting his first tooth, and Sonny’s hair is curling at the ends. Both boys babble to each other, in that twin language we’re all so used to from Peyton and Elle. It makes me wonder if the boys and triplets will share their own way of communicating.
As I go, I leave Elle’s door ajar and head back to the front to wait for whoever Mira has sent to meet with me. I should be grateful someone wants to work with me, in any capacity. It’s just hard to accept I’m an aging rock star and the best anyone wants from me and my band is a legacy tour. 4225 West is more than county fairs and a four-band tour at run-down amphitheaters. Not that amphitheaters are bad. It’s the doctor standing stage left waiting to see if one of us is about to keel over that hits home a bit too hard.
When I step into my office, I’m pleasantly surprised to find the window open, and any staleness gone. Offering Elle an office space here was one of the best decisions I’ve made in this business. As her uncle, I never wanted her involved in the industry. She’s proved all of us wrong though and has made a name for herself. Most importantly, she fights for her bands. She puts them first before money, and that is something hard to find in managers sometimes.
I check the time. Bex Alderman, a producer from a boutique operation based out of New York City is who Mira sent to meet with me. Deep down, I know I need to be open to all sorts of business opportunities. Yes, I could keep pushing the band and the tour thing. I could build my producing resume and take on more artists.
I could say fuck it and run for mayor. There isn’t a doubt in my mind I’d win.
Or I take a meeting with Bex and see what she has to offer.
No sooner do I sit back in my chair and put my feet on my desk; do I hear the front door chime. I glance at my watch—she’s early—a good sign in my book and a rarity these days. I walk to the front and am greeted with a wide, bright smile. I don’t know who I expected, but the young woman standing in our small lobby was not it.
Bex has to be in her mid-twenties, no more than thirty, Black, wearing a fitted jacket over a dark turtleneck and jeans. Somehow, her smile widens even more when we make eye contact.
“Mr. Page, I’m Bex Alderman. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
I step forward and shake her outstretched hand. “Please, call me Liam. How was your flight?”
“Nerve-racking, but good.”
“Glad to hear it.” I motion behind me. “Let’s meet in my office. Can I get you something to drink? We have coffee, tea, and an assortment of juices and soft drinks.”
“Coffee would be great.”
I veer off and take her into our breakroom, which Elle keeps fully stocked for all the artists who come in and out of here. I make two cups of coffee, handing the first one to Bex, and tell her to help herself to any of the other items we have available. She makes herself a bagel and offers to make me one as well.
We take our breakfast into my office and instead of me sitting at my desk in some power move, we sit across from each other in the swivel chairs Josie insisted I put in my office. I hadn’t had a need for them until now.
