been able to just walk away, things might have been different, but we were young. I had to offer him one chance to give me what I needed. But no, that wasn’t to be. Indiana Andrew McCaffrey had to stake out his territory.
“Maybe.” He waved at me dismissively, and with that, the potential to have my needs met went down the shitter.
“What do you mean maybe?”
“People come over, and it gets hard to talk. So it’s cool.”
I threw myself down the hall toward him, the weight of my bag pushing me forward, finger extended. “It’s cool?”
He shrugged and looked back into the engineering room as if he was dying to get back in there. I’d never felt so alone in my entire life.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you dare tell me you won’t make the time to talk to me. I’ve never asked you for a goddamn thing, you—”
“That’s fucking right.” His tone was a cinderblock wall, and I shriveled inside even as I kept my own wall high and hard. “Look, if you’re gonna turn crazy, you won’t be the fucking first.”
“What?”
“I’d be surprised. You didn’t seem like the type. But before we ‘talk,’ I’m going to pull out what we said the night we met. Feelings aren’t real, so we don’t bother. Right? You’re not getting crazy. Right?”
Crazy. The world and everyone in it was crazy. Because I had feelings. I didn’t know what they were or who they were even for. Maybe I had feelings for a way of life that was about to end.
“Look,” he said, rubbing his lower lip with his thumb. A little swipe of discomfort. “We’re really busy right now. There’s no time for this.”
Whatever my feelings were, Indy wasn’t going to help me sort them out, and fuck him. I didn’t need him or his help. He didn’t even know what to do with his own damned feelings.
“Better get back to work,” I sneered.
I took my crazy and went down the hall without looking back.
Fuck him seven ways to Sunday.
Fuck both of them.
Chapter 24.
1994
The Audi cut through the rain like a machete, and Drew drove as if he lived in a place where it rained more than two months out of the year. I felt safe. Again.
“I saw you in Rolling Stone ,” I said as if I was just trying to make conversation. I flipped through a black wallet of CDs. Doubtless a small fraction of what he had at home.
“That was such a joke.”
“Too redemptive?”
“I did half the drugs they said I did.”
“That’s still a lot.”
He smiled. “Yeah. There was plenty. It was the eighties. What can I tell you? I was a wreck. Sound Brothers was making a ton of money, and I was wrecked over Strat.”
I slid a disc from the sleeve. Kentucky Killer . The album that turned me into a groupie and got them the deal that financed the studio. The one with the masters in the trunk of the car.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said.
He shrugged and looked in the rearview before changing lanes as if he needed something to do with his hands and mind. “Yeah, thanks. I just… I didn’t know. After you were gone, we started fighting. Bad shit. Fistfights. I don’t know what was wrong with him. Or me. Maybe it was me. I think about it a lot. Was it all really my fault? I mean, he blamed me for letting you go. He said he wouldn’t have. So I shut down. I didn’t even want to look at him. I got very involved with the studio. He had the business head, and I kept just wanting to do shit my way.”
“You made the studio a real success.”
“I never felt like that without him. Feels like I’m treading water most days. He said the studio should be passive. It should run itself while we made music, and I just kept getting more and more involved in the day-to-day. I could barely show up to our own sessions, and Gary had a kid, so he was checked out. Strat just lost it. Went back to Nashville.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“It wasn’t. He had a bad heart. Congenital aortic valve something. If he knew, he might have decided to take too much heroin
“Maybe.” He waved at me dismissively, and with that, the potential to have my needs met went down the shitter.
“What do you mean maybe?”
“People come over, and it gets hard to talk. So it’s cool.”
I threw myself down the hall toward him, the weight of my bag pushing me forward, finger extended. “It’s cool?”
He shrugged and looked back into the engineering room as if he was dying to get back in there. I’d never felt so alone in my entire life.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you dare tell me you won’t make the time to talk to me. I’ve never asked you for a goddamn thing, you—”
“That’s fucking right.” His tone was a cinderblock wall, and I shriveled inside even as I kept my own wall high and hard. “Look, if you’re gonna turn crazy, you won’t be the fucking first.”
“What?”
“I’d be surprised. You didn’t seem like the type. But before we ‘talk,’ I’m going to pull out what we said the night we met. Feelings aren’t real, so we don’t bother. Right? You’re not getting crazy. Right?”
Crazy. The world and everyone in it was crazy. Because I had feelings. I didn’t know what they were or who they were even for. Maybe I had feelings for a way of life that was about to end.
“Look,” he said, rubbing his lower lip with his thumb. A little swipe of discomfort. “We’re really busy right now. There’s no time for this.”
Whatever my feelings were, Indy wasn’t going to help me sort them out, and fuck him. I didn’t need him or his help. He didn’t even know what to do with his own damned feelings.
“Better get back to work,” I sneered.
I took my crazy and went down the hall without looking back.
Fuck him seven ways to Sunday.
Fuck both of them.
Chapter 24.
1994
The Audi cut through the rain like a machete, and Drew drove as if he lived in a place where it rained more than two months out of the year. I felt safe. Again.
“I saw you in Rolling Stone ,” I said as if I was just trying to make conversation. I flipped through a black wallet of CDs. Doubtless a small fraction of what he had at home.
“That was such a joke.”
“Too redemptive?”
“I did half the drugs they said I did.”
“That’s still a lot.”
He smiled. “Yeah. There was plenty. It was the eighties. What can I tell you? I was a wreck. Sound Brothers was making a ton of money, and I was wrecked over Strat.”
I slid a disc from the sleeve. Kentucky Killer . The album that turned me into a groupie and got them the deal that financed the studio. The one with the masters in the trunk of the car.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said.
He shrugged and looked in the rearview before changing lanes as if he needed something to do with his hands and mind. “Yeah, thanks. I just… I didn’t know. After you were gone, we started fighting. Bad shit. Fistfights. I don’t know what was wrong with him. Or me. Maybe it was me. I think about it a lot. Was it all really my fault? I mean, he blamed me for letting you go. He said he wouldn’t have. So I shut down. I didn’t even want to look at him. I got very involved with the studio. He had the business head, and I kept just wanting to do shit my way.”
“You made the studio a real success.”
“I never felt like that without him. Feels like I’m treading water most days. He said the studio should be passive. It should run itself while we made music, and I just kept getting more and more involved in the day-to-day. I could barely show up to our own sessions, and Gary had a kid, so he was checked out. Strat just lost it. Went back to Nashville.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“It wasn’t. He had a bad heart. Congenital aortic valve something. If he knew, he might have decided to take too much heroin
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