He winced. He’d been hoping for something that would let them put that off longer, something that would give them time to recover. Time for Joe to be a dad. Maybe Trix could get some therapy.
Perhaps Monique understood that disappointment, because she said, “Yes. However, they’re willing to sit on the start of the next tour. It would begin next summer, with some promotion gearing up in the spring, most of which could be coordinated from Toronto.”
Jeff looked at Joe, who looked at Max, who looked at Trix. Trix and Jeff met eyes.
“That sounds… doable,” Jeff said.
Trix nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Except, uh, the album’s due at the end of August.”
“Not anymore,” Monique told her. “We need it by the end of July. Just for insurance.”
Oh great, no pressure, then. Seven weeks. Plenty of time… if Max wouldn’t be missing several of them for rehab. Jeff glanced at Max, then Joe, then Trix. Joe blew out a breath and said, “Okay. I think we can make that work.”
At least they had a bit of a head start.
Then Monique dropped the next bomb. “Good. Here’s the next thing. Don’t do any work where the label is paying for the space.”
Shit. Jeff was really glad now he’d upgraded the hotel room in Vancouver at his own expense. “Okay?”
“It’s a long shot, but they could claim that renting practice space counts as investing in the final product. We don’t want them to have a leg to stand on. So wherever this gets written, wherever you record the demo, you do it on your own dime. Preferably somewhere the label won’t find out about it, to forestall legal shenanigans.”
Now that would be tricky. There was no way to know which employees at the recording spaces they usually rented were in contact with people at the label. Something could come up at any time. So nothing in the city, then.
“I think I have an idea,” Jeff said after a moment. “Let me call you about it later, though, okay?”
Max cleared his throat. “In the meantime, can you look into something else?”
When they hung up, they cued up101 Dalmatianson hotel pay-per-view. Jeff had Dina cancel their practice rental.
Then they ordered an obscene amount of room service and settled in.
“You’re sure you’re okay playing tomorrow,” Trix asked for maybe the third time.
“I’ll be fine,” Max promised, closing his eyes. His beef lo mein noodles slid off his chopsticks, and he cursed. “Just don’t leave me alone.”
They were actually pretty lucky, Jeff thought, that they’d accidentally gotten adjoining rooms.
He didn’t pick up his phone again until Max and Trix were in bed for real, curled up facing each other, talking quietly. Then he retreated to his own room, but he didn’t close the adjoining doors all the way.
He missed Carter. He wanted nothing more than to call and tell him everything—Joe’s impending fatherhood, Max’s journey to sobriety, the potential dissolution of the past ten years of Jeff’s life.
But that wasn’t a conversation to have on the phone. Carter had enough on his plate with healing, helping his mom, coaching T-ball, saving the environment. Jeff wasn’t going to be one more problem for him to solve, one more drain on his mental and emotional resources.
With the door open, he couldn’t even sext, so he couldn’t be a physical drain either. Talk about a bad time.
I miss you, Jeff wrote. He stared at the words for a moment but didn’t hit Send. Finally he addedSee you in two daysand sent it.
He was almost asleep when the reply came, and he squinted at the bright light from his phone now that his eyes were accustomed to darkness.
I’ll be here.
Article fromWinnipeg Lifestylewebsite
June 9
Howling Good Time
EVERY ONCEin a while—not often, maybe once a decade or so—you experience an event and you know there’s something special about it. Last night’s concert at Bell MTS Place was one of those times.
