I scratched my head. Great, I hadn’t anticipated her discovering that. How did I answer without her killing me…or calling Denny to verify? Fuck. I had to tell her what I’d done. Goddammit. “Yeah…um…when I signed off with the band…I signed off on everything.”
Her eyes opened much wider than I thought was humanly possible. Shit, here we go. “Everything…? Griffin? Why the hell would you do that? I mean, doing it on the last album was bad enough, but everything? Are you fucking crazy?”
I knew she was right, I knew it had been a pretty stupid, knee-jerk reaction, but I wasn’t about to admit that to her now. Not with Denny’s refusal to manage me ringing through my ears. “No, I just don’t want anything from them. They’re dead to me,” I spouted. It felt good to use Matt’s words against him, even if he wasn’t here to hear it.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled a deep breath. When she reopened them, she was a little calmer. Not by much though. “For the sake of your family, and those two little girls out there who idolize you…stop fucking around and fix this. Call Denny, call Harold, and start bringing in some fucking cash. Or I fucking will, and you won’t like the way I do it.”
With that, she grabbed her boots and stormed out of the room.
Jesus. I knew she worried about money and crap, but damn, she should have more faith in me. I was her husband, she should believe in me. Till death do us part and all that shit. A tiny part of my brain told me that she’d have more faith if I’d been more honest, but I yelled at that part of my head to shut up. I didn’t need to hear it. I felt bad enough as it was.
Chapter 18
The Price of Awesomeness
Two months later, as the end of the year approached, so did the end of my lie, and the end of my rope. I could almost see it dangling in the distance, taunting me with everything I wanted but couldn’t seem to get. No record label would take me. Most wouldn’t even talk to me, but the ones who did all said the same thing: No. Sometimes, Hell no. I wasn’t sure what to do next.
Even though I’d been in a band for years, I had no clue how to go about making music. I only had a handful of completed songs under my belt, besides my rapidly produced demo that had no music other than my awesome background noises. My favorite song was entitled Cocknado. It was fucking amazing, but at this rate no one was going to get to hear it.
I hounded everyone I could think of, even Justin. “What gives, bro? I thought you were getting me an in with your label?”
There was a long sigh on his end of the line. “I never said that. When you asked¸ I said I’d give it to them, and I did. It’s not my fault they said no. There’s only so much I can do, Griffin.” The calmness in his voice was clearly forced.
“Well, I guess being friends doesn’t go as far as I thought it did in this city.” I hung up the phone before he could respond, then I threw the phone against the wall. The cover over the battery pack broke off when it clattered to the floor. Damn it.
A small tap on the doorframe was followed by the words “Griffin? You okay?”
I looked over to see Anna standing there, supporting Onnika on her hip. I made myself smile. God, I hoped she hadn’t heard any of that. “Of course. What could possibly be wrong with me? I am the epitome of awesome after all.”
She cocked an eyebrow, then glanced at the broken phone. “You sure? Is it the show? Have they given you an airdate yet?”
A spark of hope flashed over her face, followed by confusion. She didn’t understand why the studio was keeping me in the dark. And she didn’t understand because she didn’t know that I was lying my ass off every day; I was even still dying my hair brown to keep her as clueless as possible. It was just to save her stress though. She might have a heart attack if she knew I was unemployed and we were hemorrhaging thousands of dollars every month…Fuck, I needed to fix this. Fast. “Not quite. But soon, I’m sure.”
She pursed her lips, and the discouragement and frustration on her face was clear to see, even for someone as boneheaded as me. “Well, keep calling them. They can’t just not pay you. It isn’t right.”
I opened my mouth to give her some more unfounded encouragement, but she turned and left before I could. Stepping over to the phone, I threw it against the wall again. Damn it. What the hell was I going to do? If no label would take me and I couldn’t get a stream of cash flowing again…Anna and I would be flat-broke in another couple of months. And she’d leave me. She’d leave me for lying, she’d leave me for dragging her down her, she’d leave me for not fulfilling my role as her provider. I’d never see her or the girls again. Fuck.
Desperation washed over me, and for a brief second as I stared at the phone in pieces on the floor, I considered calling the D-Bags. Maybe if I begged hard enough, Matt would let me back. Or maybe if I went to Kellan instead. It was more his band than anyone else’s. Yeah. I could go to Kellan and bypass Matt completely.
But just the thought of doing that made my skin crawl. I’d have to endure countless hours of ribbing: Remember when you tried to do a TV show, but it was a complete and total failure that never even made it on the air? Remember when you tried to make an album, but no one would take you? Remember when you tried to stand on your own two feet like you didn’t need us? How ridiculous of you to think you could survive without us. We’re the reason you’re not a floundering piece of shit, and don’t you forget it. Now shine our shoes…
No thanks. I’d rather flounder than subject myself to that. They could kiss my ass. If no label would take me, then I’d make my own. A spark of excitement burned away my moment of anxiety. Yes, that was exactly what I’d do—make my own label, make my own record.