Chapter Two
The next morning, Dante stretched and pulled himself out of bed with a groan. He kept himself in great shape, but his muscles still complained about the adventure of the evening before. He rubbed his scruffy blond stubble and dragged himself into the bathroom. He decided to leave his chin unshaved and opted for a quick shower and change before heading out. The sooner he got to the studio, the sooner he could get Marshal out of his hair. He slipped on a screen-printed t-shirt and some distressed jeans and then walked out of the bedroom.
To his surprise, the living room and kitchen were empty. The cabin felt quiet and, he had to admit, a little lonely. On the kitchen table, he found a note, folded neatly and sitting up. He opened it and read: Dear Dante, Thank you very much for saving my life and the bathrobe. I had to work early too, but I promise I’ll get the bathrobe back to you later. Thanks again, Hugo.
Dante laughed and shook his head at the letter’s formality. Then he grabbed a protein shake from the fridge, his wallet and car keys, and a tablet where he kept all his music notes.
The drive to L.A. was as long as always. An hour and half mixture of beautiful scenery and horrendous traffic. The truth was, he didn’t mind. It was time to think, time to be alone, and he got to keep the benefit of getting out of the city. It did make him late though, as per usual. As he drove up to the recording studio, he could tell that everyone else was already there. It looked like everyone in the literal sense too. He’d been expecting a mixer and a couple of his back-up singers, but he spotted his agent’s car and two others he didn’t recognize. As he parked his signature sports car, he took a moment or two and some calming breaths before getting out and walking into the studio. They were expecting Dante Lucas—calm, cool and smooth—so that’s what they’d get.
He put on his fedora and sunglasses and looked at himself in the rearview mirror. “You got this,” he said as a short pep talk and then plastered on a wide grin, making himself really feel it.
A few moments later, Dante walked through the door, arms wide and face smiling. Musicians were already warming up in the sound booth and a handful of stuffy-looking businessman were standing to the side of the room. It was a large studio, but they made it feel small and confining anyway. He ignored them though and shook hands with the mixer.
“Hey, hey!” he said as they exchanged bro-hugs.
“Good to see you, my brother,” the large, dreadlocked man said and sat back down.
A cough from the side made Dante turn his attention toward Marshal. The man did not look happy and neither did the two gentlemen he'd brought with him. “Where have you been?” he demanded.
“Swimming,” Dante sassed. He knew it was a bad move, but the man had been getting under his skin for too long.
Marshal smirked and nodded toward a door off to the side. “Perhaps we should talk in private.” Then he opened the door and stepped inside, the other men following.
Dante sighed and followed them into the private meeting room. The two businessmen had sat at the long conference table, but Marshal was still standing, waiting for him. He shut the door behind him and waited too. When his agent simply clasped his hands in front of him and gave him a condescending look, Dante felt his blood begin to boil.
“You don't own me, Marshal,” he growled, quietly.
The agent snorted. He was taller than Dante and outweighed the singer by fifty pounds. The button of his suit jacket threatened to pop off as he laughed. “No, but these men do. They’re the heads of your record label. You know, the one you signed on with just six short months ago?”
“Gentlemen,” Dante said and nodded at the men, respectfully. “Yes, I know who they are, Marshal. If I could ask, what are they doing here?”
“Well, they thought you’d be in New York by now, setting up a tour. They wanted to come down personally and make sure everything was all right. I tried to assure them you were fine, but they couldn’t imagine that was true given you never showed up.”
“Oh, cut the shit, Marshal,” Dante spat. “I’m forty years old. I don’t need a babysitter and I know how this business works. I told you that the fans weren’t ready for a big tour and neither am I. If you want a good show, that you can actually make some money off of. I need to release more music and prove myself a little more first.”
“And I heard you, Dante. That’s why these men are here. Supposedly you have some inspired new music that all the fans are going to just eat up. They wanted to hear it for themselves and, frankly, so do I, considering you’ve never sent any of it over to me. They want to check on their investment, make sure you had what you said you had.” Marshal leaned right into his client’s face and added, “And know that your career may depend on you delivering.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply looked over at the two businessmen and nodded again. Then he threw open the door and walked back into the studio. It seemed the day was going to be full of surprises. He sat down next to the mixer and turned on the tablet. They went over a few notes and then he got up to go into the sound booth.
It was unusual, especially in his style of music, to record the vocals and the music together, but he’d decided to try something new for his second album. It had caused yet another disagreement with his agent. He nodded at the drummer and keyboardist and then set himself up at the microphone. He slipped on his headphones and nodded at John, the mixer.
“Okay, let’s take it slow, from the top, get a bit of warm-up in,” John suggested.
Dante nodded and waited for the music to play. It was a sad piece, with a deep, instrumental feel. It sounded like the musicians had been playing before he got there, but that was okay with him. It just meant that they were ready to get going. It was all about the going for him. His eyes closed and his mind focused, he leaned into the mic as his body moved with the rhythm. As he started to sing about loved ones lost and justice unserved, he was suddenly interrupted. The voice wasn’t John’s though, it was Marshal’s.
Dante kept his eyes shut, rolling them into the back of his head and pursing his lips. “Yeah, Marshal, what is it?” he said as he opened his eyes and stared out the glass in front of the sound booth.
“Do you really need that much instrumental intro?” the man asked.
“It's a warm-up, man. Can we just…” Dante threw up his hands and gestured around the sound booth.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry, go ahead,” Marshal beckoned.
“I’m gonna kill this man,” Dante mumbled to himself and slipped the headphones back on.
It took a couple of tries to get back into the rhythm and mood of the song. Dante tried to focus on the music and not the three men scrutinizing his every note. Even then, his voice was off and they had to keep starting over. Eventually, he waved for everyone to stop, feeling his career slipping away with every passing minute. He took a deep breath, turning away from the glass so that only his musicians could see him.
“It’s all right, Dante,” his drummer said. “Don’t worry about the suits. It’s an amazing song and it sounds good. Just relax and it’ll sound great.”
He smirked and nodded. Closing his eyes, he began to snap out a rhythm and then sang the first few bars of the song acapella. He thought he was just singing to himself and didn’t realize it was still going out to the studio.
“See, that guy likes it,” the drummer chuckled and pointed toward the glass.
Dante whipped around to see Hugo, standing behind John, with the bathrobe in his hand. He closed his eyes and shook his head when Hugo held it up like an offering. Then, the commotion began. He watched as an angry Marshal demanded to know who this man was and what he was doing there. He started to usher Hugo out the door, but Dante stepped over to the glass.
“No, he’s fine. He can stay.” When the three suits gave him a surprised look, he added, “He’s my guest. I invited him.” Then he nodded at Hugo, who gave him a weak smile in reply. “Okay, John,” Dante said and then they gave it another try. This time, Dante ignored Marshal and the men from the record label. He sang his sweet, sad tune just to Hugo and the sound was better than he’d ever gotten it before. In that moment, something about the big, goofy guy he’d saved changed in Dante’s mind. He couldn’t put his finger on it, at first, but he knew this man was going to be important in his life.
When the song was finished, he nodded toward Hugo again. “What did you think?”
Hugo’s eyes widened and he looked around at all the people, staring at him. “Me?”
“Yeah, you,” Dante answered with a grin.
“I thought it was amazing,” Hugo breathed in reply. “The music at the beginning was so…heart wrenching.”
Dante gave Marshal a meaningful look, but then turned back to Hugo when it was clear the man had more to say.
“And your voice,” he went on. “Your voice is just sublime.”
Dante tried not to blush and pulled his fedora down to cover part of his face. “Nah, it’s all about the music, man. I just…give it a voice, you know.”
“No, it’s really not. Without your voice…”
The musicians behind Dante chuckled and he turned around and told them off. Then he looked back to Marshal again before asking John to play it from the beginning. “One more time, just for good measure.”