Page 34 of Accidental Fire
We were paying our dues, or so Regal flippantly said to me once. “Boy, hang on to every penny you make. It’s calledpaying your dues. You’ll need every red cent in the down times if your album sucks. You won’t be able to get work as a studio musician like each of us old guys used to do in the beginning. You’re not a versatile enough guitar player to be able to land those, so whatever you make now will keep a roof over your head until you come up with a good song to sell to a better band to make extra money.” I didn’t appreciate his fucking comments. I was sick of hearing him tell me I wasn’t good enough, the bastard.
Hardy sighed. “Look at all these people. We have security and roadies. We even have a manager who doesn’t come around very much. How much does that cost us?”
“Didn’t you read our contract with Sound Wave Studios? They pay for everything—security, the bus, the semi to haul our stuff, the roadies, and Kit Hansen. If we do a gig that’s not in the contract, we get all the money. If we agree to play additional gigs, that’s our money, except for Marshall’s percentage,” I responded, not sure why he hadn’t asked any questions when we signed the contract for the tour.
Vic brought out our order. “You boys thought anymore about playing on Saturday night? It’ll draw a bigger crowd, I promise you.”
“How about we get five percent of the door?” I asked.
Vic lifted an eyebrow. “Five percent? You guys aren’t well known enough to make those kinds of demands.”
Goldie smirked. “After word gets out about tonight, I’m sure you’ll have no problem selling out the place, I’d say.”
“Three percent I can sell to the owners,” Vic responded.
“Three and a half, and you allow us to practice here during the day and record our show on Saturday night. You’ll make room for our engineer and sound tech to work.”
Vic chuckled. “Okay, I’ll call my boss. I’ll be right back.”
I quickly pulled out my phone and called Nate Ashby. When I looked at the screen, I saw it was one in the morning. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be happy to get a call after midnight, but it was a chance to do something for us without Marshall calling the shots. I had a feeling we were at the beginning of a battle over control.
I wasn’t looking forward to it.
Chapter Thirteen
Kit
I checked my phone to see that River had been gone for an hour, and I was starting to worry. I turned to see Marshall talking to a server, laughing it up and having a good time. I walked over to interrupt.
“If we stay for a few days, could I take you to dinner?” he asked the beautiful young woman.
“Staying for a few days? I thought the band was going back to LA tonight to get into the studio tomorrow. When did the plans change? Where is River?”
Marshall turned toward me. “And why do you need to know? As far as you’re concerned, you have five days off. The truck needs to stay because of the instruments, but you’re free to do anything you want. Hell, fly home if you want. Just be back on Saturday night to drive the truck to Salt Lake City for the show on Sunday night.”
“That’s a ten-hour drive if there’s no traffic. If they’re staying, that means they’ll be playing Saturday night, traveling for ten hours by bus, and then playing after not much time to rest. Is that good for them?”
“It’s what they do, Hansen. They play when I tell them to play. You’ll drive when and where I tell you to drive, or you can unhook your truck and leave now. The trailer belongs to the record label. I’ll get someone else to haul it.”
“You know what, Kensington? I don’t answer to you. I’m employed by the record label.” It was all I could do to keep from busting the motherfucker in the mouth.
I retrieved my phone to see it was one in the morning, and I knew Nate would be pissed, but I was tired of seeing the shit Kensington was getting away with. Something needed to change.
I walked away from Kensington and headed toward the church parking lot, hoping I’d calm down enough to make sense when I spoke with Nate. I hit the contact button, and it went straight to voicemail.
“Uncle Nate, there’s a problem with Kensington. I need to speak to you. Call me when you can.” I ended the call and started heading back toward the venue to find River. He was my foremost concern.
As I rounded the corner of the building, I heard River and Hardy laughing. Following the sound, I found the band at a table on the patio behind the twenty-thousand-square-foot building. They were eating and drinking, so I almost didn’t interrupt, but Arlo saw me in the shadows.
“There’s Kit,” he said, pointing in my direction.
River turned and grinned before he stood. “Come join us. You want a beer?”
“Sure. What’s up? What time are you guys going to the airport?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know anything about them staying in Phoenix to perform on Saturday night.
“I just got off the phone with Mr. Ashby,” River said, which explained to me why Nate hadn’t answered my call.
“Okay. What’s going on? Everything okay?”
