Page 93 of Caught in a Storm
Spring has transitioned to early summer, and it’s brought humidity with it. It’s Saturday afternoon, and Fells Point is crowded, like always. Billy moved into a new place a few weeks ago. It’s about five blocks from here, tucked away on a side street. It’s not an apartment this time but a tall, skinny row house. It’s fine enough, and the Steinway fits in the front room nicely, but it’s all too quiet to be excited about, too far from the action.
The three friends walk down Thames Street. They pass Hot Twist, with its Back in 15 mins sign that Gustavo hung up half an hour ago. Billy can hear Charm City Rocks as they approach, the low rumble of it.
“There’s still some painting to do up there,” says Grady. “You know, crown molding, some touch-up work. I got a guy coming tomorrow. And I need to hang some art that Patty got for us. But we’re just about done.”
Billy looks inside the record shop, because he can’t not look in. Patty is working the register; she waves when she sees him. The Charm City Grinds sign is up and brand new, along with a fluttering banner that reads Grand Opening Monday!
“You think it’s big enough to read from the street?” asks Grady.
“I think it’s big enough to read from space,” says Gustavo.
They head up the steps. Grady upgraded the glorified fire escape that Billy climbed up and down when he lived here. It’s a full brick staircase now, professional looking, with a smooth metal railing. “Here we go,” says Grady. “Be nice, okay, you guys?”
Billy can’t speak for Gustavo, but he has no intention of being anything other than nice, especially because he can see how excited his friend is to show them. Grady twists the key. The new tinted-glass door opens, and Billy can’t believe it. Newly finished wood floors, grayish-blue walls, handsome countertops with a section of matching two-top tables, a few lounge chairs, a love seat by the window. An espresso machine awaits, gleaming. It’s brand new, but not that much different from his grandma’s old beast.
“Look at this dump,” says Gustavo, and Grady smiles.
Billy crosses what was once his TV room and pokes his head into Caleb’s old bedroom. There’s a conference table there now, with four chairs, a bank of USB ports, and electrical outlets. A framed photograph of the Domino Sugars sign hangs from the wall.
“We figured this could be, like, a little conference room,” says Grady. “People can reserve it. Meetings. Stuff like that. You know, telecommuters.”
Billy goes to the main window next, leans on the sill. A store that sells expensive baby clothes is moving in next to the 7-Eleven down the street. He sits on the new love seat, which is about where his old couch used to be. He pictures different versions of Caleb sprawled here—from napping toddler to gangly boy to slightly less gangly high school graduate.
“So, what do you think, Billy?” asks Grady.
Billy stands up and rests his palm against the wall. He holds his breath, feels the place vibrating along with the music from downstairs. His old apartment is still humming on. “I love it, man,” he says. “You did great.”
Grady puts his hands on his hips and smiles again, pleased. “Thanks,” he says. “Now, can you show me how this espresso machine works? It’s really confusing.”
Chapter 51
Some 195 miles north of Baltimore again, Margot is at Threshold Recording Studios on West Forty-first Street with the band. It’s Saturday, but that hardly registers. She knows it’s lunchtime, because Nikki is in the control room drinking a seaweed-colored smoothie.
Jenny naps on one of the couches with a Strand Book Store pillow over her face. Anna is facing Margot, playing, her big red bass crooked on her hip. The low, wobbly sound is being piped into Margot’s headphones. She’s matching Anna’s notes, hitting her kick drum on Anna’s F6 chord over and over. Anna has headphones on, too, so it’s like they’re in their own little world. A deep line of concentration runs across Anna’s forehead as they jam over a guitar riff that Jenny laid down a few hours ago. Recording an album is like putting a big, noisy puzzle together while highly caffeinated.
Their eyes meet, Margot’s and Anna’s, just as Anna changes to E7. Anna smiles and winks, because they’ve found their groove—the effortlessness from before. It was slow going at first, but they’ve melded again: one musician, four arms.
* * *
—
The first day of work on the new album a few weeks ago, Margot was the first to arrive at Threshold. It was 9 a.m. on a Monday, which is way too early for rock and roll, but a schedule is a schedule. She was nervous to see Anna and Jenny, but mostly Anna, her rhythm-section comrade. Neither Anna nor Jenny could be blamed for what happened. They apologized years ago for not telling her what they knew or thought they might have known about what was happening between Nikki and Lawson. It was a dilemma for them, because it wasn’t just some affair within their social circle. Anna’s and Jenny’s livelihoods were on the line, their careers. Margot told them that she forgave them, but she shut them out anyway, and she hadn’t spoken to either of them in years.
As chance would have it, the guitar player and bassist arrived at the same time. They each stopped dead in the doorway when they saw Margot sitting on an old studio couch holding her drumsticks. She must’ve looked like a junior high kid on her first day at a new school—all nerves and dread.
“As I live and breathe,” said Jenny.
“Aren’t you that drummer chick from the Internet?” asked Anna. She’d let her curly hair go almost completely gray. She wore a jean jacket and vintage sneakers. She looked every bit as cool as her old bass.
“So, are we really doing this?” asked Jenny. She wore a loose peasant dress under a leather jacket. It was warm out, but recording studios are always freezing.
“Why not, right?” said Margot. “I wasn’t doing much else.”
“Is it true you told Axl to go fuck himself?” asked Anna.
Margot nodded. She hadn’t used those words, but the sentiment was right on. Margot had agreed to all of this—the album, the tour—on one condition: no Axl fucking Albee. She and the band would deal with Rebecca Yang only; Axl wasn’t to come within a city block of Threshold.
“Sweet,” said Jenny.
