AT 29 (60 page)

“Eugene is weak.”

Cindy jumped in. “London fixed that.” Jimmy looked to Ellis for confirmation.

“They're sitting on their hands,” Ellis said. “We'll search for permanent players later.”

“I have to hear them. We can do it when we're finished here.”

“Good,” Miles interrupted, “now we still have Button versus Buckman.”

Jimmy looked up in surprise. “That's already settled.”

“The album's still called
Button's Back and Blue
. Do we take Button off?”

Cindy turned to Jimmy. “You're known as Jimmy Button.”

“I'm Jim Buckman in Australia. It didn't hurt sales over there.”

“It's risky, Jimmy.”

“I want my real name.”

“Jimmy…” Cindy wanted to argue.

“It's okay.” Ellis chimed in, touching Jimmy's sleeve. “You're Jim Buckman.” He leaned past Jimmy to address Cindy. “It's a fresh start for all of us. Blossom is going to take precedence over everything else. We hit the road as Blossom Presents and make that the story.”

Jimmy wasn't sure. “No headliner?”

Miles stepped in. “You're the headliner. The British groups play parts of their albums. You play all of
Back and Blue
. I'll take Button off the cover tomorrow.”

Ted Lynch arrived from Hartford just in time to catch Jimmy in the studio with Eugene and Melinda. He was a square, husky twenty-five year old with short brown hair and an eager smile. He wore a suede vest and blue jeans with a thick belt and a huge western style brass buckle. He looked the part of a rock musician. Jimmy told him to plug his harmonica into the studio sound system while he ran Eugene through some of the chords from
Peg
.

Eugene was nervous, but quickly satisfied Jimmy with his skills. After a lengthy run through, he brought Melinda into the mix, pressing her to kick up the tempo to be sure Eugene could keep pace. In the middle of one of the songs Lynch brought his harmonica to his mouth and flawlessly slid in. He took over from Melinda as Jimmy signaled Eugene to stop. Sonny came through the door just as Lynch drove the harmonica to its highest pitch. He closed the door carefully and came up beside Jimmy to listen. They both knew an extra dimension had just been added.

***

The meeting with Benson started uncomfortably, at least for Jimmy. Benson showed no self-consciousness at all. In fact, he was completely relaxed and even complimentary, a side he rarely showed.

“Heard the album. Best thing you've done since we all got together.”

“Thanks.” Jimmy accepted the compliment warily.

“When do we start rehearsals?”

“What happened to your band?”

“Oh, that was just an idea. I never really expected to go it alone.”

“Mitch and Ralphie?”

Benson grinned. “We had a falling out. They wanted too much money. Ungrateful, if you ask me. Anyway they're gone. Good riddance, they couldn't play worth a damn.”

Both men knew this was a lie. Jimmy recruited them on the strength of their play. It was only after Benson returned from rehab that things became strained. He bullied Mitch and Ralph into defiance, driving a wedge into the band with Jimmy and Sonny on one side and those three on the other. Jimmy's almost constant drunkenness didn't help. It was only because he recognized his own complicity that he was meeting with Benson today.

“Too bad, I could use them.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, they're gone. Got any others lined up?”

“I'm working on it.”

“So, I'm asking, when do we start?” Benson fidgeted impatiently.

“I did some auditions before you came in. Tomorrow we'll run through the songs and make a final decision. If all goes well, we start rehearsals the next day.”

“I'll be here.” He got up, preparing to leave.

“Hold on.”

“What else?”

“We didn't exactly part on good terms in Atlantic City.”

Benson sat down again. “I told the suit it was just a misunderstanding and that's all it was. It was a bad night all around.”

“If this is going to work it has to end here.”

“How's it going with the booze?”

“Under control. And you? Are you still clean?”

“I'm doing fine.”

“We don't have to be friends, but we do have to cooperate.”

“No problem for me.”

“Okay. Fresh start day after tomorrow.”

Benson stood to leave then turned back. “One other thing.” Jimmy looked at him, wary once again. “I got a friend named Chase. He's been a roadie with lots of bands. Available now. We can use him.”

“Talk to Ellis.”

“Ellis? What's he got to do with it?”

“He's handling the logistics for the tour.”

“Still your agent?”

“That, too. We're all dual tasking.”

“Okay.”

The desire to call Les permeated his idle moments. Was their separation final? In the midst of his preparations he found it hard to concentrate. Only the music gave him satisfaction. Otherwise, he felt lonelier than at any other time in his life. He was accustomed to being alone. Often he welcomed it. Now, the few hours of solitude, away from rehearsals and preparations, were empty. He missed her. In his apartment he stared at the telephone. The distance separating them was too great. Les was right. It still hurt.

Miles was on the road into Manhattan Monday morning before dawn. The Lincoln Tunnel was up ahead and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw little traffic.
Back and Blue
was playing softly on the radio's cassette player. He fingered the two other cassettes on the passenger seat while his mind went over what he knew about Mike Winfield. Loren Phillips asked him to come in early so he could listen to another drive time interview scheduled for seven. The change of plan puzzled him.

“We'd rather tape you later after the show is over. But Mike would appreciate it if you could come in early and be here for the one with VooDoo9 front man, Toby Maine.”

“Is this about Atlantic City? Because I don't want to…”

“No, no. The timing is a coincidence.”

“Then why not bring me in later?”

“He thinks you might find it interesting, but if you can't make it…”

“You're sure this has nothing to do with Jimmy?”

“Promise. It's won't to come up.”

Cindy said Loren was straight shooter. He had no choice, but to trust her. He pictured Cindy in his mind. Dinner with her was now two or three nights each week. He found himself enjoying her company more each time. Sometimes, it was simply take-out brought over to the studio or his office. Other times, they took a table at Antonio's in town, sharing a bottle of wine and talking about everything from business to the weather. The flow was easy. He wasn't lonely when they were together.

He did his homework on Mike Winfield. He listened to his show every morning, carefully analyzing his technique and the types of questions asked. None of those interviewed were executives like him. They were mostly performers with a few songwriters and arrangers mixed in. Most were well known with hit songs either climbing the charts or sitting close to the top. Winfield, he decided, was a skilled interviewer. The on-air conversations were entertaining and informative. The reputations of those he interviewed were always enhanced. In this, McCabe was very pleased. He cared not one bit for his own ego, but he saw an opportunity, through Winfield, to get significant exposure for Blossom Records.

He knew about Winfield's personal problems, too. The trades carried a few stories about his battles with cocaine. The sordid details of his divorce were a matter of public record. She'd been the DJ's second wife, a former songstress who claimed to have given up her career when she had his two daughters. New York divorce law is stacked against husbands and fathers. She took him for everything. Yet, for a businessman like Miles McCabe, merely learning what the public already knew wasn't enough. So he contacted an old friend in hopes there might be more private information out there.

“Miles McCabe, I never thought I'd talk to you again.”

“My fault,” Miles replied. “I should have called before.”

Felix Massengill was the retired head of security at McCabe's old company. They met when Miles was negotiating the failed merger. Day after day, when the negotiating team called it quits in the wee hours of the morning, Miles would exit the building through the underground parking garage. SEC regulations were tight. No one was permitted to carry documents and each negotiator had to be carefully screened. Industrial espionage was real and publicly traded companies, especially those engaged in secretive
merger talks, needed to be extra careful. Miles obligingly opened his briefcase and engaged in conversation with Felix and his men, knowing they had a job to do. In time, Felix took to personally escorting Miles to his car. Sometimes, they stood together in the semi-lit garage, just shooting the breeze. A friendship developed. When Miles saw the end, Felix was the first one he called to let him know. Felix retired a few months later.

“What're you doing with yourself?”

“I'm in the music business, recording company over in Millburn.”

“You don't say. Don't tell me you're a singer now ‘cause I won't believe it.”

Miles laughed hard. “No, just trying to get the company back on its feet.”

“That's sounds more like the Miles I know. How's it going?”

The two men spent a half hour catching up. Miles recognized his former colleague as a tough-minded law enforcement type who appreciated people who respected the work he did. He also knew Felix was a warm-hearted family man. Two of his sons also went into police work. Miles steered the conversation to what he had in mind.

“One of your boys is on the force in Manhattan, right?”

“Detective, One Police Plaza.” Miles mentioned Mike Winfield and what he wanted to know. Felix asked a few questions. Miles told him what he knew. “I'll see what I can find out. Drug conviction shouldn't be too hard. Give me a few days.”

The Winfield/Phillips team was already in the broadcast booth for the start of their six a.m. show when Miles arrived. A young receptionist ushered him to a side room next to the booth with windows that let observers see the DJs at work. Winfield was seated with earphones cocked sideways on his head. He had thick neatly combed brown hair. He wore a maroon cardigan. Miles judged him to be about six feet tall in his mid –forties. Loren was younger with long blond hair and a slim body. She smiled at Winfield whenever he uttered some witty remark, often chiming in with a retort.

In Millburn the rehearsals were going better than expected. His band was in the studio all weekend and they were ready to start the Monday work early. Benson arrived with his friend, Chase. Jimmy had his doubts. Chase wore the same soiled black tee shirt and jeans he'd worn the Friday before when Benson introduced him to Ellis and the rest of the touring crew. Chase was unkempt. He had long, greasy black hair and a goatee. He was muscular and carried himself like he knew the rougher side of life. He took orders from Ellis without comment and spoke to no one, except Benson with whom he often stood to the side conversing in muffled tones.

Jimmy worked Melinda, Ted, Eugene, Sonny and Benson in the mornings. In the afternoons he turned the large studio over to the British groups and retired to the small studio with Sonny and Ted to work on various selections involving heavy guitar and harmonica. Benson traded time between the two studios, getting to know everyone. Cindy took the studio at night with the Canadian who was still working on his sound. Ellis and Jimmy were back on good terms after the meeting in Miles' office.

“Everything okay between us?” Ellis asked, in the hall after the meeting.

“Of course.” That's all Jimmy needed to say.

It took all morning to run through each track of
Back and Blue
. Eugene was getting comfortable and Melinda breezed through her parts with no hiccups. The hard part was synching Ted on the harmonica. He was better than Jimmy remembered. The album cuts featured Jimmy on harmonica, but Ted was far more skilled. The trick was keeping him from taking over the songs. He was that good and Jimmy didn't want to
tamp him down so much that the quality of his play got lost. Finding the right balance was tricky. Sonny and Benson merely needed repetition so the flow could be developed. Everyone expected to work long hours before the band would become a single coordinated instrument.

There were the new riffs that Sonny created for the three Whitehurst songs, too. Sonny played them for Jimmy in the New York apartment, careful to keep the amp low so the neighbors wouldn't complain. Sonny was excited and happy to be back on his guitar, free from the drudgery of restaurant work. It showed in the quality of the chords he produced. Jimmy fairly jumped with joy when the powerful sound filled his ears. He nodded gratefully at his friend as he played them over and over so they could fit them neatly into each song. He couldn't wait for the Australian to test them out. For both men the pleasure of playing together again was a special high. They jammed for several hours just for the fun of it.

Just before seven a.m. Miles watched as a slender, boyish looking young man was escorted into the sound booth. He wore a light blue suede vest over a paisley shirt and dark pants. The ensemble, though calculated to look casual, almost thoughtlessly thrown together, was immaculately tailored and professionally coordinated so that the colors matched gracefully with one another and with the eyes, complexion and hair of its wearer. The young man's tinted blond hair, too, was, at first view, casually thrown across his scalp and ears, thick and gleaming. But, upon closer look, its careful shaping could be discerned. It did not flutter as he threw his head back to laugh. It had to be held tightly in place by hairspray.