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1.Eddie

“I don’t give a flyingfuck what the record company wants, Reggie. I’m not shacking up with some chick I hardly know for a publicity stunt. I like my space, and I ain’t sharing it with no supermodel who probably thinks Coke is a food group.”

“Eddie, be reasonable. We need to find a way to fix this mess.”

I sigh, scrubbing my hand down my face and trying to rein in my temper. This mess he is whining about is fucking ridiculous. Some pap prick had caught me coming out of the Blue Banana, a gay bar in Newark last week, and they are having a fucking field day with the headlines. I’m probably making it worse because I refuse to give a statement about it. The truth is, I’d gone and done a set there as a favor to a friend who was proposing to his boyfriend that night where they’d met.

It seems no good deed goes unpunished, but I’m fucked if I’m going to surrender to this bullshit.

“It’ll blow over in a few days, Reggie. Just tell the record company to calm down. I’m making them enough fucking money they can let this slide. All I did was support a friend. It’s not like I was caught doing a line off a hooker’s tits.”

I can hear Reggie sucking on one of his cancer sticks like his life depends on it, and my nose wrinkles in disgust. Fucking dirty habit; he needs to quit but I’m not his mama, and he is a grown-ass man.

“Eddie, they’re threatening to sue you for breach of contract if you don’t fix this.”

My hand tightens on the phone, so I lower it and look to the heavens for some goddamn guidance and find nothing but fluffy white clouds mocking my pissy mood. I hear Reggie calling my name and raise the phone back to my ear. “How the hell is me helping a friend out a breach of contract?”

“Morality clause. They say you broke that when you were seen in a seedy part of town.”

Fucking record company thinks they own my ass. In some ways, they do, but unlike some artists, they leave my music alone and don’t try and dictate what I write or sing. That would be a line too far for me, and they know it. I make them enough fucking money that they don’t have to worry about that. “Fuck that. It’s bullshit and you know it. They’re just a bunch of bigoted assholes.”

“I know, but do you really want to risk your career, and millions of dollars, when a few months living with some supermodel will fix it? I mean come on, man. Long legs, tight pussy, tits that won’t quit, you might even enjoy it.”

I wouldn’t, and that’s what Reggie doesn’t get. I like my space, I like to decompress with no noise, and no outside stimulus. Yes, looking at a beautiful woman would be nice, and I like to get laid as much as the next man, but I’m bored with easy hook-ups that feel meaningless. Maybe I can look at this as a roommate situation and just ignore whoever I have to share this nightmare with.

“Fine, send over the list of women, and I’ll pick one.”

“Good man, you’re doing the right thing.”

“Yeah, whatever, and send my contract over too.” I’m going over that fucker with a fine-tooth comb; my lawyer should have picked up on that shit and made me aware. I could blame Reggie, but he’d taken over as my manager after I fired the last one for stealing from me. I should’ve had my contracts checked after that. I was a dumbass for letting it slide.

I hang up and head to the gym, determined to work my frustrations out before I go to the studio to try and get this lyric out of my head and onto paper. I could use the home gym, but an hour with my trainer is good for focus. I also know a few rounds with Billy, who is a former MMA champion, will give me the challenge I need right now.

I would’ve called Nico in the past, but he was handling some family stuff in New York and, honestly, meeting with him right now would probably give the record company execs a fucking coronary. Nico Mancini was the oldest son of Enzo Mancini, the head of the Neapolitan Camorra. The Mancini family were feared by everyone and rightly so, they think nothing of wiping out anyone who crosses them and have more government officials on staff than anyone, but to me, they’re a second family. Nico and I had grown up together; me, him, and Lucas Ryan had been best friends since first grade. It didn’t matter that we were from different worlds, or that our lives had moved in different directions, they were my ride or dies and I knew if I needed them, I needed to make one call and they’d be there and I’d do the same.

The Mancini patriarch has been good to me and Lucas, and treats us both with respect, offering us a place in his organization if we wanted it, but we’d both had other plans for our futures. Me, I wanted to follow my dreams to Tennessee and see if I could make it on the country music scene.

Lucas had ended up falling in love and getting married, and now had a four-year-old son. Unfortunately, his dreamsof starting his own construction company had paled into insignificance when his son was diagnosed with kidney failure at age three.

Thinking of Lucas and what he and Sam, his wife, were going through with little Joey almost kills me. It is one of those situations that helps put your perspective straight. So, I have a few hoops to jump through, at least I don’t have to watch my child struggle and not have any idea if he’ll make it.

As I drive to the gym, I send them both a text asking when they’re free to catch up. It’s been too long, and I miss them. Life as one of the top country music stars is everything and nothing that I had expected. I love playing live, I love the audience and the thrill I get from performing, but I hate the invasion of privacy.

Lucas and Nico both respond within minutes of each other.

Lucas: Man, do I need a night out. All I can swing is an hour maybe, but not much more. Joey is in the hospital again and Sam needs me.

Nico: I’m in. I still owe you for that favor, and I need to get away for a night before I start smashing skulls. These idiots are yanking my last fucking nerve.

Nico: Sorry to hear about Joey, brother. Say the word and I’ll help you find that kidney.

Lucas: Thanks brother, but we ain’t there yet. ’Preciate the offer though.

Me: Lucas man, why didn’t you call us? You know we woulda been there for you. What do you need? Nico, you don’t owe me shit, and if you need to let off steam then I’m happy to meet you in the gym and pound your ass.

Me: Shit, not what I meant… Where the fuck is the delete button?

Nico: Ah, man, you finally got out of the closet. I knew you always wanted a little taste of my dick, man.