I rolled my eyes. “You’ve officially gone off the deep end. I met Justin once. I’m not in love with him. I like him. That’s all.”
He patted the space beside him. When I sat down, he looped his right arm around my shoulder. “What are we going to do about him? We have to get him back. Dad wants to talk to him about that song and I—”
“He isn’t business to me, Char. He’s personal.”
“Oh.”
“What’s in it for you anyway? Did your dad promise you a cut in commission?”
Charlie scoffed as if offended by the idea, then nodded yes. “Of course, he did. You know how he operates. No story is exciting unless you sensationalize it. Xena was more than excited to cooperate, but I saw them play live. Justin was the best thing about Gypsy Coma. I think he’s got it.”
“I do too,” I said softly.
Charlie laid his head on my shoulder. “You know, I worry about you. It’s not healthy to spend so much time alone.”
“Don’t worry about me, Char. I’m fine.”
“Sometimes I wonder.” He sighed; then he kissed my cheek and hugged me before hopping off the bench. “I’ve got to go. I have class in twenty minutes.”
“What about the records? I thought you came by today to work on them.”
“No. I said I’d come by to help you. And I did. Now you just need to help yourself. Love you, Gray.”
He spun gracefully, pausing to lift his man bag over his shoulder and set his giant sunglasses on his nose. Then he opened the door and waved one last time before closing it behind him.
The silence was deafening. It always felt this way after Charlie or Oliver or Seb left, but Justin was new. And very unexpected. When he didn’t call, I assumed he was adamant about keeping that night a one-time-only deal. I’d thought about him constantly. If Seb hadn’t come up with his grand publicity ploy, I might have sought him out on my own. But I wasn’t going to play a game where the only winner was a record label or a studio box office. I’d been there, done that too many times. But maybe Charlie was right. I had nothing to gain, but if I could help, that might be enough.
* * *
Justin
Desperate times called for desperate measures…and research. I spent the rest of the afternoon doing a little homework of the Google variety on Gray Robertson. I was prepared for almost anything. He could have been a burned-out musician from the eighties or a tech genius who retired too young and had nothing better to do than sit on his roof all day playing guitar. I typed his name, pushed Enter, and gaped at the results.
Gray Robertson was a musician-slash-songwriter virtuoso originally from St. Paul, Minnesota. He attended NYU before moving to Los Angeles to write commercial jingles for children’s shampoo ads when he was twenty-one. By the time he was twenty-five, he’d written his first top ten hit. A year later, he had his first number one song and a Grammy nomination. At thirty, he’d made his mark as a highly acclaimed songwriter credited with writing some of the biggest songs for a few major recording artists. And according to Wikipedia, he turned forty-four last November. I did the math in my head and realized I was twelve when he turned thirty. I think I’d still been into my Pokémon phase when he was just hitting his stride. His most recent credits included writing musical scores for big-budget Hollywood movies like The Baxter Chronicles.
The man was music royalty. So what the fuck was this all about?
“If you’d stuck around and asked a few questions, you’d know,” Tegan snarked around a mouthful of pasta.
“It doesn’t make sense that Charlie would insert himself in my life out of nowhere. And who the fuck is Charlie anyway? He said he knows me from Vibes, but I’ve never seen the guy before in my life. Do you know him? He’s short with curly blond hair and he’s cute…but nuts.”
Tegan set his bowl on the coffee table and furrowed his brow like he was deep in thought. “Did he put his hands on his hips a lot?”
“Yeah.”
“Mmm. I know him. He’s at Vibes a couple of times a week. Not lately, though. I heard he went back to school. Maybe he met someone or just doesn’t have as much time.”
“Then why wouldn’t I recognize him?”
“You’re behind the bar, dude. Other than bathroom breaks and occasional trips to get supplies from storage, you don’t see anyone unless they come to you. I’m a bouncer. I see ’em comin’ and goin’.”
“He did say he didn’t come to the bar much,” I said before taking a bite of my burger.
“He doesn’t have to. Sean lets him in for free ’cause he’s well-connected and travels with an exclusive entourage. And he’s colorful. He dresses up in funky clothes and dances the entire time.”