The Maverick

AVA

I tried not to think about the conversation Bruno and I just had and instead focused on the girl across the street. She seemed young. Maybe not even eighteen yet. But her sound drifted across the street, and even with the evening hubbub, I could tell she was good. Incredible, really—she had an Alanis Morissette/Liz Phair vibe—digestibly political, good lyrics, strong vocals, and solid guitar. I couldn’t quite understand how she was just playing a few feet from the sand on Venice Beach and remained unsigned. I found myself looking left and right, wondering how it was possible that we were gonna get this girl. How were we the first to notice her? We were in LA. There is a lot of music production in LA. It was weird.

We paid our bill and stood, making our way out of the restaurant and to the curb. Waiting for the traffic to slow, we stood silently, both still heavy with my confessions. When the light favored us, Bruno palmed my lower back urging me forward. The heat from his hand curled and swirled through my body, like the rush of water flooding around you when you jump into the deep end of the pool. He’d been touching me on and off all afternoon and I liked it. I liked it too much.

Seemingly protective, he kept his hand behind me as we crossed the street, but by the time we reached the busker, we’d returned to the normal interaction of colleagues—separated by a comfortable amount of space. I felt the absence of his hand like a burn. It was distracting. Incredibly distracting. Luckily, the girl was mid-song when we approached so I had a few minutes to compose myself before we spoke to her.

There wasn’t a crowd, so it was obvious that we were watching her. She was a tiny thing, couldn’t have been more than five foot two. She acknowledged our presence but didn’t drop a note or even vaguely consider pausing her performance. The music that came out of her felt haunting. She sang about a girl alone, wandering, looking for a streetlamp in the darkness of the night so she could feel safe. It was moody and layered, especially for someone her age. And the more I looked at her, the more I realized why she was still busking on the beach. This girl was homeless, for sure. And probably underage. Maybe even a runaway. Signing her wasn’t just about a contract and a signature. There was going to be a lot of legwork.

I leaned in and whispered in Bruno’s ear, “Homeless.”

He nodded, agreeing.

I added, “Underage. Maybe a runaway.”

He nodded again.

I moved back from his ear, watching her again, and didn’t whisper when I said, “It’s not going to be easy.”

He shook his head. “Nope, but she’s got it.”

I agreed. The girl had the thing that draws people in. She was his third hit, for sure.

She finished her song and Bruno gave her a little wave as he said, “Could we maybe interrupt your set for a few minutes?”

The girl looked left and then right at the lack of audience before her and then joked, “Crowd doesn’t seem to mind.”

The corners of Bruno’s mouth tipped up. He liked a spitfire. “I’m Bruno Difranco and…” He waved his hand at me. “This is Ava Childs.” The girl blanched instantly. Bruno laughed. “So, I’m guessing you know who we are.”

She nodded, but just barely; it was a slow, painful nod like being in our presence was turning her to stone.

Bruno looked at me and asked, “Were our names always so recognizable or is that just like a consequence of my parents’ death?”

His question was probably rhetorical, but I answered it anyway. “Pretty sure everyone always knew who you were. I vaguely remember a tabloid or twenty publishing constant nonsense about your bad boy behavior. I, on the other hand, am definitely newer on the recognizable scene and it’s irritating.”

Bruno lifted his brows at me. “Hard to be a sneaky fuck when everyone knows your name?”

“Something like that,” I tossed back.

At our sparring, the girl laughed nervously, a weird dorky guffaw, and her hand jumped to her mouth like she was attempting to catch the sound and shove it back where it came from.

“Don’t be nervous,” Bruno said with his signature smirk. “You’re going to get everything you want.”

She looked at me, then at him. “You’re the devil, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I’m a little bit of heaven and a little bit of hell.”

I scoffed, “A lot of hell. I promise.” Then kindly, I asked her, “What’s your name?”

“Eddy,” she said. “Eddy Meyer. My mom was a huge Pearl Jam fan.”

“Was?” Bruno asked.

Eddy bounced her knee as she nodded. “Yeah, she died when I was a kid.”

“You’re still a kid,” I said.

“Arguable,” Eddy said. “I bet people think you’re still a kid too, but from what I know

about your life, I’m guessing you stopped being a kid around the same time I did.”

Always ridiculous, Bruno quipped, “I’m still a kid.”

I rolled my eyes. Eddy did too, and then she said, “No offense, man, but maybe it’s time to grow up.. .”

“Oh great,” Bruno said, looking at me. “I found you a mini me. Just what I never wanted.”

I ignored him like he deserved and turned to Eddy. Bluntly, I asked, “You homeless?”

She nodded yes.

“You in the system?”

She nodded again.

“You ran.” It wasn’t a question. An underage runaway was trouble. She’d need to be emancipated. “How old are you? Honestly.”

“Seventeen. Eighteen in three months.”

Bruno looked at me. “We can’t wait.”

“I know,” I said. Turning to her, I asked, “You hungry?”

She nodded.

“Okay, pack up. You're coming with us. I’m gonna feed you and get you a warm place to sleep tonight and make some calls.”

Eddy looked at me like I was nuts. “Um… I don’t mean to sound paranoid or whatever, but skipping my set to get into a car with two strangers, albeit famous ones whom I know a lot about but also don’t know at all, it just feels uncomfortable. Could you maybe clarify why you want to feed me? Or at least give me some reassurance that you’re not just into weird scary shit?”

“Admittedly,” Bruno joked again. “I seem like I’d be into weird shit.”

“Totally.” Eddy smirked.

I laughed.

Bruno told the truth. “So my plan is to help you to release a hit single in like the next two months. I need you to release that single. And after that, you work with the best people I know on an album at your own pace.”

“Do I get a contract?”

I nodded. “And a lawyer to protect you. I’ll pay, you choose.”

“You really want to sign me? Some homeless kid?”

“I thought you weren't a kid,” Bruno teased. Eddy ignored him and just waited for him to answer her questions. “Jesus, you're intense, kid. Yes, we want to sign you.”

She looked to me for confirmation. “Like, for real?”

I nodded. “Yes. One hundred percent. First things first, however, I need to figure out if we can take you across state lines. But yes, you are being signed by LSA Records, even if I have to adopt you myself.”

Eddy just gawked at us. Until Bruno finally broke through.

“So,” Bruno asked. “You coming with us or what?”

Eddy shrugged. “Fuck it. Can’t be worse than what I’ve got going on right now.”