"It might be that. Maybe it'll inspire you with your music," he said.
There was something we agreed on. I had been playing a lot since I'd gotten here. Nothing new. Not even any of my stuff, just pieces I'd memorized over the years – some classical stuff, pieces from movie scores, things like that. I'd fallen out of practice when shit got bad. It had been nice to get used to playing again.
"Yeah. Let's hope it does," I said.
"Can I ask about the band?" Dad asked carefully.
"I think I'm done," I said honestly. "I don't want to go back. The label only wants to make money, which means they have to make music that sells, not music that matters. I don't want to put my name on something I don't believe in."
"Your label isn't the only one in the world," he said.
"I know. I'm not saying I want to give up. Remus started as something I loved, but it's changed too much. I won't sell out. I care too much about the stuff I write."
"Take your time off to think about that, okay? When you come back, talk to them; if their terms still don't work, buy yourself out of your contract and leave." The music business was slimy as all hell. It would be a lot harder to get out than what my dad suggested, but I agreed with him.
Remus’s first major label album had broken records. It had done great. We had had unprecedented ticket sales and sold out shows. All four of the songs we released as singles charted in the top ten.
The album had twelve tracks, and in the beginning, as we were putting the track list together, I'd had nine songs that I had written on it. I watched that number drop to seven, then five, then four as the producers engineered what they believed would be a better sound for us, as far as popular appeal would go. They'd chopped some of my songs up, rewriting lyrics and changing the music before they used them, making them unrecognizable.
They made a Remus album that wasn't a Remus album. When it was released and had done as well as it had, I tried to take credit for it, but I couldn't. Not when I had almost nothing to do with more than half the songs on there.
If nothing else, I was getting my career back. The career I had wanted in the first place when I started playing piano with my mother over twenty years ago. The money was less important than being real. I could deal with less money, as long as it meant I wasn't lying to myself.
"I'll do that," I said. "Thanks, Dad."
"I'll leave you alone now. You get back to your vacation." I thanked him again for calling me and hung up the phone.
Sometimes it made me feel shitty that my dad was about the only friend I had left, but other times, I felt like it was a good thing. He was clearly the only person I knew wasn't trying to get anything from me. Me doing well would only make him happy because he cared about me. He didn't need me to make him money or give him money like the band or Kirsten.
I got up from the piano and walked back to the bedroom, feeling a lot better. I spotted my kit on the bed and walked over to it. I picked it up, uncovering some colorful pamphlets underneath. I had picked it up to lock in the safe or something so housekeeping didn't find it, not to shoot up, but what were those?
I put the kit down and picked up the one on top of the pile. It was a pamphlet advertising cultural activities and experiences on the island. Oh right, that girl from the desk had brought them up here. Abby. She had been telling me about something. I had sort of blown her off. I had had a rough morning. I looked through the pamphlet, looking at the colorful photographs and skimming through it.
What had she told me? Something was happening tonight near the beach. A luau, I think she had said. I put my kit back down and thought about going. I mean, I had no good reason to just stay here.
I put a shirt on and got dressed, putting a hoodie on because my addiction meant I couldn’t really do short sleeves anymore. I made my way out of the room and followed signboards down towards the beach where the luau grounds were.
I heard the activity and smelled the food before I saw it. The luau grounds were packed with people. There was a food and drink area where people were eating at a buffet, sitting around tables. There were people selling crafts around the perimeter, and there were women dancing on a stage, putting on a performance. My luau memories weren’t too clear from the ones I’d be
en to as a kid, but I remembered one time seeing a guy pull an entire pig out of the ground.
Right at the entrance, there were a couple girls giving the guests a lei greeting as they walked in. There were a couple people ahead of me. Looking past them, I realized the girls giving out the leis were Abby and her friend from the front desk. When I got to the front of the line, Abby’s friend greeted me, putting a lei over my head. Abby looked over and seemed sort of shocked to see me.
“Hi, Abby,” I said to her.
“Good evening, Mr. Stone,” she said. I hated when people did that. Mr. Stone was my dad; it made me feel old. “You decided to join us.”
“I did,” I said, moving out of the way so other people could go past me. She looked really nice. Her hair was long and curled. She had a red flower in it and a lei around her neck. She had shorts on and a t-shirt with the hotel’s logo on it.
“We’re glad to have you. You missed the imu ceremony, but the performances have just started,” she said with a smile. I nodded and thanked her, walking into the party.
I felt almost all the way relaxed. I hadn’t shot up for hours; I probably should have before I came. How fucking pathetic would it have been to leave just so I could get a fix, though? A drink would have to cut it. I walked over to the bar where I spotted Keno.
“Nate,” he said, smiling when he saw me.
“Hey.”
“I didn’t think you’d show up.” I laughed a little. Great, I already had a reputation.