Dissonance - Chapter 18

The band was excited when they heard about the interview. Marco made a comment that they should have been included, but Lyla pointed out it had been set up by the record label, and they already knew what the deal was with that.

Internally, I winced as soon as Marco started complaining. Not because he was complaining specifically, because that I had gotten used to; but because I realized except for the last little bit of the interview, I’d mostly only talked about myself. I hadn’t purposefully tried to snub the rest of the band, but I knew Marco wouldn’t take it well, if he thought I was trying to take all of the credit. For now, I decided to not mention it. The gig had gone well enough that Marco, in spite of his complaint, was in a good mood, and I didn’t want to ruin it until I saw what was actually in the article.

With that last show, we were officially done with our tour. There was still a week until the first day of school, so I was taking the time to get life back to normal. Or at least as normal as I could.

We set up a few practices for the middle of the week, which would have to stop when the school year started, at least until the rest of the guys moved up from Ashville. We were also playing on Friday and Saturday at the Blue Ridge. I hadn’t been sure if Chef or Willie would want us back, since they’d had to work out a new schedule over the summer, but when I went back on Monday to start training, Chef made it clear he wanted us to come back and play.

Just like that, we were back to normal. I still tried to get out of the house as much as possible, since Dad was there all the time. As far as I could tell, he hadn’t even started thinking about getting an actual job, let alone gone out and applied for any. He’d made some noise about calling old friends and seeing if there was any work for a gig musician, but as far as I could tell, no one was calling him back.

Besides just getting into the groove of things, I also had some busy work from Hanna, who emailed me mid-week to give me some assignments. We’d had a really good sale through of our merch at the last show, to the point where we could pay off all of our investors and use what was left to buy more. As one of our investors, Chef had already asked if he could set some of our merch up for sale there. He already had our album cover, which Kent had sent over right before our Ashville gig, blown up and put on the wall next to the stage at the Blue Ridge, hanging beside album art with a very young-looking Willie on it.

He’d actually asked when we’d gotten the merch in the first time, but Hanna had argued that this tour might be our one shot before the label decided to exercise their rights to produce and control our merch, so she wanted to make sure she had as much to sell through as possible while we had the chance. Chef had agreed, but now that the tour was over, he had started asking again. Some of the better shirts had all but sold out in the more popular sizes, so Hanna needed to cut a check to the printer we used for the shirts.

First, however, she wanted to pay off the investors before we started paying for another round of merch, which is where I’d come in. Hanna had accidentally taken the checkbook for the account with her, since she’d been handling that stuff while we were on the road. Theoretically, she could have written the checks and mailed them, but she didn't want to wait on the mail system and then wait on their person to cash the check. Her solution was to send me to the bank to get cashier’s checks, and hand them to each of our investors.

Since this had been one of the slowest weeks I’d had in almost a year, what with no school, minimal practices with the band and chef, and I’d had some extra time to deal with it, so I didn’t mind. I also appreciated the dramatics of walking up and handing an investor a check.

I was less enthused once I got to the bank. Getting a bunch of high dollar, at least for me, cashier’s checks from the bank took forever. Normally, my trips to the bank was just going to deposit my paycheck from check or my cut from the shows I’d played, and took all of five minutes. Because we had a bunch of checks to cut, however, it seemed to take forever and involved the teller having to go get someone else to check something. Finally, she came out with a bunch of checks and my receipt.

I was so excited to get to Chefs and give him his check, that I only half glanced at the receipt showing how much each check was and the remaining balance, and it took me until I was almost out the door that I noticed the total wasn’t what I expected.

I didn’t keep a specific eye on the bank account we’d set up for the band that was used to pay each of us out, but Hanna did since she was the one dealing with payments and whatnot. Mom hadn’t been thrilled with it, seeing Hanna as a kid, but I’d been insistent that if she was going to be my manager, at least temporarily, she should be allowed to manage everything. Besides, I trusted her, which was the litmus test for me, and the same reason I had mom on the account.

When we’d been discussing the checks, Hanna had mentioned how much was in the account and how much should be left for producing new merch once we paid off the investors, which is why the number, when I saw it, caught my attention.

It was lower than it should have been to the tune of two-thousand dollars. Hanna had been sure about the numbers, and everything else she’d said when it came to money so far had been dead on. Still she was my first call. Unfortunately, she didn’t answer.

Kat was at her doctor’s visit and it was the middle of the lunch rush, which meant Chef was busy, so instead I headed back home, intending to hunker down in my room and maybe noodle on some songs while I waited for her to call back or until my training time with Chef started.

I didn’t have to wait long. Just as I was going up the steps into the trailer, she called back.

“Problems with the checks?” she asked when I answered.

“No, I got them, but the total left in the account was different than you said it should be, by a couple of thousand dollars. I wanted to double-check and make sure I didn’t do something wrong.”

“Let me check,” she said.

There was some rustling in the background, followed by typing.

“Let’s see. I see the checks they did there, and … you’re right. This is lower than it should be.”

“Did money get withdrawn?”

“Uhh … yes. Two thousand dollars was pulled out last week. What’s the last four on your card for the account?”

I pulled out the card that I’d gotten when we signed up for the account and read off the digits.

“It has to be your mom. I could look into the records and see, but that isn’t my card or yours, and she’s the only other one with a card on that account. Could you ask her if she took out the money? If not, I’ll call the bank and see about identifying it as fraud. I’m not sure if that can cause some kind of hold on the account, so I want to make sure it wasn’t one of us first.”

“I’ll ask mom when she gets home tonight,” I said.

“Okay. I gotta go but call me after you talk to her and we’ll catch up.”

Since she’d left, I’d talked or texted with Hanna every night, getting updates on how things were going. She’d already met with Professor Cross once showing him her spreadsheets and reviewing how the actual implementation of the merch plan he’d worked with her on had gone. From the sounds of it, the Professor was actually enjoying it as much as she did. he taught business, but he hadn’t actually had to do any of the things he’d been teaching his students to do in years. I think he enjoyed being at least tangentially part of the processes.

I walked through the door of the trailer, and wasn’t surprised to see dad sitting at the kitchen table.

I was prepared to just walk past him without saying a word when he said, “If you’re talking about the money from your business account, I made that withdraw.”

“You what?” I said, stopping dead in my tracks.

“I took out the money for some expenses. Your mother and I are on the account, since we’re both your guardians and managers. I don’t want you to think we’re doing anything sneaky. Your mother said she’d let you know, but you’ve been gone so much this week, I guess she hasn’t seen you to let you know about it.”

“Why would you be a signer on the account?”

“I just told you, we’re your guardians and manager. Of course we’d be signers on the account.”

“Mom’s my manager and is on the account. You weren’t even here when we opened it. How’d you become a signer on it?”

“Your mother added me last week so I could help her with your career. I’ve been in the industry and know what you’re going through and you’re mom’s always working, so it only makes sense to put me in as your manager. You’re a good guy for trying to include your friends, but they aren’t actually going to be able to help you move your career forward. And If I’m going to manage your career, I need access to everything.”

I was floored. Mom had always been on me about keeping my priorities straight and not falling into the same trap dad did, and here she was putting him in charge of my life. And not telling me about it. I took a breath, trying to not explode.

“Dad … I appreciate you wanting to help, but I should get a say in this.”

“Charlie, you’re sixteen. You don’t know what’s best for you yet.”

“You dropped out of high school at seventeen to chase a music career.”

“That was a different time. We grew up a lot faster back then and your grandfather was a drunk and never around, so I had to learn to fend for myself. I know your mother meant well, but she’s been coddling you for the last couple of years. You aren’t ready for what this industry is going to do to you.”

Just when I thought I couldn’t be more flabbergasted, he tried to talk to me about his father being a drunk and never being around, like that didn’t perfectly describe him. Wildly enough, this was a conversation that would have to wait, because the real problem at the moment was the missing money.

“Okay, let’s take a step back. Why did you pull two thousand out of the bands' account?”

“I needed to replace my guitar. If I’m going to start helping you with songwriting, I need a guitar and your mother sold mine when I went in.”

“But … that money is for the band. For buying merch and paying everyone. You can’t just take out money whenever you want to get something. And I didn’t ask for help with songwriting.”

“Always the fucking ingrate. I see you’re still using the guitar I gave you. Do you know how much that cost? You don’t hear me bitching about taking money I earned to buy it for you.”

“What in the hell does that have to do with taking money that doesn’t belong to you? You gave that guitar to me as a present, I didn’t give you money out of the band's account. Hell, that money isn’t even mine. It belongs to the whole band.”

“How I read it, you’re the one being paid. I don’t know if it’s your mothers' influence making you soft or if I just did a bad job teaching you the way the world works, but you’re an idiot for agreeing to split everything equally. Those kids are alright, but the label only signed you for a reason. You should dump them and just tour solo. It’s not hard to hire gig musicians to back you up on sets or hire some guys for a tour, pay them flat, and keep them out of your pocket. Hell, that’s practically paying back your childhood, since jobs like that were how we paid the bills.”

“And look where it got you.”

“What did you say?” he said, the thin facade of civility finally dropping all the way as he got into my face.

I didn’t back down.

“I said, I’m not you and I’m not going to try and do it the way you did. You tried it your way, and we practically starved my entire childhood because of it. So yeah, I’m going to do it my way this time.”

He balled up his fist, and for a second I thought he was going to try and take a swing at me. I took a step back, tightening and raising my hand slightly, ready to counter it.

I don’t know if he mistook my response of retreating back to give room to fight as fear or not, but after sneering at me, he unballed his fists and said, “You need to watch your smart mouth. You’re not too big to put over my knee, and I’ll do it if you don’t start shaping up. You might think you know everything, but you fucking soft and don’t have a clue. If you don’t want my help, you don’t have to have it, but your mother and I are still your parents and we’ll decide what’s right for you. If you don’t like it, you can get out of my fucking house. Now, I’m going out before I do something I regret, but you better straighten yourself out before this goes a way you won’t like.”

I didn’t point out he hadn’t paid for anything around here and it definitely wasn’t his roof, or that I could absolutely kick his ass if I wanted to, and instead just let him leave.

Mom would be home in a few hours and I needed to talk to her about this. Dad pissed me off, but I was more upset at her than him. she knew how I felt about him and knew how he’d ruined his own career. I couldn’t believe she’d give him access to the bands' accounts and hoped she didn’t know about the money he took.

She’d always had trouble saying no to him, but she’d been the one to give me rules I needed to abide by if I was going to chase music. Specifically, she didn’t want me letting my life go the way his had, which made her including him all the more baffling.

I needed to talk to her before this got more out of hand.