You'll Know When You Have Kids of Your Own

Chapt. 10

With a Little Help From My Friends

Les Michaelson put the old Telecaster down in a stand and stretched.

"Awesome track, Les," came the word from the control room. Sam, the engineer, flashed him a thumbs up from behind the glass. "Take five."

Pulling the headphones off, he glanced at his guitar again. His daughter was right, that Jacob kid knew his stuff. He wasn't so sure about letting a teenager monkey with his new old instrument, but the thing was affordable because it had been pretty much unplayable when he first saw it. He'd always wanted a vintage Tele, and this one was pretty much as vintage as they came. Most of the lacquer on the back belly area and where his forearm rested was pretty much scrubbed off. The fretboard was grooved and the frets were totally shot to hell. The back of the neck was worn down to bare maple, and the hardware was rusty and pitted.

But it sounded so damn good now.

"Does it play okay, Mister Michaelson?"

Les turned to face the kid standing alongside his daughter. Rusty handed him a cup of perfectly pulled espresso. She learns fast, Sally had told him. The girl dug her new after-school job as a barrista at the coffee joint downstairs, and she had kind of taken over the espresso machine in the studio.

"Those stainless steel frets are amazing, Jacob. You were right, the harder metal makes bending notes a hell of a lot easier. The setup is the best I've ever played."

"Glad you like it. Rusty said that you liked it a little high, like she does."

"How did you fix the neck pickup? Was there a loose wire or something?"

Jake hesitated, and then decided to 'fess up. "Umm- I swapped it out. The old one needs to be rewound. It's pretty corroded, and I'm pretty sure it's shorted in a couple of places. I saved it for you, because I didn't wanna screw up a '50's original pickup."

"Jake's being modest, Daddy," Rusty smiled. "He built that neck pickup from scratch and put the original cover on it so it'd match the rest of the finish. I think it sounds awesome."

"Naw, it's those heavy strings you guys like," Jake blushed. "That much steel above any pickup is gonna sound good."

"Bullshit," grinned Rusty, poking the boy in the side. "My Junior sounds way better after you rewound the pickup."

"Jacob, whatever you did, it plays and sounds better than I had hoped. Go ahead and do whatever you want with the old pickup. Keep it."

The boy beamed. "Thanks. I'll take it apart and see how Fender wound it. I'll rebuild it and put it back in your Tele so it's mostly original."

"Frets wear out, son. Thanks again."

Les watched as his daughter left with the boy. Good kids, both of them. Rusty says they're just friends, so I'm gonna take her word on that.

Still, he had been watching Jacob with a bit more interest than usual, and he wasn't sure if he was reading into things a little.

Maybe from Rusty's side it's a good friendship, but from his end… I dunno.

Haven't had coffee this good in a long time. Some of those little places in…hell.

He took another sip and then set the saucer carefully on the floor behind his amp where it wasn't going to be kicked.

Jacob's father held the door for them as he stepped into the studio.

"Hey, Les." Trent greeted as he settled onto a chair. He leaned forward, something obviously on his mind.

Les had a bad feeling about this. And things were starting to look up. Shit, I need this gig. I'm good at this.

After a moment, Trent looked him in the eye. "How're you doing?"

Whoa, don't panic. Let him talk before you jump down his throat. He's a good guy. Les swallowed, willing himself to meet Trent's gaze.

"Something wrong?" Les managed evenly.

"Huh?" Trent looked a little nonplussed, and then recovered. "No. No, man, you're doing great. No shit, you're the best session player I've had in a long time."

Trent waited for Les to say something, and then went on.

"Look, Stephanie really likes your style. She just called me this morning from some meeting and asked me to talk to you. She wants you to tour with her."

What? Les had shuddered involuntarily at the word tour.

After a moment, he shook his head slowly. "I dunno, Trent." He settled back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I really like working with you."

Trent grinned. "I know, man. And I'm not bullshitting you. It would be a drag for Chilltown to lose you. Thing is, the money's way better than what I can do."

"It's not the money."

Trent nodded. "You worried about the stress and stuff? And how you'd handle it?"

"You know it, boss." This gig works for me. For the first time since forever it's I job I can handle.

"Don't' call me that, Les," Trent snorted. "Makes me feel old as hell." He eyed the cup in Les' hand. "Like I want one of those, but I gotta cut back." He settled back in a chair, hands behind his head, thinking.

"Steph likes working with you for a number of reasons. Not just because of your playing, but because she has her own issues and kinda gets where you're coming from. It's not for me to talk about her, but let's just say that she's had a hard time keeping it together.

"Her crew's hand picked. Support staff, logistics, everybody that travels with her are straight. Not a party tour, not by any stretch. One of the crew is her therapist, who would be working with you as well." Trent closed his eyes for a moment, mentally slapping himself upside the head.

Les leaned forward, forearms resting on his legs, looking at the floor. Reaching down he settled the little cup into its saucer.

Sounds like she might be as fucked up as I am. "How long?"

"Four months, give or take a couple weeks," Trent replied. "More money than you'd make with me in a couple of years. Maybe more."

"Money sounds good, but Rusty comes first." That kid takes care of me more than I take care of her.

"Rusty can stay with us, Les. We've got the room." He held up his hand to stop Les, who seemed about to protest. "She's a good kid. She and the girls hang out after she finishes her job and do their homework and play. She's no trouble at all. In fact, she gets after Emily and Ani to clean up if they do anything in the kitchen. Daria likes having her around."

"So it's okay with her?"

"Steph asked her first. She looks up to Daria like a big sister." Trent grinned. "She made sure it was okay with Daria for Rusty to stay with us before she talked to me. Figured there was no way you'd agree to it unless your daughter was covered."

"Does Rusty know about this?"

"Not yet. Just Daria and I, and of course you. I'm sure my kids would be fine with it, but I didn't want to bring it up until I got your take on this."

"Let me think about it, Trent. I'll talk it over with Rusty as well." He fell silent, eyes focused elsewhere.

Trent waited a moment. Something else is bugging him.

Les turned away and pulled off the notation and charts from the music stand in front of his chair, replacing it with the sheets for the next track. He shook his head slightly after a moment, and turned back to Trent. "Look, I know Rusty can take care of herself. But there is something I want to talk to you and Daria about."