Angelo has an argument with his rock star father about his musical career. Johnny is awake! Tony is struggling with his feelings for Drake, attends a party at Frank's and loses all inhibitions when he drinks too much. Tony overhears a disturbing conversation between his father and his uncle and attempts to talk to Angelo about it. Things heat up between Mac and Janet.
This book was previously published.
Angelo found his dad at the hospital around seven that evening. He was drinking coffee and pacing the hallway.
He embraced his father. “Hi, Dad, where the hell have you been?
“At home, why?” Drake asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I left fifty messages, telling you I was helping Mac and Pepi out with the new C.D.”
Drake looked out the window at the hordes of fans dancing around in the parking lot. “What in the world are they doing out there anyway?” he muttered.
“Playing your music, singing, chanting, praying for Uncle Johnny,” Angelo replied, coming to stand beside his father.
Drake looked at his son. Tall, handsome, he seemed so much like him, yet he wasn’t like him at all, really. He wasn’t tormented, and he hoped to God he stayed that way.
“Mac and Uncle Pepi will be by later on. Are you planning on working this week, or...?” Angelo inquired.
They really did need him at the studio, although Angelo didn’t want to put any pressure on him right now. Uncle Pepi would probably be on his back soon enough.
“Tomorrow, okay?” Drake drained the rest of his coffee.
“You want to see your uncle?” Drake asked him.
“Ya, then I’m going to get going,” Angelo told him. “There’s a drummer that Bernie wants me to meet. He thinks we could get something going.”
“Good,” his father said. “You need to get a permanent bunch of guys together, get yourself a name and let people hear you. Your problem is you haven’t found the right bunch of guys yet.”
Angelo rolled his eyes. “I know that, Dad, but it’s not easy. You always knew who you were playing with; two brothers and your best friend. I have no brothers, and my friends either wouldn’t know an A from a B flat or are like Bernie, and aren’t into rock.”
“I can set you up with a good bass player if the drummer works out,” Drake offered. “Let me know.”
“Another studio musician?” Angelo sighed. “Dad, the good ones are always busy.”
“Yes, but this guy, Gary...Gary...forget his last name...anyway, he wants out of studio stuff. He’s ready to break out. He’s looking for people. Anyway, won’t hurt for you to check him out.”
“Okay, let me know when he’s available,” Angelo muttered. “God, it would be so much easier if you would just let me play with the fucking band.”
There was a silence, then Drake casually brought his cell phone out of the inside pocket of his black leather jacket. “Go ahead and see your uncle,” he said stiffly, turning around. “I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”
He had been dismissed. There was to be no more discussion on the subject now. Angelo glared at his father’s back before he walked away from him. He swore under his breath as he headed down the hallway. Damn him. If Uncle Johnny was well, he’d talk Dad into letting him join the band. Uncle Johnny would tell him how unreasonable he was being. Shouldn’t parents want to save their children from having it as hard as they did?
He was a self-centered son of a bitch, and if Uncle Johnny weren’t so sick, he’d tell him so...all this talk about not being able to appreciate fame if he didn’t earn it himself. What horse shit! He didn’t understand why it gave his father so much satisfaction to think of him burning himself out playing for a bunch of drunken creeps in some dive somewhere. He was Drake Russo’s son, but he might as well have been the son of a nobody for what that gave him.
If he hadn’t been good enough, he would have accepted that as an excuse, but his father told him that he was a very accomplished guitarist. He even admitted that he was better than he was at his age and coming from Dad, that was nothing to scoff at. He was a very harsh music critic, and it didn’t matter who was at the receiving end of the criticism. Poor Uncle Pepi waited years until Dad was satisfied with his keyboards before being allowed to join the band.