Elegy - Chapter 7

Saturday the snow continued to fall, turning the world into a winter wonderland. The main roads were salted, but driving still felt treacherous and the drive home the night before was a nightmare. My inexperience, coupled with the difficulty I’d had driving yesterday, all added to my already frazzled nerves thinking of the meal I was about to have with Sydney’s family. On the whole drive over it felt like a pit had formed in my stomach, threatening to gnaw its way to the outside.

I parked at the curb and made my way up the walkway, being careful not to slip as the wind threatened to push me over. I’d just gotten to their front door when Mrs. Gibbs opened it without me knocking or ringing the bell.

“Charlie! Come on in, it’s freezing out there!”

“Hi. Uhh, I brought a pie,” I said, holding it out to her as I stamped the snow off my boots.

“Oh, how thoughtful,” she said, taking the pie and ushering me inside. “Hang up your coat here.”

“My mom always told me to bring something when you’re invited to someone’s house. They usually brought wine, but I thought a pie might be more appropriate.”

“That was a good call,” she chuckled. “Come on in. Sydney and Judy are in the dining room, setting the table.”

I followed her into the dining room, where Sydney and her little sister were laying out plates and silverware. The house smelled amazing, with the aroma of something rich and savory filling the air. I hadn’t had a chance to grab breakfast, both because I’d been busy getting some work on my new song done, and because of my nerves. My mouth started to water at the smells.

“Hey, Charlie,” Sydney said, putting down the plates and coming around to me.

I saw her father standing in the doorway to the kitchen and blocked Sydney from giving me a hug, feeling awkward as his eyes bore into me.

“Uhh … hey,” I said, nervously, putting my hand on her side, keeping her at literal arm’s length.

“Daddy,” Sydney chided, turning to look at her father. “Stop glaring. You’re making him nervous.”

“Good,” he replied, his voice deadpan.

I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but Mrs. Gibbs stepped in to save the day. “Don’t mind him. You kids go ahead and sit down. We put a chair next to where Sydney normally sits, so you’ll be by her. I’ll be right in with the food. Joel, stop intimidating everyone and come help me in the kitchen.”

I followed Sydney around the table and sat next to her while her sister sat across from us. I hadn’t really ever said more than a few words to her sister before, and didn’t really know her. She was several years younger than Sydney, close to Sam’s age, and I guessed she was probably in fourth or fifth grade.

Sheriff Gibbs came back in carrying a large, overflowing glass casserole dish, the top a golden brown with dark, crispy edges. The mouthwatering aroma hit me instantly. Mrs. Gibbs followed behind him with salad and garlic bread, setting everything down in the middle of the table.

The food looked and smelled so good that I excitedly picked up my plate to serve myself, but Sydney kicked my foot gently. I looked up to find everyone staring at me like I’d violated some unspoken rule.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Judy, will you say grace?” Sydney’s mom asked.

Feeling foolish, I quietly set my plate back down. I wasn’t used to saying grace. We’d never been religious growing up. The very rare times we sat down as a family, we’d all dig in like it was a race to get something before it all disappeared. Mrs. Phillips had us say grace when we all ate together, but all of our schedules were so busy that it was pretty uncommon, so I still hadn’t gotten into the habit.

“So, Charlie,” Mrs. Gibbs said when Judy finished, as she started serving food to everyone. “You’ve got a little more than a year left of school. I know a lot of kids are looking at colleges about now. Have you given any thought to where you’re going to go?”

“Honestly, no,” I admitted. “Probably somewhere in state. UNC maybe. They have a pretty good music program.”

“That’s where I want to go to,” Sydeny said. “They’ve got a really good business school, and I heard that since they recruited Kat, if she gets into the Olympics they’re going to put more funding into the swimming program, which I’d like to keep doing in college.”

“Well, we’re not writing off the University of Pennsylvania just yet,” her mom interjected. “I know a lot of your friends are thinking about UNC, but you’re a legacy so you should be able to get into UPenn, and if you want to talk about good business schools, they have Wharton.”

“Mom went to UPenn and decided that’s where we were going to go the day we were born. We even had little UPenn onesies when we were babies,” Sydney joked.

“I’m not saying you have to go there,” Mrs. Gibbs clarified. “I just think you should give it some consideration before just deciding to go somewhere with your friends. College is about setting up the rest of your life, not just having fun.”

“What do you plan on doing with a music degree?” Sheriff Gibbs asked, cutting into the conversation.

“Uhh … Well, I was looking at theory and composition, although I haven’t completely ruled out music production. Composition will help me in my actual music career, but production could be more practical and has more fallback options, which I know my mom would prefer I have.”

“Is there any work you could get with a degree in songwriting? I can’t imagine there’s a lot of money in that.”

“I’m already making decent money with my songwriting, and I’ve just started, so I think there’s potential,” I shot back.

“That’s a big gamble. There are a lot of people playing on street corners for pennies who thought they could make it big in music. And I don’t imagine being a music teacher pays well.”

“Maybe not, but if that’s where I end up, I’d probably still be happy. That’s what matters, isn’t it?” I argued.

“Providing for your family is what matters,” he insisted. “Dreams of fame and fortune are a distraction from becoming the kind of man who can do what his family needs. That’s what a real man does.”

“Daddy, Charlie is doing really well, though. He’s playing at this huge spring break concert in Florida this year, and he has a show that seats more than a thousand people in Philadelphia. Those aren’t just dreams.”

“Sure they are. Fame is fleeting. Do you know how many famous people end up dying alone and penniless? Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

Sydney didn’t say anything. She was the quintessential daddy’s girl and didn’t like arguing with him. Whenever he put his foot down, she would just do what he told her and stay quiet, regardless of what she thought. It wasn’t pathological like it was for Kat, but it was still noticeable, and so different from how she was with anyone else. I was actually astounded when she had talked back to her father in the first place. I’d always thought that was partially the reason he didn’t like me since dating me was the first major thing she’d disobeyed him on.

“Maybe, but there are lots of entrepreneurs who end up the same way. I feel like I’ve done well for myself so far, and I’m still just starting out. It’s not like I’ve just gotten lucky. I’ve put in hard work; both to get where I am skill-wise, and to do the work necessary before and after getting my contract. This isn’t a pipe dream for me. It’s actually happening.”

“It’s still not a real career,” her father said, refusing to hear anything I had to say.

I clenched my jaw, biting my tongue to prevent a response I’d end up regretting. I had hoped this lunch would mend some bridges, especially after witnessing the crap I was going through at school. Instead, he chose this moment to interrogate me about my life choices. If I wanted this, I could’ve driven down to the county jail and had lunch with my own father.

Not being able to control myself, I was about to respond when Mrs. Gibbs interrupted us both, “So I hear your friend Kat is going to try out for the Olympics. That’s very exciting.”

Sydney saw what her mother was trying to do and chimed in, pulling me into the conversation. I felt a pang of guilt for her. She just wanted her father and me to get along, but we’d barely gotten five minutes into lunch before arguing. He had definitely instigated it, but I shared some blame. I’d tried to be reasonable, but I knew there wasn’t a way to reason with him. He’d always find the worst way to interpret my words. I could’ve disengaged, focusing on Mrs. Gibbs instead. I had to admit, I was ready to escalate things. If I didn’t learn to keep my temper in check, it would get the better of me someday.

Taking a slow breath, I joined the conversation about Kat, carefully steering clear of any subjects that might redirect attention to me. To my relief, he did the same, and the rest of the lunch was mostly uneventful. It was still painfully clear he disapproved of me dating his daughter, but at least we made it through a meal without coming to blows.

***

Monday, after indoor baseball practice, I dashed home to grab a package delivered while I was at school, then hurried to the band’s house, eager to show them what had arrived since the roads had finally cleared up. The snow had eased after Friday and Saturday’s onslaught, slowing down on Sunday and stopping completely today.

The salt on the roads helped, but they only did the main streets. Subdivisions and side streets, like the one leading to the band’s house, were still dicey. That morning, I’d nearly skidded into a ditch after hitting a patch of black ice, regaining control just inches from the embankment.

Their yard, like all the others, was still blanketed in white, but someone had shoveled the driveway, leaving room for me to park next to their van. It was still pretty cold, but the wind had died down, so at least I wasn’t shivering constantly now like every time I’d stepped outside over the weekend.

The sounds of Seth pounding out a beat on his drums and Lyla tuning her bass reverberated down the driveway as I slung my guitar behind me and wrestled the massive box out of the backseat of my car, kicking the door shut with one foot. The thing wasn’t particularly heavy but it was awkward as hell to carry, as it was nearly as wide as it was tall. I had to lean back pressing it against my chest, praying I didn’t lose my grip.

I waddled cautiously up the driveway, shuffling carefully with each step, just in case I hit some ice and my feet slipped out from under me. Because I couldn’t see a thing in front of me with that massive box obscuring my view, all I could do was point myself vaguely in the direction of the garage and try to follow the sounds.

“Charlie?” Lyla called, her bass falling silent.

“Yeah. Can someone help me with this?”

Seth’s drumming stopped. A few seconds later, the weight of the box lightened as Seth grabbed the other end, allowing me to lower my half as we carried it the rest of the way into the garage. Rolling my eyes, I glanced at Marco, who’d been inches away but hadn’t lifted a finger, waiting for Seth to assist me instead.

“What’s in the box?” Marco asked, instead of moving his ass from behind the keyboards.

“The merch we talked about,” I replied as Seth and I set the giant box down. “It got here just in time for Charlotte.”

“That’s not going to go that far, is it?”

“I’ve got two more boxes the same size at home, so we should be set until Florida. I mixed everything from those boxes in here so you could see what we’ve got, but Kat wasn’t home, and I didn’t feel like wrestling all three into my tiny car.”

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense. Open it,” Lyla urged, handing me a pair of scissors she’d fetched.

I sliced through the tape I’d reapplied at home, just in case I dropped the box while loading or unloading my car. I pulled open the flaps, and the guys, finally including Marco, gathered around, peering into the box filled with stacks of shirts in various sizes and colors. Grabbing one from the pile inside, I ran my hand over the logo on the front.

“The printing quality is actually better. Hanna called around, found another place that could do it for the same price but with better printing, and had them handle this run. If we double our next order, they’ll be cheaper than the last place we used, which means more money for us.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Seth grinned. “Even at college, she’s still out there making us money.”

“I told you she’d keep coming through for us,” I said.

There had been some doubt about having Hanna work as our pseudo-manager before we got Brett and then Warren, and even more when she continued handling some back-end business stuff while going to college. But I never doubted her for a second. She took this seriously, and I knew her professor was guiding her. It was rare for students to be involved in the stuff he taught while still in his class, so he’d singled her out as a case study for the entire group and we got extra eyes watching over our business activities.

It was a fantastic learning experience for everyone, and it saved us from paying an extra ten percent to a business manager on top of what we were paying the label. Of course, if when Hanna graduated she wanted to keep doing this work, we’d eventually have to pay her, but hopefully, by then, we’d be more successful, and it wouldn’t be a big deal.

“I didn’t bring them with me, but I also reached out to Warren and asked about getting CDs to sell at our shows, instead of those one-off singles we’ve been selling. I got a big box of them. I should’ve discussed it with you guys first, but with Charlotte coming up, I wanted to make sure we had them in time.”

“I don’t have a problem selling the full CDs at the shows,” Lyla agreed.

“Wait until you hear the full explanation,” I warned. “Because merch isn’t part of the contract, we can’t just sell the CDs and get our cut from the sale. For one, we’re the ones collecting the money, which leads to a whole lot of complications. If they were running our merch, Warren would arrange for either someone he hired or, more likely, the venue to sell the stuff as a whole and collect the money, and our percentage would just be rolled into our cut like they do with our music sales. In addition, they aren’t just going to send us CDs on consignment to sell.”

“So, how do we sell these then?” Marco asked.

“This is the part I should have cleared with you guys. But, I think once you hear the whole deal you’ll agree it’s worth it. We bought the CDs from the label as a wholesaler,” I explained.

“We paid for our own CDs?” Marco blurted out, interrupting me.

“Let me finish,” I said firmly, stopping him before he could launch into the rant I could sense brewing. “Yes, we bought our own CDs, but again, as a wholesaler. We then sell the CDs at the MSRP, which will actually make them cheaper than usual prices since most venues markup the CDs they sell beyond that amount, hopefully allowing us to sell more. We then keep the difference between wholesale and the sale price, just like any retail place would, and just like we do for our shirts. In addition, this counts as a good chunk of physical sales, which we don’t get a lot of, which will make the label happy. On top of all that, we still get our normal cut of the wholesale album sale. If we can sell through these, we’ll make a lot more per CD than we would on any digital download, streaming, or anything else. This amount isn’t enough to give us a big push on the sales charts or anything, but still, every little bit helps.”

After a moment, Marco said, “Sounds like a good deal. I like it.”

More surprising than him just saying something supportive, he also sounded like he meant it. I almost keeled over from shock right then and there.

“Jesus, Marco approved of something. I might swoon,” Lyla teased, echoing my thoughts.

“Shut up,” he said, but he was smiling, which was a rare sight for him these days. “Why would I have a problem with it? I’ve only argued for us to do things that will make us more money, like touring more, having fresher merch, or doing more mainstream songs. If we can make two to three times selling these than we do on our normal album sales, it’s a no-brainer.”

“Speaking of touring more, I’ve got another bit of news. This was kinda spur of the moment, and I didn’t consult with you guys, but I figured you wouldn’t have a problem with it. While talking to Warren, I also asked him to find us a gig in Raleigh sometime soon. My one requirement was that it had to be somewhere large enough that a single Saturday night show could make us as much or more than we would make at the Blue Ridge. I’ll admit that I did it for personal reasons, since I need to do some stuff out there, but I thought that if I have to go there, we should find a way to make it work for all of us. As Marco’s been saying, we need to be out there more, building our fan base, so I figured this would help.”

“See, if you just did what I told you guys to do, we’d have fewer problems,” Marco said.

Coming from Lyla, that would’ve been a funny little sarcastic dig. Marco, however, put no humor in the statement, so it just came off as dickish. Still, he wasn’t complaining for once, so I figured we were finally making some progress.