Elegy - Chapter 6

Kat was completely wiped out when we got back home. I guess battling her anxiety and the surge of emotions that came with them had really taken a toll on her. She went to bed almost as soon as we stepped through the front door. I was pretty exhausted too, but there was something I needed to take care of before I could call it a night.

“Hey, Warren,” I said when he picked up the phone. “Sorry, I know it’s late.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t usually hit the sack until after one.”

I knew most people in the industry were night owls, which made sense since gigs often went until bars closed, but I’d always been a morning person. Playing at the Blue Ridge had spoiled me since Chef usually had me wrap up by eleven considering I was, or at least had been, a minor. With emancipation that had changed, though. Willie was starting to slow down, and I was no longer considered to be a minor, so we’d been playing later and later most weekends. That was probably for the best, though, since this was the life I’d signed up for.

“Good. I need to ask you for a favor. I know you’ve already got a bunch of shows lined up, but could you see if you can get us a gig in Raleigh?”

“I guess. Was there a particular place you wanted to play, or some kind of event you wanted to be a part of?”

“No, nothing like that. You know Hanna’s at UNC, and I need to visit her for personal reasons, but the band is still tight on money after all the stuff that happened before Christmas, and I didn’t want to leave them without a weekend gig. I figured if they can’t play the Blue Ridge because I’m in Raleigh, maybe they could come with me and we could play somewhere Saturday night.”

“So you’re looking for one venue that’ll pay you as much for one night as you’d make at the Blue Ridge for three? That’s a tall order.”

“I know, and I understand if you can’t get all the way there, but I’d like to get as close as possible. I checked out some of the contracts you were working on for Philadelphia and Charlotte, and they seem like serious money.”

“They are, but those are really large venues, at least for bands at your level. Unless you want me to schedule it around spring break, I’m not sure how big of a show I can book for you. How soon do you need this?”

“Honestly, the sooner the better. Preferably by the end of the month or early next month at the latest.”

“That’s pushing it, Charlie. I mean, if you wanted a small club like the ones you did last summer, I could probably swing that, but for something that pays enough to cover what you’re asking for I need more time.”

“I get it, and I’m not expecting any miracles. Just do the best you can. I know it’s a big ask, but I really need this if you can make it happen.”

“Can I ask what’s going on?”

Kat’s past trauma wasn’t exactly a secret, but we’d all decided to keep her diagnosis and anxiety issues in the family, as it were. She’d had a few episodes while traveling with us over the summer, but they’d been fairly minor and we’d managed to brush off questions on specifics. I guess there wasn’t a real reason not to tell Warren, except that I knew Kat was embarrassed by her condition, and knowing that others knew might increase her anxiety, defeating the entire point of this trip.

I had to tread carefully, though. The label was still unsure about me after the stunts Dad had pulled, so the last thing I wanted was to give them the impression that something was wrong with me. I had to remember that, while Warren worked with us and was a decent guy, he didn’t work for us. He worked for the label, which meant his priority was protecting them, not me.

“It’s personal. That’s all I can say. It’s not really my place to talk about it.”

“Ah,” Warren said, thankfully reading between the lines. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Maybe you could use our pull in that area to help sell us. From our streaming numbers and the turnout at our last shows there, the largest part of our fan base is from Raleigh and the triangle in general. Yeah, the venues last summer were small, but we had pretty good crowds, and that was before the album release, opening for House of Grace, and the New Year show. I know we don’t have all of the post-New Year show numbers, but from the report you gave me last week, we’ve seen a noticeable increase in streaming numbers since then, so our visibility is up. That’s got to help our Q score.”

Hanna had talked a lot about Q scores and visibility when she was home for Christmas. I don’t think it had been covered in any of her classes since she was still mostly taking basic courses and hadn’t started her more focused degree plan classes yet. She hadn’t mentioned it explicitly, but I got the impression she’d spent a lot of time talking to Professor Cross, one of the heads of the Business School at UNC.

A Q Score was a measurement used by Hollywood, the music industry, Broadway, and basically everyone else in entertainment for tracking popularity and influence among the general population. The higher a performer’s Q Score, the greater their ability to influence the public. Hanna had said Q Score didn’t necessarily mean popularity was good or bad, and there were plenty of disliked people with high Q Scores, although they were mostly in politics and the media rather than straight entertainment.

Q Scores were developed by a marketing research company in the ‘60s, and while they were mainly used when evaluating a celebrity for endorsement deals or to take the lead in something like a movie or TV show, there were other applications too. The music industry had increasingly been using Q Scores to decide who to feature in streaming, and venues used them as a measurement to help determine if they should book someone. Venues were always trying to get the biggest names they could. The bigger the name a location or platform could secure, the easier it was to break through the noise that bombarded the general public every day.

I think Warren was surprised I knew what Q Scores were because he paused for a moment before saying, “Ah … huh. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Sorry, I know you’re familiar with all this. I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job or anything. I just really could use this.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll see what I can do. I mean, if we can squeeze in another booking before the summer tour, it’ll make my bosses happy. At your level, touring is where most of the revenue comes in, and they’ve always been a little concerned about your availability limitations during the school year. The more we can get in, the easier it’ll be to get them to listen to us in the future.”

“See, I’m out here just trying to make your job easier,” I said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what you’re doing. Okay, consider me on it, and I’ll still see you in two weeks in Charlotte.”

“Yep. Thanks, Warren.”

“No sweat,” he said, and hung up.

Warren really was such a step up from our previous manager. With his success so far, I couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for us when I had the entire summer open.

***

Friday, I swung by home early before heading to the Blue Ridge to set up. Snow had started falling the night before, and by the time we usually started baseball practice the field was blanketed in white. Snowy baseball fields at the beginning of the season weren’t unusual, but this year the team was caught off guard.

We had an indoor pitching area and a batting cage for practice, but neither was ready to be used. It had been a warm winter with only light dustings of snow. I thought it snowed every year, but Coach hadn’t prepared for it. So, I got to skip practice, leaving my afternoon wide open.

With Kat away in Asheville, where she was going to do her training until the weather warmed up, I had the house to myself. Relishing the idea of some peace and quiet, I grabbed a bag of chips and a jar of salsa, plopping down at the kitchen table, ready to zone out. But as soon as I started to open the chips, the doorbell rang. Letting out a sigh, I pushed away from the table and went to see who it was.

“Charlie Nelson,” the postal worker said.

“Yeah,” I replied, hesitantly.

I rarely got mail, especially not hand-delivered by a postal worker.

“I need you to sign here, please,” she said, holding out a small green card.

“Okay,” I muttered, taking it and signing my name.

She handed me an envelope with what looked like the other half of the green card attached to it and left without another word. I’d assumed it was from MCA, which was the only non-junk mail I ever received. But they’d never sent me anything certified before. I was shocked to see the return address on the envelope was for the Buncombe County Clerk of Court instead. I wracked my brain, but for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine why the county court would be sending me anything.

I sat down at the table, tore the envelope open, and unfolded the stiff, official-looking papers inside. It was a summons, listing Aaron’s father as the agent of the court and me as the defendant, along with a court date set for three weeks from next Monday and instructions on how to respond. If that wasn’t confusing enough, the spot where it listed the charge the summons was for showed felony possession of marijuana.

I’d only been accused of drug possession once in my life, so it wasn’t hard to connect the dots. What baffled me was why this was happening at all. Mr. Packer had admitted the drugs weren’t mine in front of Sheriff Gibbs, and I’d thought that would be the end of it. If he planned to charge me, why not do it at that moment, not file it with the courts a week later?

I was thinking about Mr. Eaves’ multiple admonishments to me as I picked up the phone. I knew he’d be upset when he found out what I was about to do, but I also remembered what Sheriff Gibbs had said that day after Mr. Packer’s plan failed. I needed answers, and I just couldn’t believe he’d do this.

“Charlie,” Sydney said when she answered the phone, recognizing my number.

As part of her dad’s wild overprotectiveness, Sydney wasn’t allowed a cell phone, so the only way I could reach her was by calling their house phone.

“Hey, Syd. I … uhh … actually need to talk to your dad,” I said, feeling weird even saying it.

“Dad? Why? Did something happen?”

It made sense that her first thought was that I needed help with something. I’d admit that I might have misjudged Sheriff Gibbs at first; he was, basically, a decent person, at least where his job was concerned. However, the idea that he’d be the first person I’d call when I was in trouble was ludicrous, given his clear bias against me. Admittedly, he was the first person I was calling now for this crisis, but this wasn’t the same thing. I wasn’t calling for help; I was calling for information.

“I’ll tell you about it later. I just need to ask him a question.”

“Ohh. Okay. Just a sec,” she said, in a tone I couldn’t quite decipher.

I could hear muffled sounds in the background, a mixture of talking and people moving around in the distance, until the sounds grew louder as he picked up the phone.

“What can I do for you, Charlie?” he asked, his tone equal parts confusion and caution.

“I just received a summons for possession from the County Clerk, with a court date set for three weeks from now. The only time anyone even accused me of having drugs was that day Mr. Packer mistakenly called you, saying he found some in my locker,” I said, sticking to the fiction that it hadn’t been on purpose. “The date of the offense is listed for that day as well. I was under the impression that, since Mr. Packer admitted it was a mistake, you didn’t file any charges against me.”

“I didn’t,” he confirmed. “I could check with my deputies and see if they filed anything on you later that day, although they would have given you a copy of the ticket or booked you.”

“Would I have had to talk to your deputies for that to happen? Because I didn’t. Could Mr. Packer have called one of them and had them file a charge against me anyway?”

“No, but it …” the sheriff started to say, and then stopped suddenly.

After several seconds of absolute silence, I asked, “Sheriff?”

“It’s nothing. Tell you what, I’ll make some calls and see if I can’t figure out what this charge was for. Fair?”

His voice was different. He sounded distracted, and it felt like he was rushing me off the phone, trying to get me to hang up instead of actually offering to check on it.

“No, sir. I’ve done nothing wrong, and if this is about the drugs Mr. Packer found, and I think we both know it is, then I’m being treated unfairly. If you know of a reason why this has happened, it would be fair of you to tell me.”

It was quiet on the other end of the phone, and I thought maybe I’d pushed him too hard. Guys like Mr. Packer and Coach Bryant always demanded respect, regardless of how little respect they showed anyone else. Talking to them like this, as almost an equal, would have ended the conversation then and there. I’d thought I’d read Sheriff Gibbs as different than that, but for a moment, I was worried I’d gotten it wrong.

“It’s possible the DA filed the charges on his own,” the sheriff finally said with a sigh. “In this state, he doesn’t actually need law enforcement to file the charge, and he can do it on his own if he feels the case is strong enough. I am just doubtful that he’d do that, or how he’d even hear about this.”

“I think we both know the only way he could have heard about it. Mr. Packer would have had to tell him about it. I’ve said all along that his accusation wasn’t a mistake. He tried to frame me with stuff he took off someone else, and only backed down because I could prove it. And I’m not doubtful at all that Mr. Campbell would do something like this. He hates me for all the run-ins I had with Aaron, including getting him arrested for assaulting a girl at prom last year.”

“Charlie, it would be professionally risky to do something like that, and I highly doubt the district attorney would put his entire career in jeopardy because of you. Listen, I’ll still make some calls and look into this, okay?”

Sometimes it stunned me how naive our sheriff could be. Or maybe he had to pretend things were this way, so he could keep doing his job.

“Since it’s gone so far as me getting a summons, I’m also going to call my lawyer and have him handle the situation.”

“That’s probably a good idea. Feel free to have your lawyer call me if he wants. Okay?”

“Sure. Thanks, Sheriff.”

With a grunt, he hung up. Even when he offered to do something nice for me, he still had to be a dick about it. I sighed as I hung up the phone with the sheriff and dialed Mr. Eaves right away. Between all the troubles I’d faced over the past years, I knew I’d be paying him off for the rest of my career. And I still owed Chef for covering his fees during my emancipation hearings after Dad cleaned out my bank accounts. At least now, with the money from our album sales coming in, I could start repaying Chef, as long as this latest mess didn’t cost too much.

As usual, Mr. Eaves’ secretary put me on hold for almost fifteen minutes before he finally picked up. I always thought that the day he’d pick up my calls right away would be the day I’d truly made it big.

“Yes, Charlie?” he said, as direct as possible.

I’d always heard that lawyers loved to run you in circles with words, but Mr. Eaves disproved that theory. The man seemed determined to cut any sentence down to the fewest words possible.

“I have a problem. Last week, the Vice Principal called me into his office, claiming a small bag of weed was found in my locker during a random search. They called the sheriff, and…”

“Why didn’t you call me then?” Mr. Eaves demanded, interrupting me.

“Because it never got past that point. I recognized a label on the side of the bag as one confiscated from two football players by Mr. Packer a few days before. After that, Mr. Packer admitted to the sheriff that it was a mistake and he did remember that bag being confiscated earlier. That was it. The sheriff left, and nothing else was said until I got the summons a few minutes ago.”

“So the sheriff didn’t give you a ticket or notice to appear before filing charges?” Mr. Eaves asked. “It’s unusual, but it does happen sometimes.”

“I called the sheriff a few minutes ago. I know you’re going to say I shouldn’t have and I need to always call you first, but I was positive that he didn’t file anything. You know I’m dating his daughter, right? After we left Mr. Packer’s office, he told me I needed to try to stay off the vice principal’s radar in the future, to keep stuff like this from happening. I’ve also seen him in passing a few times when I’ve gone to pick up Sydney. If he was planning on pressing charges, or whatever, I’m sure he would have said something before now.”

“Regardless, you really need to be careful. I keep telling you it’s all fine until it isn’t. The number of people in jail because they were just having a conversation with a police officer, many times one who was being friendly to them, would astound you. I’m serious, Charlie, if you do this again, I am not going to be able to represent you anymore. I can’t have a client who keeps going rogue.”

“Fine, but this time, it did work out. He confirmed he didn’t file any charges and, as far as he was concerned, it was over. He said that, in this state, the DA can file charges on his own, without law enforcement. He didn’t say it outright, but I’m pretty sure that’s how he thinks this happened.”

“Why would the DA press charges against someone when the police refused to file any charges?” Mr. Eaves said. “DA’s are notorious for only taking cases they’re sure they can either win or bully the defendant into taking a plea. If everything is as you described it, this would be a stone-cold loser.”

“Because the DA hates me. Personally. This is the same guy who let the four kids who assaulted me at Christmas walk without filing charges, even though the sheriff arrested them and we had their assault on video. This is the same guy who refused to press charges when some of the same kids, and his own son, assaulted Chef outside his restaurant last year. Or rather, tried to assault me, and Chef intervened. This guy is corrupt, and he’s been looking for a way to get me.”

“That sounds paranoid, Charlie.”

“When will anyone actually listen to me,” I said, exasperated. “Everyone keeps telling me I’m reading too much into this and that I’m being paranoid, but it’s the only thing that actually fits the facts of what’s been happening.”

“Because it is doubtful someone could do stuff like this and get elected, and even more doubtful someone is willing to target a minor personally using the power of their office wouldn’t be thrown out by now. What you’re describing is grounds for not only losing his job, but probably his license and maybe even jail time. That’s a lot to go through to get to one kid his son had a problem with.”

“Maybe, but people are irrational. Just look at my own parents.”

“Right now, we need to deal with the situation in front of us. If the charges are about the locker search and he admitted in front of witnesses it was a mistake, then we should be able to get this thrown out. I’ll make some calls and see what I can do.”

“Sheriff Gibbs said he was going to look into it too, and said you could call him if you wanted to ask any questions.”

“Fine. I’ll do that. But you keep conversations with him strictly to those you’d have about your dating his daughter and stop talking about anything legal. I’m serious this time, Charlie. One more lapse and we’re done.”

“I understand. Thanks for taking care of this.”

“Sure,” he said and hung up.

I guess next time I would have to actually listen to myself when I thought something was a mistake. Mr. Eaves had proved himself to be an excellent lawyer, and I hated the idea of having to find someone new.

At least for now, he’d agreed to take care of it. I was confident that I’d done nothing wrong and he’d be able to handle it.

I just wished someone would listen to me about Aaron’s dad!