Page 62 of My Five Daddies

“Well, we have work to do. Leave the plant, I’ll get itlater.”

He stands up and wobbles a little bit. I realize instantly that he’sdrunk.

“Cool, cool, let’s work.” He grins stupidly at me and stumbles past, walkingunsteadily.

I follow him into the booth and he struggles with the door into the recording room. I help him out and follow him in. He teeters and I steer him away from anything he could break and plant him down in acorner.

“Stay here,” I say to him. “Look at your phone or something. I’ll be rightback.”

“Cool,” he says, nodding, leaning back against the wall. He pulls out his phone and paws at it like he’s never seen onebefore.

I walk away, anger building in mychest.

This day is fucking ruined. We can’t record with him drunk like this, so that means we’re another day behind. Will and Hunter are going to be annoyed, and I can’t blame them. This kid is a mess, and we have a lot of money invested inhim.

How the fuck did he get drunk, anyway? The kid’s fifteen years old. I don’t know who Vinny is, but I want to find him and kick him in theteeth.

I’m so frustrated. I don’t normally get like this, which makes it all so much worse. I hate getting angry and all bent out of shape. Normally, if Dustin were older and in control of himself, I’d just record anyway and see what we get. But he’s a kid and he’s way too drunk to be able to perform right now. Some of the other guys I’ve worked with in the past could knock back a fifth of Jack and still lay down some killer tracks, but Dustin isn’t an old seasonedalcoholic.

Yet, atleast.

I call up Chris. “Guess who’sdrunk?”

“You’re fucking kiddingme.”

“The kid justshowed.”

“Fuck,” he says, sounding livid. “That little shit. He promised me this morning that he’d be there on time and ready towork.”

“Yeah well, he broke both promises. I can’t get shit out of himtoday.”

“What if he sobers up for a fewhours?”

“I’m not just sitting around and waiting forthat.”

He sighs. “No, of course not. Fuck, I’m sorry. Should I call up Tori and have her comehelp?”

“No,” I say after a pause. “Let her have a break. I’ll deal withthis.”

“Fine. Just don’t break the damnkid.”

“No promises.” I hang up the phone and lean back in my chair, watching Dustin through thewindow.

He’s swiping at his phone, probably on Tinder. I know that’s a stupid idea, but it’s his funeral. All I care about is whether he actually gets this album done ornot.

So far, I have to admit that it’s pretty good. I can’t pretend like the kid isn’t incredibly talented. When he’s on and really performing, really trying, he can do some magical shit. We have two songs finished that I think are genuine hits. They need some more fills and shit, some tweaking, but Dustin’s parts are alldown.

But we have nothing if we don’t get an album finished on time. That’s the real issue here. Sure, we can release some singles and all that, but everyone’s been pumping money into this release. The ads are already running, buzz is generating. I’ve gotten calls from friends asking to hear some early masters, which of course I always decline. We’re generating all this with the assumption that Dustin can finally comethrough.

I sigh and stand up, heading back into the recording room. Dustin looks up at me and smiles. “Where’s the girl?” he asksme.

“You know her name.” I sit down at a piano nearhim.

“Tori,” he says. “Her name’sTori.”

“That’s right.” I play a few licks, just messing around with it, sliding up and down the scale. “Listen, we’re not going to recordtoday.”

“I like her,” he says, ignoring me. “You guys, you’re all a bunch of old, out of touch assholes. Always pushing me to work more, workharder.”

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