Page 29 of For Eva

Fortunately, they’d found someone to advocate on their behalf when visions didn’t jive and the label got pushy. Gina had gotten them a solid deal but had her sights set on opening her own club in town, not keeping a bunch of twentysomething punks in line so they didn’t lose their record deal—a task which was on Keith Martin’s daily to-do list. She knew him from her days as a booking agent and was convinced he was the man for the job.

Keith, however, wasn’t so sure. He already had a roster full of wildly successful, badly behaved bands and no need to add to it. But after four meetings and Eric promising not to be an asshole, he finally agreed to take them on.

By September, Counting Backward was officially in the studio. Time moved at warp speed between working at the bar and hanging out in the smoke-filled confines of Sunset Sound. Iwas careful not to be intrusive, simply showing up with Angela in our roles as the loyal girlfriends bearing takeout and booze. Angela would get antsy and leave, but I found myself lingering, melding into one of the plush velvet couches. I listened intently, learning how each instrument was so uniquely important to the creation of a song. That the seemingly tiniest tweaks to the timing or pitch or volume could change the entire feel of it. It was endlessly fascinating to me.

The recording process went quickly. There were several fine-tuned originals the label had pegged as singles, and the guys had all agreed to tone down the partying in favor of getting down to business. So, even when Danny wasn’t physically at the studio rerecording tracks or listening to playbacks, he was going over every detail in his head.

I understood his focus. That didn’t stop me from draping myself half-naked over his bed, attempting to ignite some spark of interest, but I understood. I was just glad that by mid-November the tracks were finally being mixed, and we’d have at least some time together before everything that came next.

I got off early from my shift at the bar and headed straight to the Laurel Canyon house in hopes of making any sort of contact with Danny which ended with me having an orgasm. But instead of discovering him poised to grab me and rip my clothes off, I’d found him crumpled in the recliner while Eric paced the floor.

It was only out of sheer desperation I decided to stay, praying Eric would quickly grow annoyed by my presence and leave.

“Something’s off,” Eric said, leaning against the wall and gnawing on his thumbnail nearly thirty minutes later.

Danny sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I know, dude. It’s killing me.”

I was sprawled on the sofa, half-heartedly reading the copy ofGuitar WorldI’d dug out from the cushions, considering lockingmyself in Danny’s bedroom and embarking on a solo sex mission when Eric said my name.

“What do you think? I mean, from what you’ve heard…do you think it’s good?”

I blinked. “You mean the album?”

I deserved every bit of the what-the-fuck-do-you-think-we’re-talking-about look Eric gave me. But the fact he’d asked for my opinion shocked the shit out of me.

“You know I love it. I’ve said that since I heard the first cuts.”

“Yeah, but since all the engineers got a hold of them,” Danny clarified. “Like those couple songs I played for you the other day. Do they sound likeus?”

I cocked my head and considered the question. Itwasthem, so how could it not sound like them? There was ayespoised on the tip of my tongue, but I held it in as I remembered the first time I’d seen them play. And all the times after. The passion. The rawness. The energy.

“Um, okay,” I began, closing the magazine. “It’sreallygood. It is. But did those songs sound likeyou? I mean, yes and no.”

“Explain.” Eric crossed his arms. It wasn’t a defensive move—more like he was settling in to hear me out.

“Yes, the songs sound like your songs. Because they’reyourwords put toyourmusic. But…” I paused, working my thoughts out in my head. “It’s almost like someone took a Brillo pad to them and scrubbed till there wasn’t one speck of dirt left. Like, there’s no…grit.”

My eyes darted between Danny and Eric, waiting for one of them to speak. But neither did. Danny slumped down farther in his seat, lighting a cigarette, while Eric chewed his lip and stared past me.

“But maybe that’s just the ones I heard,” I added, afraid I’d overstepped.

“No, keep going,” Eric said, not taking his squinted eyes off the wall behind me.

I shook my head. “I don’t…I’m not sure…” My gaze flicked to my lap, the glossy picture of Ace Frehley posing with his Cherry Sunburst Les Paul guitar causing my head to jerk up with such force I thought it might snap off. “It’s like KISS.”

Danny groaned and covered his face. “Eva, I love you, but you cannot tell me we sound like KISS without expecting me to jump out the goddamn window.”

“No, I don’t mean yousoundlike KISS.” I sat up against the back of the couch and cleared my throat. “Eric, tell me this. When did KISS really take off?”

He shrugged. “I guess whenAlive!came out.”

“Exactly. The self-titled,Hotter Than Hell,Dressed to Kill”—I ticked each album off on my fingers—“pretty much considered commercial failures. But then they releasedAlive!andbam—fucking gangbusters.”

“Babe.” Danny pursed his lips. “We can’t just go record a live album.”

“And I’m not saying you should,babe,” I stated, slightly miffed by his patronizing tone. “Everyone knows they doctored the live recordings in the studio, anyway. But the energy—the power and the rawness in their live shows—it still came through.”

He raised his brows, bobbing his head side to side. “Yeah, maybe.”

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