Page 45 of Punk Rock Reflection
Angel looked down at the colorful fabrics and prints on Jessi’s workstation. “These are beautiful. It’s totally unlike your usual aesthetic of dark colors and hard textiles. I like it.” She predominately designed for the rock and roll industry, and her garments were ultra-cool and edgy. She also had a formalwear line, but nothing sporty like these fabrics suggested. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m making resort wear. Sporty. Fun. Flirty. Something effortless that a woman could wear poolside, on a boat, or on a cruise, or on a tropical island. Something comfortable, classy, and chic.” She handed Angel her Tablet. “What do you think?”
He was impressed as he flipped through her sketches. She was a remarkable artist, and her visions were clearly conveyed through her drawings. It was easy to see how absolutely stunning they were going to be. “These are outstanding. Your creativity amazes me, Jessi. This is some of your best work. You’re always pushing yourself. These designs are trendy and innovative. You know how to pull in new clientele. It’s why you’re known world over.” He kissed her cheek, pride filling his heart for this incredible woman who wore so many hats: Wife. Mother. Wife, again. Entrepreneur. Designer. Goddess.
“I’m so excited. I can’t wait to get a prototype finished. But first, I’m starving. Let’s have lunch. I’ve been in here all morning. Do you know where Tommy is?”
“No. I’ve been in the garden. Everything is still flourishing. It’s just so relaxing, and I got lost.”
“Let’s see what we have in the refrigerator and what wonderful masterpieces you can whip up, and then we’ll try to locate our missing husband.”
The muffled sound of music filtering into the kitchen took Angel by surprise. The basement studio was almost soundproof, but some of the sound still made it up the stairs. He listened to the complex riffs and fast, hard beats of the drums. It immediately infiltrated his core with familiarity, even though he didn’t recognize the song. There weren’t lyrics, just music, but he was drawn to it and fell in love with the catchy tempo, tapping his foot and bobbing his head. His pulse galloped, and his eyes widened as recognition hit. His gaze shot to Jessi. “Do you know who we’re listening to?”
“Mason and Lucas,” she answered.
It could have been Mason on the drums, because that kid played almost as well as his father, but that wasn’t Lucas. There was no denying the unmistakable one-of-a-kind sound of the guitar. “If that’s Lucas, I’m going to call the media and the Guinness Book of World Records, because no one his age can play that well. That’s Tommy.”
Jessi tilted her head to listen more closely, and her facial expression transformed with realization. “You’re right.”
“Is Jimmy here?” Hope lifted Angel’s shoulders. If Tommy was playing with Jimmy, it had to mean he was ready to return to Immortal Angel.
“I don’t think so. I didn’t see him. Audra dropped Mason off this morning and left for a meeting. She mentioned something about Jimmy helping his brothers today.”
The kids were in the studio and Tommy was obviously playing alongside them, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. The hope and surprise came from the knowledge that this appeared to be new music which could only mean one thing. “Have you heard Tommy play this song before?”
“No.” It took a second for Jessi’s brain to register what was happening, then her eyes widened. “Do you think Tommy’s writing music again?”
Angel nodded profusely. “Yes. I never heard this before. I would have remembered something this good.” He motioned for Jessi to follow him and headed toward the basement. As soon as he opened the door, the sound hit him like a punch in the face. Tommy’s guitar screamed with the ferocity of punk rock. The undertone of hard rock in the melody was a belt to the chest. The drumbeats reverberated like a rapid-fire machine gun and shook the walls.
As Angel descended the stairs, he saw that it was, indeed, Mason on the drums, and Angel didn’t know if he was more astounded by Tommy’s talent or by Mason’s execution. Accompanying the drums and lead guitar, but never taking a backseat, was the rhythm guitar of a future rock star echoing his father’s ability. On the couch against the wall facing them sat Tessa, an audience of one.
Angel stopped on the bottom step and took hold of Jessi’s arm, so they were just out of sight, not wanting to disturb the show in front of them. Lyrics started to filter into Angel’s head, and he silently sang them to himself. He turned toward Jessi, who looked at him with stars sparkling in her eyes like diamonds. She inhaled a breath and placed her hand on her chest, smiling all the way up to her eyes. They continued to watch, spellbound by what they were witnessing. Angel was so shocked at the display in front of him that he didn’t think to pull out his phone and record it, but, luckily, Jessi never failed to see the potential of anything Tommy or the kids played and had her phone aimed at the trio.
When the song ended, Angel clapped his hands.
Tommy jumped, surprised by Angel and Jessi’s presence. “How long have you two been standing there?”
“Long enough,” Angel said, still gazing at Tommy with disbelief.
Tommy displayed a crooked smile. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Because I have no words. I hope the look in my eyes and on my face says it all.” Angel took a deep breath, as if he’d forgotten to feed his lungs since he entered the basement. “Tommy Blade, what the hell was that?”
“A song.”
“A song? That’s it? That’s your explanation?”
“Yeah. It was a song I wrote.”
“When did you write it? Why are you playing it with the kids? Why aren’t you recording it?”
Tommy shrugged one shoulder, and it drew Angel’s attention to the Les Paul across Tommy’s chest. The guitar was used almost exclusively on stage, as if the Fenders and other Gibsons weren’t good enough for a live audience. Tommy didn’t dare take it to Bora Bora, in case something happened to it, and he hadn’t picked it up since they’d been back, preferring to use his Fender to strum and play at home.
Tommy followed Angel’s gaze and glanced down at his Les Paul, shifting uncomfortably.
Angel chose not to comment on it and turned to Jessi. “Send me the recording of the song because I want to forward it to Jimmy and Damien. They have to hear it. They’ll be blown away.”
“No.” Tommy shook his head. “It’s just a song I wrote. I knew the boys were down here playing, so I thought I could get Mason to put some beats to it. I was curious to hear how it would sound. That’s all.”
