Page 76 of Naughty Dreams
He swallowed noisily. Tapped his fingers on the chair. Warren leaned against the sofa as Roy waited.
“A few years ago,” Moss said, “I get this demo tape, handed to me by a talent scout I respect. Says the band has a good sound, and the ‘it’ factor. Most bands with local appeal often have no commercial potential, nothing to set them apart and launch them to the next level. The scout thought this band did.
“There’s a short intro on the demo. DJ, with a message to me personally, saying he’d like it if I’d come hear them play and meet the band. That he thinks I’m the right person for them. It wasn’t cocky or presumptuous. He was being sincere. He finished it off by saying he’d buy me a drink.”
Moss’s faint smile became steadier. “He told me later he only had enough cash to cover two beers. They were living out of a van, the way so many bands do at that point. DJ was handling the tour manager role, setting them up for gigs across the South.”
Roy sat down in the seat across from him, leaning forward, hands laced together between his spread knees. He knew the story, but hearing it straight from the grieving man in front of him made it far more personal that reading it in a polished interview.
“I was a business manager for a couple big name clients. I wasn’t looking for more.”
“So why did you go?” Warren asked.
“His maturity on the tape. The look and sound of the band.” Moss shook his head, denying both reasons. “At the end of the day, it was that kismet and timing factor you can’t deny in this business. I’d started to move away from why I got into this. I wanted to be a vital part of spreading great music to a wider audience, not overload it with marketable commercial slop. So I went.
“They were playing in a basement and garage combo the owner had turned into a music hang out. All these clocks were on the walls, and Christmas lights were wrapped around pillars. But the acoustics were spot on, no matter where you were listening from. Guy knew his stuff.”
The double-edged sword of memory touched his expression, and he swallowed, hard. “Talent in this business isn’t all that rare, honestly. But that ‘it’ factor—you recognize it when you see it. These four, the way they played, the way they worked together, it was the whole package. It was like they were one body, one beating heart. The music fan in me was blown away.
“When DJ sat down with me,” he added, “I was equally impressed. It’s rare I meet an adult in this business.”
“It’s rare to meet one anywhere,” Roy noted. Warren grunted in agreement.
Moss offered the faint smile again. “From day one, he wouldn’t agree to be bound to a record label for more than one album at a time, so they’re more independent than most bands. Survival saw their appeal to the audiences they’d attracted on their own, so they wouldn’t cave to any corporate pressure to lock them in. DJ said if the label treated them right, they could expect the same. And that also applied to my relationship with the band, and they’ve never caused me to regret it.”
He paused. “He’s always been up front with me about any problems. Like Tal. When I brought them in to sign the band,he had Steve and Pete keep Tal occupied with the food we’d catered in and talked it out with me. He gave me the truth, and said, they’d do whatever needed to make sure Tal’s shit didn’t interfere with my efforts, but he told me, ‘I won’t ever cut him loose. Not ever.’ If it was a problem, he wanted to know before we signed, so there were no misunderstandings.”
“Pretty much what he told me, when I called him on Tal’s shit,” Roy acknowledged. “So when he did what he did with Tal at the airport, that’s why you handled it better than most managers would.”
Moss took an unsteady breath. “I knew from the beginning Tal would finally hit bottom, but Steve, Pete and DJ—they were like the Jonas brothers or New Kids on the Block. Nothing was ever going to split them apart permanently, not in any serious way, and they’d use that bond to keep Tal in the fold.”
Pain gripped Moss’s expression, but then it shifted back to the better memory of that first meeting. “I asked DJ why he’d made a personal appeal to me. He quotes a ten-year-old interview I’d done, word-for-word. ‘If I represent a band, I’m committed to showing the world why they’re special. I won’t turn them over to a producer who polishes the uniqueness out of them.’
“I told him that was just some soulful bullshit I spouted to attract big names to my client roster. He gives me that smile of his, and says, ‘Well, you have, Mr. Moss. We’re thenextbig name.”
Moss met Roy’s eyes. “So here I am. Eventually, I turned my other clients over to my business partner, and became Survival’s fulltime tour and business manager.”
“So you said you needed to meet with DJ,” Roy said after a few minutes.
“Yeah. He’s their executor.” With a sigh, Moss pulled a folder out of the computer bag he’d dropped next to the chair. “I havea form he can sign that can let me handle all the arrangements, but I’d really like to go over some of it with him.”
“I’m not sure he’s up for that.” Roy bit back the words. As a bodyguard, he evaluated, neutralized and defused threats. That was his job. Putting roadblocks in the way of the client’s manager wasn’t.
Fortunately, Moss didn’t notice. “It’s not the estate stuff. That can wait. I need his input on what he wants done with the remains. They were…they were in their seats. They’re identifying who’s who by dental records. Um…Lonnie was sitting in Steve’s lap, so they think the best thing is to cremate them together…”
“Hell.” Roy closed his eyes. He could almost see it, the petite Lonnie wriggling on Steve’s lap like an excited puppy, enjoying the next leg of her big tour trip and riding the high of their announcement. Steve’s smile as he held her, a man in love. That pretty ring flashing on her finger. Ready to commit, get married. Maybe have kids.
Pete looking on, happy for him. Probably a little envious, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Tal, maybe distracted enough by their happiness to let go of his anger and worries about what would happen after the Denver concert. Roy had no doubt Lonnie had been able to get him to smile.
The sound of movement in the other room had Roy turning. He rose and went to the door, rapping it with his knuckles before peering inside.
DJ sat in an easy chair, staring out the crack in the curtained window. Pajama bottoms, mussed hair, bare feet.
“Is that Moss?” he said in a flat voice. “Does he need to see me?”
“Yeah. He needs you to sign a form.”
“A revised contract for my solo career? That’s ahead of the curve, even for Moss.”
