CARLOS
&
KATRINA
A
Novel by Charles Adrian Trevino
Copyright 2006, 2018
________________________________________________
Chapter
12
Carlos
awoke to the ringing of his telephone. It was 10:00 a.m.
on a Saturday morning. He had slept fitfully, tormented by
nightmares. The night before he had completely ruined his
relationship with Katrina forever; he was positive of it. He
instantly recalled the previous evening's disaster before he even
opened his eyes. It wasn't the first time Carlos had awoke
from unpleasant dreams to face an even grimmer reality.
Carlos
closed his eyes again. How could he have been so
stupid? Who had he thought he was out with ––
a psychiatrist? Why had he started talking about his
problems? His problems were insurmountable! It
didn't help to talk about them with anyone. They were
something that just had to be borne, like a chronic injury. And
Katrina was the nicest person he had ever met. She came
from another world entirely; it wasn't right to unburden himself on
her, not with his type of problems. She must have thought
that he was crazy; she would most certainly be frightened away
permanently by the strange things that he had so impetuously told
her.
The
telephone kept ringing insistently. Carlos reached over to
his bedside table and picked it up; with eyes still closed, he
mumbled a greeting. A familiar voice mocked him.
"Hey
hey hey there, Prometheus!"
"Slasher,"
Carlos muttered into the phone. "How did you get my
number?"
"You'd
better sit down, Fontana. I've got some big
news. I partied with Nicky Jagwire last night."
Carlos
was in no mood to listen to Slasher brag about his adventures. "Well
whoopie–doopie–doo! Did you get me an autograph?"
"I
got you more than that. I played him one of our tapes. He
liked it. Carlos, he wants us to come down to his studio
and play for him tonight!"
Carlos
remained silent for a few moments, not quite believing what he had
just heard. After all, Slasher was a major joker; this
could be just another one of them.
"Did
you hear me, you fool?" Slasher was yelling
now. "Nicky Jagwire wants us to audition for his new
record company! Do you realize what this means?"
Carlos
sat upright on his bed, wide awake now. "What did you play
him?" he asked.
"Who
cares?! I played him Night in Madrid, Untitled #3 and the
new live jam we just recorded. It was the live jam that
did it! He was floored! Carlos, we've got to get the guys and
make sure everyone makes it down there! No, we've got to
rent a van and bring 'em down there ourselves! This is it! If
we pull this off, he's gonna sign us!"
Carlos
sprang out of bed and began pacing the floor, as he listened to
Slasher ranting away. He felt a strange mixture of elation and
fear. For years he had written and recorded songs in his
bedroom studio; like all home–recording artists, he had dreamt
of getting signed to a major record label. His dream had
began to get dusty and tarnished as the once-excellent music he used
to hear on the radio had slowly begun to take on a mean–spirited
and more formula–oriented mien, but the dream was still
alive. And now Slasher was telling him that Nicky Jagwire,
one of the biggest of the old–school rockers, a superstar that
had come up in an era when a world–famous rock band really did
have to have talent, a multi–millionaire who had started his
own record company in order to free himself from corporate
manipulation, wanted to hear him play!
Carlos'
mind started racing. He had full confidence in his
four–piece band; three of them could sing great, and all of
them played multiple instruments. His drummer, Mitchell
Starkley, was one of the best Carlos had heard anywhere; his bass
man, Billy Bruce, was actually a jazz enthusiast who had decided to
join the rock band after he jammed with Carlos and Slasher one
night. Both he and Slasher also played keyboards, and
Slasher was a natural lead singer who had real stage presence. They
had continued playing together at Slasher's house several times a
week just for the sheer pleasure of it, even after Slasher's
continuous efforts to get them signed had failed dismally. Now
it seemed that all their efforts might finally be about to pay
off.
"…
so let's not blow it now, o.k. buddy boy?" Slasher was wrapping
up his rant. Carlos looked at his clock; it was still early. There
would be enough time to rehearse and properly prepare for their big
chance if they got on it right away.
"O.k.
David, o.k.; I'll call the boys up right now and tell 'em. Billy's
dad has a van that he borrows all the time, I'm sure we can get that;
then we'll pick up Mitch and come to your house to get the gear
probably in a few hours. I'll call you if there are any
problems. Talk to you later,
Slashie old boy!"
After
he hung up Carlos made some frenzied phone calls; it took some time
to convince the other members of his band that he wasn't joking. But
within a few hours all arrangements had been made, and the three of
them were soon rolling up the long driveway to Slasher's house in a
huge old cargo van. David was sitting on the railing of
his bedroom balcony waiting for them; he gave them the thumbs–up
and disappeared into his room, reappearing a half–minute later
at the front door. "Welcome to the future,
boys! Right this way!" he said with a jubilant grin
as they filed into the house.
Slasher's
mother prepared lunch for them; the boys' enthusiasm had infected
even her. After an excellent hearty meal they adjourned to
Slasher's large studio–garage to rehearse the songs they were
going to play for Jagwire. As evening started to fall they
were still practicing their numbers, but a look at the clock told
them their rehearsal time had run out. They decided that
it was now or never, and began loading their equipment into the van,
making last minute preparations; twenty minutes later they were
backing out of the driveway, anxiously setting off for their
rendevous with fame and fortune.
They
arrived at the studio and began to unload their equipment. Jagwire
came out to meet them in the reception room -- he was a small,
friendly man in his early 50's, although he looked more like he was
in his 30's. He shook hands all around as Slasher
introduced him to the three star–struck young hopefuls. "And
this is Carlos Fontana… the famous
Carlos Fontana!" Slasher said, grinning impishly.
"Hello
Carlos… David's told me a lot about you!" Jagwire
extended his hand.
"Don't
believe him Nicky, he's a pathological liar," said Carlos,
giving Jagwire's hand a hearty shake. "But he's a pretty good
singer!"
Jagwire
laughed. "Well, he didn't lie about your
talent. That tape I heard sounded real good, especially
the live take. Do you guys sound like that all the
time?"
"As
a matter of fact, we sound better!" said Slasher. "No,
really, that was a mediocre session for this band. We
hadn't even practiced that song yet. Tonight we'll play it
better."
"I'd
like to see that! Hey, you guys didn't have to bring your
amps… we've got everything you need right here."
"We
thought we should play on familiar equipment for this one,"
Slasher said, smiling at his bandmates. "Don't want any
screw–ups, do we boys?"
Jagwire
laughed jovially as he looked at their old guitars and amps. "Well,
suit yourself… for now! Come on, I want you to meet
the engineer you're gonna' be working with. Follow me."
He turned around and started walking, leading the four musicians
through a doorway, down a dimly lit hall... and into a new world.
**************
___________________________________________________________
Copyright
2006, 2018 by Charles Adrian Trevino.