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“So how was week three?” asked Martha Jane.

“Kind of hard to say,” answered Melody.  “It got all confusing near the end of the week.”

Martha Jane settled herself into her chair, her cup of tea beside her.  The kids were playing outside and her husband Bob was keeping an eye on them.  They all knew not to disturb Mom when she was talking to Auntie Mel.

“Did he say something about the club?” 

They had discussed this on the previous Sunday.  Melody had told her about Nick coming to the club.  They had kicked around various motives for him – Was he there to spy on her?  Didn’t he trust her playing?  Did he want to see her ‘in action’?  Why hadn’t he acknowledged her when he was there?

“No, he never did,” said Mel, “but…”  She went on to describe Monday morning’s session.

“Wow!” said Martha Jane.  “How did Rafe react to Nicky taking over like that?”

“Don’t call him Nicky,” said Melody, absently.  “Rafe wasn’t there.  Tom went running to him, I guess.  But it doesn’t matter.  It kind of…I don’t know…liberated Nick.”

Melody described how Nick started to take charge.  Songs that they had worked on for two weeks were now being changed.  Not a lot.  It was still all about Nick, but now he wanted Blaine to sing this line or even just this word.  Tofu should come in here.  Rashad, how about an ‘oh, yeah’, here?  Melody, you and Blaine do this line together with me. 

Nick had had ten years experience working every note until it was perfect.  He had an incredible ear for music.  And so far, he hadn’t been wrong.  Melody could see that Tom was dying to protest, that he was just waiting for a chance to say ‘no, let’s stick with the original’.

The musicians loved it.  Now they were into it.  They weren’t just covering the songs from the album.  They were a cohesive group, and they were performing.  None of the musicians had outstanding voices, not even Melody.  But somehow, when Nick put the voices together, it enriched the sound.

“Sounds stupid to talk about enriching the sound and harmony and stuff when we’re wailing away on electric guitars, doesn’t it, Mart?” she asked her friend.

“Not at all,” replied Martha Jane.  “And speaking of guitars, is he still…?”

“Yeah,” sighed Melody.  “He’s still doing it.  It’s going to be the weak spot in the show.  He’s going to get hammered for it with the critics, but…what can you do?  He’s the star.”

“Maybe you could drop a little hint,” suggested Martha Jane.

“Nooooo, I don’t think so,” said Melody.  “It would not go down well at all.  He’s defensive about it.  I guess, deep down inside, he knows he’s not really ready, but he just wants to so badly.  He thinks that’s what makes him a rocker.”

Melody described the rest of the rehearsals from Monday and Tuesday.  She talked about the songs and the music and told funny stories about Tofu’s antics and Nick’s silly side.  What she did not describe was the feeling in the core of her being, the tiny little vibration that had electrified her when Nick was standing right in front of her and they were singing the same words.  She didn’t describe it because she didn’t know what it was and she didn’t want to admit that it existed.

“So when did it get weird?”

Melody sighed.  “Rafe came over on Tuesday afternoon, just as we were packing up.  He never said anything about the music, but he and Nick started talking about the video for Alias Me.  Nick’s shooting that this weekend.  It was kind of strange because Nick was the one doing all the talking.  Rafe didn’t like it, and they ended up yelling at each other.  Then we had Wednesday off because Nick had some stuff to do for the video, I don’t know what.”

“Yes?” said Martha Jane.  She couldn’t identify it but there was something in Mel’s voice.

“Then on Thursday, he was different.  Not to everyone…just to me.  It was kind of strange.  He didn’t come over to me at the end of Alias Me anymore.  He stayed at the front of the stage.  And he didn’t seem to want to joke around with me anymore.”

“Did you do something or say something?  You can be…um…blunt at times.”

Melody laughed.  “No, I didn’t get all up in his face.  I don’t know what happened.  It’s not like he’s mad at me or anything.  He’s just…different.  I know that the other guys noticed, but no one said anything.  It got a little better on Friday.”

“Maybe he’s getting a crush on you.”  Martha Jane floated the suggestion out very carefully and listened intently for the reaction.  Crushes could work both ways.

“I hardly think so, Mart,” laughed Melody.  “He’s just a kid.”

Interesting, thought Martha Jane.  Mel had reacted as if Mart had suggested Melody were the one with the crush.

“Kids get crushes,” said Mart. 

“No, I don’t think that’s it.  I’m just one of the guys.  Really.  Maybe Rafe said something…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rafe had indeed said something.  Rafe had had quite a lot to say.  He received daily reports from Tom.  It had taken a while to get Monday’s report out of him.  Tom seemed reluctant to put things into words.

“Oh, for God’s sake, spit it out.”  Rafe was a busy man and didn’t have time for waltzing in circles.

Rafe’s first reaction to Nick's changing the song was surprise.  He didn’t think the kid had it in him.  His second reaction was anger, but he quickly sat on that.  He knew he was just miffed that someone had gone against him. 

“How did it sound?” he asked Tom.

“It sounded great,” admitted Tom, reluctantly.  “He really knew what he was doing.  There was spontaneous applause from the crew.”

Who gave a rat’s ass about spontaneous applause from the crew?  Rafe leaned back in his chair and swiveled his neck.  “Okay, so he made a suggestion that improved a song.  We’ll let him have this one.  He wrote the song, after all.”

“Um…” Tom took a deep breath.

Rafe sat forward in his chair, bracing himself.  “What?” 

“He’s making a few other changes as well.”

“Such as?”  Rafe picked up a pen and started to make notes.

Tom began to describe the changes.  A word here, a line there, nothing dramatic.  Tom knew he could never get Rafe to understand this in terms of the music.  Rafe just didn’t get the music part.

“How does it sound?”

“It sounds great,” admitted Tom.  “He knows what he’s doing.”

“Okay,” said Rafe, decisively.  “We’ll let him do it…until he fucks up.  Let me know the instant that happens.  Anything else?”

“Toby hired his assistant…Gus somebody.”

“Okay, that’s good.”  Rafe smiled to himself.  He was way ahead of Tom on that one.  “Then that’s everybody.  Sounds like everything’s shaping up great.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday’s phone call from Tom was a different story.  Nick had informed him that he wanted Tom to get the director of the video on the phone.  He had a problem with the concept.

“I’ll be right there,” said Rafe.

Rafe sailed into the rehearsal and virtually yanked Nick off the stage.  They were close to finishing up for the day anyway, and it was just Rafe’s way of asserting his authority.  But it pissed Nick off. 

“What’s this about the video concept?” Rafe demanded, walking to the back of the warehouse where they would not be overheard.

“I don’t like the girl,” said Nick.  “She’s not right for the song.”

“What the hell are you talking about?  She looks just like Tamara.”

“Exactly,” said Nick.  “I don’t want the whole thing to be about whether or not that’s Tamara, or gee whiz, it sure looks like her…and all that crap.  I want a different look.”

“What do you want?  I didn’t think tall, blonde and beautiful would be a problem for you.”

“Well, it is.  I want a real person…I mean, it will still be an actress or whatever, but I want her to look real.  I mean, that’s what the song is about, that I’m not one of the ‘beautiful people’, that I’m a real person…”

Rafe waved his hand in the air to shut Nick up.  He didn’t care about concept or song meaning.  He just wanted the best video made, so that it would help the song tear up the charts.  He and the director had planned the concept carefully.  And now little power-tripping Nicky was sticking his nose into it. 

“Tough,” said Rafe.  “She’s hired.”

“Well, now she’s fired,” said Nick.  “I want someone different.  I already told Mickey.”  Mickey Donahue was the director.

Rafe was livid.  “You did what?”   

“I called him.  I told Tom to do it, but I guess he had to check with you first.” 

If Rafe had known Nick well, he would have realized that the set of his mouth and the fire in his eyes were indicators that he was about to lose control.  But Rafe didn’t, and he pushed all the wrong buttons.

“Look, Nicky…Nick… it’s all settled.”  Rafe raised his voice slightly, trying to regain command.

“In fact, it’s not,” hissed Nick.  “I’m meeting Mickey at 9:00 tomorrow.  He’s going to have some new girls for me to choose from.”

“Where’s the meeting?” demanded Rafe.

“None of your fucking business,” said Nick.  If Nick had known Rafe well, he would have seen the narrowing of his eyes as a danger signal.  But he didn’t.

“Listen, you little pissant.  This is not up to you.  Don’t try and grow a brain.  Thinking is not your best thing.  Just do what you’re supposed to do.  Sing.”

Nick clenched and unclenched his fists.  Tom hovered in the background, slowly making his way over to them, trying to remain invisible but ready to jump between them at the first sign of violence.  Toby Gray and Gus Deloro watched from the conversation area.  The musicians busied themselves with putting away their instruments, talking more loudly than necessary, pretending they weren’t hearing the fight.  The crew disappeared to somewhere.

Nick took a deep breath and calmed himself down.  “I’m meeting with Mickey tomorrow at nine o’clock.  Be there if you want.  I don’t give a fuck.  But we’re changing the girl.”  He turned to walk away and then turned back.  “And if you ever call me Nicky again, I will tear your fucking head off.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s going to do it, goddammit,” said Rafe to Tom on Wednesday after the meeting.  They were in Rafe’s office.

“He’s going to do what?” asked Tom. 

“Our little Nicky is going to take a run at Mel,” said Rafe.  “Look at this.” 

He threw a folder full of pictures on the desk.  Tom started to leaf through them.  They were 8 x 10 glossies, portfolio shots. 

“These are the girls that Mickey picked for Nick to look at,” explained Rafe.  “He wanted a good cross-section.”

Tom continued to look at the pictures.  “He seems to have done that.  There’s a real variety here.”

“Guess which one Nicky liked,” said Rafe, sarcastically.  “Guess who he thought looked most like a ‘real girl’.”

Tom had reached the last photo.  He looked at it for a moment and then up at Rafe.  He held up the picture.  It was a dead ringer for Melody Jones, a tiny girl with dark hair, cut short, spiky on top.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” sighed Rafe. 

Mickey Donahue had thought Nick’s choice was perfect.  But Mickey had never met Melody.  He didn’t know that there was way more going on here than just choosing someone for the video.

Rafe shook his head.  “You said it yourself, he can’t take his eyes off her boobs, and now he’s singing to her…or with her, or whatever.  So it’s only a matter of time until he pulls out his dick and points it at her.”

“She’ll take his head off,” said Tom.

“Yeah, or else she’ll fuck his brains out.  But either way, it’ll mess with the tour.  We have to nip this in the bud.”

Tom didn’t have any idea how to do that. 

But Rafe did.