“Nixon and Jonas? We met at a bar.” I lowered my voice, not ashamed of this story but knowing that this was not the place where it would be widely appreciated. Because bars were not an appropriate place for a pastor’s daughter to frequent. “College was . . . different than I’d anticipated.”
I’d been offered a scholarship for the music program at the University of Washington. My high school band teacher, the one who’d given me my first pair of drumsticks, had gone there himself and he’d made it seem so exciting. College was supposed to have been my adventure.
But one month into my freshman year, I knew school wasn’t the right path for me. Only two of my classes had been within the music department. The others were for math, biology and English. I’d hated every moment, which my grades reflected.
So I quit. I forfeited my scholarship and moved off campus.
It was the best decision of my life.
“I moved out of the dorms and into this hole of an apartment. My roommates were these two other girls, sophomores I’d met through a music class. Another girl who was supposed to live with them decided to leave Seattle, so they were short on rent. I moved into the spare room and found a job as a cocktail waitress at a bar three blocks away. Jonas was already working there. Nix started a month after me.”
The three of us had bonded as the only employees in the bar under the age of twenty-one. We couldn’t mix drinks and work behind the bar, so after our shifts waiting tables, while the other staffers were unwinding with a cocktail, we’d hang out beside the stage.
“The bar was known for its music. On Friday and Saturday nights, the owners would pay to bring in a band, but Thursdays were open mic night. Jonas used to sing a lot. Covers mostly. He’d draw crowds bigger than the paid bands would, and the owners loved it because he was free entertainment.”
I would never forget those nights, working and listening to Jonas sing. He had a smooth voice but could pull off raspy and growl when it was needed to convey emotion. His range was incredible and the power in his vocals was unmistakable.
I’d only ever heard one voice that I liked better.
Graham’s.
“The three of us were working together one night, about six months after I’d quit school. It was a Wednesday, and the bar was dead. Nix was on stage, messing around on a guitar. One of the bartenders told Jonas to go sing along.”
I stood back, watching them toy with a Stone Temple Pilots song, and wondered why the hell was I watching when what they needed was a drummer.
“I took off my apron, went up on stage and joined in.” I grabbed ahold of my dream and had been hanging on with an iron fist ever since. “It grew from there. Soon we were the Friday night band. We were making music like crazy, writing all the time. The girls I was living with got annoyed by my late-night schedule, so I moved out and into Nixon’s apartment. Jonas would come over whenever we weren’t working and we’d just . . . write music. All night long.”
There’d been no expectations other than loving what we wrote. There’d been no studio timeline or pressure to top the charts. Our music had been untainted by fame.
I was still proud of everything we’d written since, but the freedom to create seemed to be slowly diminishing. There were days when I felt like we were being walled into a room, brick by brick.
If the music dried up, if we had nothing to give the label, would they let us out? Or would we die in that room?
“Then what?” Graham asked.
“Luck.” That’s all fame was—luck and working hard not to screw it up. “We were in the right place at the right time. We got a gig on a Saturday night to play for a private event. It was a sixteenth birthday party for a kid whose dad had more money than he knew what to do with. The parents hired us and chartered a ferry boat to cruise around the sound. One of the guests, a friend of the father’s, was Harvey Hammel.”
Not many bands were able to get an hour of captive listening time with one of those most successful music producers in the business. Hell, the three of us hadn’t known who he was other than a guest of the party who’d lingered close to the stage.
When he’d introduced himself at the end of our set and complimented the one original song we’d snuck into the lineup, Jonas had nearly fainted.
Harvey had seen our potential, or so he’d said. Maybe he had liked how moldable we’d been. How easily we’d all taken instruction and input. Regardless, he’d taken us under his wing. He’d chosen to give us his expertise and experience, making Hush Note the giant we were today.
“After we signed with Harvey, things just took off. He helped us polish our debut album. He got us a deal with the record label. He spent hours and hours with us in the studio, picking songs that would balance the album but still show our range. The first single did well. The second . . . was an explosion.”
Harvey deserved a lot of credit for our success, but he was never one to take more credit than was owed. We were talented. Harvey would be the first to tell us that if it hadn’t been him, another producer would have snatched us up. Because Jonas and Nixon and me on stage . . . together, we were magic.
Something I doubted Graham wanted to hear.
“Do you still like it?” he asked.
“I love the music. When things click, it’s a feeling like no other. The rest has been an interesting ride. We’ve all changed.”
“How?” he asked.
I gave him a sideways glance. What had sparked this sudden interest in Hush Note? For a guy who’d shut off our songs in the truck and hadn’t had much to say to me since I’d arrived, why did he want to know?
But I wasn’t going to ask. I liked talking to Graham.
Too much.
Because once he’d been my safe place.
“Social media is hard,” I said. “That wasn’t a thing when we were starting, but it adds a layer of stress. Or I guess I should say it takes away a layer of anonymity, which is stressful. People want to see our lives. They want to know where we vacation and who we spend time with. There’s the tabloids and the press. The scandals always make a splash.”
“What scandals?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Jonas was a playboy. He’s gorgeous and talented. Women flocked and he used to revel in their affections. I mean, Nixon gets around, but Jonas as the front man was always in the spotlight. In the beginning, some chick would get her feelings hurt when he cast her aside and it would inevitably cause drama. He’s not like that anymore. He was just searching for the right person.”
Kira was everything Jonas had needed in his life. She filled the hole in his heart, and so did their daughter Vivi.
“And Nix?” Graham motioned to my phone.
Nixon, if he didn’t change, would shatter my heart.
“Nix is lost. On top of unhealthy relationships with women, he runs away from the past and into the arms of alcohol and drugs.”
But the bastard was so goddamn obstinate, he wouldn’t admit he needed help. He rarely went to his childhood home in New York, and though I couldn’t fault him for that, he’d never confided in me about what had driven him away in the first place. To my knowledge, Jonas didn’t know either.
Nix was fighting a war with his demons alone, and they were kicking his ass.
“Hmm.” Graham hummed. “And you? What’s your scandal?”