One Trip around Greenlake

A few months earlier, as Miles recalled, he and Dave had gone on a hike together in one of his favorite Los Gatos spots.  He thinks Dave picked the spot to get him in a good mood.  They stopped into the grocery store to get supplies, expecting the hottest day of the year so far on the mountain.  The second they embarked they realized their miscalculation.  When they reached a small resting place with a view of the Egyptian theatre, they stopped. 

Miles had attended shows at the Egyptian but never realized its proximity to his Los Gatos apartment.  He felt stupid.  Dave sparked a joint and took a deep inhale before passing it over.  Miles would sit in his room for hours with his new record player and smoke.  He would smoke to the point of not remembering things or having confusing sentences come out of his mouth where he himself didn’t understand.  He spent almost $150 a week just at local dispensaries.    

“Have you ever thought about your life after music?” he asked Miles.  Dave peered at him before passing the joint.  Miles paused for a second but suddenly realized he had intended to ask him the question all along.  He snagged the joint and focused curiously on the red seats of the Egyptian.

“My life after music?”  Miles repeated at a loss.  His brain rejected the premise of working hard right now.  He knew the answer though.  Miles would never ever stop making music.  He already did it as a means of survival.  The harder he thought the more clouded his brain became overran with thoughts of having to take up construction.  He could work with a distant cousin over in Palm County.    

He didn’t want to go into his complete history but Dave deserved more than a superficial answer.  Miles began to think back in his mind when he first released “See you soon”.  He met with a group of label executives, feeling like he had tackled some unforeseen goal in his life.  In a white-walled conference room, he signed a 20 page document about ownership of his songs.  They didn’t guarantee full rights but promised something in the future if he kept his current pace.  No one looked like they had time to celebrate with him.    

Mile’s Dad hired a lawyer to look over anything labels sent him.  The lawyer would relay the advice only to his Dad.  Without final approval the day of the meeting, nothing would have happened.  Not because he didn’t feel happy for Miles but because he “couldn’t do it on his own”. Miles felt miserable all of the sudden.  He wanted to walk out and force someone to drive him home.  No amount of money could fix his broken heart. 

The stares everyone gave him as they sat back in a chair would cause him nightmares.  One of the women at the table had bags under her eyes yet a smile glued to her face.  To the right, an older man sitting at the table still dressed like at any moment a basement show could break out in the conference room.  The man folded his hands on the table and peered at Miles like he could read souls.  When Miles told Dave about the whole experience he referred him to his best therapist.

 “I’ll always want you as a part of my team, Dave,” Miles continued.  They had made some progress on the trail after their break.  Dave let out a scoff but realized the compliment.  He appreciated the guidance Dave had given him.  Not only did Miles feel like Dave served as his agent but also his best friend.  The two mixed business and pleasure at every turn.  If the next record couldn’t live up to the hype, Dave may want to leave.

Dave had a wife and two kids.  The family lived in a swank part of Palm County which made it just easy enough for Dave to commute every now and again into Hollywood.  Dave drove a black Range Rover which he treated like a Lamborghini when it came to maintenance.  On the windshield he placed a phone stand so during long commutes he could peak at the screen.  The vehicle already had multiple built in compartments for his phone. 

Dave joined Metro Music Management four years ago.  He promised a move would greatly benefit Miles’ career, giving him greater distribution networks.  The feeling of Dave’s presence became a lot less personal—just like his advice.  Miles could tell he did a good job of balancing his family life with work. The biggest question Metro answered involved which set of eyes consumed Miles’ music most.  Miles wanted his young crowd of music enthusiasts to worship him.  Dave wanted to seek a broader audience.  The two had to recognize their differences at some point. 

Dave’s oldest son, Milo, had Miles’ number and would sometimes text him— most likely when he had too much to drink at a rich-kid school party.  Reading the text from a far-off universe in Greenlake, Miles would smile and show his phone to Vanessa.  Dave’s life had a normalcy Miles didn’t know he fought so hard for.  “Can we change the subject?” Miles asked.

“Yeah,” Dave said. 

“How has Milo done in soccer so far?  I saw you practiced with him a lot,”  Miles followed.

“Well, he loves being a part of something.  The whole object of the sport means no one player can just go and score by himself.”  Miles could see the metaphor from a mile away.  “I think he has made a lot of friends because of the sport,” Dave finished.  “How about you, Miles? Do you ever want to take your kids to soccer practice.”  In a normal setting, Miles would have to take a second to think, but the kind of talk Dave engaged in felt all too familiar.  He knew what to say without incriminating anyone to him. 

“No, not really.  I’ve never really talked to Vanessa about the whole thing…”  Miles could hear the sandy, gravel crunch beneath his shoe.  “I assume she would say ‘No’,” he continued. Dave peered down at his shoes but kept walking.  His swung his arms like he never learned how to walk.  Maybe someone from another planet had taught him how to engage in basic social interaction.

“I hope you two change your mind. I think she really has had… an effect.  On you, Miles,” Dave said.  Now, Miles felt like pushing him down the trail. Vanessa didn’t even know Dave existed for while—always assuming someone at the label magically helped Miles.  Miles explained the role of a person like Dave to manage his tours and concert schedules.  She rejoiced knowing he now had someone else to talk with.  Someone with whom in the late hours of madness Miles could vent. In most regards, Dave felt not at all like a threat to Vanessa’s relationship.

No agent could explain the lifestyle of a musician to her.  She enjoyed his shows only to a mild extent, hating mainly his on-stage persona.  She and Miles always had the same arguments.  She didn’t like the way he talked too much about— to him, miscellaneous figures he had no real attachment to— people she knew.  The only thing keeping Miles afloat came to his drive and artistic sensibility.  He loved to spend time with her (when they didn’t fight).    

They would spend long hours smoking in the park and discussing anything which came to mind (mostly relationships).  Miles acted like a qualified therapist.  His pretention only bothered her to a mild extent, considering he listened to what most people didn’t when she talked.  He made bold inquiries into her problems.  His glamorous outlook on her life definitely helped him see things others could not.  She didn’t want to work for the agency anymore, and dreamed of quitting every time she got assigned something new. 

“I could design better than 80% of the shows I do… If I have to make one more trip to New York or Milan without you,  I’ll quit,” she would say.  Miles took a drag of a joint and leaned in to respond. “I hate the chit-chat, the run around. All people care about doing involves sitting with light wines and judging you,” she added.

“Why do you think you only get assigned things you don’t like?”  She would peer at him like he had asked a dumbest question in the world.  Miles’ stunned face sold his ignorance. The whole thing bordered on a mutual understanding until one of them cracked.

“I don’t get assigned stuff I don’t like… I just know I can do more.  Have you ever had the feeling like you could do more?”  Miles nodded in total agreement.  “Anyway, I just think I need a break.  No one ever gives me a break on anything.  I understand how lucky I’ve become with you or everyone else in my life… I really do,” she paused to rub her eyes (something Miles had never seen her do).  All of the sudden she leaned into Miles and kissed him on the neck.  The shady, late afternoon sun looked like it could set soon. In his head, the two of them go back to his place for dinner. Pasta with pesto but only the darkest bottle, Miles had in his arsenal of wine. She only let him cook for her if she felt like everything else in the world made no sense  

“I love you,” Miles says as he opens the door of his car, and she gets in. He puts on his sunglasses, and they drive away.