Cory's Dilemma Page 3

“It’s okay. I don’t care about things like that. I just want a better life for our family. The only thing that bothers me is Ava’s going to be six, and she’s sleeping in our room. We can’t keep living like this.”

  “I know. Don’t worry. I got something going. I really feel it’s going to work out this time.”

  “I hope so, but promise me if it doesn’t that you’ll get a steady job, one with benefits. We don’t need much, just a three-bedroom place.”

  “Three bedrooms?”

  Linda smiled. “Yep, I’m pregnant.”

  Chapter Six

  Cory bolted upright.

  Linda whispered, “What’s the matter?”

  “Bad dream.”

  “What was it about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.” She reached out. “You’re sopping wet.”

  “I’m all right.” He swung his legs off the bed. “Go back to sleep.”

  Cory snuck a look at Ava and straightened her blanket. He threaded his way to the bathroom thinking over the dream—the scary possibility that Linda would have triplets or twins. It ran in her family.

  Cory washed up and went to the galley kitchen. He turned his phone on and grabbed a glass of water. Plugging a question on multiple births into the search bar, he held his breath.

  “Shit.”

  The answer was an ultrasound at ten to twelve weeks would show whether a pregnancy involved multiple births. Linda was just eight weeks pregnant.

  He weaved his way back to bed but stared at the ceiling. As an only child, he wanted another kid, someone Ava could pal around with. But the timing wasn’t right. They’d have to move. Maybe they could last a year after the baby came, but no longer than that. And if they had twins, forget about the cost of a larger apartment; he wouldn’t be able to afford the baby formula.

  Linda would push him to get a regular job, and Cory understood where she was coming from. The thing that scared him more than the money was giving up the music. With a full-time job and responsibilities of fatherhood, there was no way he’d be able to keep gigging.

  Cory realized he had six, maybe seven months to do something before it was too late. Every day counted. He came up with a plan and would get started in the morning.

  * * *

  Cory walked Ava to school. “Daddy, look at that squirrel.” She pointed as it scampered up a tree.

  “He’s fast.”

  “How does he do that?”

  “They have tiny claws that dig into the bark of the tree.”

  “Does it hurt the tree?”

  “Nah. Trees don’t feel anything. You have the food for Miss Cybill?”

  “Yep, she’s going to like it today. I put an Oreo in with an apple and sandwich.”

  “Super nice. Come on.”

  Cory held her hand and they crossed the street to a small park.

  “Dad, she’s still sleeping.”

  “It’s okay. Just put it on the bench.”

  Ava walked over and placed the bag of food by the homeless woman’s feet.

  “Perfect spot.” He took her hand and they walked away. “What’re you doing in school today?”

  “Miss Murphy is going to teach us about the moon and stars.”

  “Super. I wish I could learn that.”

  “You can come.”

  “I can’t. I have a lot of work to do.”

  “Are you making more songs?”

  “Yep. I’m working on a record.”

  “When are you gonna be on TV?”

  Even though the approval he’d gotten performing as a kid fueled him to pursue music as a career, Cory said, “Being on TV is nice, but there are a lot more important things in life.”

  “Like what?”

  She sounded like him as a kid. “Being the best father I can be for you.”

  “You’re the best, Daddy.”

  Cory kissed her. “And so are you. There’s your friend Maria. I’ll see you later.”

  He watched her walk into school and hustled home.

  Cory took out the tunes he’d stolen and got to work. He was lost in splicing parts of the tunes into ones he’d written when the doorbell rang. He looked at the clock. Three hours had gone by. He stuffed the pilfered copies into a drawer and answered the door.

  “Hey Donny, thanks for coming over.”

  “No problem, brother. Where you want me to set up?”

  Cory scooped up a couple of toys in the main room. “Right here. It’s a little tight.”

  “Compared to some of the places we’ve played, this is a Las Vegas stage.”

  “Remember that gig at the Corner Bar on Seventy-Second?”

  “Oh God, Frankie had to play with just a snare.”

  “Yeah, it was a frigging closet. I was sitting on my amp.”

  “The good old days.”

  “Hey, got some news for you. Linda’s pregnant.”

  “Wow, congrats. When is she due?”

  “Not for like seven months. We’ll have to move, so I’m really hoping I can get some kind of deal.”

  “It’ll work out.”

  “While you’re setting up, I’m going to check on my neighbor. She’s not feeling well.”

  “You’re a good dude.”

  When Cory came back, Donny said, “How is she?”

  “Fine. You ready?”

  “Yep. You said you had new material?”

  Cory took out the altered music and they played through the first one. Cory said, “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a little Frankensteiny. The bridge doesn’t fit. The melody doesn’t jive with the rest of it.”

  “I see what you mean. I’ll work on that. Maybe I’ll send an audio file to you. Let’s run the next one.”

  After playing the second one, Cory said, “Is that better?”

  “The first sixteen are catchy. Now that I think of it, how about this bass line?”

  Donny played a reggae type rhythm. Cory said, “Interesting. It could work. You want to try it?”

  “It feels like the chord progression in the chorus needs a better transition. It doesn’t flow, you know. It’s good, but it needs to be better.”

  They reworked the midsection of the tune, but neither of them was happy with it. Donny said, “You know, it might be better to let it sit. Come back to it in a day or so.”

  “You’re right. Let’s try this one.”

  “Oh, what a cool name: ‘Tree on the Moon.’ Where’d you get that from?”

  Cory didn’t want to tell him from a children’s story he had read to Ava. “I don’t know, it’s about something surviving in the worst conditions, and I just thought of the moon.”

  “I like it.”

  The title was the only thing Donny seemed to approve of. Cory had played with the chords, and Donny picked up on the dissonance. Cory knew he’d rushed rewriting the tunes, and it showed.

  “I’m sorry I wasted your time, man.”

  “It’s not wasted. We ran the tunes, and there’s some stuff to work out. It’s all good, man. It’ll come together.”

  “I hope so.”

  “It will. I’m feeling like you’re straddling something, you know? Your normal stuff is like in there, but there’s this other side to you that’s emerging. I always love your stuff, but this new stuff, if I was you, I’d run with it.”

  “Really?”

  “No doubt, brother. It’s a winning style.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tired, Cory made a cup of coffee and called the agent for Sharp Five Records again. As the days passed without a callback, the chance there was interest signing him faded, and the question about what to do with the stolen music grew in importance.

  Cory gave up trying to rework the music. Donny was right; it didn’t feel natural. He had what he thought was a golden ticket but hesitated using it. Cory sat in front of his laptop, wishing he had someone to talk it over with.

  He reached into his drawer and pulled out the file with the tunes he
’d copied. He flipped through them wondering whether it was wrong to take the songs if the creator was dead. Jay Bird had made a point of telling everyone he’d been abandoned as an infant and had no family.

  Cory typed a question into Google: ‘If someone dies without a will and has no family, who gets their assets?’ He read through the results, clicking on one from New York State. It said that if there were no known heirs, the money would go to the state.

  He wasn’t sure how much money Jay Bird had left behind, but wasn’t it crazy to add to it? New York would waste the money like they always did. Cory would at least make sure some good came of it, provided they became hits.

  There was no assurance the songs were any good. How many times had he been at a session where all the ‘in the know’ people believed they were recording a number one hit? At least half the time they were wrong.

  Jay Bird had been good to him. It wasn’t that they were friends, but the star respected Cory. Using his material felt like a violation of the regard the dead man had for him.

  But Cory would bring life to the songs Jay Bird had penned. Isn’t that what artists wanted, to have their creations enjoyed by people? He couldn’t see a way to give any credit to Jay Bird without arousing suspicion. Plus, it would diminish the career boost he hoped for.

  Cory thought about creating a foundation for kids who were sick, funding it with a portion of the proceeds, if it was successful. He liked the idea. Between paying to help his mother-in-law and a foundation, was it really bad if the money was used for good?

  * * *

  Cory stole a look at Ava and slipped into bed.

  “She’s something else.”

  “Ava’s our angel.” Linda took his hand and placed it on her abdomen. “I think I can feel the baby.”

  “It’s too early, isn’t it?”

  “I read some women, in their second pregnancy, can feel the baby around nine weeks.”

  Cory pulled his hand back. “You think it’s twins?”

  “I don’t think so. That would be crazy. Wouldn’t it?”

  “You got that right. You’re going to the doctor’s tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes. But insurance won’t cover an ultrasound yet. It’s too early.”

  “These coverage rules are frustrating.”

  “Tell me about it. My mother’s going to go into hock if she ever needs a kidney transplant.”

  “Don’t get yourself worked up. It’ll hurt the baby.”

  “You’re right. I wish you could come tomorrow.”

  “Me too, but I got the Robinson Brothers session tomorrow.”

  “That’s in New Jersey, right?”

  “Yeah, at Van Gelder Studios.”

  “Your friend Eddie still working there?”

  “Yeah, he’s been there from day one, helped make some great jazz records. It’s a pain in the ass getting there, but they’re paying for an Uber, so me and Donny are going together.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I read something today that got me thinking. Say somebody robbed a bank, but instead of keeping the money, they gave it to, say, a hospital to help people with cancer. Would that be wrong?”

  “Of course, you can’t just go around stealing, no matter who it benefits.”

  “Because the money belongs to someone else?”

  “You can’t take from one person and give to another. It’s not right.”

  “Say nobody owned it.”

  “That’s ridiculous, it belongs to somebody.”

  “Well, how about someone dies but they have no family. None at all. And they have a hundred thousand in cash at the bank. Somebody at the bank knows there aren’t any heirs, and he sends the money to a homeless shelter. Did he do anything wrong?”

  “I don’t know where you get these ideas from.”

  “I saw something like that on the internet. I think it was in Minnesota or something. What do you think? Would that be wrong?”

  “I guess not.”

  “That’s what I thought too.”

  Cory couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t from worrying but planning. He went over the personnel playing tomorrow. He was sure his friend would let him use a studio to cut a demo. Donny said he was good with playing on it. He could use a drum machine if the drummer gave him a hard time, and if Tony wouldn’t play piano, Cory would cover the chords with his guitar.

  It was for a demo, not prime time. Cory only needed to communicate a sense of what the tunes were.

  * * *

  Stuck in traffic crossing the George Washington Bridge, Cory was quiet. Donny said, “You all right?”

  “Yeah, fine. Just thinking about how Linda’s doctor visit went.”

  “I’m sure it went okay.”

  “I know.”

  “Did Chase ask you to record anything?”

  “Yeah, I’m gonna lay down solos on two tracks.”

  “You’re doing it?”

  “Sure. He’s a good guy and needs the help.”

  “But he isn’t paying.”

  “I know. It’s all right. You’re not playing on it?”

  “My old man told me a long time ago not to play for free. Said it degraded the work we put in.”

  “He’s right, but I can’t say no.”

  “Mr. Goody Two-Shoes.”

  “What did you think of the stuff I sent over?”

  “I gotta say, the tunes for the demo were good, really good.”

  “You think they’ll work?”

  “For sure, they’re perfect for pop radio. You really surprised me; I didn’t see the commercial stuff coming from you.”

  “I’ve been working on it for eons.”

  “You never said anything.”

  “It felt like a sellout, you know?”

  “No, it isn’t. I’d like to hear more. Didn’t you say you wanted to lay down seven tracks?”

  Cory didn’t have an answer and shrugged.

  “You should’ve taken advantage. There isn’t another studio where they’ll let you do it for free.”

  “I wanted to get home, you know, with Linda’s appointment and all.”

  Donny’s phone rang, and as he answered it, Cory fingered the demo thumb drive in his pocket.

  Chapter Eight

  Ava ran to the door. “Daddy’s home!”

  “Hey, pumpkin.” Cory put his guitar down and picked her up. “How was school today?”

  “I made you a picture. Let me show you.”

  He put her down. “Mom! Where’s the picture I made for Daddy?”

  Linda came in. “Here you go.”

  “Wow! This is nice. I like the sun; I can feel the heat. Let me guess—who’s this girl over here with the dog?”

  “That’s me, silly. Can’t you tell?”

  “It looks exactly like you.”

  “When can we get a puppy?”

  “I really want one, but with the new baby coming, we may have to wait. Let’s see what happens.”

  “Aww.

  “Don’t worry. Why don’t you put the picture on the fridge? That way, I can see it all the time.”

  “Yay.”

  Ava ran off and Cory said, “How’d it go at the doctor’s?”

  “Good, said I have to be careful about getting diabetes.”

  “You didn’t get it last time.”

  “That was almost seven years ago.”

  “Oh, she say anything about twins or anything?”

  “She put the odds at fifty-fifty.”

  “Fifty-fifty? That’s—”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out if we have twins.”

  * * *

  “Come on, monkey. It’s time for bed.”

  “Can Daddy read to me?”

  “Sure. What book do you want? Green Eggs and Ham?”

  “No, the one about the koala bear.”

  “The Koala Who Could. That’s one of my favorites. Let’s go.”

  Reading aloud, Cory wondered if the book about taking risks was the universe’s
way of sending him a message.

  Cory tucked her into bed, kissing her good night. Linda was on the phone with her mother. Cory opened his laptop and pecked out an email to his agent:

  Hi Dave,

  Tried calling you a couple of times. I know Sharp Five isn’t interested, but I wanted to let you know that I’ve gone in a new direction musically.

  I got the message about the pop-oriented stuff everyone seems to want and wrote some songs that are perfect for radio play.

  I’d really love to talk this over and have you listen to them all. Everyone who listened really dug them. I’ve attached one to give you an idea of what they’re like. Give it a listen.

  Let me know, Cory.

  He inserted the USB drive and transferred “Tablet Blues,” a song he considered the strongest of the bunch. Cory’s finger hovered over the send button. It was wrong to do this, he thought. But how wrong? He knew it wasn’t ethical, but he’d paid his dues, and it wasn’t like he was taking from someone else. There was no loser, was there?

  Linda put a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  “Just some email.” Cory hit send and closed the laptop. “How’s your mom?”

  * * *

  “Well done, Miguel. You really nailed last week’s lesson. This week, I want you to work on pentatonic scales. Start with C and go around the circle of fourths. You don’t have to learn them all in one week.”

  “Okay. That’s it?”

  “If you have extra time, practice the strumming patterns on page twenty.”

  The student’s mother said, “Say thank you, Miguel.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lupinski.”

  “No problem, pal. I’ll see you next week.”

  As the kid thumbed through the exercise book, Cory headed to the door, saying to the mother, “Miguel is like a sponge. I wish I could learn that quick.”

  “He really likes to play. I’m so grateful you’re teaching him.”

  “No problem.”

  “I wish we could pay you, but—”

  “Don’t worry, it’s fun for me.”

  Back in the apartment after giving guitar lessons, Cory’s cell rang.

  “Hey, Cory, it’s Dave.”

  “Hi.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry I’ve been tied up. Things have been crazy busy here.”

  Dave lied so easily, it eased Cory’s concern. “I understand. So, how are you doing?”