Finding Joy: Scalera Family, #5

CHAPTER ONE

Joy Munroe was looking out the small window, the nervous energy finally winding down as the airplane soared to a higher altitude. The earth was growing smaller from where she sat, but she wasn’t sure she could ever leave California behind her. Too many bad memories were traveling with her, and every time she’d tried to unpack them, they’d climb back on board.

How would she ever start over if she couldn’t put the past to rest? The last couple of months had been a nightmare, and she was still shaking off the images of her stalker. She still saw his face in every crowd, heard is voice every time her cell rang, smelled his after shave on every breeze. She wished Graham Crosby was in jail, but the lawyers had settled, the judge putting a restraining order in place, just like the one he’d walked through that last time. She had no intention of hanging around to see if he broke it again.

Her eyes had fluttered closed, so she wasn’t aware that the flight attendant was leaning over the empty seat beside her until she heard, Can I get you something, Miss Munroe?

Listlessly, she turned her head to see the concern on the woman’s face. Her name badge read Brittany and she’d been a witness to the tears as they taxied down the runway, had offered her a small envelope of tissues before taking her seat at the front of the plane as they readied for take-off.

Now the pretty blonde was back, with a conciliatory manner.

Maybe some water, please?

Are you sure you don’t want anything stronger?

I’m sure, but thank you.

Within seconds, Brittany had uncapped a bottle of San Pellegrino and poured some into a plastic cup.

Joy gave her a small smile.

She would have preferred uncarbonated, just plain old simple water but loftier needs were always anticipated. Most thought she lived the high life, expected top of the line, but most didn’t know her at all.

We’ll be serving breakfast soon but if there’s anything else I can get before then, let me know.

I will.

Joy took a sip of the bubbly drink and placed it back down on her open tray, leaning her head back against the coolness of the plexiglass, hoping the pounding in her head would lessen.

She still couldn’t believe she’d been able to slip under the radar, more than surprised there’d been no advance notice about her leaving. She thought for sure that Max would have sounded an of alarm of some kind, informed the world she was missing, had run away, accused her of acting like a spoiled diva. It would be his way of making her the scapegoat, him the victim. But there’d been nothing in the news, nothing in tabloids. Maybe he was smarter than she thought. Maybe he knew that even though she hadn’t screamed to high heavens after what he’d done, it didn’t mean he hadn’t crossed a boundary she wouldn’t tolerate. In a pique of rage after she fired him, he’d slapped her, hard, the bruise now a faint yellow mark, and begun his own crusade, stalking, threatening, harassing, insulting. He’d provoked the fight in her. She’d fired him again by text, then disappeared, buying a new phone so he couldn’t track her. It wasn’t the most courageous way to do it, but she was not willing to continue the pissing contest with him. He always seemed to win those, and her emotional immune system had been depleted.

When she contacted Diana LoScola, she had already slipped into oblivion so no one could touch her, but the simmering anger and residual fear were still palpable.

She should have escaped years ago, but when you’d spent your life without a voice, trapped in someone else’s opinion, you lost the ability to howl. She almost laughed at that. She was known for her voice, but there was a ventriloquist or maybe a puppeteer at work. Someone else had been pulling all the strings. Her music life had become a repeat of her pageantry years, where she needed to be competitive, perfect, revved up on a Red Bull and Mountain Dew highball, a forced smile on her face while shaking her booty, and she took all of that to center stage along with her. Her body and mind were not her own, hadn’t been since she was four. It wasn’t her mother running the show anymore, but the man who’d come after, who had the same kind of personality and blind ambition. He was aggressive, demanding and dismissive of her needs and desires. Why had she put up with it for so long?

Probably because she thought that the known would be less dangerous than the unknown. It was time to find out and she was finally ready for a change. She’d gotten rid of everything that tied her to the West Coast. Over the past two weeks, she’d put her house on the market, collected all personal belongings from the structure she called home for the last couple of years, quit her band, refusing to take the guys with her, and she’d hired a new agent, one who would be waiting for her once she landed in Boston. Diana had been referred to her by her good friend Tish, one of the few she’d let into her inner circle. She’d met the classical pianist at one of her symphony concerts, had gone out to dinner afterwards with her and her husband, Johnny Scalera, drummer for the rock band, Raging Thunder. She saw them a few times a year at different award shows, and always welcomed their company, preferring to sit with them instead of her own entourage. She texted or called when she needed a friend on the outside. After the melee with Max, Tish had been there, guiding and instructing, a life preserver who kept her afloat. Whether or not she’d coerced Diana to take her on, she didn’t know, but the agent had already become a strong advocate, and the person who’d arranged her transportation out of Tinsel-town. It was exactly what she needed. That Diana was a woman hadn’t hurt. They’d talked over the last week, as things were put into play for her exodus, and she was looking forward to the opportunity of creating something new, something Max had forbidden.

Her music would finally reflect who she was, not who they wanted her to be.

When her breakfast of eggs Benedict came, she shook her head, not wanting anything in her stomach. It was still roiling, and being physically sick wasn’t an option. The attendants knew who she was. She could tell by the looks, the whispers. But how? She didn’t look the part today, dressed down in jeans and a tee, no make-up, her hair a mass of unruly curls. She’d purchased the ticket under the name she went by, so she thought…

It seemed there was no way to escape who she was.

She’d been called a rock chick, one of the nicer things said about her.

Rolling Stone had called her sassy, sexy, and shameless. Entertainment compared her to Stevie Nicks, the same raw voice, the same magnetism, capturing a crowd with her blistering sound. Billboard described her as unleashed. Alternative Press offered her up as one of the hottest female rockers of her age. She was still shaking her booty, still smiling at the crowd but her bravado was an act, one that concealed her bitter disappointment at where she’d ended up.

Needing something to pass the time, she lifted her backpack and pulled out her worn copy of On the Road by Jack Kerouac, one of the beat writers of the fifties. She’d picked it up at the Harvard Coop when in Boston on one of her tours, walking the streets of Cambridge with Tish on a beautiful fall day. It had seemed fitting for a woman who spent so much time traveling and it was one more literary work off her list. She’d become intent on reading the most important works in American literature, would have loved to attend college and study them but… she’d been pushed down a different path. Or had she been fooling herself and gone down of her own volition? She could have left it behind with all the rest, but instead she was still seeking out her walk of fame.

An hour later, when the movie came on, she put the book down, just to sit and watch for a minute, but was swept up in the drama. It was the new version of A Star is Born and offered her the mindlessness she was seeking. She’d seen the one with Streisand and Kristofferson. It held all the pathos and bullshit that came with the business. Drugs and alcohol took a lot of performers out of the game, at least for a while. She’d never gone down that road but it constantly pulled at her. It would have been a way to numb the pain but she’d wanted to feel it, revel in it, praying it would eventually get her to quit it all.

And that might be the next step. Quitting.

The thought of that coincided with Jackson’s death, and she felt tears fill her eyes, for both herself and the male lead. But it was Ally’s survival that evoked something inside, and she clung to the hope that she could do it, too.

After the plane had landed, she was one of the first ones to debark. Before being allowed off, she was stopped at the cockpit, Brittany holding out a cocktail napkin, asking for an autograph.

Joy looked up and into her eyes, the attendant’s tentative smile tipping the corners.

After hesitating for a moment, she took it and scrawled Artemis.

She was sure Brittany wasn’t looking for Joy Munroe’s.

Joy hefted her backpack up on her shoulder as she walked down the concourse towards the baggage claim and exit, scanning the faces as she reached the end of the mile-long walkway.

And then she found her, Diana, standing against the curved wall, waiting, in her professional attire of fitted suit and stiletto heels. Joy exhaled a breath and hurried forward and right into a warm embrace.

Diana thumbed the yellow mark, her expression one of simmering anger.

"I’m so glad you’re finally here. You can stop worrying now. I can stop worrying now."

Joy shook her head, the curls having their way and landing in her eyes. After brushing them back, she sighed.

Come on. Let’s go claim those bags. Johnny and Tish are waiting, and they can’t wait to see you.

I can’t wait to see them, either. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks and I’m looking forward to settling in somewhere.

Anywhere that wasn’t LA. Or a hotel room.

Not that she’d been alone. Her sister Cal had been there the first week, and then her drummer had visited daily after that. She trusted Essie to keep her secrets, even from the other band members. They’d been together the longest, right from the starting gate and she was the one person she didn’t want to leave behind. It was Essie who’d gotten her to the airport early this morning, and as she dropped her at the curb, she said, I’m glad you’re getting out.

I should have done it way before now.

Yeah, well, hindsight’s great but too late to be of much good. Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll be there.

It might mean moving out there to be with me.

My old man never did like LA. Growing up in Vermont, he’s missed the winters and fresh air. Moving won’t be a problem. Not for us.

Joy gave her one last hug and said, I don’t know what I would have done without you.

Right back at you. You’ve made my life infinitely better. But it’s time for you to be you.

Essie was one of the few who knew who that was. She’d been with her since the first album, the first tour, and had taken the time…

She’d given her a kiss on the cheek and said her goodbyes, knowing her friend would be a phone call away.

Joy came back, aware of Diana, who was looking at her, and asked, What is it about drummers that makes my heart swell?

From what Johnny tells me, they’re the ones who keep things together.

He’s right. On and off the stage.

As they walked to the baggage claim, Diana said, Johnny wants to talk to you about some things, and if what he has in mind works out, you’ll be in the recording studio this time next week.

A shiver ran through her. She wasn’t sure she was ready to jump right in, still wasn’t sure what she’d written would be well-received. It was the antithesis of what she’d done to this point, and she was scared, petrified she’d be committing musical suicide. She could afford to, but the ones who counted on her…she wasn’t so sure. If they were willing to dive into these new deep and potentially dangerous waters, she wasn’t going to try and talk them out of it. That selfless she wasn’t.

I’ll have to let Essie know.

Diana sounded stunned. You want your old band with you?

No. Only Essie. She heard the vehemence in her voice and smoothed it over, explaining, I can count on her to have my back and there’s not many I trust with that.

I get that and don’t worry about the rest. I know we can get some of Thunder to play backup.

That was part of the business. Bands who used the same studio for recording, would pop in and out of each other’s rooms. She wouldn’t find a better band to collaborate with.

Before you coerce them into that, they’ll need to see the new stuff. It might not—

The new stuff is powerful, so I don’t see a problem. Let’s take this one step at a time, shall we? Dennis will be the first to study your songs. He’ll be the one working with you in the production booth.

Dennis Scalera?

The nervous agitation she’d been fighting off came back in waves.

She’d met the man once, a couple of years ago. There was a small resemblance to Johnny, the same chocolate eyes, same Roman nose, but his hair was short, choppy, revealing a high forehead, which elongated his face. But he’d been somewhat hostile, sarcastic, and curt at the introduction, then ignored her for the rest of the night, even though she was sitting at the table with some of Thunder’s band mates.

I’m not sure…

Diana looked at her with surprise.

I am. He’s good, and if anyone can handle this transformation of yours, I have no doubt he can.

CHAPTER TWO

Dennis Scalera’s mind was back at the studio, even as he raced against the clock, trying to make the last few minutes of the mandated family Sunday dinner. He was not known for his speed, so he was already at a disadvantage. His mother had re-instated the gathering once his brother Johnny was back in the fold almost seven years ago. Sundays were back to being an Italian affair, like they had when they were kids, with a meal of red sauce and pasta. The only thing that changed was the type, spaghetti, ravioli, cavatelli or lasagna all depending on who was doing the cooking. This week it was Tish, Johnny’s wife. He hoped he could make the tail end of the feast, not only for the food but because he wanted time with his kids. There was no excuse good enough to be late. When he was, he went hungry. He didn’t even get a doggie bag. Punishment, Scalera style.

Sundays were supposed to be for Cora and Colin, although the day with them didn’t usually start until noon. The twins didn’t seem to mind in the least. They spent every Saturday night with their uncle Tony and aunt Tansy and loved spending the next morning with them and their son. It was the other adults in the family who had the problem with it. He ignored the complaints because it gave him time alone in the empty studio, so he could work without distraction. There were only two more songs to perfect on Raging Thunder’s upcoming album, which they wanted out before the summer tour, so he stole every minute he could, to meet the deadline. It wasn’t a nine-to-five kind of job, and he’d been working round the clock to get the CD wrapped. Not that he minded. If it wasn’t for his kids, he’d be sleeping at the studio, the couch in his office as comfortable as his bed and just big enough for one, the king-size bed at home wasted on him. It was a stark nightly reminder that his wife had left him, left their kids. He’d been stewing, in a perpetual state of angry disappointment, since and the only thing that mollified it was work. He knew in his heart that his kids were paying the price, not only for her abandonment but for his, as well. Work had become his means of survival.

He wanted to think they understood but at only five years old, he knew that wasn’t possible.

He’d taken over their care as well as he could, but beneath the outward calm lay an edge of fury and frustration. He still couldn’t believe Delaney had done it the way she had. Just disappeared one morning never to return. He’d filed a missing person’s report, at his brother Tony’s insistence, but against his better judgment. He thought for sure she’d just had a flat tire, had run into a friend and decided to go for coffee. When his step-father, Paul, had tracked her down, using cell phone records, Dennis was too stunned to process it. Her call, hours later, had been anticlimactic. She’d flown to New Delhi, of all places, with a doctor she’d fallen in love with. Vihaan Ardishir’s family lived there and he wanted Delaney to meet them. After their return, they’d settled in DC, Vihaan installed as the new chief of the endocrinology department. The couple had been together almost a year by then and had secretly planned their move during the month before they made it.

He’d never guessed, never noticed her growing dissatisfaction, or taken her absences for anything other than what she’d told him. And then one day, poof, she was gone. He’d asked himself why she’d left a thousand times that first week.

She’d parceled out the why one call at a time over the next few months.

She’d invested six years to the relationship by the time he got around to asking her to marry him and by then it was expected.

His work was more important than she was.

Then came the one-two punch. He lacked passion, which her new lover had in abundance.

That one stung. Okay, maybe he was laid-back. It was his nature. His brother Tony called him a turtle. Slow and methodical gets it done was his motto. But lacking passion? He had to disagree. He was passionate about a lot of things, his kids, his work, the band, his family.

He still had a hard time wrapping his head around how oblivious he’d been. There should have been signs, warnings that their marriage was falling apart, and maybe there were, but nothing so extreme he would have known she was planning something so radical. He could still spit bullets at the way she’d gone about it. She had shock and awe down to a science and had left their lives in rubble. It was his strong family unit who’d helped him wade through the debris. He’d stayed with Cora and Colin that first week, until their feet were on the ground again and their heads were out of the storm clouds, until he had made it through the fog. He’d hired a nanny who they loved, and they had adjusted better than he’d thought they would.

For as pissed as he was that she’d left her kids, he had to give her an A for smarts. She knew she couldn’t have taken them with her. She wouldn’t have dared. She’d have to know it would be her against the whole family and they had money between them to buy countries and sink plans. Instead, she flew up every couple of months to see them. It made it difficult. More for him than for the twins. He’d have to re-arrange their schedules, drop them off at whatever hotel she was staying at, and deal with the aftermath. It always took a couple of days for them to get back to routine. The divorce had given him full custody, but Delaney was intimating she wanted to revisit that. No fucking way was he sending them to her for any length of time, never mind for vacations and part of the summer. His intention to hire an attorney to fight that was getting old, and he promised himself as soon as Then and Now was finished, he was going to get to it.

And he’d have time, in excess. When Thunder took to the road, Tish and kids went with them. He’d have nothing to center his life around, they being his only two personal clients. Was it time to expand his engineering duties? Take on another musician or band to fill in his downtime? He’d be busy enough, controlling budgets, overseeing the other clients and engineers as they mixed and matched a CD into being, giving final approval of the YouTube and videos, being available for advice, but he’d be on the periphery, not hands-on involved.

It was something he’d missed when he took the reins of the studio. His studio. It’s where he performed his magic. State-of-the-art since its inception and he’d been part and parcel since day one. When Johnny, Luca, and Tim, members of Raging Thunder, had decided to invest in their own private production company, they’d found an old naval property with close to seventy thousand square feet of interior space sitting on ten acres of land. It had been perfect but had taken close to a year to refurbish. He’d been in charge of every detail, and it was his baby from the ground up. They’d opened for business close to five years ago and he still couldn’t believe his good fortune.

Luca had gotten the ball rolling by agreeing to let him mix his first contribution to the band. With its success, Johnny had agreed to let him mix the whole third album. He’d been working in another studio in Boston for a couple of years but didn’t have the resume needed for such an undertaking. His brother had taken the risk, along with Luca, his brother-in-law, and they were still kicking ass. They’d won their second Grammy in a row this year for best recording, proof that he knew what he was doing. He’d taken a step back from engineering when they reached the pinnacle of success, bands lining up for their services after their first win. Their client list continued to grow, and they’d had to expand the facility several times to accommodate the overflow. He was full-out producer now, overseeing the crew of talented and versatile innovators that were ushering in new sounds and techniques. He wore a lot of hats in the position, creative director, financier, all-out-decision-maker, and he was living his dream, and his management style seemed to work. With three mixing studios, a fourth being constructed and near completion, feedback and dubbing rooms, vocal booths, all built with acoustics in mind it was one of the best in the business.

Willing to spare no cost, TAR Unlimited, named for the owners’ wives, Tish, Annie, and Rissa, had become a buzzword in the industry.

One of his crews was currently working with the Seven Deadlies on their second recording, another was working with Amorfos, a new band who had a lot of preproduction problems to smooth out, and the third was almost ready to wrap the CD for the Taxi Drivers, the first band who’d approached them after their doors had opened. The QuasiCosmics and the Octagonals were scheduled for late fall. The facility was bursting at the seams, and Raging Thunder, not wanting to take up precious space, had been relegated to the unfinished area. They might be in dire need of space, but it was a great feeling.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled into Johnny’s driveway. He might be late, but the number of cars told him everyone was still here. Maybe they’d take pity and let him join them, although it might be worth going hungry rather than the agita that would come from his mother’s wagging tongue. She was adamantly opposed to his work schedule and he couldn’t really blame her. He should be spending more time with the twins but they were well taken care of. Between the nanny and the women in the family, they were surrounded by love. It was Tansy who’d picked up a lot of the slack. Having been abandoned by her mother at a vulnerable age, she knew first-hand what the kids had gone through and had become their confidante and sounding board. She’d just become a member of the family when the shit hit the fan but had stepped up, embracing them all as her own. A middle school teacher in one of the most troubled neighborhoods, she had a way of handling most situations with aplomb and grace. Before she and his brother had gotten married, they’d bought a bigger place to accommodate overnight guests, wanting the twins to have their own room. Even after the birth of their son Rocco, last year, they entertained Cora and Colin every Saturday night.

It had become another tradition, but his mother’s words rang in his ears as he stepped out of the car and approached the house.

No one can love them like you can, Orso. They need to know you want them.

They did need to know at least one of their parents did. He swore under his breath that he wouldn’t allow the time to get away from him next week. It was Mother’s Day and he’d need to be there for them. That was unless Delaney decided she wanted to see them on that auspicious day. He hadn’t heard a word about it, but she had a problem with long-term planning, so he wouldn’t be surprised if she called mid-week to ask. It shouldn’t come as any surprise to her when he said no.

He stepped into the empty kitchen, where the aroma from the thyme and oregano lingered in the air. Laughter rippled out from the other room, embracing him.

The women were still at the dining room table, savoring coffee, but all the other chairs were vacant.

His mother’s voice shot through him. You’re late, Orso.

I know, Ma. I’m sorry. I’m trying to wrap the CD before their tour.

She’d know the who and what he was talking about.

Taking a couple of hours won’t put you back more than a couple of hours.

I know, Ma. I let the time get away from me.

Tish looked up at him, the smile more generous than he deserved. I kept a plate warm. If you’d been working on something else, you’d be out of luck.

Thanks. I’m going to go see the kids first.

He walked slowly to the edge of the family room.

Tony and Zach were sitting on the floor, playing Jenga. Cora was holding a piece she’d successfully pulled out, but the tower was leaning precariously to one side, and Dennis didn’t envy the person going next. There was little chance the tower would continue to stand. Chelsea, Zach’s daughter, didn’t give anyone the opportunity. She squatted down on her haunches and pushed at it as only a two-year-old could do, taking great pleasure as it crashed to the ground.

Colin’s hands went to his face in dramatic fashion, and he fell backwards onto the rug. Cora had joined Chelsea’s applause, telling her cousin with her smile that it was okay. His heart softened at the sight of them. They deserved better than what he’d been giving them. And when Cora came flying across the room at the sight of him, love swelled in his chest. He caught her up and felt her squeeze her arms tightly around his neck.

Daddy you’re here.

He kissed her forehead and told her, I am. I missed you, sweets.

He looked around and smiled. Here he could relax, something he needed but rarely allowed himself. The family had grown in leaps and bounds, and he loved each new addition as if they were his own.

Rosie was nestled on a couch, reading. She was joining a little league team this spring and looked to be boning up on how to field. Her three-year-old brother, Dominic, was in their father, Johnny’s arms. Skye, the newest addition was probably napping. Gabby was dressing her doll, Luca helping when she couldn’t get the arms in the tiny sweater. John Luc was playing his Switch, his thumbs working the joystick more adroitly at four than most adults. Tony had been holding his son, Rocco, trying to avoid the very thing Chelsea succeeded in doing. When the tower collapsed, he gave him his freedom and the one-year-old toddled over to chew on one of the pieces.

His brothers and sisters had found their mates, ones that would last. Being the only one who’d failed at marriage still rankled.

He set Cora back down, riffled Colin’s head before taking the only remaining seat before either Tony or Zach could get to it.

Luca was the one who asked, How’s it going?

Good. Two more left and then we replicate and distribute.

He was in the mastering process, taking the collection of songs the band had recorded and unifying the tone, volume, and timing. They needed to sound in sync, as if they all belonged together, one after the other, and it was his job to pick which one went where. It was the final step, the last chance to polish and tweak the project and it was where he did his best work. He had to manage equalization and compression to get the biggest, fattest and richest sound possible and smooth everything out so that the levels for each song matched. The band was pure rock and their concerts showcased their talents. Their CDs had to do the same or they were only faint imitations. Once he finished, he’d recheck to make sure there were no glitches and then send it out for replication. They had their own commercial facility on the property so there was no wait time.

Should be ready in a few days. How many YouTubes have you recorded?

Four or five. We’ll finish the other two off now that we’re out of the studio.

There’d be no travel necessary for that step either, as they had a video studio on site as well.

When his mother yelled out, We’re done, he knew what that meant. It was the men’s turn to work and he’d missed his chance at a meal.

Once the men had scoured the kitchen and it was sparkling, Johnny said, Come on. We have to talk to you about something.

He folded the mopiina he’d been wiping with and placed it on the counter, sighing heavily. Was he going to get a lecture of the importance of family from the rest of them?

He followed as the group retreated to the music room, glancing around to see a full house. Tish was sitting cross-legged on the bench at the baby grand that took up one whole corner. She wasn’t playing but it was where she gravitated. Tim, the lead singer for Thunder and a founding member of TAR, who’d arrived as they were finishing up with the pots and pans, was taking up space on the sofa that offered seating during down time. Luca was leaning against the credenza that housed sheet music.

Dennis nodded his head at everyone present and waited to see what was going on.

Johnny re-knotted his hair on top of his head, taking his sweet time getting to the point.

Diana should be here soon and we wanted to put this out there before she arrives.

Diana was the agent to a lot of musicians that TAR serviced, Raging Thunder one of them, and he hoped she wasn’t taking on another. At least not yet. He wanted to finish the studio in process before they brought anyone else on. And the last band Diana had brought on board was green as they come, needed hand-holding all the way through. For as much as he wanted to fill in some of his downtime, he didn’t want inexperience. Wanting to get ahead of whatever was on Johnny’s mind, he warned, I don’t have the time to bring another one of her clients up to speed.

Johnny’s eyes met his. You’re going to have to make time.

Dennis stiffened. It didn’t sound