Page 43 of Silver Edge
“You’re not getting it. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I don’t want you. I’ll never want you again. I’ll save this place one way or another and repay the loan in full.”
“Fine, if that’s how you want it, I’ll see you at the end of the month with a bulldozer and an eviction notice.”
Chapter Eighteen
I hurried back to the office and sat in the ripped vinyl chair near his desk with my arms crossed over my chest. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that woman was possessed by the Goddess of Bitchdom.
Drake entered with that crooked, uneasy smile on his face.
“Can she really shut this place down?”
Drake gave a long, heavy sigh. “You heard that?”
I nodded but averted my gaze to the long white thread pulled from the tear in the black vinyl.
“She can and she will.” He sat by my side and held his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t see a way out of this.”
“There has to be something we can do. What about the Battle of the Bands?”
Drake dropped his hands and lifted his head. “There’s no way I can get it together in time. One of the producers is out of the country until two days before I’d planned the event and the other is in the studio out in L.A. and can’t get away.”
“Where’s the loan contract? What’s the payment schedule?”
He pointed to his desk. “Over there. Stack at the end of the desk.”
I retrieved the file and sat at his oversize desk chair that threatened to swallow me into the leather. Thumbing through the documents, I found the loan amount and payment schedule. I scanned the number items and the total. It didn’t add up.
“The loan is for sixty thousand with a five-year term at four-point-nine percent interest. You’ve paid two thousand a month during the first six months.”
“Yes, I was doing well in the beginning.”
“You overpaid. You’re only delinquent $425 on top of this month’s payment of $1,129.53. The due notice states you owe $6,777.18 by close of business on the thirtieth, but you only owe $1,554.53 to be up to date on the loan. We can make that by the end of the week.”
“Even if you’re right—”
I dropped the folder on the desk. “Really? Do you want a calculator?”
His slumped shoulders rose a half inch. “No, I trust you, but it’s not just that one bill. Thirty days after that, I’ll owe a large balloon payment, plus electricity, water, trash, not to mention the booze and insurance. There are so many other things it takes to run this place as well. I can’t have you, Walter, and the other employees work for free.”
“I’ve had worse jobs. Come on. Trust me. We can do this. You’ve got a good band booked this Friday night, right? I’ll help plaster posters around town and get some people in here. Don’t give up on me now. We haven’t even started yet. You said you’ve half-assed it this long. It’s time for you to use your fancy degree and market the hell out of Friday night and then the Battle of the Bands.”
He stood and picked up the picture of his grandmother and him. “She wouldn’t give up. She once saved a theater from being torn down.” After gently placing the picture frame back on the desk, he offered me a hand. “We can do this.”
“Good, I didn’t want to have to get Hawaiian in here to kick your ass.”
“I don’t want that.” Drake sat on the corner of the desk and toyed with my fingers. “Have you ever thought of performing? You’d pack the house.”
My spine went ridged, as if metal rods were shoved from my neck to my tailbone.
“What is it?” Drake asked.
“That’s not an option.” I stumbled back and returned to the vinyl chair. It was as if the air inside me froze and wouldn’t thaw.
“Calm down. It’s okay. I just thought I’d ask.”
“Can’t. People would…look at me,” I heaved between frosty breaths.
“Okay, not an option. Got it. Now, breathe. Listen, no matter what happens you’re going to be okay. No more panic attacks or running away. You’re safe with me and that’s not going to change. I just think your music is wonderful and I wanted to share it with everyone.” He brushed the hair back from my eyes and placed my palm to his chest. “Concentrate on my breathing, my heartbeat.”
