Fair in Love

Chapter 1“Mr. McAllan, we’re getting ready to make our final descent into Los Angeles. Please fasten your seat belt…” Travis McAllan stopped in midstrum and swore under his breath. He’d promised his brothers the new song would be finished by the end of the month. Was he ever going to get it done? He looked out the window of the private jet and saw the sprawl of LA appear through the haze. He turned away and focused his attention on the sheet music on the table in front of him. A dozen pages of music manuscript, and only one of them was filled in. His instinct was to crumple it up and throw it at the bulkhead in front of him, but he loved his music too much, and what he had written so far might well be the start of a new hit for the McAllan Brothers Band. After stacking the sheets, he put them in the case with his guitar, closed the lid, fastened his seatbelt, and sat back. The Learjet touched down, slowed, and taxied off the main runway to a small hangar on the other side of Los Angeles International, where a crew guided it to a slot. The pilot shut down the engines, exited the cockpit, and opened the door to let down the retracting steps. As Travis stepped down, he saw the dark-haired flight attendant waiting for him at the foot of the steps. “Have a good evening, Mr. McAllan.” She smiled through bright red lipstick. “Y’all have a good evening, too.” He waved back, taking long strides through the hangar to the small terminal at one side, where he found the chauffeur waiting. The man offered to take Travis’s guitar, but Travis waved him away. Nobody touched his guitar except him. He followed the chauffeur to the car idling at the front entrance, and before Travis climbed into the backseat, he turned to wave at the photographers he knew were hiding behind the bushes. The driver closed the door, started the car, and pulled away. “Your brothers and the rest of the band are already at Nokia Theater, sir,” the driver said. “I would have preferred to go home first, but since there’s no time, let’s go to the theater.” Travis tried not to let his voice show his irritation. He’d spent most of the morning and afternoon in San Francisco, where he had performed at a charity benefit for runaway teens. He wanted to take a shower, change clothes, and get his own car before the concert, but it was already going on six thirty, and the concert was at eight. The plane had departed late, and now the limo was slowing down because of traffic, which meant they would be there at seven, maybe later. There was always so much to do before a concert: sound checks, going over the music with the band so everyone was on cue. Travis didn’t even bother to check his cell phone. There would already be several messages from both Robbie and Don, his brothers. When the limo pulled up at the stage door behind the theater, Travis spotted his brother Don outside, smoking a cigarette with the new drummer. Seeing Travis get out of the car, Don nodded and threw the butt down, then ground it out with his boot. He came over and guided Travis by the arm toward the stage door. “Come on, man. We go on in thirty minutes,” Don said impatiently. “Stop worryin’, will ya? I’m here, and that’s what’s important.” Travis went inside from the warm LA evening to the air-conditioned dressing room. His brother shut the door behind him as Travis removed his shirt to change. He heard the backup singer, Dylan Winchester, in the auditorium, introducing himself and his trio to the audience. “Travis, I’m gonna come straight to the point—” Don began. “You always do,” Travis interrupted. His brother went on. “Robbie and I have been talking, and we feel it’s time we hired someone to write songs for us. You haven’t given us a hit in months, and our last album was a compilation of our popular stuff.” “An album that spent fifteen weeks on Billboard’s Top Country,” Travis reminded him. “That’s not the point, Little Brother. We need something new, and if you don’t have it in you anymore…” “Y’all would drop me just like that? I can’t believe Robbie would agree to this.” “He’s the leader of our band, and he can do whatever he wants.” Don’s voice was suddenly drowned out by applause from the stage. The door swung open, and Robbie—short, with a gray beard and cowboy hat—poked his head inside the dressing room. “C’mon, you two, stop chewing the fat and get a move on. We’re on in less than a minute.” Robbie disappeared, and Don gave Travis one more glance before he left. Travis sat in front of the mirror staring at his shirtless reflection, at the tattoo on his left bicep: a guitar with a bar of music notes surrounding it. Hire a songwriter? Had his brothers forgotten so soon? His songwriting and voice had made the McAllan Brothers one of the top bands in America and helped propel them all the way from country dives on the outskirts of Houston, where the three of them had played for tips, to the top performers on the country music scene. Travis pulled on a red-and-black checkered shirt as someone called him. He got up, put his signature cowboy hat over his curly black hair, took his lucky guitar out of its case, and with thirty seconds to spare, joined his brothers in the wings while the announcer’s voice echoed around them. “And now here they are, ladies and gentlemen. The McAllan Brothers!” The packed auditorium burst into thunderous applause as the trio, instruments in hand, came onstage. * * * * “Cheers to my favorite birthday boy,” Lu Jacobsen said as she arrived at the table with two apple martinis, one for herself and the other for Geoff Randsell. After taking the glass from her slender hand, Geoff took a sip and set it down on the napkin in front of him. “Thank you, sweetie, and thank you for the cologne, too.” Geoff leaned over the small table to give Lu a hug and an air kiss. “How does it feel to be twenty-three, darling?” As Lu stretched her arm across the table toward Geoff, dozens of bracelets clattered. “I don’t know. It’s only been a day so far. I’ll let you know in six months,” Geoff said casually. Lu sat up straight and looked at the handsome men around her at the bar and then back at Geoff. “So where is Doug tonight? He should be here with us, celebrating your day.” Geoff ignored the fact Lu spat out Doug’s name like bad medicine and hurried to tell her, “He took me to Il Forno Caldo for dinner last night, and tonight he has tickets to a concert.” “You didn’t go with him?” Lu raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a fan of country music, and he got tickets to see the McAllan Brothers concert.” “Alone?” “He took a friend from work.” Geoff shrugged and sipped his drink. “Male or female? Just asking, sweetie.” “A guy named Frank. They work together at the movie studio.” Lu’s mouth twitched, but she remained silent. “How was your trip to Barcelona?” Geoff asked, desperate to change the subject. “You’re back early.” “Full of American tourists, and I put up with enough of those on Hollywood Boulevard, so I came home.” Geoff patted Lu’s arm in sympathy. She smiled and drained her martini. She ordered another from the waiter as he passed by, then scanned the crowd around the bar, taking sidelong looks at Geoff. “Let’s see if I can’t get one of these handsome men to take you home tonight.” “Lu, stop it. You know I’m with Doug.” Geoff was instantly sorry he had spoken, because he knew Lu didn’t think much of Doug for reasons she hadn’t seen fit to explain to him. Geoff believed it was because of Doug’s job as a cameraman for an independent film company that produced horror films several dozen steps below the Friday the 13th or A Nightmare on Elm Street franchises. One or two films he had seen on the DVDs Doug brought home were comedies with a slight erotic twist. The actors were always surfer or bimbo types, uttering corny lines such as, “Oh no, there’s a zombie in the house. Let’s split up and meet back here,” or “We know there’s a crazy man with an ax outside, so let’s take a shower.” Geoff believed the screenwriters must have been smoking crack when they wrote these scripts. He knew Lu considered such films below her dignity. “Geoff, sweetie, what on earth are you grinning at?” Lu asked. “Nothing really, I was just thinking about something funny.” “Well if you aren’t going to share, then where were we? Oh yes, you and Doug.” “I wish you wouldn’t bring him up. Things aren’t going well, Lu. He’s been kind of distant lately. I keep telling myself it’s because of his work at the studio, but it’s the fights and the lack of s*x—once a week if we’re lucky,” Geoff said. “Enough about that clown. Don’t think about him,” Lu said, waving her hand. * * * * The audience rose to their feet in thunderous applause as the McAllan Brothers Band brought the last encore to a close. Travis, Robbie, and Don took a bow, and as usual, introduced the members of their band. Then they filed off the stage. Travis was last, and when he opened the door to his dressing room, he found his older brother sitting in a chair, fanning himself with his cowboy hat. “Boy, it sure was hot under all them lights.” He stopped fanning and set his hat down. Travis entered and closed the door behind him. “I thought it was a great show tonight. Full house and three encores—what more can a guy ask for?” Travis pulled a chair over and sat down facing Robbie. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” Robbie observed, rubbing his hands on the knees of his jeans. “I thought you would know already. Don told me you guys were thinkin’ about hiring a songwriter.” “I knew you would fly off the handle. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about this myself.” Robbie leaned forward. Travis stared at his brother and waited for an explanation. “Look here, Travis, this ain’t got anything to do with your talent. You have plenty of that. s**t, none of us would be here today if it wasn’t for your songs, but lately your heart’s not been in it. I talked to Don and Marc, and we decided it might be in the best interest of the band that we hire someone to write songs for us. Just until you get yourself together.” Travis was angry with his brothers and Marc, their agent and business manager, for planning this behind his back. “Believe me, I’m all together. You have to give me a chance. I’ve got a new song in the works right now.” “Is that the song you promised us a month ago for Country Fest in Austin?” Robbie asked. Travis didn’t know what to say. Sure, he had promised a song for the festival, but though he had the basic melody, he just couldn’t find the words in the depth of his soul. “What’s this gonna do to the group?” “Well, it hasn’t happened yet. We’re only talkin’ about it,” Robbie said. Travis laughed nervously, relieved to hear that piece of news. Robbie looked like he needed a cigarette. There was a moment of awkward silence, and when that happened, Travis knew the usual subject would come up. He wasn’t wrong; Robbie started right away. “You know what this is, buddy? You spend too much time alone in that big house up in the hills. What you need is a good woman to inspire you.” Travis turned his head away so his brother couldn’t see the smile that almost appeared on his face. He paused for a second to regain his composure before facing him again. “Why do you think a girl is going to help inspire me?” “You’re my little brother, and ya know I love you, but people are beginning to talk…especially after the drummer left.” “What have they got to talk about? I must be photographed by the paparazzi almost every day with a young lady on my arm or getting out of my car. You know the drummer left because he got an offer to perform with Willie Nelson. I’m sorry if the right woman hasn’t presented herself, Rob, but I’m only twenty-four years old.”