Chords of Fate

By Gregg Winston

“God deals the cards, life is how we play our hand.”

Still grieving over the loss of his parents, Jackson attends college in a search for new beginnings. Believing that life is better experienced with a soundtrack, he finds peace as a late-night deejay at the campus radio station. Through a random encounter, he meets a beautiful girl who appears to share his same passion for music. Their friendship blossoms into something special, until tragedy strikes, forcing him to alter his path. Life’s bumpy ride ultimately places him in the crosshairs of his past, where he must face the uncertainty of fate and destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gregg Winston
• Release date: Oct 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370167081

Book preview

Preface

I was fourteen when I saw my first rock concert. I don’t know if it was the energy in that Stony Brook University gymnasium, my proximity to the wall of speakers on the stage, or the fact that I made eye contact with Joan Jett from the fourth row, but I can trace my lifelong love affair with rock and roll to that night.

The seeds for this book were planted while on a business trip in Chicago. I had an idea for a short story, and instead of working emails after a full day and night of networking with my peers, I began jotting down my thoughts. Over a period of many years, I added a page here, a chapter there, and before I knew it, this random and unorganized essay slowly transformed into something bigger.

What I learned in the early stages of writing is that I often turned to personal experience and interests for inspiration. It was inevitable that music would play a role and become the glue that bound the story together.

I wrote this novel with a specific genre of music in mind. It’s a creative gamble, for sure. Musical tastes vary across an almost infinite spectrum. Plus, I run the risk of unfamiliarity with many readers. The alternative was to present the story with a more generic musical background weaved through it. But I think this tale is best told with a defined soundtrack. My teen years began in 1980, so it’s no surprise that classic rock and hair bands played a big influence in the final product.

Chapter One

(Beep… Beep… Beep)

The alarm clock is one of those misunderstood gadgets in life. It is the opening bell, one which announces the new day and brings with it new adventures to explore and opportunities to pursue. It represents a fresh canvas to paint life’s journey. Yet often times, it is not met with the optimism it provides, especially when the previous night involved a drink or two.

I love my job, but I hate waking up at this ungodly hour, Jackson thought to himself as he shut his alarm off. His eyes opened wide as he attempted to focus on those ugly digits that attack him every morning. He felt the glare of the clock staring at him, silently penetrating his vision. 4:43am. He turned his head to see the other LED lights competing for attention. The stereo displayed 4:44am. The clock on the cable box read 4:46am. Though it would take a few more minutes for his brain to wake up and be functional, he always wondered why they were never in sync. It didn’t matter. All three clocks confirmed one thing: It was a quarter to five in the morning, and it was time to start his day.

Most people might have trouble with a normal routine that started that early. But his sleep patterns were solidified when he was younger, probably due to his past nights working the graveyard shift. He leaned over, grabbed the remote, and turned on the stereo.

Is it time to wake up? a gentle voice next to him murmured.

No. You’ve still got an hour. Go back to bed.

It’s kind of hard to sleep with ‘Black Dog’ as a background track. Is everything ok?

Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you. My brain is moving in a thousand different directions. I wanted to get up a little early today. I was worried about Lenny and wanted to hear how he’s doing on the air. Go back to bed.

Kate leaned up and repeated his comment back to him. Go back to bed. You’re hysterical. Once my REM is broken, I’m up. I’m sure Lenny’s fine. He’s a pro.

Oh, I know. You’re right. I’m sure he is too. I just feel bad. He’s had a bunch of personal shit go on in his life… family stuff. I want to make sure it’s not affecting him professionally, you know, on the air.

The two of them laid in bed listening to an assortment of classic rock tunes. Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, Lenny’s broadcast consisted of Genesis, The Guess Who, and a rare Pink Floyd gem from The Final Cut. He did fine. In all truthfulness, it’s hard for a disc jockey on the night shift to screw up. You play a bunch of songs, throw in a couple of commercials every half hour, and recite the call letters regularly so the listeners don’t forget who plays the best music in town. But it was Jackson’s responsibility to make sure everything ran smoothly. Even on Lenny’s shift, when the listening audience was at its smallest.

Today was Tuesday, and it was no different than many other Tuesdays. Jackson stayed at Kate’s apartment, as he did every now and then. They were friends. They were coworkers. They were occasional lovers. But they weren’t together. They each enjoyed the companionship, yet neither wanted a commitment on any level. They had an unusual relationship, but it was something that worked for them, as it was a mutual understanding.

I’m going to make some breakfast. You want some? asked Jackson, as he rolled out of bed and dragged his lethargic body towards the kitchen.

Sure. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I just want to lay here for a while.

He smiled. In his experience, the term a while was pretty diverse, and ranged anywhere from five minutes to an hour. She closed her eyes for what felt like two minutes, and quickly woke up to a familiar smell.

Kate shouted from the bedroom, You burned the toast again.

I did not, answered the voice from the other room. The toast is perfect.

That was their inside joke. Their usual breakfast consisted of a simple bacon, scrambled egg and cheese sandwich on rye bread. One of the requirements for a perfect sandwich was a perfect crunch. The toaster setting had to be past Medium, but before Dark. How much past Medium and how much before Dark was always subject to interpretation. The other secret to the perfect sandwich: A little melted butter, and a minimum of two different cheeses. American was good; Swiss, Colby jack or Gouda was better. Anything with a kick, like Pepper Jack or Habanero Cheddar, was the best.

Hey, you want to hit a movie tonight? Jackson asked, as he took a bite of his sandwich.

She looked at him with a weird smile. You mean like a date? You’re not getting serious on me, are you?

Ha ha. No. There are a couple of new flicks out. I thought you might want to check one of them out.

I thought you didn’t want people to see us together outside of work?

So we can’t socialize and go to the movies, you know, as coworkers?

I guess we can. Look, I’m just trying to play the game according to the rules that we both agreed on. No strings. No commitments. No one knows. We don’t want anyone at work knowing… well, you know.

Could you imagine if that ever got out?

I’d rather not be placed in that position. She then pushed his plate aside, sat on the table and put her hands on his shoulders. Look. You and I do have something special, albeit a bit unconventional. But who says all relationships have to be normal? We’re both focused on our careers, neither of us wants anything serious, and at this point in our lives, this works.

Hey, I’m fine with the whole friends with benefits thing if you are.

Me too she added.

So what does your day look like today?

I have a new lead coming in to listen to an ad proposal. It’s for a local jewelry store. It has some good potential for us, so I’m hoping it pans out.

What’s the revenue?

As it stands right now, I’m pitching a media plan that’ll run about fifteen hundred dollars for the quarter. Unfortunately he’s only committing to one quarter, to see if it impacts sales.

Could you get a longer contract if you discounted the rate?

Possibly, but I’d like to try and close it at the current rate. He already knows I’ve discounted the published rate by fifteen percent because he’s a new customer. That’s what got me the meeting, but he’s still on the fence. His plan is to try to open a second location within the next year, but he needs increased revenues from his primary location to fund it. He’s never advertised in radio, so he’s not yet convinced as to its effectiveness. He won’t commit to a long term deal unless he sees results, and he’s only giving me three months to make that happen.

Well, at least give him some options. Offer him the fifteen percent discount for three months and triple it if he’s willing to sign for six. And offer him a free on-site broadcast for the grand opening if he decides to open a second location.

That’s pretty generous.

It costs us nothing to pitch it. Plus, we need the revenue. And if you don’t close him, we get nothing. Bottom line, he’s new to radio. If we can help drive sales and show him that we can provide a viable option for his advertising investment, we can charge him a higher rate later when he’s promoting two stores. What time is the meeting? I’d like to stop in and introduce myself.

That would be great. It’s at 11:30am.

And then take him to lunch afterwards.

Really? I thought we reserved those perks for our long-term clients and contract renewals?

Well, he has the potential to be to be a long-term customer. You never know. Sometimes all it takes is a simple gesture to close the deal.

They spent the next half hour eating breakfast and speaking casually about some upcoming activities before Jackson excused himself to get ready for the day. He normally left the apartment first. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be seen arriving at work at the same time as her. He pretty much put in the longest hours out of any of the employees. He was typically there around 7am, and didn’t leave until 7 or 8pm, unless any of the deejays had public appearances. If they did, and they did often, the days were even longer.

Kate normally arrived at the station a few hours later. Her gig was more of a 10am to 6pm thing. She had been selling radio ads there for a couple of years. She loved sales, even though this particular gig wasn’t her dream job. Obviously, for anyone with a passion to make a lot of money in advertising sales, the goal is twofold: First, work at the highest-rated station, and second, be in a major market. More listeners and strong ratings mean you can charge more advertisements. And bigger sales equate to bigger commission checks. New York. Los Angeles. Chicago. Atlanta. Those were the big markets. That’s where the real money is made. Not here. But, like almost any job, you have to get your foot in the door and gain some valuable knowledge, experience and negotiating skills. And that’s what she was doing – making herself marketable for her next position. She knows she’ll be moving on in the near future, and that’s one of the main reasons she won’t get serious with anyone, especially Jackson. He’s not going anywhere. His feet are planted firmly in the ground. This is where his life is. Not hers. They never discussed it, but it would have to come up eventually.

Chapter Two

The sun had barely made its debut for the day when Jackson pulled into his parking space. The hallways of WDRB were as empty as the parking lot, with the exception of Lenny. The eight-plus minute track Won’t Get Fooled Again by The Who wafted through the airwaves, giving him some extra time to visit the loo. As Jackson approached his office, he bumped into his late night host.

Hey…. I listened to your show early this morning. As he made the comment, he handed Lenny an envelope.

Ahhh. It’s nice to know there are a couple of faithful listeners out there. How did I do?

I liked your selections. You did great. I loved when you played ‘Gunner’s Dream.’

Jackson started singing the first line, and then Lenny joined in, making for an impromptu 7am hallway concert.

That’s a great ‘Floyd tune. I haven’t heard it in ages.

Well you know how I feel. There are so many great tracks out there that never get on the radio. That’s why I like the graveyard shift. It comes with a lot of flexibility to sprinkle some not-as-popular songs into the playlist. Plus it’s not as hectic as the day shift. It’s a little more therapeutic, something I need right about now.

Rock on, my friend. Everything ok on the home front?

Yeah, Michelle and I are working things out. It’s a little tense at times, but I think the worst is behind us. We started seeing a marriage counselor, which has helped a lot. Plus, we’ve known each other and have been best friends since we were kids. That makes all the difference in the world.

You’ve known each other that long?

Since elementary school. But we didn’t start dating until high school.

Aww. High school sweethearts.

I was a senior, she was a junior. We went to hang out by the lake one day over spring break. She mentioned that two guys had asked her to prom and wanted my advice on picking who she should go with. I told her she should go with me.

So you made her decision harder by introducing a third suitor?

She didn’t know the other guys that well, and thought she’d have a better time if she went with her best friend, so she said yes to me pretty quickly. I was thrilled. I’d had a secret crush on her for years. Apparently the feeling was mutual. We kissed for the first time during one of the slow dances, and we’ve been together ever since. I guess when you’re together that long, you’re bound to hit some bumps in the road.

What song?

Huh?

You said you kissed during one of the slow dances. What song was playing?

Clapton. ‘Wonderful Tonight.’

How appropriate.

Yeah, it was a memorable night, for sure. Lenny quickly changed the subject. So what’s with the envelope?

It’s a free night at the local resort. I thought the two of you would like to try and get away for the weekend without the little one and work on your relationship.

One of those I-can’t-believe-you-just-did-this smiles came across Lenny’s face. Jackson, this is very generous, but I can’t accept this.

Sure you can. I already scheduled you off next weekend. Look… When you come to work, I need you to be here one hundred percent, mind, body and soul. If you’re in a shitty mood, the listeners can tell. You’ve had some distractions lately, and I want to help work them out with you, without invading on your privacy. Your happiness is important to me, and it’s important to the station. I’m here to support you, my brother!

Thanks, Jackson. This is a huge gesture.

Happy to help. Enjoy your day, Lenny. Hugs to Michelle.

Jackson had a genuine concern for everyone who worked there. They were his second family and he would bend over backwards for any one of them. That was the key to the station’s success. Extremely low employee turnover was credited to the relationships amongst the staff. Without those relationships, this would be just another job. And he didn’t want this to be a job. Music should be a passion. Jackson wanted everyone to enjoy coming to work. And he worked really hard to be a boss that people wanted to work for. It was the little things that made the difference, like a random gift card. Or time off. Or the ever-popular off-site workshop. Those were planned so the staff could bond and engage in team-building exercises. The next ‘workshop’ was tonight. Everyone was excited. Sammy Hagar was coming to town, and Jackson acquired a block of tickets from the promoter. All it cost him was some air time to help promote some upcoming shows.

Everybody was pumped to see the Red Rocker. He always puts on a great show, and this would be no exception. Recent reviews on the internet put the show at about just over two hours, with the set list spanning the Montrose, Van Halen and solo years. The band was tight; they even had Michael Anthony on tap to play bass for part of the gig. The best part about a Hagar show was that he really enjoys being on stage, and turns every concert into a party. How cool to have the entire WDRB staff included in tonight’s party.

Chapter Three

About 6pm, the outing began with a stop at the local watering hole for some dinner and drinks. As a toast to the evening at hand, they began tossing back a few margaritas, made from Sammy’s own tequila. After sampling the different varieties, the team came to the conclusion that their favorite was the Tequila Blanco.

They began placing friendly bets regarding the set list. And of course, once the subject of Van Halen tunes came up, the alcohol-fueled group reignited the age-old argument of who is the better lead singer: Sammy or Dave? The station’s staff was divided.

The banter continued until a lone voice at the end of the table jumped in and changed the subject. Jackson, thanks so much for doing this. It’s a really cool idea. The comment came from Brent, their newest intern. But I do have one question. If everyone’s here, who’s on the air?

That certainly was a legitimate question. Running a radio station is a 24/7, 365-day-a-year operation. Outings like this were handled like Christmas Eve. They created a four hour tape with a variety of songs and looped it. It would be replaced by a live deejay once the gig was over. It was somewhat unconventional since it wasn’t a big holiday, but it was important for Jackson that everyone attended. And as long as the broadcast wasn’t dead air, the listeners would still have something to listen to. Sure, he had to give up a little advertising revenue to the promoter, but the trade-off was worth it. This was an investment. He was certain that the benefit of a stronger team would pay dividends down the road.

The Blanco margaritas turned into Reposado shots. The drinks were flowing, and everyone was getting happy. They weren’t worried about driving, as the theater was only three blocks from the restaurant. 7:30pm quickly snuck up on them. They paid their bill and stumbled across the street. It’s show time.

Hey, you got the banner? Jackson asked Brent as they walked across the street.

Yeah.

Let me see it.

Brent had a lot of pride in the banner, as it was his creation. He had taken some painting and drawing classes in the past, and it showed. He had skills. When they unfolded it in the parking lot, they saw the message WDRB Loves Sammy Hagar, painted in many colors in a graffiti-type style.

Sure enough, the night went as expected. Sammy tore through all his hits: Red, Heavy Metal, I Can’t Drive 55. He even gave his band a break and sang a couple of acoustic tunes alone in the middle of the set. The band ended the