free.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
THE FIRST FEW MINUTES THEY were all elated, but by the time an hour had passed, elation had given way to a kind of pleasant numbness. They listened to music, mostly Top 40 tunes and spent raucous moments dissing most of it. The shows were interrupted often by odd bulletins about missing Dairy Princesses. Twelve of them, disappeared somewhere north of Duluth. Seemed the girls had gone AWOL two days earlier.
âMaybe we should listen to the news more often,â Galen mused.
âNah ⦠too depressing,â Erik said, and they both laughed.
Jakob barely paid attention to them. Instead he was staring out the window. As usual, music was running through his head. He tapped on the window in six-eight time, matching the music, and watched the shining expanse of Lake Superior slide past.
Erik noticed the tapping fingers and poked Galen on the shoulder. Then he pointed back at Jakob.
âYou got something?â Galen, asked. He looked at Jakob in the rearview mirror.
Jakob nodded at Galen, unruly dark hair with its several cowlicks falling into his eyes as he did. He brushed it away with his left hand. His right kept tapping. He was ambidextrous, a useful trait for a guitar player.
âNo words though, right?â Erik asked, a touch malicious, a touch jealous. He never had music come into his head unasked. Even asked, it rarely made an appearance. Just words. Rhymes. Bouncing, bumping, sometimes even inventive. But not music. And all he wanted to do was be able to write tunes that people could sing. He moaned about it all the time.
On the other hand, Jakob reminded himself, I have music running through my head constantly . Though, unlike Erik, he could rarely seem to fit words to it. Sometimes a phrase or a line. But only occasionally a whole lyric. Jakob didnât think any of Erikâs lyrics were particularly deep, but that didnât stop people from buying their CDs. Enough to go platinum again and again.
And Galen â¦
Well, Jakob thought, Galen is pretty. Their motherâs high cheekbones, their fatherâs deep dimpled chin, and the only set of teeth in the family that hadnât needed serious remodeling from the orthodontist. Plus the ability to charm audiences single-handedly.
And that, he thought with a wry smile, is the secret to the Griffson Brothersâ success: great music, catchy lyrics, and a real pretty frontman who can kind of, sort of sing and strum the requisite chords . There were worse boy bandsâlike all the rest.
He let the new piece of music wash through him. Fingers tapping, he gave himself over to the tune. Thatâs what he did best. And, after all, he didnât need to worry about anything else. Their manager father, their publicist mother, and a whole passel of producers, engineers, sidemen, promoters, sponsors, and roadies took care of the rest, and the music sold in the millions. A teenage boyâs dream.
âDang, Iâm tired,â Galen said, turning his head a little and smiling that infectious grin.
âDang?â Erik laughed. âWeâre not being interviewed on TV, Gale. You can actually swear.â
Galen grinned some more. âIâm saving it for something big.â
âBig as Dad?â Erik teased.
Galen ignored him. âHow would you like to drive so I can get some rest, you little pest?â
âHey, you remember what Dad said, âProvisional license means I set the provisions.ââ Erik bellowed the last bit like a drill sergeant. âYou know Iâm not supposed to drive without him in the car.â His hands went up in the air. âBut if youâre that tired.â He winked at his big brother.
âWeâre all tired, Galen,â Jakob said. âJust like you told Dad.â He knew Galen had only been speaking the truth, the truth the three of them had agreed upon. After all, theyâd been touring for eighteen months straight and