Webb felt his blood surge as he walked into the recording studio and stared at Gerald Dean, who didn’t bother to get up from his chair behind the mixing board.
Yet Webb did his best to show no emotion.
“So,” Gerald sneered, “I hope you’re here to make things right.”
The sneer nearly drove Webb beyond control. He wanted to break Gerald’s nose and smear the blood across Gerald’s lips. Webb had had training in martial arts. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but his body hadn’t forgotten the moves.
He took deep breaths. He wasn’t going to let Gerald control him.
“Absolutely,” Webb said. “I’m here to make things right. That means—”
Gerald cut him off. “Let’s start with the bounced check then. I got a call from my bank. Your check didn’t clear. So I’d like it in cash. Plus fifty more bucks for bank charges.”
Webb had five hundred bucks in his back pocket. The first thing he’d done after walking out of the audition was hit a bank machine and withdraw the cash.
“That’s not going to happen,” Webb said. “When I realized you were cheating me, I wanted the check to bounce. What we’re going to do to make things right is—”
“You’re going to bring back my guitars?”
Webb felt his nostrils flare as he sucked in more air. His forearms trembled with desire to lash out at the man in front of him.
“Maybe you could explain that to me,” Webb said. He moved closer and stood over the mixing board. “That’s another reason I’m here. You’re telling people I stole from you?”
Gerald responded by pulling out his iPhone and pointing it at Webb. Gerald spoke loudly. “Sitting here in my studio. The guy in front of me with a stupid yellow double E on his green shirt is Jim Webb. Rip-off artist who looks like he’s on the verge of becoming violent. I’m videoing this as proof for possible criminal charges if he attacks me.”
Webb didn’t back away, but he did stop.
“Keep the video going,” he said. “I’m here because you’re the rip-off artist.”
“Two of my best guitars,” Gerald said. “Gone. I’d like them back.”
“Then talk to the person who took them,” Webb said. “And stop spreading rumors about me.”
“Sure,” Gerald said. “When I see my guitars. Back in my studio.”
“That’s not the issue,” Webb answered. “You know it. And I know you know it.”
“I’d say ten grand’s worth of missing guitars is a major issue.”
“Not as major an issue as you ripping off my song.” Webb lifted his right hand and slowly and deliberately pointed at Gerald. “Yes. You. Producer. Ripping off my song. ‘Rock the Boat.’”
Webb dropped his hand and stared at the phone that was videoing him.
“What’s going to happen,” Webb said, looking past the phone to Gerald, “is that you are going to send me a link to the songs you produced for me. You’re going to take out a pen and paper and write that Jim Webb wrote the music and lyrics to ‘Rock the Boat.’ If you do that, I won’t go out there and tell people that you ripped me off.”
“Go ahead,” Gerald said. “And please keep track of the people you tell. Slander is a serious issue. I’ll be able to use them as witnesses when I see you in court.”
Webb couldn’t help himself. He slammed the board with an open palm. Hard enough that Gerald flinched.
“You’re telling people I stole two of your guitars! That’s slander!”
Webb regretted his actions immediately. Slamming the mixing board and raising his voice. He had just lost control.
Gerald smirked.
That’s when Webb realized Gerald had been goading him, hoping for something that verged on violence. Something on video.
When Gerald spoke, however, there was no trace of a smirk in his voice. As if he knew it wouldn’t sound good on the video.
“You don’t understand what slander is,” Gerald said. “What I’ve told people is that two of my guitars are missing. I’ve also told them I left you alone in the studio. And that later I noticed the guitars were gone. I didn’t once tell anyone that you stole my guitars. However, I do find the coincidence troubling, and I would like them back. If you can arrange it.”
“Unbelievable,” Webb said. “You’re going to hear from Jordan Marvin, my attorney at Bing and McGee. You’re not going to get away with this.”
“What’s unbelievable,” Gerald said, “is that you are here, clearly making slanderous charges. You. Someone who hasn’t yet paid for the production work I did. Someone who bounced a check. The same someone who was alone in the studio the day my guitars disappeared. And you are accusing me of being the rip-off artist?”
“I played you that song. In this studio. You told me it wasn’t worth producing. You asked me if anyone else had heard it or if I’d recorded it anywhere. You told me not to bother because it would embarrass me. And then I hear it at an audition. Played by an artist that you are developing.”
“No,” Gerald said. “You’ve been in my studio. The same studio where you stole guitars. You heard the song. And now, after failing to pay for my production, you’re trying to run a scam on me.”
Gerald put the phone down and stood. He looked directly into Webb’s eyes.
“Dude, whatever game you’re playing isn’t going to work. And you shouldn’t have made me mad. When you leave, I’m going to erase every bit of music I produced for you. I suggest you leave here and never return to Nashville. It’s a small town. I’m going to make sure no one is going to work with you. Ever.”